Lucilia Tinath
City of Hials near an Inn

That made sense. Royal family. That's why she vaguely remembered seeing her; some time ago there was a marriage held between the royal family of Rynir and Patricia. Lucilia wasn't there for it, but she's heard names, seen faces. Though she wasn't one for gossip, others could not say the same as word and images of her soon spread amongst the ranks. And so did the tales of her fallen husband and child, and her harsh treatment of soldiers under her watch.

Now Lucilia was in a bit of predicament. First, she was of royalty and should be treated as such. Another problem that was beginning to arise was that she was dealing with, as what some of the soldiers called her, "The Terror of Rynir", among other not so nice sobriquets. Plus the woman just offered to buy Lucilia's silence, which she wasn't sure how to react. Take bribes were against the code of honor for the guards, but it's not like Melisa had done anything wrong. She has been honest with Lucilia, so the guard felt that the honor should be returned.

"That won't be necessary, madam. My original concern was simply that you were, if I may speak so bluntly.... Gloriosus, and you may have attracted dangerous attention what with your appearance and personality. But now that I know who you are, my concerns have been heavily misplaced. Many of us in the Legion knows very well of your prowess in battle and the powers you command. If you still desire the business of an Inn, I can show you a place more suited for your station. But if I may suggest, I would be honored to host you at my family's home." Lucilia even got off her horse, just so she could give Melisa and proper bow. She'd even let her ride Benedictus, though Lucilia would need to hold the reigns as her horse often doesn't let anyone but her and those accompanying her to ride.

Melisa Rynir - Near an Inn - Hials

When the woman bowed to her, a shiver went through her body as a reminder she needed to get somewhere warm. Nodding to her, she felt it wasent necessairy to do so, but at least the woman had respect. It was something that many of her soldier lacked...that is until she forced it upon them. How nice the woman was to offer a stay at her home as well....for once, Melisa didn't feel she needed to be cold towards her but, it was not like her bitterness was something she could turn off. Though she was hopeful her appreciation would be seen through the harsh tone. "I thank you for your words, and...so long the trip isn't too far, I will accept your invitation to your home. " It confused Melisa a bit as she wondered why the woman would offer such hospitality. She had never demanded 'royal attention' or whatever people called it. She just wanted respect, and she had been given that much by her so far. If only everyone were like this one.

Already she could hear the pompous laughter of men from inside the Inn who clearly had too much to drink. She wanted to barge in there and scream at them for polluting her ears with such a noise. Hmph. They must have no respect for themselves...cleary. How can anyone be taken seriously if they dont stand tall and present themselves at their best at all times? The fools... this is why we leave them here at the bottom...and those who act and demand to be kings and queens, become them.

"With the rats you'll all stay less you change your attitudes..." she mumbled bitterly. A wind basted her then and blew her hood off. With a squeal that sounded much like one that would come from a child she yelled suddenly. "WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE ME SOMEWHERE OUT OF THIS COLD!?" to be honest, she no longer cared where they went, she just wanted to be inside. She stepped over to the woman and kind of slouched behind her in a childish attempt to escape the wind's wrath. "I'm not suited to stand this kind of weather. I cannot wait to return to my warm place in Aledel."

Lucilia Tinath
City of Hials near an Inn

"But of course, Madam. Benedictus, march!"

Though Lucilia's family home was a bit ways out, they at least managed to arrive before heavy winds blew more snow onto the both of them. Warm as her armor was, she didn't want to get caught in a blizzard herself. Her family had the great fortune of owning not only a large plot of land for their serfs to work (Her father turned it into a vineyard), but also a home in the city were her mother conducts business with her herbalism. It was a large estate in the Noble Districts, her home being at least three stories tall with a stable for her horses (Her family owned three including Benedictus) and doors made of solid oak. As the wind kicked up, Lucilia lead Melisa into a stable door next tot heir home. Inside was much warmer than out, so much to the point that just after a few minutes inside, Lucilia was getting a bit hot. After Melisa was off Benedictus, Lucilia removed his saddle, reigns, and brindle. She'd return to give him some oats and water, but for now she needed to tend to her guest. Carefully moving Carnifex through the stable Lucilia reached a door. "If you'll follow me, my mother and sister should be home, and my father as well if he did not already leave to visits friends."

