The First War...

That's what most people called it, because -- quite literally -- it was just that. The Continent had never seen conflict on this scale before. Oh, sure, for as long as their had been more than two them in the same general location, men had had disagreements, had argued, and sometimes had fought. Sometimes, they had fought with their fists, other times with weapons; sometimes they had fought one to one, and other times with their friends, family, or subjects supporting them. But until The First War had come to fruition, there had never in over a thousand years of recorded history been a conflict in which more than perhaps a dozen men had lost their lives around any one event or disagreement.

The First War had now been raging for more than a generation, reaching every corner of the Continent, involving in one way or another every Duchy, County, City, Town, and Village. The true cost in lives wasn't precisely known, but it was estimated that more than 10,000 men had fallen on the battle field. Even more tragically, ten times that many non-combatants had also lost their lives to the conflict, either directly or indirectly: murder, famine, disease, enslavement, and so many other preventable tragedies had seen entire communities disappear from the map.

..........

The Duchy of Westrock:

Paul had, for good or bad, played a part in this life changing devastation and carnage, even though it had never been his intention. Eighteen years ago, when Paul was but 8 years old, his father Cranston and older brother Carl -- respectively, the Duke and heir to the Duchy of Westrock -- had gone east with the former's army to assist the Duchy's allies in fending off a brutal invasion from the north. The Westrock Army held its own for almost a decade, then suffered a major defeat in which the whereabouts of Cranston and Carl went unknown.

At just 14 years of age, Paul had led a squad of the House of Cranston Guard against an outlaw band of Highwaymen, proving himself a true warrior and replacing the Captain of the Guard, who had died in the fight. Now, after having begged for years to join his father, Paul found himself instead leading a Guard Expeditionary Force to simply locate his father and brother and bring them home ... dead or alive.

He'd left in the Year 914, and now Paul had returned to Westrock for the first time in 12 years. He had been sitting in his saddle, silent and still, for almost an hour, just staring over the mile wide coastal plain at his family's home, the Castle Westrock. What remained of his Force, supplemented by survivors from his father's Army he'd located over the years, stretched out in two ranks behind Paul, to his right and left. It wasn't the energetic, young, eager Force with which he'd left so long ago, but there were still proud warriors loyal to their leader, so they too had remained in their saddles, waiting.

Hours before they'd even come into sight of the Castle, Paul and his men had been spied by a Frontier Scout. The man had quickly turned his horse westward to report. When Paul first sighted the castle, he couldn't help but note that the banner flying above it was not that of the House of Westrock but was instead that of the House of Ryrstone...

..........

The Castle Westrock:

"You're certain!"

The Scout kneeling on the stone floor peeked upward at the question, then quickly dropped his head again as he declared, "Yes, m'lord ... they are flying the banner of the House of Westrock."

Count Lars Barker was looking out upon the Western Ocean, his back to the Scout and a dozen other people who had responded to the incredible news. Most of those present were likely as concerned about the news as was Lars. But looking back over his shoulder at the faces and the expressions upon them, he knew that there were be some who would be excited at the prospect of change in Westrock leadership.

"And you are sure it is Lord Paul's banner ... of the Expeditionary Force...?" he quizzed, adding with a hopeful tone, "Not that of the Duke's Army."

"Yes, m'lord," the Scout confirmed. When Lars asked how many men he'd seen, the Scout answered, "Twenty, m'lord ... maybe more, but not much."

Lars went back to staring out the window for a long moment, knowing that those assembled behind him were on pins and needles wanting to know how he was going to react. For almost two decades, Lars had essentially ruled the Duchy of Westrock. As Cranston's most trusted Knight -- as well as husband to Mary, the Duke's eldest daughter -- Lars had been well positioned when the Duke and his eldest son went east with the Army. Lars had taken the role of Regent, advising Cranston's second son, Richard, in the affairs of state and -- should his father and brother not return -- in how to be a successful Duke.

Of course, Lars had never planned on turning the Duchy over to Richard. The odds of Cranston or Carl returning were slim; and Richard -- while intelligent and charismatic -- didn't have what it took to run a Duchy during a time of conflict. Lars had been easily able to manipulate Richard, who at the time of his father's departure had been on 12 years old. Soon, most of the important positions of power -- from Tax Collector to Captain of the Guard to Prime Minister (who was responsible for negotiating with the Counties under the Duchy's control) -- were filled with Lars's friends, family, and boot licking minions. In a handful of years, the treasury of the House of Ryrstone was larger than that of the House of Westrock.

But Paul had become a problem. The young boy had become a skilled warrior and leader of men barely past his mid-teens. When word came of the destruction of the Westrock Army and Cranston's disappearance, Lars was quick to privately suggest to Richard that he send his brother and loyal force of men to search for the missing Duke. Of course, no one had known that Lars had been responsible for the discovery of the Army's secret location, resulting in its ambush and virtual annihilation; nor could anyone know that soon after Paul's departure, Lars would poison Richard, leaving him lingering in pain for weeks before dying of kidney failure.

After some additional accidents and sicknesses over the years to come, Lars found himself firmly in control of the Duchy, with his own children -- Cranston's grandchildren via the Duke's daughter, Mary -- in line to become the next Duke. Lars had nearly faced an overthrow when the Duchess Eddithia -- Paul's mother -- conspired to have him assassinated, but Lars had taken care of that easily enough by threatening to kill Mary and the children she'd birth with him.

And then ... this.

Lars turned away from the window to look out upon those awaiting his response. Movement at the back of the room caught his attention and turned his stomach. His daughter Olivia had been closer to Richard than Lars would have liked, and while he'd attempted to keep her away from the Castle and, thus, the Duchy's heir, she'd still managed to grow up with an affection for the men of the family Lars was trying to eradicate.

"Out!" he commanded. Lars waved a dismissive hand at them all, then looked right at his daughter, repeating, "Every one ... out!"

They turned to leave -- some hurrying more than others -- all except for one man. After the room was clear, Crone -- officially the Captain of the Guard of Westrock and unofficially Lars's go-to man on all issues violent -- came forward so close to the Regent as to be able to talk in whispers. Crone told Lars what he knew, which wasn't much more than the Count already knew.

"I want men watching their every move," Lars told him. "I want to know what they do ... who they speak to ... I want to know what they're eating and drinking before they put it in their mouth."

"Should I get the girl?" Crone asked.

"Yes," Lars said, knowing exactly which of the young women in his employ Crone was speaking. "I want her to be the first set of tits Paul lays eyes on."

Crone bowed slightly, backed a step, and turned to leave.

"And raise the banner," Lars said as an after thought. When Crone turned back to him with a knowing glance, Lars glared, clarifying the question the man didn't want to ask. "The banner of the House of Westrock."

..........

On the Coastal Plane:

As they watched from the far side of the vast coastal plane, the banner over the castle began lowering from the pole high above the Castle. A moment later, the massive banner of the House of Westrock -- which shared features with the one flying behind Paul -- rose to the top of the pole.

Paul looked to his Lieutenant, sharing a quiet glance before he relaxed his hold on the reins, allowing his horse to begin a slow walk toward home...

"My Lady, the scout has reported spotting Lord Paul on his way back here." Darma, Olivia's handmaiden whispered as she ran a brush through the young woman's blonde hair. Of all her attendants, the Count's daughter liked her the best and brought her along with her everywhere she went. The handmaiden tended to everything Olivia needed from fixing her hair to helping her dress up to making sure she attended her lesson with her tutors every day. She also loved listening to news and gossips and relaying it to her mistress whether she wanted to hear them or not. The particular news she had now was sure to perk the young blonde up.

