| Short Notice! |
| Summary: | A force of Vir Sidus threaten to invade Hellsmouth |
| Date: | 29th March 2018 |
| Related: | Vir Sidus in the West |
| NPCs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Aequor - Hellsmouth County |
| Room description |
| 29th mar 1874 |
The spring thaw in the Colonial lands had finally began. With that thaw, the forces of the Vir Sidus Empire's Legio XIII, also called the Legio Asterrea, have finally moved from the lands that had once belonged to d'Mollari. They had spent the winter in the d'Mollari former capital of Paras, having turned it from a sprawling city to a fortified Imperial Holding in one short season. The Legion had spent the winter alternating between building, scouting, and freeing the local populace and bringing them Paras. Both for labor, and to build up a local and friendly supply train. The lands will need to farmed after all, and Darius planned on the Asterrea to be quite busy.
Three days ago he had given the order. The Prime Cohort supported by the 3rd and 7th Cavalry Cohort and the 2nd and 10th Infantry Cohorts began to march for the largest Colonial Military group his scouts had been able to find. The lands the Colonials call d'Korbina in the Hellmouth. Imperial Blue shields and blue cloaks trimmed in silver march through the thawed and muddy lands. Imperial boots stamping in time as hooves from the Sidian plains do the same. Sitting atop his own warhorse at the head of the Prime Cohort occupying the center of this three thousand man fore is Darius Firebrand. His cloak is black trimmed in silver and it rests jauntily on his left shoulder. Instead of a helm he wears an iron circlet with a single blood red jewel set in Rose Gold at the center of his forehead. In his left arm a cavalry shield, his right a Vir Sidus Glaive made of bright and shining light silver. His Sorceror Lorrica, made of hardened leather is immaculate, and studded with lightsilver at the shoulder pouldrons and along the belt.
The Princeps of the Empire wears a light smirk on his face as he eyes the Colonial fortification arrayed before him. "Looks like the Colonials are worried about us lads." He says jauntily over his shoulder. A laughter errupts from the Prime cohort and spreads throughout the Cohorts. He stops his horse with a movement of his knees. "Legion! HALT! Shields. READY!"
As one, Two thousand Infantry cry out "HO-AH!" and with a sound of shifting metal and wood the scutums are put in place. Nobody has to be ordered. Repeater Crossbows are held at the easy. Able to whip up and aim at a moments command. The Cavalty fans out along the flanks, the Light cavalry readying their own repeating crossbows while the heavy infantry holds their Imperial Glaives uprward, the polished steel blades of these glaives glinting in the sun.
Darius rides forward, willing flame down his right arm, along the shaft of his glaive and into the Lightsilver blade of the weapon. With a bright flash and a soft FWOOSH, the weapon ignites. He raises his voice to the defenders. "People of the Colony of Aequor in the lands of Hellsmouth!" He calls out in imperial accented Common. "I am the Princeps Darius Firebrand of the Vir Sidus Empire. Recognize your betters, lay down your arms, and send me your leader. I would have words with him."
Somewhat luckily Ludovic had already been out in the field as he showed his guests some of the defensive lines in that ever ongoing attempt to demonstrate that he needs support when the slightly panicked messenger found him to warn of the approaching force. The message was listened to with obvious disbelief and anger before he turned to the escort, gathered them all up, and set a fast pace towards the roadfort. The modest cavalry force arrives just before Darius's show and thus it is that he can scowl and glance to the rest of the group. "Did say spring would bring trouble." he grumbles. "Sorry for pulling you into this Your Grace." A glance to the lords and ladies. "We'll take a token force and go out and meet them. You can come with me or leave, as you need." And thus he takes himself and his escort around the body of the small fort with its massively outnumbered garrison so that he can meet Darius one on one. He hasnt the time to bring dramatics to the field instead relying on the brilliant penants that stream from his mens lances to identify them.
Imogen was never one for staying indoors, especially on a bright spring day like this. So she had been out in the field exercising the horses and getting in some personal exercise and weapons practice when the commotion started. Quickly stabling her friends, with a few sugar cubes to keep them quiet, she had rushed towards the scene, though obviously keeping a safe distance away. She spied the lord of the lands in the distance, and if he was aware of the situation, Imogen was in no rush to stick her neck out before two hundred and something calvary if the sacrifice was unneeded.
Viscount Cervantes Arkanin was recently welcomed as a guest to Ludovic's lands, their two houses sharing a very friendly relationship. However, Cervantes casually wears his armor simply because he -can- and he prefers being in it when visiting other lands…especially when it was heard that they had….quite a few guests.
Looking to his guard of Sentinels, the legendary spearmen of murias that numbered only 20 as a personal guard, the Viscount looks around then. If this place were to come under attack, he would not allow Ludovic to fight alone. Honor would demand it, in his own opinion.
He awaits word then….mostly excited at the prospect of such a battle, but knowing that they do not have the odds in their favor.
EVEN BETTER.
Ice blue eyes watch as Ludovic and he approaches, that same smirk still present on the Imperial's face. Unlike Ludovic he is not accompanied to the meeting spot. Darius inhales as Ludovic arrives and then his eyes go to the pennets of the knights accompanying him. He lets out the breath and lets those icey blue eyes slowly pan over the assembled knights and nobles. "Well. I must admit. You Colonials can almost dress for a war." He sighs and gestures. "Tell me. Which one of you feigns command here?" He looks between Cervantes and Ludovic. "I honestly can't tell which peacock is the bigger fop here."