Soon enough Lucilia led Melisa to their common room. A large homely den, with stone floors and wooden furniture. Furs and other exotic cushions were laid out on their couches and chairs, with a low table where one may place their drinks and such on. A few feet away from the table was a stone fireplace, and from the wood burning in it someone was home. "Mother, I'm back. And I have a guest as well." From another room that was the apothecary came a tall dark haired woman, dressed in fine clothing and accessories. Exquisite, if eccentric, clothing worn while also working with various plants and matters for the purpose of brewing curatives. This would be Lucilia's mother, Olivia. "My my, a guest? Well, do come in. Good timing, your sister had just made some stew for us. Too much for her and myself, but now we have someone we can share it with."

In another room adjacent to the common room was the kitchen area was Lucilia's little sister Noelle. Only fifteen years old, but a better woman than Lucilia when it came to home skills and the family business. At least if the business didn't involve war. Hearing that her elder sister and a guest had arrived, she walked into the common room carrying two bowls of vegetables soup, made of cabbage, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, and garnished with some herbs and leeks. She even brought out two cups and two Tankards; one filled with water, another filled with Herb Ale. She made it herself. Noelle silently bowed her head towards Lucilia and Melisa before returning to the Apothecary.

"Come on in, Madam. The fire is still warm and my sister had the intuition to have something ready for the both of us. Oh, and forgive me... I have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Lucilia of House Tinath. It is an honor to have you at my humble abode." Lucilia led Melisa to the common room as she removed her own helmet, armor, and weapons, hanging them on a rack specifically for them. Lucilia's mother took a seat as well, wanting to get acquainted with her daughters guest. She had hoped that Lucilia brought in a man, possibly a suitor, but she hid her slight disappointment.

Girvus Rynir,
Head of the Rynirs and governor of Awom

Walking through the halls of the castle in the fortress of Hials, the old man was frequently greeted by the other inhabitants. Each showed the old man the required respect. It always amused Girvus when he thought about it. He wouldn't likely get the respect from many if they would know how he had worked his way up. Most would likely feel some disgust for him, feeling fear or trying to avoid him. But he didn't care for the small fries. They were nothing to him, in his opinion. They were pawns to be used whenever he would feel the need to use them. Or when he would want to have some amusement.

Continue to walk in a relaxed manner around the halls, that were dark and cold in this time of the year, Girvus was heading to a meeting with some important people of the province. Mostly those who kept an eye on the settlements and forts in the province. People all loyal to him, under his thumb. Though Girvus was thinking on how he could extend his control. The stirring rumours could either become a nuisance or a trouble. He started to hope that his letters to both Valfunde Perar and Calais Cousland. From neither had he heard anything and just figured that it would take a bit of time before he would. Else he would need to make sure that his commands would be delivered, properly.

Calais Cousland
Deliar

Calais’ eyes slowly opened a notch as they began to adjust to the light. He saw a figure standing in an open door but his eyes were not adjusted enough to make out any features. He let his heavy eye lids fall back down for a moment and softly groaned against the groggy feeling he had due to being asleep for so long. “Awake then are we? How are you doing young Calais?” came the voice of an older woman, one who Calais recognised to be Wilson’s wife.

“Feel like I’ve been through a barrel of ale. How long have I been out?” he murmured as he got himself upright in the cot.

“A good while by the sounds of it; its gone midday and Wilson says you’ve been out since late last night.” Victoria replied handing Calais some water, “They were worried for you and brought you back on a fisherman’s cart. You came to consciousness a couple of times and were given water, but soon drifted back into slumber. Wilson said it was probably less to do with the wound and more to do with exhaustion… the wound probably just finished you off as it were.”

Calais wasn’t convinced at first but as he thought back to the events of the last couple of days he realised he had only had a few hours sleep and he knew the cold weather could take its toll. He then quickly began examining his wound. It didn’t look pretty but had clearly been cleaned and treated whilst he slept. “Thank you for treating me Victoria. Where is Wilson now?” he asked with a smile.

“He left not long after dropping you off here. Went to take the fisherman’s cart back and deal with the aftermath of your skirmish. Won’t be back anytime soon I doubt, he said he’ll be dealing with Baldrick too…” she said with an apologetic tone. “You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need though.”

“Thank you Victoria, but I shan’t burden you.” Calais replied instantly knowing better than to stay alone with another man’s wife, innocent as it may be; others might gossip and jealousies might be ignited. “Although I would be thankful if you could direct me towards a good place to get some ale” he joked light heartedly.

“Ah, you’ll be looking for the Buckle then! Head towards the stables, where you’ll find your horse, then follow the road inwards, if by chance you miss it I’m sure someone can give you later directions.” With that she pulled his belongings out from beneath the cot and carried on about her business. Calais quickly dressed himself in the dark tunic and hooded cape that he kept in his saddlebag, deciding that the rangers cloak was likely to draw too much attention at a local pub. He shoved his damaged cuirass in there too before putting it on and heading out.