Olivia, the Count's youngest and most favored child felt her heart skip a beat in excitement upon hearing her handmaiden's news. She had been wondering and hoping for Paul Cranston's return for years, in the hopes of sharing with him the same close relationship she had with his older brother...or maybe a bit more. Truth be told, she has had a crush on the young heir ever since she had encountered him several years ago. But he never paid her any attention perhaps because she had been too young then to be of interest to him. She wondered how he would react to seeing her all grown up now. It was something she had time and again discussed with Darma but would never breach the subject with her father or anyone else in the family for that matter. If they knew that she had been nurturing her childhood infatuation all these years, she knew that she'd never hear the end of it. Paul was, after all, a relative and fantasizing about him the way she had been doing was in all sense inappropriate. "Where did you hear that news from?" she asked, interest coloring her tone.

Darma grinned, leaned forward and lowered her voice. There was no sense letting anyone know that she exerted extra effort to listen to everything especially the things she's not meant to hear. "I heard the scout relaying his report to your father, milady," she gestured towards the Count who was indeed in the company of a man she can only assume to be the scout. She made a quick glance at Darma, wondering how she had picked up the news when they were a bit far from hearing distance of her father. "How did you...?" she started then raised her hand to negate what she had begun to ask. She shook her head and chuckled. "Never mind. I will content myself to be forever amazed by your news gathering ability." And with excitement shining in her eyes, she turned her whole body towards the dark haired handmaiden. "Did you hear when he'll arrive? Do you think I am dressed properly to greet him?" It had been years since she had set foot in the Duke's castle and it was fortuitous that Paul came home on her very first day back. She looked down at the white and gold gown she was wearing.

"I'm afraid there has been no talk about when he'll be setting foot in the castle. We can only hope that it will be soon," Darma said with a not of disappointment in her voice. She looked at the dress of her young mistress and nodded her head. "Of course you are, milady. You always look beautiful no matter what you wear," Darma complemented sincerely. She was loyal and devoted to Olivia and treated her as she would treat her own flesh and blood. It was the least she could do to express her gratitude. She had lost her family when she was younger and would have stayed in the streets begging for food if young Olivia hadn't passed by and saw her. The Count's daughter had automatically insisted that her father take the hungry girl with them. Her doting father had agreed albeit a little reluctantly and ever since then, Darma had stayed by her side and served her loyally. "And with my skills at fixing your hair, Lord Paul will not be able to help and stare at no one but you."

The two girls giggled but was stopped abruptly by the Count's booming voice.

"Every one ... out!"

Olivia looked over to her father and found him staring at her, meaning for her to leave as well. She would have complained and insisted on staying if not for Darma taking her hand. "Come, milady. There is no use staying here when your father is in one of his moods. I'll make you tea and finish braiding your hair in the garden."

Olivia looked at Darma and nodded. She stood up and looked back at her father briefly. The Count had served the Duke's family for as long as she could remember, even acting as regent to the Duchy in their absence. He had also time and again reiterated that he had all intentions of turning over the power once Paul returned. Although she sometimes glimpsed her father's lust for power, she firmly believed in his words, believing in his goodness. The obvious unrest her father was displaying, however, was making her suspect him a little, the same way she had suspected him when she saw that he had raised the banner of Ryrstone in place of Westrock. She turned and made her way to the door.

At the door, she turned back to look at her father, just in time to see him engage the Captain of the Guards in private conversation. Thinking that she'd ask him about it at a later time, she turned and exited the room.


Sophia sighed as she looked at the five silver coins in her hand. She had just spent an entire night pinned beneath the sweaty, flabby body of the tax collector, listening to him grunt and groan as he pounded into her. While she detested him, he paid good money and that made tolerating him easier. She pocketed the coins. There had been a time when he paid twice as much to let him use her body but times were hard or so he said. But money was money, no matter how small the amount and doing sexual favors earned her a lot more of it than she ever did doing odd jobs around town. If it helped put food on the table, she couldn't really complain. She looked up as she heard a door swing open.

A middle aged woman carrying a basket full of freshly baked bread came out of the house right across where Sophia was standing. She watched as the woman's husband, still wearing an apron powdered with flour press a kiss to her forehead. He reminded her to take care on her way, bid her farewell and then disappeared back into the house, closing the door behind him. A happy couple.

Or so it seems.

As soon as the woman had walked a good distance away from the house, the door slowly swung open. The man peered out, looked around and when he was sure that no one was looking, gestured for Sophia to come in.

A few hours later, sore but satisfied with the sound of coins chinking in her pocket, the young brunette discreetly walked out of the house with a loaf of bread wrapped in a white cloth in her hand. She looked up at the sky. Although it was still dark, the sun would rise soon, signalling the end of her clandestine meetings with those that needed her special services. She made her way back to the small hut she called home to feed her sisters and for a change of clothes. When the sun peeked on the horizon, she'd have to look for a job again no matter how tired she was. No rest for the needy.

She laid the loaf of bread on the table along with a small piece of goat cheese she found tucked in with the bread. She had, apparently, pleasured the baker enough for him to add a little extra bonus. She made a mental note to exert extra effort for him the next time he availed of her services to ensure his generosity. She walked over to her bed and laid down on it, meaning to rest her weary body for a few minutes.

"Sophia, are you not feeling well?"

The voice of her younger sister jarred Sophia awake. Realizing that she had fallen asleep, she immediately sat up. She looked at the 17 year old girl who was staring intently at her. "I'm fine, Anna," she said as she stood up and peered out the small window by the bed. The sun was already high up in the sky. She sighed. All jobs that paid well would have been taken by now.

"Vanessa is still sick and she threw up what she ate again," the younger girl informed her.

Sophia reached into her pocket and pulled out the coins she had worked her body ragged for. "Here. Go into town and buy medicine for her. Make sure she eats after." She instructed as she placed all the coins she had earned into Anna's open palm. She gave her sister what she hoped was a cheerful smile. "I got paid extra for the job I did last night. This will buy us food for the whole week."

Anna nodded and then looked down at the silver pieces in her hand. "Sophia, I'm old enough to help out now. So is Isabella. If you teach us how to do the job you're doing, we can earn enough for all of us."

"No!" Sophia exclaimed, horrified at the thought of her two younger siblings selling their bodies in exchange for a small amount of money. Better her than them. "I...I mean, the fields would need tending. When we're able to sell the grains we've harvested, we'll be able to make a little bit more money. I'll be able to support us til then," she hastily added. It would've been good if it were all true. But even if they made a bit of money from their harvest, more than half of it would be collected for tax. She reached out and patted the girl's cheek. "Don't worry. I'll find a way to earn more,"

An hour later, Sophia walked back in town, looking for the tax collector. The man's sexual appetite was second to none and she was sure he'd readily agree to let her into his bed again tonight.

(OOC: Please excuse my mix of photographs and concept art. I wanted to stick with the former, but this particular image from the latter is a favorite of mine.)

...........

The Castle of Westrock
Sunrise

There was protocol involved in one Noble receiving another when the latter had with him -- or her, if that were the case -- an armed escort. And, of course, Nobles always traveled with an armed escort in these troubled days. Paul's arrival at the Castle the previous evening had been both similar to and different from the typical Noble visit: similar in that he had an experienced escort of 22 men, and different because -- by law -- the Castle was his home.

Paul had known that there was going to be some tension over his sudden appearance in Westrock. Despite having been away from what was now his Duchy for almost a decade, Paul wasn't arriving entirely deaf, dumb, and blind: he's been employing scouts and informants, as well as collecting the occasional news and rumor, to gain a bit of an idea of the present situation in Westrock. And the situation wasn't a good one.

Regent Lars Barker had managed to gain full and total control over the Duchy during not just Paul's absence but during the years prior to it, after Paul's father had left Lars behind to guard over, protect, and advise Paul's now dead brother, Richard. Oh, legally Paul could simply enter the Castle, thank Lars for his service, dismiss him as Regent, and send him home to Ryrstone with thanks. But, it wasn't going to be that easy. The Law held little sway in this new world of might over right. And to make matters worse, in Westrock, Lars was the law right now.