Hraelfmir was not expecting trouble out on their ride - or well, not fighting trouble. Horses are always a pain in his ass but so far he's been managing all right on their leisurely ride. Until the alarm begins to spread to warn them of an approaching force. The Privateer Captain gives Jasmina a glance and then tries to keep up with Ludovic as their horses are rushed back! So long as he doesn't have to try to fight with the stupid horse, he can hold on and grit his teeth!
The moment they draw up and Ludovic parts from them, Hraelfmir scowls. "You!" The Captain points out one of Ludovic's men, "I be in need of some armor - leather, something!" Too far from his ships - unless he's going to make a run for it. Hraelfmir tries to see if any of Ludovic's men can come up with something he can wear. "Have ye any hand cannons?!" As if he wasn't already wearing two. The Captain dismounts and secures his borrowed horse by the reins. "Stay, beasty. I may have need of ye yet."
The Archduchess draws her horse up short, frowning when she realizes what is going on. A spiel of rather unlady-like swearing is muttered under her breath, hopefully too quiet to be heard by anyone nearby. Thankfully Hraelfmir's yelling, so maybe that'll help with keeping her cursing unnoticed. Glancing once at the Privateer and then the others, Jasmina urges her horse forward, but not before she asides to the sailor, "I am counting on you to protect me," that said hastily as she's not keeping put for more than a few seconds. Sadly, she's not wearing clothing that'd make riding astride possible, but she'll made do despite being forced to ride sidesaddle.
Imogen frowns as she notices the apparent neglect of Hraelfmir's horse while he goes to get armed for a potential battle. Her nature wins over against her hesitance to close in on the scene and she makes her way around to comfort the poor creature with gentle pets and whispered sushing, and maybe the occasional sugar cube. She does however, now being far too close to the scene for her liking, cast uneasy and nervous glances towards the soldiers and their commander, likely trying to gauge how endangered her four legged friend is.
"They don't look like any Qatuanax I've ever seen at least." Ludovic tells the others who accompanied him as they ride out across towards the opposing force. What they do remind him of he.. well.. it makes him wonder if Helena knew something when she told him to be wary of the Imperials. The ride itself is done slowly and purposefully, as much a statement as Darius's flames in its own way. He's armored too of course, as are his men, but he is wearing what he calls his patrol plate and not the full version.
Once the distance has been closed he dismounts, waits for the other nobles of note (including hraelfmir and imogen if they are coming out the front with him) and then walks across the distance towards Darius. He doesn't lack bravery. That much is obvious. His eyes touch upon the burning brand of Darius' sword and he settles his shield onto the ground, leaning against his left leg, before he starts speaking. "I reckon that would be me." He says plainly. "I'm Viscount Ludovic d'Korbina and this." he nods to Cervantes since Darius pointed him out. "Is Viscount Cervantes Arkanin. He holds this line towards the south." Shifting from relatively polite introductions he goes straight to full on bluntness. "What do you want?"
Specifically speaking, Cervantes wears full plate armor of clearly masterful creation. fur around the shoulders and sheathed greatsword on his back. tattered cape flowing from his shoulders, clearly used extensively over the years. He doesn't wear a helmet, but he certainly grins at the fellow who seems to have a rather high opinion of himself. his grin more amused than anything. No fear in his eyes, despite the force that stands before them.
He simply turns his head to Ludovic, then back to the man before him.
Jasmina's statement gets a look from Hraelfmir that looks like 'Oh shit'. He stands there a moment staring at her to see if she's serious, then collects himself. Then he turns his head around to peer at those who have amassed that Ludovic and Cervantes are riding out to speak with. He frowns, "Your Grace, if fighting breaks out… it may be wise to try to get you away, to my ships." Funny how he can speak like a cultured man one moment and a sea rat the next. The Captain doesn't look too happy, taking note of Imogen as she comes up to where he's tied his lent horse.
Imogen is choosing to remain behind the lines. Though she is clearly interested in the discussion going on between ludovic and the group she, by habit, will label the enemy, she does not want to abandon the poor horse to be alone while it's so nervous, and she is not so blinded by her love for horses to think she can take the horse of another noble to ride to the front, she merely does her best to angle the both of them so she might hear and see as much as possible while administering comfort.
"When the fighting breaks out…" Because it is an eventuality, isn't it? "… then you're more than welcome to take me there. But until then, let's wait and see what happens, Captain." Jasmina looks around herself, noticing her men close in behind them, wearing the colors of her house. Oh well. Nothing can be done about that at this point. Sighing, she is quiet, content to see how the proverbial play pans out.
"You are what passed for nobility in the West eh?" Darius says sliding expertly from his saddle. He stabs the glaive into the ground, the mud boiling around the flames on the lightsilver blade which steams and sends a thin stream upward. He snorts derisevly and looks Ludovic up and down, a warrior sizing up another warrior before him. He then does the same to Cervantes. "Viscounts. You Colonials got creative after we left eh?"
Finally Darius takes a deep breath and the smirk returns. "What do I want? I want you to surrender and give your miltary to me as Auxillaries. I want your lands to support my war effort. I want your taxes to fund this war effort. I want you to remember your oaths to the Noble and Ancient Empire and the Emperors of the Vir Sidus Empire and the line of Firebrand and do your duty to destroy these damn Heathens and see them driven before the might of the armies of the One and put their damn fires out."
Ludovic folds his arms across his chest as Darius makes that statement about them getting creative. The rest though, that just gains a half-scoff, half-laugh of shocked disbelief from the man. "Thats it then? You show up, wave a fancy blade around, and believe we'll just roll over and show us your bellies like good dogs?" He shakes his head and moves to pick up his shield. Not in an aggressive fashion but rather in preparation to simply leave. "Can't even start to negotiate given what you've put on the table." he eyes Darius for a moment, trying to pick out his rank or other such insignia. "So no. We wont be surrendering."