Patricia Rynir
Optio in the 16th Legion.

It was getting dark. Most men would be sleeping in the barracks. And they likely thought they had deserved it. After a day of training and being ordered to drill, they were tired and spent. Most of them grumbled as they would walk in groups towards the barracks. Looking with her hands at her back how the soldiers of that were under her command were moving away from the training field, Patricia had a stern expression on her face. The tesseari under her command had been likely wondering why she had only been training three of the five units under her command. Turning around, Patricia gained a smirk on her face.

Moving to the barracks of the optio, that had more luxury but still wouldn't be that luxurious, Patricia thought about what she would arrange soon. The unit that she hadn't ordered to train would soon gain the command to patrol. There was an area that seemed to be troubled by some bandits. She would send two units of her towards the location. Of course she would need the centurion to agree with her, but she could convince the man of doing that. Besides, she would need to ride with the soldiers. So far she was respected as the optio, but many would see her as an inexperienced young brat. A rich spoiled noble brat that thought she could lead them already into battle. Patrica wasn't that naive. She had to win their respect and with drilling them that wouldn't be something she could achieve. Though she wouldn't do it neither with being soft. The Legion had no place for soft hearted fools. Those were the first ones to die. Next with the courageous morons that blindly charged into battle.

But for now she would sleep. Tomorrow she would rally the two units. Then she would head out and see if she could instill some respect with her troops.

Calais Cousland
Deliar

Calais trudged through the streets of Deliar, grimacing as he made his way onto one of the main streets and found that the snow there had been reduced to a deep slippery sludge. He managed to follow the directions he had been given, but still had to ask a passer-by for later directions to reach the Buckle. As Calais turned onto into a alley a few turns from the inn, he came across a familiar face. A young man he knew to be a messenger ran straight towards him with a waving arm. “Praise Irtan! I didn’t think I’d chance upon you here! I was sent out with some messages, one of which I was tasked to bring to you.” Panted the messenger as he reached his mark and begun foraging through his belongings.

“Fortunate. Had circumstances not forced me here I imagine you would have spent days, maybe even weeks, looking for me in the wilds.” Replied Calais, who now carefully looked around to ensure they had no one watching them. Once the messenger finally found and gave him the message he quickly began to read it on the spot. It read:

I have a rather simple order. I want you to travel towards Deliar and search a few capable men that want to listen to some coin. It seems rumours are starting and I will use it to my advantage. You're ordered to round some group and create some turmoil in the city. Nothing too big, but make the rumours spread faster. I have then a second assignment once you have finished this one.

Calais felt a twisting in his chest as he read the contents. He felt unsure of what to do. Whilst he was loyal to Rynir (who he was sure sent the letter) and whilst he had done some unsavoury tasks for him in the past, this really did ask him to do something risky. He was a Ranger, a peacekeeper, and now he was being asked to break the peace and in such a manner that it would be very difficult to avoid some exposure. The letters also lacked any detail or reasoning, which made him even more uncomfortable; the targets he had assassinated could have at least been considered to be bad people or people likely to cause something bad. “What do you think I should do?” asked Calais.

The messenger seemed confused by the question, “I- I don’t know. I’m afraid I don’t know what the letter says. Is something wrong?”

“No.” Calais smiled. Had the messenger said anything else it would have made it clear that he had read the contents. Walking to the edge of the alley, messenger in-toe, he placed the letter into one of the small braziers that provided extra lighting to the street. As he watched it burn he realised he had little choice than to follow the orders, “The Buckle's not too far from here is it?”

“No” chirped the messenger, “I’m actually heading there myself to deliver another letter. You might as well follow me.” With that the two made their way to the inn, passing a group of guards (one of which looked like he had too much to drink) and an angry mother and daughter along the way. As they entered the establishment however the two split up, with the messenger headed towards the bar, leaving the disguised ranger to take a seat by some rough looking patrons in a corner.

Valfunde Perar,
Deliar, The Buckle

Lord Valfunde turned when a legionnaire stepped forth from the silent crowd that seemed to wish and pretend nothing was happening here, though he weathered many bad looks in his back as he turned to face the soldier. He let a small smile form and laughed heartily at Robin's humor. "Obviously your comrade seems better suited to grabbing slow, young girls than he is to catching fast, hearty barbarians." He said, looking back for a second at Jymson, getting a better look at the rugged old man. He looked back at the soldier, who seemed remarkably calm speaking to the Lord, but it wasn't clear to him yet whether this was the confidence of command or of the drink.