No, Paul's path to the title of Duke of Westrock required more than just a bold announcement of I'm back, get out, thanks for running my Duchy into the ground while I was away. No, Paul was going to have to bide his time, to look for allies within the Castle and Duchy, to build a loyal following, and only then demand that Lars vacate the premises and go home...

Following that figurative path, the literal path Paul and his Force had taken was to continue along the Castle Road right past -- rather than through -- the Lower Gate and onto Portston, which sat on the curve of the bay on the far side of the rise called -- for obvious reasons -- Castle Rock. They'd found a large Inn in which they took up the remaining rooms, as well as stables to board their horses and care for their aging equipment. The townsfolk had come alive with the sudden arrival of men -- and their coin -- but Paul made it clear that he and his men were to be let be for the night: no whores, little booze, but at least good food ... and rest.

He knew that this deprivation would raise red flags with Count Barker, who surely had spies watching the Force even before they'd patted the dust off their uniforms and saddles. But Paul thought that a good thing: let Lars sweat over the fact that 22 armed, well trained, and highly experienced warriors and their rightful Duke had just entered his town ... and were going to remain sober and alert through the night.

Paul had slept well, confident that the Night Guard had been watching over both the Inn and the Stables, ready to raise the alarm if need be. He dressed and made his way down to the tavern, where many of his men were already engaged in devouring their first real meal in a week. He inquired about the night's excitement, learning that there hadn't been a shortage of spies sneaking about the town, trying to get a better picture of what was what; but there hadn't been anything worthy of waking Paul or the other Guardsmen taking their turn at sleep.

"What next?" one of the men asked Paul as he sat down to a mug of stream-cooled goats milk and a jam slathered biscuit.

Paul bit into the surprisingly soft bread, moaning his appreciation to the cook who had come to stand near the Lord and fulfill his every request with haste. After he complimented her with actual words and politely gestured her away to her cooking, he employed the typical casualness that -- in times of trouble -- was often feigned relaxation, "We wait ... and see what the Count does next."

..........

Crone had sent men to Sophia's home just outside of town the night before to quietly retrieve her, but when they hadn't found her he'd given them new orders: strip off those uniform items that identified them as servants to Count Barker and go out into the town to have a good time ... while keeping their ears open about the strangers who'd arrived under the banner of Lord Paul of Westrock. They'd learned a lot while spending the coin Crone had given them, but very little of the information was more informative than that which Crone could see with his own eyes, hear with his own ears.

No, to learn what he wanted to know, he needed to get someone closer to Paul than that of just another man drinking ale and fondling whores in the Inn. And, of course, that was why he'd been looking for Sophia. She was the hottest piece of tail in Portston, a beauty beneath the layers of dirt she applied as part of her legitimate duties in the family's fields. And Crone knew just as well as Lars did that if anyone could get close to Paul, it was going to be the very energetic, very friendly, very skilled Sophia.

Crone whistled as the girl passed by him on the street, heading most likely toward the Tax Collector's home. The treasurer had a bad habit of spending Duchy money on fulfilling his own personal needs, but Lars had let him alone because -- in his six years on the job -- the man had nearly doubled the Duchy's income, as well as tripled the amount he skimmed off the top for Lars.

"Someone arrived in town overnight while you were waxing some married man's cock," Crone told Sophia, not at all mincing words. He hesitated to see if she'd heard, and when it became obvious that the word hadn't filtered down to her yet, he informed her, "Lord Paul of Westrock."

Crone saw Sophia's reaction, and his lips spread a bit wider in a knowing smirk. For ... what, two years maybe Sophia had had a special arrangement with Lars as to the possible future return of the rightful heir to the Duchy of Westbrook. Crone didn't know the specifics, but he was sure that it involved Sophia someday opening her legs and ears both to the man, then relaying all she'd learned to Lars. He continued, "The Black Raven. He and his men are there. Be casual about it, girl. He's not gonna tell a whore his plans if he thinks that whore is going to sell her information to the Count..."

Crone let his gaze fall to Sophia's shapely body, then reached a hand out to fondle a beautiful young breast. He didn't react to her reaction, instead only saying, "Get this done ... or I'll see to it that your little sisters receive an invite to the Castle Watch barracks by sundown."

"I think Father is not at all pleased that Lord Paul has returned," Olivia said thoughtfully as Darma braided her long hair, unaware that the Count was more than not pleased. She felt that familiar tug of suspicion but she still insisted that nothing was well founded. "He's grown so used to governing the Duchy that he's probably feeling melancholy about turning over the reins." she continued, downplaying her real thoughts.

"Are those your real thoughts?" Darma asked, knowing her mistress quite well to be fooled by her words.

"No..." Olivia admitted after a thoughtful pause. "But it should be. I don't have a reason to doubt my father's motives."

"But you doubt him anyway," the handmaiden said as she fastened the end of the braid with a silk ribbon.

"I can't keep anything from you, can I, Darma?" she sighed and then turned around to face the dark haired girl tending to her. "I suspect that he wants Adam to be the next Duke." She spoke of her eldest brother and firstborn of the Count. "I do believe he has the makings of an excellent leader, I really do. But the Duchy rightfully belongs to the Cranstons. When I was younger, I thought that Lord Richard would become duke," she paused, a fond smile appearing on her lips. "He was a good man and treated my like his own sister. But then he died. And now the only remaining heir is Paul..." her words trailed off, the wistful look on her face replaced by a mischievous spark in her eyes. "Maybe we should sneak out and meet him," she suggested. She and her handmaiden had snuck out so many times that the suggestion was made with confidence.

Darma chuckled. She loved going on adventures with her mistress and had a knack for not getting caught. Her dark eyes mirrored the mischief in Olivia's blue ones. "I will have to find out first where our Lord Paul is, Iya," she said, using Olivia's chosen nickname she frequently used during their secret trips. "It would be foolish to go around town with no idea where he is,"

Olivia grinned, knowing full well that Darma's answer was as good as a yes. "I am certain that you will not have any problems finding that out." She reached out, finished the remaining rose tea in her cup and then stood up. "I'll be ready."

Darma returned the blonde's grin as she began placing the fine china back onto the tray.

---

At half an hour past midnight, two cloaked figures stealthily left the castle, heading towards Portston.

---

Sophia was walking towards the Tax Collector's house when she noticed a familiar looking man standing by the side of the road. If she didn't know him, she would have tried to see if he was willing to pay money for the services she offered. But it was the man that had once bought Belladona from her. He was also the man she had often seen with the Count and was there the day they made the deal. She walked towards him when he whistled. What did he want now? Did he need more of the poisonous plant? Was there a new deal the Count wanted to offer her?

"Someone arrived in town overnight while you were waxing some married man's cock."

She bristled at his words. While he was accurate, she didn't appreciate the way he said it. He didn't even understand why she needed to do what she did. She had no other choice. But before she could retort, the man spoke a name she never expected to hear.

"Lord Paul of Westbrook."

Paul, the Duke's last remaining heir, the man who had been missing for so many years. He was also the man she was supposed to seduce. "...Keep your legs and ears open and report to me everything...EVERYTHING." The deal had been simple. Bed the Duke's son, make him trust her enough to loosen his tongue around her and then relay all the information to the Count in exchange for a hefty amount of money that would keep her sisters from ever getting hungry again.

While she didn't believe that the deal would actually be put into action, here it was. Paul was back and was currently in the Black Raven. It was the opportunity she had been waiting for. If she pulled this off, she won't ever have to pretend to be enjoying herself with sweaty grunting tax collectors or frustrated, sex deprived married men. She batted Crone's hand away, glaring at him. "If you want to touch me, you'd have to pay like everyone else." Her eyes narrowed when he threatened her sisters. "If you even so much as glance at my sisters, I will make sure that your cock hangs on a wall instead of between your legs." She warned in a low voice as she passed by him.

