Time: Morning Location: River Interactions: Rowan @GingerBobOh Mentions: None Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor Well, peace and quiet lasted so long.
Barrock's eyes slid open to a menacing blood red hue, the lost black dot swimming through the blood making its way to lock vision with the man who just arrived, a light elf. He wasn't particularly hostile, which was a first and a plus to release tension from his eyes. But still, someone was taking this place? He hadn't heard of this since the last time he came here.
"Hmm."
His eyes closed to conceal the eye roll. It irked him quite a bit that someone were to be here, but after some thoughts, Barrock was technically irregular, and if they were to have used it for training purposes in the time he hadn't been here, they had more claims to stay.
It's not like he couldn't just be forceful about it.
"We can wait. For now." Barrock replied, his eyes looking towards the river then back to Rowan. "What is this...training that I have not heard of?"
But instead, he wanted to learn a bit more about it. A conversation wouldn't hurt, aside from maybe a slight temper.
A picturesque scene of blossoming red and gold were better served with calm and serenity, and the area outside the fort was meant so. Going from house to house, door to door, Steffen treated every moment with caution. They might still be in the building, any incursions from the outside this successful would have been incredibly dangerous to deal with, especially as he was basically walking into their home turf. But there were none of them. In fact, the building interiors were neat as far as neatness goes, no sign of violence nor ransack. Skimping the tip of his finger on a table, there was a little bit of dust; the building was not even touched.
Leaving the building as in tact as when he arrived, Steffen looked around to see if Sir Renar had finished his own search. It was a shame he couldn't enjoy this serene evening.
"Nothing." Steffen gave Renar a headshake as soon as he saw him. "There's still a few over there, but I doubt we're gonna find anything more."
There had been nothing that indicated anyone being here that wasn't one of the fort garrisons. The fort's remote location, of relatively unimportant significance, also wouldn't seem like an attractive place to attack. Not a lot of questions were answered, all this seemed to prove is that this incident was more complicated than expected.
Heading back to outside the fort, beneath the walls, Steffen looked to see if Lein was still on the wall keeping watch, giving waves for the Hundi's attention.
A weird coincidence how an urgent crisis that demanded an immediate sortie had happened twice in a row, but it was part of the job. The messenger died in a lunatic state, a horrific way to go, but it left the knights with almost no information to work with other than Fort Daelantine requiring urgent support, and Steffen with many wonders and worries to what could be causing the messenger to even arrive at such a state to begin with. Having anticipated an attack from an outside force the entire route, he was even more unsettled when the fort looked completely fine from afar. No destruction, no signs of damage, no signs of human activity even. This put him on high alert way before most.
"There's going to be a lot of bodies."
"Like death hath come to dwell on earth, and made it's home here..."
And the two basically confirmed the worst, just from senses alone. A tightness gripped his heart, but he simply bit his lips to proceed forward, dismounting from his horse with his trusty steel spear, a large crescent shield and a shortsword on the shield's backside.
"You alright?" Steffen gently asked Amy as he passed by her, seeing her waiting for others to come in. "It's your first few assignments, right? Don't worry, we'll make sure you're safe."
Arriving into the interior, some in the group began to split up, and one of Sir Renar suggested the same for him and Lein, back outside in fact.
"Alright. The buildings are awfully close to the fort. Maybe some bodies found in there too." Steffen gave a nod to Sir Renar, taking a step forward but turned around to look at Lein, that he would not leave the Hundi behind unless refused.
Lirrah's explanation wasn't doing much help in clarifying the situation as well as he would have wanted, but the reality was quite inherently absurd to begin with. And her panicked response was doing more to get him more worried about her than his comrades fighting inside the tomb, all intensifying as Irian knelt beside her as her legs gave out. His chest tightened in response to Lirrah's own spasming heart, lending her back a supporting hand. Possibilities began to reek in his head if the witch she mentioned had placed some sort of curse on her, or a disease had rottenly found the time to emerge, or just a common panic-induced incapacitation. He had dealt with the third one many times before in his own compatriots, but Mayon had mercy on his soul if it were the other cases, because he couldn't.
An indecisive sigh weaved through his clenched teeth.