"...he'd have gotten Vincent flogged a long time ago." the soldier concluded, grinning over down the bar where Valfunde assumed his squad sat, their faces reddening in fear. Not their commander, then? He stared back at the soldiers, whose young eyes immediately swung downward, then looked around again, assessing the crowd. "Hmmm.. it seems to me indeed that thine adulterous comrade was at fault for his own injury," he cleared his throat, and spoke up clearly, his voice thick with ceremony, "I toss away the charge of attempted murder from the... good name of Jymson Fletcher. In the Emperor's own shadow, you have been found cleared and not wanting." He looked back at Robin, and smiled pleasantly, though the smile didn't seem to spread through his whole face. "I thank thee for your word too, soldier! What is your name? Your uniform tells me you wield a pike in our Legions. A good weapon, aye." His thoughts strayed momentarily to front action years ago, watching a unit of scared pikemen hold their position in the bloodied snow against a mob of messy-haired barbarians... His adjutant made a slight flick of his shoulder to him, and he stealthily nodded in reaction, zapping back to reality; and noticed then a messenger had scrambled in the door a minute before, and stood waiting nearby for his attention. It was cold outside, but the man's face was red and sweaty still.

He held out his hand, offering the soldier a chance to come forth and share a drink by the bar, as the bar's denizens calmed down, realizing their patron was no longer endangered. Valfudne turned to Jymson, and bowed slightly, a very official move. "I apologize for the damage this arrest may have done to thee. I am glad I found no reason to haul any man out of here, least of them ye." There was a passing, tiny hint of something cruel in his eyes as he smiled again. "I sent a runner to ensure the soldier responsible's been found. I am sure he will love the stocks in your stead." He indicated Robin with a thumb. "And another round for the pikeman 'ere and his lads. There's been too much turmoil here lately."

"Aye, that 'as a close one, Jim," whispered Tedmin in Jymson's ear.

The big oaf roared with laughter, almost doubling over. "Close?" He snickered, "you seen me closer to trouble than that, you knave."

Tedmin shrugged his shoulders, just glad that the situation had resolved itself without incident. Jymson was indifferent, and back to his charmingly gruff ways before the Lord had barely turned from him. Life was cheap in Deliar, you either got shanked or you didn't; this was Jymson's reasoning. He'd seen many things out on the streets, and inside the very room in which he now stood - things that would turn the stomach of a sheltered man, and twist the piety of a stalwart priest. You got one go in life, and death was all you got as a reward, no matter how you lived. That being the case in Jymson's eyes, ale, mead - but never wine - were admirable companions, and of them he was very fond.

Chucking back perhaps his eighth tankard of Sunset Parapet, and chasing it down with a chunk of stale bread, he sighed heavily, as if just completing some monumental task. Lord Valfunde returned to him then, and Jymson felt an odd delight in the thought of thrashing the man over the head with Peace Keeper. Seldom had he battered a Lord, and the blank paleness of his left eye reminded him that acting rash did not always respond with a live-or-die ultimatum.

"I apologize for the damage this arrest may have done to thee. I am glad I found no reason to haul any man out of here, least of them ye." said the Lord, bowing his head.

Get fucked, prickless high born.

"Ahem," Jymson cleared his throat, and bowed his head slightly in return. "No apologies required, my Lord."

"I sent a runner to ensure the soldier responsible's been found. I am sure he will love the stocks in your stead." Lord Valfunde said, pausing to point a Robin with his thumb. "And another round for the pikeman 'ere and his lads. There's been too much turmoil here lately."

"You do me great honour, my Lord," replied Jymson gruffly, feeling slightly vindicated. He gave a wink towards Robin as thanks for getting his back. Turning to Tedmin, Jymson cupped his mouth and shouted. "More for Rob and his boys, you useless whoreson!"

Tedmin, who was standing only three feet away, jumped at his friend's booming voice, spilling a tankard of Deliar Blues all over the bar in front of him. He scowled at Jymson, and for a moment the oaf finally thought he'd pushed his old friend over the edge, but then Tedmin's twisted features lessened and before long both of them were powerless to form words as their chests heaved with laughter.

Robin Throckmorton
Inside the Boot Buckle, Deliar

Shivering his shoulders as the nobleman left, he leaned heavily on the bar, looking around to find his red-haired love again, but she seemed to have been abducted indefinately by her mother. 'twas a sad occasion then, and that only meant he could use the drink Lord Valfrunde just bought him with his 'great forgiveness'. Accepting the cups he commenced an organized roar of laughter through his men and the present people to get the atmosphere back on track, before leaning on the bar heavily again and sighing deeply. "'Tis a shame that these noble pricks get to do what they want. Vincent's a good lad and owes me one, but we can't help it that we're underpaid all the time. Heck, I know of some lads that they can't even afford whores nor charisma anymore. Sad times. By the way, d'you by any chance happen to know where that red-haired lass comes from? She seemed like a very ... intelligable companionship for a cultured man like me." He began talking to Jymson, at first melancholic but more feisty as he proceeded.