Hraelfmir scowls at the Arch Duchess, "I said -if- Your Grace. I don't know who these people are or what they want." His dark eyes watch Ludovic and Cervantes out there, trying to listen to what's going on. That flaming glaive looks to have this Captain concerned. He frowns, gaze to flick back to Jasmina, then back to Ludovic and the imposing stranger addressing them. The soldiers are busy folowing their orders and thus far none have offered Hraelfmir the gear he'd shouted for. He steps closer to Imogen, curious about her perhaps, but most of his attention is upon Ludovic's reply.
Cervantes is on the line here as well, buth e seems to smile at Ludovic approvingly, looking then to the Imperial. "Seems we got more reative than you did." he gives a bit of snark in return to the more pompous Imperial before him. No fear at all for what may happen. "Though I must admit…I respect the boldness." he grins softly then.
Imogen offer a small, if hesitent smile to the noble approaching her, it's obvious she's nervous, but she's far to focused on the conversation upfront to be too absorbed in her anxiety. She switches her attention mainly between the commotion and the horse, assuming the noble only approached out of concern or curiosity for why a strange girl came to be with his horse, a perfectly understandable reason, and so she pays it little thought. "There there, look, even your master is worried and came here to see you himself," she encourages gently, with a soft smile towards Hraelfmir.
Jasmina knows who they are but she doesn't say as such. Not yet. Got to be very careful now even though she was a bit reckless by drawing as close as she did. What she does allow herself to do is cast a glance at Hraelfmir, her shoulders slouching as she listens to the verbal sparring. "I just hope everything will be alright," she whispers to herself. Yes, the Archduchess is worried.
Darius' eyes narrow as Ludovic makes his declaration and Cervantes dismisses him. With those ice blue eyes narrowed he smiles broadly. "My. You are defiant." He gestures wiht his right hand behind him at the well disciplined and ranked men. "You're also stupid and foolish Colonail. This isn't even half of me Legion. At a moment's call, the few men I brought with me will crush your paltry defenses, and drive you into the mud, I will take both Viscounts hostage and gain Two more territories for the Emire's war against the Qatanex." He chuckles. "You're people might think this bravery, but where I am from it is pure stupidity."
He whistles. Long and load. The center of the Prime Cohort opens up and men wearing Ludovic's livery walk out confused. "Here. Let these men, yours I believe … " He pauses searching for the words. "Your … Excellency. They will tell you of the might of my Legion, and the hospitality afforded those who serve under my banner. Your scouts who came into the lands I have claimed I took captive. I didn't kill a one, but they know who we are and what we are bout." He smirks to Cervantes. "Pray. Your Excellency forgive me. None of your brave men have wandered into my Colonia, else I would return them to you as well. Tell me. Who are you again? Arkanin? Is that from the Galenthia Colony? And Arkanin. Sounds like the uneducated Barbarians who dwelled there previously."
Flawlessly he switches to the barbaric tongue of the Eregonian mountains and the frozen wastes. "Should I make my demansds to you in your native tongue, or are you at least partially civilized and speak the common Colonial tongue?"
"It doesn't matter if you can crush my forces." Ludovic tells Darius with a touch more humility. Afterall Darius probably wont even require an full day to destroy the roadfort behind them. "I've duties that can't just be tossed aside because they are convenient." He looks at the soldiers and then back to Darius. "We don't need to fight now though. If you're of a mind to talk then so am I." He takes a deep breath and then asks. "Lets return to the table in an hour? I'd like some time to speak to my men about what you say." and the duchess.
"Wait." Jasmina looks to Ludovic before she does what is about the stupidest thing someone can do, that being moving closer to the Vir Sidus. "I am Archduchess Jasmina al'Mordan. If you want to negotiate with someone, speak to me." The frail looking noble woman draws herself up, trying to give herself the appearance of being a little taller and, hopefully, a bit more hardy as a result.
-NOW- with the man's words, he can't help but chuckle a little bit as he addresses him, his people are threatened then? oh fun. "If my men wandered into your territory and they fought you, they'd likely fight you with their hands and teeth, should their weapons fail them." he grins, noting the spirit of Arkanin. "Cervantes Arkanin, Viscount of Murias, at your service." he bows his head softly in polite greeting.
Though as he calls his people barbarians, he smiles a bit creepily, a clear excitement at the possible oncoming fight. "Clearly we made something of ourselves, I agree. while we did stem from those barbarians as you speak of, we hold great pride in our history. Though of course, a man who thinks rather too highly of himself may say otherwise." he'll defend his people, his smile evident for the bold man before he looks to Ludovic. Approval on his face.
"If we can avoid a fight, I'm all ears. Though if you wish for a scrap, you'll have one." no fear. at all.
Possibly foolish, but Murians are…normally blindly bold.
As he speaks in native barbarian language, he chuckles faintly. Looking amused.
Darius draws his glaive from the boiling mud, the blade somehow clean despite being stuck in the ground and the flame still surrounding the lightsilver there. He locks eyes with Ludovic. "The Princeps of the Empire is a kind man. Honor demands I give you your request, Libertas demands I give you more. You have two hours." He is about to turn and leave when Jasmina makes her announcement.
He smiles to Ludovic. "Clever Viscount. You hide the true prize while puffing your chest, liekly to give her time to flee?" He steps forward and smiles up at Jasmina on her horse. "Archduchess? I believe you Colonials call you, Your Grace?" He pauses to await confirmation then continue. "Do you know my terms Your Grace? Your surrender and folding your military into my Legion as Auxillia? To fund the war effort as all true Imperials should?" He smiles up at Jasmina. His eyes narrow only slightly, and in a different way. "Your Grace? Do you … Like wine?"