"Got it. Don't worry, take a deep breathe, everything will be alright." Irian gave a gentle pat on Lirrah's shoulder before standing back up. "You can recount that if you're still worried. I will be right back."
It was worse than described. The cacophony of clashing steel with unsettling clickers of whatever made up their ghastly peels caused an instinctual rush of chill up beneath his own. And there were way more than just the one large one described. He came in just in time for these little hyper-demons to pop up from the debris.
"What a horror show." Irian mused, readying a glowing arrow aiming straight at the closest target to him, the tip bursting at the seams with magical undercurrent; the explosive arrows ready to bust open these hollow dolls. The shot would be fired at the joints, before two more were readied at the same time, reserved for any opportunistic ones attacking the main party.
Time: 6pm Location: Sorian Park, Princess Sadie's picnic Interactions: @JJ Doe △△△, @Rodiak Mathias/Lukas Mentions: "Hm?" John's response to Mathias was a very instinctual look to the direction the knight was peering at. Ah, it was Count Fritz. A casual friendly look at least, before the count was chased away by his compatriot knight, a very determined and valorous knight, whose prospect was quite bright to become a legendary hero.
"Dragon? Ho!" John played along as well. "No, you would not dare! You mayhaps slumbered, your strength unparalleled, waiting for the moment our knights are weakest, but you have made a mistake! The knights have recovered, and is ready for your undoing!"
As Lukas chased the dragon around, engaging in what would be a fairy-tale fight of his life, the doctor remained in the background cheering for the young knight. And once the 'dragon' was slain, he gave Lukas a thunder of applause, as he returned to his father. "A hero comes home! Praise the fabled Dragonslayer!" He kneeled up from his sitting posture to show respect, before letting his father take the final say.
"Whew." John sighed amusingly after the little roleplay session ended. "Could use a bit of practice with kids." Finally, he could take a bit of breather and continue the conversation. "And yeah, life just finds a way to bug me with work. Though it isn't much for what's technically work. Much needed respite from the trip up north."
Like usual, a warm summer morning was to be spent in the flowerbed that lined the Candaeln courtyard. The soft fragrance lingering in the still misty air, the melodic chirping birds and silent sight of butterflies. It was best enjoyed alone.
The Ingvarr quietly strolled up and down the garden that he (mostly) maintained, quietly admiring the life that sparked in this often ignored corner of the castle, but also on alert for any dangerous invaders that threatened its tranquil bloom.
”And there it is.”
Garden weeds. Taking everyone’s nutrients and harboring dangerous poison and even diseases for the humans too. And yet they’re everywhere.
Steffen stopped by the patch of dirt containing those pesky grass and, with his immense strength, pulled the grass out completely to its deeply seated root.
Amidst the smell of damp dirt and grass, of flowers and dew, there was another scent mixed in. A pungent smell, sharp and oily. The smell of paint.
The courtyard was best enjoyed alone, but on this morning, there were two present in this little-visited portion of Candaeln. Serenity, dressed in drab blacks and grays that did well to hide the flecks of errant colors upon them, stood before a canvas. A palette in her left, a brush in her right.
Paused, midstroke.
She nodded towards Steffen, once.
“Good morning, Sir Steffen.”
Poking his head up from the flowerbed just in time to see the gesture, a smile was given.
”Good morning!” The Ingvarr waved, before realizing he was holding a patch of grass and dirt. He promptly tossed that into a nearby bucket. ”I hope I’m not ruining the view. Terribly sorry about this mess.”
Steffen dusted off dirt from his hands as much as he could before heading over to Serenity, curious to what she was doing. It was already rare to be seeing her outside of the training yard or the library, not to mention her more laxing outfit too.
“No,” Serenity shook her head as she set her brush down. “Though I hadn’t expected you to be the one doing this, in the stead of the gardener.”
”Ah, well.” It was technically not his job. ”I just like doing garden work, so I offered to help. Our gardener is also double-timing as a chef, so any help is nice I guess.”
Steffen looked at the painting Serenity was working on. ”That looks pretty good. I also didn’t expect you to be out here with the canvas so early. Part of your knight training or?”
Strange, that. They had a good amount of servants working around the castle, and yet one of them performed two roles? One could expect a shortage of knights after the War of the Red Flags, but the castle’s non-military occupants hadn’t reason to step on the field. To be lacking here…
Well. Not that Candaeln was her castle.