In the streets of Portston:

Crone rubbed at the stinging flesh of the back of his hand, then chuckled at the whore's threats. Throwing the Gash across an overturned ale barrel and showing her how the true purpose God had put females on this world would have been an easy feat for the man of violence. But Lars Barker had long term plans for the girl that Crone was sure would be even more humiliating in the end.

"Just get the job done," he growled, still smiling at her. He pulled a small purse from a deep pocket hidden in his jacket and lofted it casually through the air to Sophia. He gestured low on her body as he declared, "From now on, the only cock that finds comfort in that well used hole of yours ... is that hanging before the Noble thighs of Paul Cranston."

He ignored her response and turned to leave. He was imagining raping the farm girl before the eyes of her younger sisters, telling them Don't worry, you'll get yours, when he passed by a bakery that he knew to be critically late on their taxes. He paid a visit to the owner, then -- in a back room -- to the man's until-now-virgin daughter, before putting his clothes back together and returning to the Castle to make his report to the Count.

..........

In the Black Raven Inn:

"A full day."

Paul had been watching the dance within the Inn's large stone fireplace when he heard to his right the unexpected but familiar voice of his Lieutenant, Sir Orden of Longbrook. Orden was one of only a handful of Guard who left Westrock with Paul back in 917, almost a decade earlier. He was Paul's most trusted knight, confidant, and friend, yet the man was now and always had been impatient about issues from negotiation to battle to fucking.

Paul responded, "I'm sorry, you were saying--"

"It's been a full day since we arrived," the man clarified. "How much longer are we going to wait? We should have ridden right through the gate ... right through the Castle doors to that throne that that--"

"It's not a throne," Paul cut in, causing his friend to don a confused look. As he pushed against the back of a nearby, unoccupied seat, Paul continued, "It's just a chair. A big chair, sitting atop a dais, upon which my father sat and upon which his father sat before him ... and upon which I will sit soon enough. But ... it's not a throne."

He looked off into the flames again, recalling what had led to the start of The First War a generation earlier. For as long as history had been recorded, the Dukes of the Continent had been content to rule their individual Duchies with no designs on controlling anything more than what had traditionally been theirs, been their fathers, been their grandfathers. Marriages between the various jurisdictions -- Towns, Cities, Counties, and Duchies -- had for centuries strengthened the binds between those communities, preserving peace and prosperity for all.

And then came along the Black Duke. His true name was Resterhoff, Duke of North Edenmire, and his ambitions -- for himself and for his heirs -- had had no bounds. He put his wealth to work creating an army like no one had ever seen and struck south and east at his neighbors. Soon, Towns and Cities and Counties and Duchies across the Continent were selecting a side, for if they didn't one of those sides selected them, as either an ally to be courted or an enemy to be trampled. Within a decade, The First War had come to affect the entirety of the Continent ... including the House of Westrock.

"This damned war was about a throne," Paul reminded his friend. "I will not sit upon one ... ever. In fact--" He looked up at his friend with a smile. "I will burn that chair when I return to the castle." He laughed, lifting his stein of brew, draining it, and pounding it to the table. He laughed, declaring, "I will burn it ... and I will sit upon a keg of ale."

"With a pillow to cushion your soft little ass?" Orden asked with a smirk.

They laughed together, teasing one another about which was the roughest, toughest of warriors. They had been through a great many fights and battles together, and -- if things went as Paul feared -- they would continue to go through more in the future.

They were sitting at the end of a long table in the corner most distant from the tavern's main entrance. The Inn Keeper -- who had very clearly expressed his happiness about Paul's return -- had unofficially made that corner of the Inn the Force's own. He'd been steering both his familiar patrons and unfamiliar travelers to other seating areas of the Inn's first floor eating and dining area; and he'd ceased renting rooms to some of those travelers -- merchants, wanderers, and more who arrived in Portston via the road or port -- so that Paul's men would each have a bed for themselves and not have to sleep on the wood floors.

A pair of Expeditionary Force scouts entered, sat to make their report, then headed to the counter to get some food. Orden waited for their departure before asking again, "How long are we going to wait? You are the Duke of Westrock. You should be sitting up there in that castle ... upon a ... hell, a barrel of ale if you want."

"One more day," Paul reassured him. "One more, then..."

Their scouts had spied some movement of Westrock Guard troops -- loyal, of course, to Lars -- but there had been nothing of which to be concerned. The Count didn't seem to making a military play against Paul, so Paul was willing to wait to see if the man running his Duchy was going to sent an envoy ... or an assassin.

He looked up to a pair of tavern wenches descending the stairs from the second floor and smiled. Unlike their first night in Portston-- which had passed without booze or broads -- this night Paul had allowed his men to partake of some of life's little pleasures. The crackling fire near Paul hadn't been nearly enough to mask the sound of laughter, screaming, and grunting flooding down from the second floor.

"Why don't you go spend some coin?" Paul suggested to his friend with a devilish smirk. He saw the concerned look on Orden's face: his Lieutenant rarely left his side, and -- except for when Paul was dealing with Mother Nature -- he hadn't since they'd passed the Westrock frontier. Paul nodded toward the two wenches, now making their way amongst the unaccompanied fighters looking for a man with needs. "Go ahead. Nothing's going to happen to me here."

Orden departed with hesitance, grabbed one of the women, then -- being hungry -- grabbed the other one as well. They hurried up the creaking stairs to and through the open door of an unoccupied room, slamming it behind them. Paul smiled and shook his head, imagining the scene behind the door.

And that was when she walked through the tavern door...

Portston

"How will I greet him? Just come up to him and say 'Hello, do you recognize me?' Or 'I am relieved that you have returned alive?'" Olivia whispered to Darma as they stood outside the Black Raven. Her words sounded awkward and strange.

"Are you serious? You have spent so many years imagining meeting the Duke's son and you're hesitating now?" Darma whispered back in a slightly exasperated tone. She always spoke informally with the Count's daughter when they were in their secret trips to the town.

"I am not hesitating. I just want to at least make a good impression. I want him to take a liking to me just like Richard did," the blonde argued.

Darma rolled her eyes. "There is no sense comparing him to his dead brother. Come on. If he likes you then he likes you. If not, we will return to the castle. There's so many of your father's men lurking about I am afraid they will gag us and throw us back to the castle even before we can take one step towards your prince." She reached out and took her mistress' hand and pulled her towards the door of the tavern.

"He is not a prince. He's a duke," Olivia corrected as she let herself be pulled along.

As both women stepped into the tavern, they were met with a barrage of noises from tankards being slammed onto wooden tables to raucous laughter to screams of pleasure coming from the second floor of the establishment. Olivia pulled off the hood of her cloak, unafraid of being recognized (except maybe for her father's men, which Darma assured her were not in the tavern). The youngest daughter of the Count had been forbidden to mingle with commoners that no one knew who she was. When asked, she always claimed to be a distant relative of a baron down south. Several heads turned towards her. She was pretty, after all, with her hair braided and fashioned so that it framed her heart shaped face. She scanned the room and her eyes fell on a blonde man who was staring straight at her.

Her heart skipped a beat. There he was.

Paul Cranston.

"Go," she heard Darma whisper encouragingly to her.

Olivia took a deep breath and walked straight towards Paul. Once she was at his table, she smiled and curtsied. "I am pleased that you have finally returned, my Lord," she said, wondering if he would recognize her.

---

Sophia snatched the coin purse and walked away. She silently cursed her life for putting her in situations where her dignity was put on the line. What dignity? she asked herself. She had stopped being worthy of respect the moment she had opened her legs to different men. Even she couldn't look at herself in the mirror at times. She focused her mind on the money. What was dingity when you're starving? As long as she was paid, she was willing to do anything. She'll make sure that her sisters are provided for and unharmed even if it meant selling her body to every single man in the town.