Oh boy. Hraelfmir is caught a little by surprise as Jasmina urges her horse forward and raises her voice! He gives Imogen a quick glance once more, having no idea who she might be and inclines his head in a quick, polite nod before he grabs his horse's reins. The animal sidles around and gives the Captain some annoyance, "Stand still, or I'll we'll be eating horse steaks tonight!" He jerks on the reins to make it stop, manages to keep it still for second long enough to get his foot in the stirrup and get his ass back in the saddle. Scowling, Hraelf circles the mare and follows the Archduchess to try and catch back up. That whole flaming glaive and the heated, steaming mud is freaky. Certainly the Captain's horse doesn't like it and rolls her eyes, and tries to shy off. Hraelfmir manages to make her stay put, now off the flank of Jasmina's horse. His own dark eyes are for Darius, studying the man.
Cervantes sees Jasmina step up and, while he doesn't show it, he almost looks deeply concerned, especially when Darius begins to show ulterior motives. He remains silent for now, but he takes a deep breath. As if wondering what Jasmina will say.
"I generally like tea," Jasmina answers Darius, looking at him from out of the corner of her eye and from her perch upon her horse, "But I have been known to partake in a glass of honey wine from time to time." The Archduchess' lower lip is chewed upon as she regards her next action carefully, this being the first time since the exchange began that she hasn't acted impulsively. "If I were to share a glass of wine with you would you stop this nonsense?" Okay. Maybe she's not done being impulsive entirely, despite how she's certain this will put the men she is with into fits.
"Your Grace." Ludovic's words demonstrate distress at Jasmina's approach. "They may be Qatunax allies. We should not" He lets his words fall off as the futility of that statement settles in. Well its all to late now. Instead he re-plants his shield and returns to that arms-folded, feet-planted stance that he held at the start. The way his eyes move and the choice of his stance both designed to enable him to respond to trouble at its first appearance. Darius' smile and praise at his half-plan to conceal the duchess makes him shrug his shoulders and look almost embarrassed. "To show good faith." He says cautiously, gambling that his words wont make things change. "I would like to invite the archduchess and a delegation from your own force, Princeps Darius, to discuss matters in the comfort of Daemon's Hall."
Darius blinks. Blinks again. And then stabs the Glaive into mud once more and laughs a deep and full bellied laugh that actually reaches his eyes. He laughs for a good long minute and and then turns to his horse where he hangs his shield off a hook on the saddle. Moving to the saddlebag he takes out a bottle of red wine and two glasses, pulling the cork with his teeth and then pouring them. He walks back to Jasmina and hands up a glass. "Ricoshan Red. From a vineyard near my home of Asterrea before it was razed. There are perhaps, a thousand of these bottles left in all the world, and it is my very favorite wine. Red and deep, and quite full of flavor."
He removes sets the bottle down at his feet, and then removes a ring from around his neck that is tied on a leather cord. "I will do you one better Viscount d'Korbina." He hands the leather cord and ring to Jasmina. "If, by the time of this little meeting, you can remember your roots and tell me what the gift of this ring on this cord means from a Princeps of the Empire, then I will not only withdraw from yoru lands, I will stand as your ally against the savages and even come to your aid if you ask." He winks playfully. "But only if you ask nicely." He steps back and sips the wine. "Do you accept this little game Your Grace al'Mordran?"
Jasmina takes the glass and drinks from it, not waiting for anyone to try and taste it for her. This isn't a time to show mistrust, after all. "A very lovely drink, Princep." An other drink, this one a longer one, empties the drinking vessel which is then offered back to Darius. "A fine drink and an even finer honor. I thank you for it." Blinking herself, now, she turns her attention away from the Vir Sidus and looks to her friend, her brows furrowed now. "If the Viscount finds such terms to be agreeable than so shall I." And if Ludovic doesn't find them to be agreeable? Let's just hope he'll go along with it as she doesn't want to risk angering anyone.
Now his horse is calmer, Hraelfmir watches Darius closely. He's leaving the talking to the nobility, thus far. Wine or no wine, he eyes those who have ridden forth with the Imperial-whatever-he-is.
Cervantes remains silent, watching the proceedsings. But it's almost as if he suspects something will go horribly wrong in the near future. He clenches his fist lightly, as if prepared for any sort of trickery that may occur.
"Uh." Ludovic glances to the necklace and its ring and then back to Jasmina and then back to Darius again. "It is a symbol of esteem." he says without any great certainty behind his words. "I don't need to go and research it." Although it is possible he does. To reinforce that fact he says, in the imperial language. "None of us have forgotten our roots. Nor the fact that the Empire abandoned these lands." Ludovic probably has a terrible accent.
"You are wrong Viscount. It means more than respect." Darius says with a smirk. "Don't worry. I won't hold that guess against you. It means something specific from a Princeps in the Legions." He sips his wine again. "Two hours." He then turns, grabs that Glaive again and is once more in his saddle. "The Legion will remain here. For two hours. Have your answer by then." He turns his horse and moves back toward his lines. "And try the Wine Viscounts. You might learn some civility." The last spoken in the Imperial tongue.
"You are wrong Viscount. It means more than respect." Darius says with a smirk. "Don't worry. I won't hold that guess against you. It means something specific from a Princeps in the Legions." He sips his wine again. "Two hours." He then turns, grabs that Glaive again and is once more in his saddle. "The Legion will remain here. For two hours. Have your answer by then." He turns his horse and moves back toward his lines. "And try the Wine Viscounts. You might learn some civility." The last spoken in the Imperial tongue.