“It’s rudimentary,” Serenity replied. “And yes, this is training. Half of martial arts is the arts. Do you not garden for similar reasons?”
”...yeah…no? It is art indeed, but I’m not really doing it for the purpose of knight training.” Steffen glanced briefly back at the flowerbed, his arms folded. ”I just like it. It’s so peaceful to just sit down, contemplate, reflect…you know. Helps to get your head straight sometimes.”
“Hm.” She neither agreed nor disagreed.
If one wanted peace in the current state of Thaln, one didn’t have to go so far. The very reason why they could be stationed in Candaeln and live at their leisure was because there was no war, only miscreant conspirators and lawless ruffians.
“Where did you learn to do this?”
”Not where exactly. I taught myself most of them.” Steffen said, his sentiment instinctively getting a bit ahead of his usual word consideration. ”My mom liked to do this, and when I was younger I liked to observe her. So I kinda just picked it up naturally when I got to it myself. The rest is up to experience and my own creativity, I suppose.”
No books, no tutors, it was simply just keen observance, a bit of passion and a respectable number of hours put into it.
”How about you? Does anyone teach you this or you learn it yourself?”
“Passion and dedication.” That was admirable of Steffen, certainly. There were no diamonds in the rough that could be polished without external help, but while some benefited from the guidance of craftsmen, others were polished through their own efforts, tumbling through the world.
“As with everything I know, a master lays the foundation, and my efforts build up the rest. Though there is certainly nothing natural about this.”
She gestured towards her work once more. At a distance, at a glance, it was a serviceable painting, but upon further inspection, there was a void of something. It was art that captured an instance, but that instance lacked any particular meaning.
The garden before her was a garden bathed in morning.
And thus, she painted the garden, bathed in morning.
”Hmm.”
He tilted his head slightly. Just from his pure artistic sense, reading into Serenity’s brushstroke like a small glimpse into her mindset.
”I…yeah.” Wrinkles appeared on his forehead. He wasn’t sure how to put it, not only succinctly but also not to make Serenity upset about it. ”It feels a bit ordinary.”
It’s not that the art lacked or even needed an inherent sense of meaning, but it’s that it felt that this was anyone’s painting with hours of practice, not Serenity’s. If that’s her goal to just be able to capture the instance of her memories, then sure, but judging from her tone, she might be unsatisfied with the progress.
”But I can see your hard work. If you don’t mind, I can try, like, adding a bit of advice?”
“I do mind.”
A brusque response, but not an unexpected one when coming from Serenity. She was quick to offer help, but rarely asked for help. And then, there was…
“If it looks like what you see, then it’s as I intended.”
A contradiction, mayhaps, upon her emphasis of art just moments before.
”Oh…”
Steffen didn’t expect that. He felt a little hurt hearing it but reminded himself it was just Serenity. She always had that uptight element to her, maybe a little too inside of a box.
”Alright, alright, I’ll chill.” He said. ”Do you intend to go anywhere or do anything with the painting? Or is it just practice?”
“Do you in-”
She frowned. Then smiled. A thin smile. A slight shake of her head, as if shaking off bad habits, worse preconceptions.
“It’s observation. There is more that an artist can see than a common man, whether at a glance or with greater study. As such, it is a useful trait to obtain.” Now, she had answered him, so now she can ask him in return. “But, Steffen. Do you intend to go anywhere or do anything with this garden?”
”Well, do you like how it looks?” Steffen asked, a more tender smile appeared. ”If you spend a quiet afternoon or a lunch break here, would you like it?”
She took a second longer than her posture would’ve implied, swallowing the words that came most naturally. Neither of them were close enough for the behavior that she exhibited with other knights. There was a cleanliness to Steffen that was different from the ardent zeal of Gerard. “I like it. Though I question why you’d think I was here, if I didn’t like it.”
”Well…” Steffen leaned his head left and right, his words too jumbled in his head to come out immediately. ”It’s just to be sure I guess. I don’t doubt your enjoyment here.”