She turned and headed back to her house to make herself a little more presentable. The old, stained dress that she had on would not catch the attention of a noble.

"From now on, the only cock that finds comfort in that well used hole of yours ... is that hanging before the Noble thighs of Paul Cranston."

Sophia stopped, the familiar hesitation overtaking her. Should she really go through with this? Was it a good idea? Will she really be able to pull it off? What if Paul Cranston didn't fall for her tricks? What if he found out that she was a spy for the Count?

She took a deep breath to calm herself and focus on what was important. Pleasuring a single man for a hefty amount of money, it really wasn't such a bad deal. What was it to her if the Count wanted to know everything about this man? Just as long as he fulfilled the end of his bargain then it'll all be worth it. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the coin purse Crone gave her. There will be a lot more of this when I succeed, she thought and then nodded, slowly regaining her confidence. Why had she hesitated? This was what she had been hoping for. A chance to earn a bit more, a chance to make her life and that of her sisters' better. Unaware of what she was getting herself into, she murmured a silent thanks to what she thought was a little blessing sent her way. There would no longer be frequent trips to married men's houses in the middle of the night. The tax collector would have to visit the whore house if he needed his itch scratched.

As soon as she got home, she headed straight to the small wooden box where she kept her presentable dresses in. She pulled out a pretty blue dress out of it. If she was to seduce a noble, she'd have to look sweet and pretty. Men always found it more exciting to bed the sweet and innocent.

Several hours later, she stepped out of the house after painstakingly making sure that her whole body was scrubbed clean, particularly the areas that Paul would be using excessively. In a pretty blue dress and her long dark hair braided neatly down her back, she headed towards the tavern.

She stepped into the tavern and immediately zeroed in on the heir to the Duchy. A young blonde girl was with him, innocent and pure. It would be easy to snatch the man's attention from her. She strode purposefully towards the table of her target, swiping a tankard off the serving tray of the tavern maid. She took a swig of the ale and pretended to trip as she passed by Paul. She angled her body so that she fell on the man, her breasts brushing across his cheeks as the ale in the tankard she was holding spilled on his shoulder and across his chest. She pasted an innocent smile on her lips as her cheeks turned pink with feigned embarrassment. She quickly righted herself and bowed her head at the noble. "Forgive me, my Lord. I was momentarily unsteady on my feet." She lifted her eyes shyly and when they landed on the mess she made, her embarrassment turned into a horrified expression. "I have soiled your clothes." She bowed her head low again. "A-allow me to make ammends, my Lord," she hurriedly said.

Black Raven Inn:

Paul caught sight of the two figures entering the tavern long before they spied him, of course. He knew them to be females by their general shapes and sizes, but his presumption that they were just two more tavern wenches arriving to pocket some coin was dashed when they pulled back their hoods and revealed themselves. A Lady and her hand maiden, he thought as they found and began to study him as he already had them. But ... what are they doing here ... at this hour ... with NO Escort?

He was seriously contemplating the idea that they were the contact for which he and Orden had been waiting. But rather than being Count Barker's envoy to welcome him back to Westrock, Paul thought the odds were more likely that one or the other -- or both -- were assassins sent by the Regent to ensure that the Duchy remained in Lar's hands.

Although Paul couldn't hear the word, it was obvious when the presumed servant mouthed to her servant, "Go." As the bright haired one approached, Paul donned a polite smile and stance -- his hand casually upon the hilt of his dagger.

"I am pleased that you have finally returned, my Lord"

Paul bowed politely, bending at the hips while keeping his gaze upon her. "Thank you, m'lady."

As he rose to height, he took a step to his right and turned one of the cushioned chairs to face the one he'd been warming for hours. "Would you honor me with your company, m'lady?" He looked toward the door, adding quickly, "Would your hand maiden like to join us?" The invitation had two purposes: one was to have both potential assassins before him, where he could better see the attack coming; while the other was to see what kind of relationship -- strictly Mistress-Servant or more familiar -- existed between the two women.

After the young woman had dealt with his dual invitations, Paul made obvious his ignorance, as well as his flirtatious way. "Please forgive me, m'lady. I do not believe myself capable of forgetting the name of a Lady as indescribably beautiful as yourself. Therefore, I am forced to believe that we have not been introduced before..." He raised an extended finger in a Wait! gesture before she could speak, adding with a wide smirk, "...however ...!... if, by chance, I have tragically forgotten you, please allow me to lay the blame upon the many times I have thumped my skull in battle, and not any chance that you, m'lady, are in any way unforgettable."

He gave her another slight bow from his seated position. As she responded to his playfulness, and he to her response, Paul peeked past her as yet another woman entering the tavern. This one -- a brunette as stunning as the blonde sitting before him -- also scanned the tavern, also set her gaze upon Paul, and also headed his way with purpose. But the brunette's demeanor was far different than the blonde's: she was confident, determined, and -- Paul could tell by her body language -- not at all the lady sitting before him now.

Again Paul was thinking assassin, and again his hand casually slipped down to his waist to find the hilt of his dagger. And yet even prepared as he was for an attack, he didn't see what was coming coming: in a flash, he was wearing both the tankard of ale and the woman who had been carrying it.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I was momentarily unsteady on my feet."

Paul was caught between emotions and responses to them: he wanted to laugh at the obviousness of her ploy to meet him, yet at the same time wanted to dress down the woman who was obviously of the peasant class for interrupting a conversation between Nobles. But peasant or not, Paul wasn't the type to show rudeness to a female, so instead he politely helped her back to her feet with one hand as his second casually returned his dagger to its scabbard without anyone having realized he'd pulled it.

"I have soiled your clothes." She bowed her head low again. "A-allow me to make ammends, my Lord."

"No harm done, m'lady," Paul responded, using the same polite tone he'd shown the other woman. He squeezed at some of the loose cloth, causing the ale to drip off to the floor. Laughing, he looked to the brunette and said, "If I find myself thirsty later, I'll simply suck on my clothing."

He looked to the blonde for her reaction to the unexpected interruption...

"Would your hand maiden like to join us?"

The smile on Olivia's lips widened at both invitations. She didn't really expect that Paul would extend the invitation to Darma as well, seeing his caution as graciousness. "Oh. Thank you," she said as she took a seat and motioned for her handmaiden to join them.

Darma was watching Paul carefully from her vantage point near the door to make sure that her mistress was safe. It was rare for a noble to be as warmhearted as the the blonde teen, merely two years younger than she was. While most in the household still looked at her as a vagabond who lucked out by winning the Count's youngest child's favor, she knew that she was more than that to Olivia. She was right, of course. Being the only female child in the Count's four children, Olivia longed for a sister and found it in Darma. And in return for the affection given her, Darma treated Olivia as a sister and was extremely protective of her. When the younger woman gestured to her, she raised an eyebrow but approached the two nobles nevertheless. She bowed low to Paul before settling down on the seat beside Olivia.

"Please forgive me, m'lady. I do not believe myself capable of forgetting the name of a Lady as indescribably beautiful as yourself. Therefore, I am forced to believe that we have not been introduced before... however ...!... if, by chance, I have tragically forgotten you, please allow me to lay the blame upon the many times I have thumped my skull in battle, and not any chance that you, m'lady, are in any way unforgettable."

Olivia felt a little crestfallen at the nobleman's words. But of course he would not recognize me. I was 9 when he first saw me...if he did at all It seemed unfair to be upset about his ignorance of who she was so she pushed the thoughts aside. Better to just introduce herself. She paused for a moment, contemplating whether she should speak her real name or give him the moniker she used while in town. It wasn't prudent to let everyone know who she really was, was it? But then again, why would she keep it from the soon to be Duke?