The bottle of Ricoshen Red sits there. Waiting to be drunk.
Hraelfmir decides to chime in his two cents once the Imperial turns and rides off, "This is why being a noble is over rated. You get stuck being responsible for all these people and land." But hey, there's wine. The Captain dismounts his stupid horse and holds the reins while he bends to scoop up the wine bottle before it's knocked over in the mud. "So what now?"
Is that a smile? Oh, yes. There's a smile upon Jasmina's face, it the fault of Hraelfmir. "It isn't so bad, Captain. Now… shhh." Winking at him, she tugs on the reins of her steed, causing him to wheel around slowly. "Two hours, then. Let us be off so the Viscount can look into that information for you." Cervantes and Ludovic are nodded to, then.
Cervantes then looks to Darius, humming softly at the fellow. Either way, he turns to Jasmina, giving her one of those looks that meant she made him worry and extreme amount. "My lady…try not to act so brash in the future.." he whispers to his friend softly, before he looks to Hraelfmir. "Alright…two hours. Let's not waste our time." he nods to all present, looking at Ludovic specifically.
Ludovic looks back at the archduchess and companions, commands his men "Set up a field camp for the Archduchess" and then strides off to greet his returned soldiers. It only takes a couple of minutes during which he is shaking hands and in one case giving them a brief one-armed hug. A few soft words and they head off into the roadfort to rest and recover whilst the Viscount comes back to the group. First he bends to pick up the bottle should nobody else have done so, and then he softly whistles for his warhorse before gathering the buckskins reins and handing them across to Imogen "I put Sandstorm in your care Lady Imogen. If it comes to a fight I will be on foot and he likes you."
Moving back towards the main group once everything has settled enough they can talk in relative privacy, and aware that everyone seems to be looking at him, he says. "I don't know the answer to his question. My lessons in imperial etiquette were as minimal as you'd expect. Do you know the answer Your Grace? It must be quite obscure if he is willing to offer that much." He considers a moment and then checks. "It wasnt a marriage proposal was it?"
Imogen curtseys politely as she is handed the horse, offering a warm smile and pet for the creature as she often does, but so far remaining quiet. She's far too aware of her own lack of intelligence to dare contribute. But since no one admits they're dumb, she just does her best to look busy and occupied with the horse as those around her debate on the meaning of the object.
The wine is smelled and then tasted, right out of the bottle. Who needs a glass? Hmmm, not bad. Hraelf wipes his mouth, his horse's reins held in his other hand as Ludovic gives his orders. "Heck, maybe the ring is a token that offers an alliance through marriage. Maybe he just proposed to you, Your Grace." Then in a lower voice he adds to himself, "Desn't mean there wouldn't still be a fight. Husbands and wives fight worse than anybody." Hense why he's not married. The delay to set up a camp is time enough for Hraelfmir to find someone to send back to his ship with word to send some of his own armed crew - and for one of them to bring his gear. Once a table gets set up in the pavillion, the wine bottle is set upon it. There you go. With a daisy plucked and dropped into the mouth of it.
Jasmina shakes her head. "I have no idea, Dovi," choosing to call him by a shortened form of his name. The topic of proposal is not talked about by her. Nope. She doesn't want to think about it. Or at least she doesn't want to at first, but then it gets brought up again, this time by the Privateer, and she groans. "Perhaps he did," she grumbles, suddenly wishing for a second glass of the wine. "We will use that as… as one of the guesses, I suppose." Looking at Cervantes, now, she asks quietly, "Please tell me you have a better idea."
Myrana rides up to the others on her speckled grey charger, LATE. Her white braid bounces behind her and her brilliant red wrapped cloak shifting and flapping. Out of breath, she shakes the bangs out of her face, earrings clashing and the pendant she wears jingling to a halt.
"What's happened?" She gasps, and puts a hand to her middle. "Ahy, god-in-heaven."
On Ludovic's side there is a small roadfort with a decent sized garrison and a bunch of cavalry near enough that they can make any sieging complicated. Its probably a good 300 troops by now with half of them, or maybe more, cavalry. Unfortunately the other guy, those shiny legionnaires over there, must number 2000. There is a command camp with Jasmina, Ludovic and Cervantes' colours flying and that is where Myrana can find the group. They are debating something. It seems there is something they need to answer and they dont quite know where to start. Something about a ring and a princeps.
Imogen glances up and outright winces when she sees who's arrived. She has nothing against the Duchess, she just dislikes all the high ranking nobles. She came here for horses and viscounts, anything more than that just puts her out of her comfort zone. Still, she's the one available when the girl approaches, and she does her best to fill her in. "The short of it is we have two hours to solve an imperial riddle, or we have to fight all those men over there Your Grace," she explains with a small smirk at the ridiculousness of it all, absently petting the horse left in her charge as she does so.
Cervantes looks at Jasmina then, looking her right into the eyes. "I know very little about Vir Sidus." he tells her then. "But…I can probably make an educated guess, but It's likely the farthest thing from an answer and should be taken like a grain salt." he advises her, whispering to her softly, though he does reach to pat her hand softly as if to comfort. "Fear not, we will reach the right answer. I believe it."
"We have other options." Ludovic says in response to what Imogen says. "We could surrender." He looks to Jasmina as he says this, looking for her response to that. "You can all withdraw and leave me to find a harrying action whilst the Archduchess calls the banners. We could challenge him to a duel that speaks for all the soldiers. He seems reasonably honorable." He seems to remember something halfway through that and waves one of his men over. "There is no point fighting to hold him on this ground. It is too well suited to the legionnaires." He looks meaningfully at Myrana. "He is also a fire sorcerer of some skill."