Jymson shook his head at Rob; the scoundrel had his maiden-bedding head on again. "Elora, be 'er first name, but I ain't too sure 'o the last," he slurred. "Clothe merchant 'o some kind. Too good for you, ya bastard, besides, 'er mother would have your guts for garters. Literally, like."

"She's a Goddess though, did you see her Jim?" Chimed in Tedmin, smirking broken teeth beneath his thatchy beard.

Jymson clipped his friend around the head. "Oi, you're taken, and besides, you're an ugly mug. You'd not get twenty feet from her before she had the guards 'ave ya."

Seeing that Rob was genuinely interested, and Jymson being a man of great honour when it came to revealing women's identities to his rowdy but good willed patrons, he leant in.

"'er 'ouse is about a twenty minute walk down the street, but ya best take yer men with ya, or call for backup from the watch, because that girl's mother could put an entire legion to the sword with her savage mouth alone," he said, holding up a hand that bared the feint trace of a crescent shapred scar. "Literally, she bit me hand 'cus I let that little one in 'here about two years back when she weren't meant to. Tried to calm her down, like, but she just chomped my hand. Never been so close to caving in a woman's skull, I tell ya!"

Standing back, Jymson offered his customary warning. "You know the rules Rob, any mistreatment or foul mouthing towards her and that's the last time I help you sheath your sword in anything. It's a tight rope, see? Giving out information about desired women, some men would do terrible things with it."

Tedmin laughed, snorting beer all over the bar. Jymson grimaced.

Robin Throckmorton
Inside the Boot Buckle, Deliar

He grinned as he received the information from Jymson and emptied the cup that had been bought for him by Lord Valfrunde's "kindness" in a single gulp. "You needn't tell me that, mah friend! I learned how to treat women right the moment I learned about their boots and my balls!" He joked, remembering a single 'funny' occasion in the past. Despite his work as a soldier and his rather, let's face it, honourless way of living, he was a man of honour. He might enjoy women as much as wine, but that didn't make him a monster yet. Another plus point was that he could handle losing very well. He learned that by experience, sadly.

"Anyhow, I be drinkin' one too many tonight, and I have a promotion to gain, so I'll be headin' off to my bed. 'Twas a pleasure as always, mah friends." He told the soldiers surrounding him, who gave him odd looks and fat winks. He could imagine what Jymson was thinking, but he didn't really care. He had had a rough today so far, drilling new recruits, and the rate at which he was drinking was a tad too high. He had to present tomorrow morning early to his superiors, and being drunk wouldn't help.

He honestly had no intention of meeting up with this red-haired lass, but his stubborn curiosity did not fail to lead him to casually stroll past the house Jymson had described him.

Calais Cousland
Inside the Boot Buckle, Deliar

Calais took a seat in the very corner beside four rough looking men. His hood caused his face to be partially hidden by shadow, causing the men to tilt their heads as they tried to recognise the newcomer. “Evening gentlemen, you don’t mind if I join you?” Calais quietly asked as he placed a few coins on the table, “Why don’t one of you go fetch a round on me?”

The men exchanged looks before one of them nodded and headed off towards the bar. The gruffest of the four men, a large man with long black hair and a thick beard, leant forward and placed his fists on the table within reach of Calais. “What’s a shady lookin’ fella like you doin’ sittin’ ere then? Don’t look like the friend makin’ type” the man said in a hush but firm voice.

Calais didn’t answer straight away for he quickly looked towards the messenger and his next delivery recipient. It was a large man that he recognised as a lord, but his name and house escaped his memory. Calais had seen the man talking to Lord Rynir on occasions and so he also knew the man was a guard of some measure. “No, I’m not. But I am the employing type. Mayhap you could suggest some able men willing to get their hands dirty for a hefty sum?” Calais replied, causing the man closest to him to snigger in response, his stale ale breath causing Calais to feel slightly nauseous.

When the man who had been sent to get drinks returned, all five men sat in more closely around the little table. “Our hands are as strong n’ dirty as you’ll find. My name’s Turok. This is Offe, Tim n’ Stannis.” said the large man as he nodded to each of the other men in turn, “What job you got for us then?”

“We’re going to cause some trouble. Tell me gentlemen, what do you know about the city’s food storage?”