"It would be foolish of me to expect you to remember me, my Lord. I was merely--" her words were cut off when she noticed the young man to be distracted. Before she could turn to look, the source of his distraction came walking towards them and spilled both herself and the ale she had with her on Paul. She almost stood up to see if she can be of assistance when she felt Darma's hand touch her arm.

Darma looked at the dark haired woman, critically assessing her with narrowed eyes. The way she entered the scene made it painfully obvious that she was either intruding in her mistress' conversation with the Lord of Westrock or was just desperate to catch the noble's attention. A peasant looking to improve her status, perhaps? Or a whore looking to make a pretty penny?

Sophia was taken aback by Paul's reaction to her. Most men would jump at the chance to remove their clothes and have her launder them as well as other parts of their bodies. But this man was different. Of course, he was different. It was probably the reason why she was employed by the Count for this job. She'd have to think of a different tactic. Being her usual assertive self was probably not gonna work. She flashed him a sweet smile. "I would still insist that you let me clean your clothes, my Lord. It is my fault, after all. I should be more careful on my feet next time." Yes, she'd have to be sweeter and... She stopped and stared at the young blonde woman sitting across him. She didn't recognize her at a distance earlier but now that she was closer...

"Lady Olivia Barker," she blurted out without thinking. It was the woman she had always envied. But before her face could betray what she felt, she plastered a smile on her face and bowed low.

Olivia blinked, not really expecting anyone to recognize her. "I..."

Darma's eyes narrowed a bit more as she continued staring at the woman but she remained seated. "Who are you?"

Sophia looked from Olivia to Darma, an innocent look on her face. "I apologize. I had no idea you wanted to keep your identity hidden, my Lady. My name is Sophia Blake, a simple farmer's daughter."

"Lady Olivia Barker," the clumsy but also alluring brunette blurted out before bowing.

Paul looked quickly to the stunning blonde, stunned himself. His first instinctive thought was that maybe he should have pulled his dagger for the first woman to approach, not the second: had Lars sent his own daughter to do his work, to quickly interrupt any possibility of his losing power over the Duchy? No. Paul didn't believe that, not once his conscious thinking overwhelmed his unconscious thinking.

That conscious thought followed along the same lines as that of the brunette, of this Sophia Blake: had Olivia been hiding her identity, or had she simply not gotten to fully introducing herself. Paul added to the argument the fact that Olivia and her handmaiden had entered the tavern after midnight, unescorted, in rather plain cloaks more suitable for traveling merchants, with the hoods up hiding their faces ... hiding their identities.

As if he didn't already have enough rushing through his head, Paul suddenly recalled something more: this beautiful blonde who he had been sure was of Noble birth almost immediately upon seeing her; and who already he'd been fantasizing about having flat on her back, thighs parted, calling his name in ecstasy as he drilled her in the Castle bed in which he was destined to sleep ... was his cousin! Olivia was the child of Count Lars Barker, Regent of the Duchy of Westrock, Lord of the House of Ryrstock, and Mary, Countess of Ryrstone, Lady of Westrock ... and Paul's sister!

As he listened in stunned silence to the continuing exchange between the two women, all Paul could think to himself was, Well ... fuck.

Darma, still adamantly suspicious of Sophia, stood up. "Well, Sophia Blake, shall we see to it that the Lord has clean clothes? We simply cannot have him continue on soaked in ale, can we?" She turned to the two nobles. "If you'll excuse us, milady, milord," she bowed politely before she firmly took the brunette's arm and led her away.

"Y-yes," was all Sophia could say as Darma led her away, glancing briefly back at the nobles and then irritatedly turning her attention to the woman who was leading her away. She had no choice. She had to play along.

Olivia watched her handmaiden lead the peasant away before she turned her attention back to Paul. She gave him an apologetic smile. "I apologize. I was going to introduce myself properly had it not been for that unforeseen accident. However, Sophia had been correct in assuming that I wanted to keep my identity hidden," she paused and then lowered her voice. "My father has forbade me to mingle with the townsfolk and my being here is without his knowledge..." she paused again and then chuckled embarrassedly, her cheeks turning bright pink at her confession. "I wanted to welcome you back and was impatient to wait for you to walk through the doors of the castle."

Paul watched the hand maiden escort Sophia away with haste, unable not to smile at the obvious desire to eliminate competition for the young Duke-to-be's attention. Olivia explained herself, pointing out, "My father has forbade me to mingle with the townsfolk and my being here is without his knowledge..."

"And without his protection," Paul pointed out with a bit of fatherly tone in his voice, despite never having become one ... yet. He could have continued with his light chastising of her taking such risks, but instead only said, "I'm sure he would be concerned."

She chuckled, her cheeks flushing, as she confessed, "I wanted to welcome you back and was impatient to wait for you to walk through the doors of the castle."

"Yes, well ... there's that." The response to her confession was ... vague in its meaning, to say the least. What was Paul going to say to her: I'm afraid your father may put a knife in my back should I enter my on home too soon? Instead he lied, "I arrived in Westrock suddenly, without notice. I was giving the Lord Regent some time ... to ... to form a proper welcome for me. He is a Noble ... and a noble gentle-man ... so, I am sure he would want the time and opportunity to do things right."

Like get his assassins all in a row, he mused quietly while smiling to Olivia then glancing off in the direction of the now out of view Sophia. He thought, I wonder if she hides her knife on the inside ... or the outside of her thigh? Then his lips spread a bit more as he thought, And if she hadn't been hustled out of her by the hand maiden, would she have wanted to show me that thigh tonight? Paul was sure that the brunette would have been more than willing to reveal some flesh this first meeting, but turning his full attention back to Olivia, he inquired, "Tell me, Lady Olivia. How is your mother ... my sister? I received a few letters from Mary shortly after my departure from Westrock, but..."

His words slipped away as he diverted his gaze and recalled the reason for heading east -- finding his absent father and eldest brother -- as well as his failure in doing either. He looked back to Olivia and feigned a pleasant smile, asking, "Is she well?"

"And without his protection. I'm sure he would be concerned."

Olivia huffed at his words and his fatherly tone. What did he know? The Count was, of late, concerned about only one thing. Her marriage to that old marquess thrice her age and even older than himself. The thought irritated her so much that she vowed to argue with her father about it again as soon as she was back in the castle. She would get out of that agreement whether he liked it or now. How did he expect her to react? He should have at least chosen a younger man. A man like the one sitting across from her now.

Her thoughts brought about memories of when she first saw the young Duke-to-be 9 years ago. He was handsome then, he was a lot more now. She wondered if he had, during his absence, found himself a wife and if he did, how disappointed she would be.

"I arrived in Westrock suddenly, without notice. I was giving the Lord Regent some time ... to ... to form a proper welcome for me. He is a Noble ... and a noble gentle-man ... so, I am sure he would want the time and opportunity to do things right."

Talking about her father brought back her irritation but before she could speak her mind about the matter, she noticed the distracted look on his face again. When turned his attention back to her and steered the topic to her mother, she immediately knew where she stood with him. Of course. What should I expect? I am only his sister's daughter and nothing more. I should have just greeted him and left him to that Sophia Blake. I am sure he would appreciate her company more than the company of a foolish girl like me. And now he is stuck here trying to make polite conversation. She inwardly sighed yet responded to his question, her tone a little more polite and a little less comfortable. She shook her head. "Mother is well. I am sure she would be happy to see that you have returned. Grandmother, however, has been ill for some time now and has been sent to the Monastery to be cared for by the priests. I have sent her so many letters but I have yet to receive one from her. I suppose she is too ill to even write," she looked a little downcast, she had been close to Lady Eddithia ever since she was younger and frequented the castle. "I have also requested to visit her and bring her fruits to help her get well but father has forbid me to do even that," she said, unable to keep her annoyance out of her voice.