Jasmina looks at Imogen, the words from whom gets her to wince. "Yes." Closing her eyes, the Archduchess is very obviously trying to think. Trying very hard to think, they fly open again with a gasp sounding from her. "Oh… no." Yes, she's going pale, and if her eyes were to go any wider her eyebrows would disappear into her hairline. "That's exactly what it is a case of, gentlemen. It is a proposal. If I wear the ring, I'm married to him. If I refuse, that is signified by my wrapping the cord around my wrist before returning it to him." And if she refuses, it will almost certainly mean war. Shocked and shaken, she has yet to notice Myrana's arrival.
Jasmina adds, "The 'wedding' will not be offical until the Pricep's time in the legion, of course, but we will still be 'wed' unofficially until then."
Cervantes then looks to Jasmina, clearly enflamed by a certain kind of rage. "The gall of this man astounds me." he looks to Ludovic. "Ludovic…allow me to challenge him to honorable combat. Or serve to by us time. If you allow me your fastest messenger, I can call Murias to arms…but we'd have to hold."
Myrana gives Imogen a very frank look, relief. "Thank you, lady," she says, quietly, and takes a moment to take in the faces of everyone there. Ludovic's gaze catches hers easily, however, and what he says stiffens the line of her shoulders and prickles her skin with goosebumps. "He's a-"
But Jasmina's words stop her dead. "God! What?! Riddles are no way to negotiate political marriages! The- What?!"
Myrana says, "What was the riddle?!"
Hraelfmir hangs out on the peripheral as he watches the others and listens, not being a noble. He has managed to snag one of the several cups that were being set out on the table as the pavillion is seen to. There is a raised brow at Jasmina confirming his outrageous guess! "I suppose, you could do much worse than to bind this man and his forces into an alliance against the Qatuanax." Not that any of them asked his opinion. The Captain pours some of the wine into his appropriated cup. It shouldn't go to waste, so he's seeing to it. A nod is offered to Myrana as the Duchess has arrived.
"The riddle," Jasmina half-whispers to Myrana, "is what does a Pricep's ring signify." If there's anything that gives Jasmina a headache it's holding back tears and by god she has a hell of one coming on thanks to how she is having to put on such a brave face. "I need time to decide what's right for my people. I can't just abandon them. Nor the royal family, or…" Suddering, she finds it impossible to keep her emotions at bay and she soon has a tear rolling down her cheek.
"But what does marriage to him even mean." Ludovic asks. "What if it turns us into a vassal of the empire just as he wants anyway?" He sinks into a chair. "The man didnt say anything about you having to accept Your Grace. He just said that if I could remember my roots and tell him what the gift meant he would do it. I don't know if that was a mistake or another test or what." He looks at Jasmina again. "You dont have to make such a rash promise Your Grace. Even if you say no today you will no doubt be able to say yes tomorrow." He frowns hard. "What if the part about the roots matters too?" To Cervantes he shakes his head slightly. "If anyone duels him it will be me. This is my land. And I wish no offense to you and yours Viscount but my men are better at harrying actions than yours."
"If this is not a case of us reading too much into the Pricep's riddle and it is a proposal, if I do marry him then my house becomes friends of the Empire. And the enemies of my house would become his as well." Rolling her eyes, the Archduches starts to slide out of the saddle which has become uncomfortable to sit upon. "Captain Hraelfmir, could you please help me down?"
Myrana dismounts at once, throwing one leg up with a flash of heel and ruffles and an outraged, throaty growl before sliding down and crashing both boots down on the ground with a STOMP and a crackle. Did she land on some leaves or something? Maybe. It's a fast thing though and the crackle of static is lost in the chuff of horses. Stepping sharply away from her horse, she goes to look up at Jasmina. "Jasmina, I swear before God, you won't be blackmailed. You're right. And you're faced with a stupid! Shitty! Bullshit piece of history!"
She is furious. "These foriegners are so obsessed with bloodlines, but they won't give a woman the dignity of fucking recognition? FUCK THAT." She points towards where the Vir Sidus are. "Two hours is blackmail, and Darius can-" She pauses, and turns around to yell directly at Ludovic for some reason: "To SPEAK of Hegemony as an excercise in m-mastubatory irrelevance!" before turning right back towards Jasmina, controlling her voice now a little better and TRYING to controll her temper: "Darius the however-the-many-th! Is welcome to fight me, and we'll just see how high blood and low blood really match the hell up! So whatever- agree to it if you want, Jasmina. It is not a terrible offer, I suppose, politically. But it is RUDE."
The Privateer twists his mouth wryly, "He did say 'If you can remember your roots and tell me what the gift of this ring on this cord means from a Princeps of the Empire… and if you could, then he would withdraw from your lands, and stand as your ally against the 'savages'. He /didn't/ actually say you had to abide by it's meaning, just guess it correctly." Hraelfmir pours more wine into the cup and steps up to offer the cup to Jasmina. "It doesn't mean he'll abide by his word, but it's worth a try Your Grace."
Of course he'll offer Jasmina a hand to assist her down from her horse.
Cervantes looks directly at Ludovic, clearly still quite angry, he eventually sits down. "I'd challenge you on harrying actions, but we don't have the time." he says then to the Viscount. "I take no offense. These are your lands and yours alone." he tells Ludovic then, surrendering, but keeping near Jasmina.
Imogen can't help but cover her mouth and snort at the duchess's outburst, but it is not as though she disagrees. It is quite rude if the foreigner is trying to force a proposal, and on an Archduchess no less. But it's clearly eased her nerves, and she goes to attend to Myrana's abandoned, and likely startled, poor horse, offering it some consoling pets and nuzzles at it's sudden abandonment.