(OOC: If you are following out story, my partner and I got our wires crossed because of a mistake I make in the OOC. It is not Mary -- Olivia's mother -- who is in the monastery; it is Paul's mother, Eddithia -- Olivia's maternal grandmother -- who is in the monastery. If the error has already been corrected in the above post by the time you read this OOC, then just ignore it. I just didn't want to confuse any possible readers, as I did my partner who I hope will excuse my error.)

Paul could tell in Olivia's tone that she truly believed his mother -- her mother's mother -- had been sent to the monastery for her health and welfare. He, however, doubted that very much: a couple of years back, rumors had reached him in the East that a dozen or more Advisors loyal to Eddithia had suddenly died, vanished, or been jailed for treason; and about the same time Paul's mother had been taken away from Westrock to live in the monastery...? Really? Very unlikely, Paul had thought at the time and had continued to think to this day. When they'd headed home from the East, Paul had dispatched a trio of his men to visit the two Monasteries that might have been her current home, only to never hear from the presumed-murdered men again.

"Well, I am sure she is getting the best medical treatment available," he said, keeping concealed his true belief. If Lars Barker was to learn that Paul was searching for his mother, Eddithia was surely suddenly fall victim to her illness and pass quietly in the night ... if she hadn't already. "I have faith in the Monks and Sisters ... and I have faith in your father's honor for and loyalty to Lady Eddithia."

There was a sudden ruckus in the far corner of the bar, with the loud argument between two patrons threatening to become a physical altercation. One of Paul's men -- who'd been sleeping in a chair near the second fire place and was now awake -- rose from his seat, crossed to the table, pulled out his dagger, and drove it downward with great strength, a full two inches deep into the wood plank table. The startled man tried to pull away from the man he thought to be a mad attacker, only to find the sleeve of his jacket now pinned to the table. Paul's man -- one of the biggest, tallest, ugliest, and meanest knights you would ever want to not be on your enemy's side in a fight -- leaned over the pair and growled, "I ... was ... SLEEPING!"

The wanna-be brawlers looked to Paul as if they were about to wet their pants. He smiled wide, then looked to Olivia. "You really should not be out in town unescorted at this time of the knight, m'lady." He stood and offered out a hand -- signaling that he really hoped she would accept his order without a fight -- saying, "If you would permit, it would be my honor and duty to ensure you returned to the Castle safely."

Olivia nodded at Paul's words. Of course, the monks and the sisters would take good care of her grandmother. It is, after all, what they were good at. But, still, even with that knowledge, she often wondered why Lady Eddithia was not allowed any visitors. Was her condition severe? Contagious, maybe? The headstrong teenager vowed to find a way to visit her. Surely, seeing a family member would be good for her: it might even hasten her recovery. But then, slipping away to visit her grandmother would be going against her father's wishes...not that his wishes of late made any sense. What he didn't know won't hurt him, right?

A commotion happening in the far corner of the bar caught her attention and she turned to see two patrons arguing loudly. She watched as a big, burly knight stood up and chastised the men very effectively, his appearance and his booming voice enough to calm a storm even without that dagger. While the two patrons looked as though they were about to wet their pants in fear, Olivia found herself chuckling. She decided that she liked the big man.

"You really should not be out in town unescorted at this time of the knight, m'lady." She looked at Paul as he stood up then at the hand he offered her. "If you would permit, it would be my honor and duty to ensure you returned to the Castle safely."

He is sending me away, Olivia thought in dismay but she kept her composure. She smiled at the young Duke-to-be and then shook her head. She didn't take his hand. "Returning to the castle at this late hour will not only send the whole household into an uproar but it will also ensure that I will never set foot in this town again." She gracefully stood up without his help, her back a little stiff from what she thought was rejection. "I apologize for taking too much of your time, milord. I will take my leave." she politely curtsied and then turned to walk away. She looked around for Darma but when she didn't see the handmaiden around, she sighed inwardly but continued on towards the door. She'll have to make her way to the inn by herself and meet up with the handmaiden there.

Olivia's rejection of the offered hand made Paul's lips widen a bit. She's a brave, head strong lass, he thought, his mind adding, Who will end up in a tower with guards and a chastity belt when her father one day catches her out and about unescorted.

She turned to leave, finishing, "...I will take my leave."

"No, m'lady," Paul said quickly taking a couple of big steps that put him not quite directly in her path but enough so to make it clear that he wasn't letting her leave. When she stopped to look up into his face, he glanced over to the two wanna-be brawlers who were now quite comically trying to get the deeply sunk knife out of the table. They failed, and the pinned drunkard's coat sleeve ripped all the way to the wrist, causing him to blurt out several slurred obscenities before he and his friend stood to leave. Paul looked back to Olivia and, with the slight bow typical of less formal situations, explained, "I could not in all good conscience allow you out into the night without escort."

He looked past Olivia to the big man who was one dagger short now, calling, "Winston!"

Paul looked back to Olivia again, offering, "My man will get you where you need to be, m'lady." He leaned in a bit closer, smiling, "And you may as well take me up on my offer ... because if you do not allow him to escort you, he will follow you like a love sick puppy until you are all cuddled back in your bed where your father believes you to already be."

As he awaited her response, Paul wished he could be the one following Olivia through the dark of night. But his Scouts had been casually walking about Portston all day doing a number of tasks: weapon and armor repair, caring for the horses which included new shoes, carousing with loose women (or, as was the case for one of his less traditional men, loose men), and other such things. And while Count Barker had done nothing to formally approach Paul as of yet, Paul's men had spied figures in the shadows occasionally who Paul knew were certainly the Regent's spies ... and possibly assassins as well.

"I must remain here to take a meeting," he made his excuse, "otherwise I would beg permission to walk by your side under the stars this eve'." He reached out, taking Olivia's hand and lifting it in a way that she would know what was coming. "I would beg of the Lady to see her again, however ... soon ... perhaps tomorrow ... for a lunch by the water."

He stood tall again, nearly a full foot taller than her, and -- still holding her hand upon upturned fingers such that she could retrieved it at any moment -- simply gave her a wide, polite smile. Paul's actions, words, and expressions could have been read as anything from simple Noble courtesy to veiled lust and want: it all depended upon what was going through Olivia's mind ... and body.

To his right, her left, Winston -- another half a foot taller than even Paul -- stood there eying the two with a gently shaking head. He'd been at Paul's side since before the boy learned for what a cock was intended, so to have watched him grow into the man before him now -- the charismatic knight who could sweep any woman off her feet and into the nearest bed or hay stack after just moments of sweet speak marveled the big warrior. Winston didn't know who Olivia was -- Paul's sister's daughter -- but he was sure that the young Lady would be parting her thighs for his Lord before the now-nearly full moon was soon flooding the land with the illumination of its filled face...

Olivia took a half step back when Paul barred her path...or at least part of it. She was ready to nurse her bruised ego at his rejection and was surprised that he would stop her. A telltale smile threatened to curve her lips up but his next words made it stop midway.

"I could not in all good conscience allow you out into the night without escort."

Ugh. Just like father. When will these men realize that I am a grown woman and capable of protecting myself?

She would have shot Paul a retort but instead just nodded her head. There really was no use insisting something he'll probably just insist against. He called to the man that had been successful in preventing a fight earlier.

"And you may as well take me up on my offer ... because if you do not allow him to escort you, he will follow you like a love sick puppy until you are all cuddled back in your bed where your father believes you to already be."

There. She was right.

She glanced towards the big man whose name was apparently Winston. At a distance, he didn't look so daunting but he did now as he was walked towards them. She turned back towards the object of her infatuation, fully intending to launch into an argument despite her earlier thoughts. But she was distracted by how handsome he was leading her thoughts to turn towards a more mature path. A slight flush came over her cheeks as she fantasized about her uncle right in front of him.

"I must remain here to take a meeting, otherwise I would beg permission to walk by your side under the stars this eve'." The light flush that was already coloring her cheeks bloomed into a darker shade of pink as Paul took her hand. "I would beg of the Lady to see her again, however ... soonderf6tt5 ... perhaps tomorrow ... for a lunch by the water."

She was supposed to be back in the castle before the sun rose up in the sky but an invitation to a meal by the water with the man she often daydreamed about was simply too good to pass up on. She'll have to figure out a way to sneak out again. She and Darma had snuck out several times during daylight that it wasn't something new or impossible. Unable to control her delight, a wide grin spread across her face. "I would like that," she admitted, wondering if his invitation was merely out of courtesy or something else. She hope that he at least thought she was attractive.

She removed her hand from Paul's and turned to the towering man to her left, giving him a pretty smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Winston. My name is Olivia...or Iya, if you may," she said and then looked at Paul. "I look forward to our meal together, milord," she curtsied again before she pulled the hood of her cloak back onto her head, turned and allowed the knight to lead her away.

A scowling Sophia walked into the tavern door several minutes later. Olivia's handmaiden had somehow led her around town trying to look for a replacement for the Lord's clothes. But when they didn't find anything, the dark haired woman seemed to just disappear out of thin air, leaving a baffled Sophia wondering how she had distracted her from her original plans in the first place. She scanned the room and almost sighed in relief when she noted that Paul was still there. Without wasting time, she headed towards him and gave him a polite bow. "I apologize, my Lord. We were not able to find you clean clothes. I'm afraid there are no shops that would accommodate us at this time of the night."

"I would like that," Olivia responded to Paul's invitation to lunch.

"I recall a stone overlook near the harbor's north end," he went on, setting his plans for them to meet at Three Quarter Day, when the sun was halfway between High Noon and Sunset. He bowed more formally this time -- his hungry gaze falling for just a flash to her beautiful bosom before he stood tall again -- and told her, "Until tomorrow."

It wasn't but just a couple of minutes later that the clumsy brunette reappeared in the doorway. Paul couldn't help but smile broadly at the annoyed expression she seemed to be carrying upon her beautiful face. Here, too, Paul allowed his gaze to fall upon a full, youthful bosom.

"I apologize, my Lord. We were not able to find you clean clothes. I'm afraid there are no shops that would accommodate us at this time of the night."

He stood from his seat, pulling his tunic from his skin as if the stickiness -- about which he'd almost forgotten -- was still a serious issue. With a bit of a grimace, he said, "Perhaps you could ... make amends ... by helping me out of this shirt and into another one ... a clean one." Paul gave Sophia a moment to contemplate where he was going before he clarified, "I have a room upstairs. Forgive me if I am misreading the situation..."

That was Paul's way of saying If you're not a whore, I apologize...

"Stone overlook near the habor's north end," Olivia repeated happily as she made her way to the traveler's inn she usually stayed in during her secret trips to town. "I can't wait." She walked side-by-side with the big man escorting her, something that most nobles didn't do. Most, including her father, would walk a few steps ahead of their escorts. Her father never walked side-by-side with anyone except his wife, children and people who held similar status as him. Not even his most trusted advisers could walk beside him. It was, as he often said, 'asserting one's status.' The young blonde had scoffed at the idea the first time she heard it and always walked side-by-side with Darma and most of the servants who followed her around the castle. It was one of the things that endeared her to the people. She looked up at the big man, grinning at him as though they had known each other for a long time. "You must have traveled beside Lord Paul for a long time. Will you tell me about him?" she asked casually. "Of course, it would also please me to hear about you, Sir Winston," she added.

---

Sophia looked at Paul, contemplating on what path she should follow. Should she be aggressive, climb up with him to his room and show him how pleasurable her company was in bed or should she play the innocent virgin that acted boldly because she merely wanted to meet him? The second choice wasn't a wise one. While the men she had bedded for a fee kept her their mouths closed about her relationship to them, it would not do well for her if she pretended to be what she wasn't and then have him hear all about it from her patrons. But maybe a combination of the two would work.

She gave him a polite bow. "I would be more than happy to assist you, my Lord," she started, making it clear that going up to his room was agreeable to her. She looked at the wet stain the ale had left on his clothes. "As I have offered earlier, I will launder your soiled clothes and have them clean and ready for you in the morning," she finished. "There is no need to apologize," she added.

Winston was a bit surprised by Lady Olivia's reaction to him ... to her ease with him. At 6'8", with his 225 pounds of muscle mass housed within his full armor, he was a dominating figure. Others -- whether Nobles, Peasants, or even Warriors typically liked to walk in front of the man: it gave one the sense of being tracked by a metal-encased monster that, at any moment, might lean forward and bite one's head off for a snack. Of course, the only Noble who had ever walked with Winston had been Lord Paul, and the heir to Westrock had never in his life had any fear of the walking tree who had been with him since his youth.

To have Olivia sidle up beside and walk with him as if a long time friend was ... odd. And he found himself looking down at the fair haired beauty often, smiling at the pleasant expressions, tones, and words she used during their walk to the second Inn.

"You must have traveled beside Lord Paul for a long time. Will you tell me about him?"

"Of course," Winston responded. He had no qualms about talking up his Lord to this young beauty for whom Winston already knew Paul had intimate thoughts.

"Of course, it would also please me to hear about you, Sir Winston," she added.

To that, Winston was more hesitant. He looked down to her with a nervous smile, then looked back to the wide road upon which they were walking, illuminated by the nearly full moon and the occasional pole mounted torch. "There is little to be told of myself, m'lady. I was a boy ... who became a man ... who pledged his undying service to another boy--" He looked to Olivia with a smile, clarifying unnecessarily, "Lord Paul..."

When Olivia gestured that they should turn toward the harbor, Winston turned them and casually used the opportunity to check all about them for tails. He had seen figures in the shadows, but he was unconcerned about them: unknown to Olivia, he wasn't the only man of Paul's who had left the tavern, and those other men were very quietly falling in between those men loyal to Count Barker -- to Olivia's father -- to invite them to withdraw from the evening stroll.

He continued, ending the talk of himself and switching to Paul, "My Lord is a good man ... the best of men. He is honest and trustworthy ... loyal to those above and beneath him. I would give my life to protect him because I know that he would give his life to protect me."

He looked down to Olivia again, adding with a smile, "And you, m'lady, can trust that m'lord will give his life to protect you, as well."

He winked, which was rather ominous looking considering the horrific burn scars that covered much of one side of his face. Looking back to the path ahead, he said with confidence, "Soon ... m'lord will regain his place as Duke of Westrock. He will replace that usurper, the Count from Ryrstone ... and make him pay for the pain he has caused the true nobles of Westrock."

Winston spoke the last words with an obvious venom ... and an obvious ignorance to exactly who Olivia was ... Lady of Ryrstone, daughter of Count Lars Barker, Regent of Westrock!

(OOC: I don't have time to write the part for Paul and Sophia. Lunch.)

(OOC: This continues my previous post, which was abbreviated due to this nasty habit of my boss to want me to be at work on time.)

Paul turned and gestured Sophie toward the nearest of the two sets of stairs ascending to the Inn's rooms. He still hadn't decided whether she was a simple whore, a horny peasant, or a well shaped assassin; so he wasn't about to put his back to her quite yet. Watching her ascend the case before him caused Paul's already attentive cock to only become more so, and by the time they'd reached the door of his room, he was very near hard as a rock. She waited for him to use the skeleton key upon the heavy oak barrier, then -- again with his polite, protective gesture for her to go first -- headed inside.

He had barely closed the door behind him before Paul snatched Sophie by the elbow, spun her to face him, and moved her firmly backward. Oh, he wasn't brutal about it, but he did pin her firmly against the wall as he grasped both wrists and pulled them around to the small of her back.

"Where is it?" he asked expectantly. As he pulled both of her wrists into one powerful hand behind her, he began searching her body, clarifying, "Where's the knife...? Or ... do you fancy poison?"