Ludovic winces a little as Myrana yells at him of all people. "Myrana." He moves to his feet and across towards her enough that he can put a hopefully settling hand on the duchesses shoulder. "We'll find a solution." He frowns and looks back at Jasmina. "It might be possible" He sounds like he thinks this is going to get him yelled at but continues anyway. "To get a legal betrothal between you and someone that simply means you are incapable of legally accepting the offer. You've negotiated with my house before. It's not that outlandish." He gives Cervantes a slightly subdued grin. "You know its true Cervantes. My men are better at harrying. Your men are better at holding."
Jasmina does not so much as flinch upon hearing Myrana's swearing, the Archduchess used to such language thanks to having to interact with all sorts of colorful people. One of those colorful people is helping her out of her saddle, and Hraelfmir hand's given a fond squeeze as she finds her feet on the ground after a few seconds of careful maneuvering. "Well. I could use a drink before we have to meet with him again. Does anyone have any tea, by chance?"
-Nobody- is listening to him. Hraelfmir eyes Ludovic and then eyes them all, "Are ALL OF YOU deaf between the ears?" He waits to see if he gets their attention or if they'll keep /yelling/ at each other.
Jasmina now does startle and she almost stumbles, bumping against Hraelfmir. Oh. Wine? She'll accept that. "Thank you, dear," she whispers into his ear before taking it and drinking it, only barely remembering to be a lady about the speed in which she partakes in it.
"I heard you Hraelfmir." Ludovic tells the argumentative captain. "But the Archduchess has to decide. All I can do is give her options." He looks back at Jasmina, speaking bluntly. "Your Grace. Please do not allow yourself to be forced into accepting a proposal. The man would not offer you an option if he did not stand to win from it. Now sure, maybe, we wont mind the cost but you've gotta at least know what it is first. Please just take Hraelfmir's offer and return to Rhone. You'll have options then and if its right that he just needs an answer to what it means then we'll not need you to risk yourself anyway."
The air just around Myrana, as Ludovic might sense by the way the hair on his hand on up to his elbow stands up at once. It is more than enough of a warning for most people, as some instinct is likely to give him pause.
Still, she steps aside nervously as she senses something about to touch her, and flashes an alarmed look up at him, dark blue eyes pleading. It's a jerk reaction, and between two sorcerers not likely to be mistaken for anything other than a 'please be careful' knee-jerk startlement. But it serves to sober her, and she takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself by bowing her head with furrowed brows, lacing her fingers anxiously together.
It seems that Myrana outrode most of her escort, led by her doughty knight, Ser Betram of Harcourt. He and his lance are not very good riders, unlike the d'Armaz, nor are their horses particularly good. Bertram's got a polearm fixed on his saddle and a shield on his back, with a bunch of heavy looking saddlebags. The rest of the lance consists of his squire (nephew) carrying even more heavy bags, and two crossbowmen… you guessed it, with even more. Their horses foam at the mouth in the cold early spring air, and look near to blown. "M'lady… blooodyy…" He's huffing and puffing as if he just ran a race. Probably holding onto the horses as they rode was hard enough.
Darius rides forward at the end of the two hours. He dismounts, but his Glaive is not ignited anymore. His ice blue eyes scan the assembled nobles and he gives that smirk once more. "Well." He looks to Jasmina. "Do you remember your roots and the meaning?" He asks standing in his armor holding his shield and glaive with a deadly casual appearance.
Cervantes look then to Hraelfmir. "I can hear you just fine." he says then, looking at Jasmina. "I would suggest that you answer what that trinket of his means, but if he offers it to you, don't take it." he says to her then. Clearly uncomfortable with her accepting a proposal either based on politics or what have you. "If he offers it to you with demanding, then deny him…" he says then, before Darius returns, his arms crossed as he watches the fellow closely.
Over the course of the two hours, Hraelfmir will have polished off that bottle of wine. Once they have stopped yelling, he can relax. A few of his men from one of his ships arrive and the Captain gets his boiled leather on over his riding clothes - as well as a third hand cannon, should things go amiss. He keeps the four armed sailers near to hand rather than dismissing them when Darius rides back up to hear their answer. The Commoner Captain hangs back a little to watch, positioning himself where he might get a good shot at the Imperial leader if things get ugly.
"I remember but I believe you asked the Viscount the question. He should answer, yes?" Jasmina's treading very, very carefully here, not wanting to make any mistakes, and missteps that could very easily result in bloodshed. "If you'd rather I answer though, I am ready." Everyone else is melting into the background, their voices becoming buzzes in her ears, their presences something she's only barely aware of.
Myrana stands rather than sits ahorse when the two hours are up and Darius rides up to recieve Jasmina's response. Her dark blue eyes are hard and considering on him, almost pitch beneath the cloud white of her hair. Her hands rest on the thick plait of it, which she's pulled forward over one shoulder atop her cloak to settle her fingers on against the cold; the gloves she'd been wearing earlier are quite absent, as they didn't survive too well. That glovemaker must be rolling in dough.
But she isn't in the forefront, not really. She keeps her distance from the Vir Sidian, wary but resolute. For the moment, she simply seems to be studying him, his clothes, his armor, his profile.
Darius chuckles lightly. "Sure. Viscount d'Korbina. Give me your answer. Do you remember your roots?" His eyes blaze with an internal fire. Their Ice Blue stare almost disconcerting with that shock of bright blonde hair. "But do me a favor if it is to be war? At least make it sporting for me." He smirks again.
Ludovic doesnt touch Myrana in the end, deciding better of it.
When Jasmina says that he should answer he glances across to the archduchess. He's not particularly pleased to have that responsibility but he forges ahead anyway. "The gift is in essence an offer of betrothal or at least a delayed marriage which is about the same thing. When you give the ring like that you are asking her if she will agree to be your wife once you have finished your term of service and should she agree by wearing the ring then you're both bound by it. If she refuses she should wrap the cord about her wrist and then return it."
Daken remains completely silent, not saying a single word. Though he watches Darius to even see if he's actually a man of his word. Either way, he has the advantage and the bastard knows it. Cervantes lets Ludovic and Jasmina do the talking, watching onward as if to see what will happen.
Bertram is not going to trust the horse to do anymore. He signals for his lance to get off of their horses and does so himself, his squire taking the balance of reins in his hands and the other three walking to stand by Myrana. "M'lady, what in the bleeding hells? Is that?"
Darius nods once to Ludovic. "Yes. You are correct." He holds his Glaive up and wills fire through it once again. There is a bright flash of light off the lightsilver blade as fire engulfs the blade. With that signal the Legion turns and begins to march away. "A Princeps never lies Your Excellency. My Legion stands ready to assist you. I have occupied the lands you once called d'Mollari in the city of Paras. I believe you use birds called Moongazers. Send for me should you need aid or have a plan." He then turns and looks Jasmina. "Your Grace." He says softly. "I leave the ring with you. When next we meet, I will require an answer from you." He bows his head. Solemly. "May the One watch you until then."
He then mounts his horse. "Any other questions Colonials or are we finished here?"
Jasmina clutches the ring in her hand, looking at Darius instead of it. It's as if she is too scared to glance down. "Until then…" And in the tongue of the Vir Sidus, she adds, "May The One Watch over you as ell."
Ludovic is not entirely sure what to make of Darius' agreement. He wants to ask a few questions too, questions that might get him growled at, and his indecision in that asking shows in his face and body language. He does however manage not to say anything. Instead he gives a steady nod and asks some questions with less potential for inflamation. "Have you cleared the entire darkstone valley?" he asks first. "If the front line has moved I would like to move my line forward and if we are to cooperate we should talk in far more detail than that offered by a moongazer. Are you willing to allow us to visit your camp?"
Cervantes looks around then, finally speaking after his uncharacteristic silence, nodding softly then to Ludovic. He moves up to ride side by side with Jasmina then, looking at her as if to quietly ask her if she was alright. Before his eyes are forward, looking right at Darius as he honored his word….though he was still upset that he had the gall to ask a newly-met woman to marry him. Clearly a move to claim territory without sacrificing Imperial lives.
"My the one watch over you." he mutters softly under his breath.
"All right then." Hraelfmir gestures to his men, "Back to the ship with ye. Keep a sharp watch." He goes over to untie the reins of the horse he was lent to ride that morning and then looks to the others. Particularly Ludovic and the Archduchess, though Dovi seems still to be engaged. So to Jasmina he says, "I'm heading back to the city, Your Grace, and to my ships. My crews will be roused and in need of a few quiet words. If I am wanted or required, ye know where to find me." An inclination of his dark head to Myrana but with her having been positively crackling earlier, Hraelfmir will keep his distance, tyvm. The Captain mounts the horse and turns it to head back.
"I will get in touch with you soon, Captain, as I am certain I'll be needing of your services." Jasmina, back in the saddle after a moment's effort, begins the ride back. A look is given to everyone else, starting with the ladies and ending with Cervantes and Ludovic, too tired and too mentally exhausted to think.
Myrana's gaze scours Darius, taking in his features openly but through half-lidded eyes. Though the young D'Armaz's temper is rightly infamous, once she's cooled down Myrana is no fool. She merely studies the man but remains politely silent, even if her body-language is hackled beneath her Aequoran chill bearing.
When she's fairly certain he's out of earshot, she growls under her breath: "He's one eye ahead and short of the total bastardry I expected, but still…"
Imogen now horseless, just seems to watch the insanity. Eyes flickering from one person to another as she takes in the scene quietly. It's something to be sure, and no matter the result things will likely never be the same. But it's also not her kingdom and so she doesn't feel very inclined to comment either for or against it, just doing her job and observing the situation as always. With a gentle smile she steps forward towards myrana. "Your grace? I uh….would you like to go get a drink, you look like you could use a breather," she offers, as gently and politely as possible given the situation.
Bertram turns to Myrana, huffing a bit to himself. He's happy to be a subordinate, but hates being ignored. "Hmmf. Just who in the One's eye is that? And what the hell just happened, Lady d'Armaz?" He fixes her with a gaze. It's one of his unhappy ones. Maybe he's just puffing.
Myrana turns around towards Bertram, and looks up at Imogen as she approaches with a wry, very wry smile. "I have a measure of our black gin in my encampment. Come with me, you two, if you like." She pauses, and looks towart the others, mood more somber and tight-jawed. This has not been a good day, but not so bad as it could have been. She has a lot to process, and her mood is darkening rapidly. "That goes for any that would like the hospitality of Armaz' camp."
"I'll uh… I'll hold guard. With these louts, m'lady." Bertram jerks a finger to the two crossbowmen, who both grin with raw amusement. Not the best of men, these two, but they both look competent at least. "We'll go set everything up there, at the encampment. But not riding." Sir Bertram bows to Myrana and the other nobles, motions and heads back on foot - albeit very quickly - with his squire jogging to keep up, four horse reins in hands, and the crossbowmen cursing his name.
Myrana smirks at Bertram as if to say: chicken! but nods to him with a polite 'thank you' before turning to go. There's food there, and more cloaks and furs to sit under.
"Stay a moment please Imogen, Cervantes." Ludovic says as he hears them setting up to leave. "I would like to talk to you both."