”But yeah, if so, I’m glad. That’s what I want to do with the garden.” He glanced back at the flowers, the plants that were blooming and prospering under his care. It was like his own child. ”For your and everybody else’s enjoyment at any time.”
”Does that sound good for intent?”
The Ingvarr’s palm covered his other hand, placed in front of his chest as he asked. It was not out of purview for who Steffen is, but one might still find it comical: a gigantic warrior from the north, looking reserved, demure.
Serenity raised a brow.
“If I say no, would you stop?” She picked up her brush once more, guiding it over the rays of light cresting over the ramparts of the keep. “Don’t ask for approval if it’s your answer. And if it isn’t your answer, don’t speak as if it is.”
”It is, it is, don’t worry.”
Ever so serious Serenity...
”Sure, I’ll take up on that advice.”
He didn’t want to aggravate her further. The response felt a bit instinctual, as if this was not the first time he had heard of it. It was best that he just maintained his cordiality rather than pushing back. At least for now.
Silence fell after. They were stubborn in their own way, set in their ways either by nature or conviction. Gradually, Steffen peeled away from Serenity, attending to the garden once more, while the lady herself remained where she was: back straight, eyes focused, brush moving forcefully, purposefully.
And thus, time passed, in this silence neither comfortable nor hostile, the sun rising higher, the insects roused by the warmth of day, the vibrance of life granted further vivacity by Reon’s blessings.
Serenity stopped.
The shadow she cast was one that only remained beneath her. She set her brushes down, rose from her seat, collapsed her easel, and wrapped up her palette. Three examinations to check the dryness of the paint, thirteen steps to bridge the distance between her and the Ingvarr.
“Do with it as you wish.”
In a garden bathed in morning light, there was the suggestion of an individual amidst pastoral scenery. A study that began in observation and ended in motion.
And without pause, the knight with flaxen hair left, heading into the shade of corridors and stonework.
Holding the painting by the back, not letting his dirt-covered hand ruin the knight’s dedication, Steffen gave a little smirk. ”Nothing natural, huh?”
Eventually, a painting ornamented Steffen’s office. An otherwise average painting, but nonetheless appreciated.
Time: Morning Location: River Interactions: None Mentions: None Equipment: Longsword and Plate Armor After that ordeal with the dark elf in town earlier, surely nothing would happen from now on, right? Well, he was surprisingly correct, for the most part. He just ventured to where he was supposed to go, did his business and quickly, as he physically possibly can, left. Now he could breathe relief for a moment, having something to live for a bit before the next inevitable menial labour he needed to do to keep his belly fed and equipment in check. In a way, it wasn't too different from his old clan's way of life: living on what they have until they inevitably have to raid for more. But at the very least, the self-exiled orc would not be causing any terror upon others. It's a civilized alternative to life, even if it was ultimately frugal and unfulfilling.
Speaking of a fed belly, Barrock remembered that he hadn't had a meal yet.
He didn't want to waste his money on the expensive shops and restaurants in this city. In fact, there was nothing here that could be considered cheap to him, being quite a prosperous town and all. The orc would simply get his own food instead, and to that it would be fishing.
Sitting down by the riverside near the town, Barrock set up his little 'picnic' corner - a lone fishing pole and a nice flat area to sit, contemplate, reflect. With any small thing in this world instinctively triggering every desire to rage, to tear down whatever those annoyances are, these moments of silence provided much needed respite to combat such cursed roots.
Barrock went fishing in the nearby river, sitting there to meditate.
The rest of the Lions disappeared into the tombs leaving Irian and a number of guards just outside the stone gate, on alert, but with chatters here and there. Something something goats vs cows when it came to its milk taste. A conversation Irian would join, if not for the relative importance of making sure the entrance was clear of enemies in case of any evacuation were to be had, and absolutely not that he absolutely despised cow milk for giving him all sorts of discomfort, and joining that would just trigger bad memories. Just hope that things don't come to a boil with the guards.
The elf simply kept tabs on his surroundings with his bow resting on his thigh, his feet tapping on the ground to a melody in his head, something he commonly does whenever he needs to keep watch of the forest to ward away boredom. But the melody was quickly overridden to a high-pitched squeak. To the fortune of the recipient, Irian recognized that voice, and so knew to not have his weapon up upon arrival, but not without pain as the high-pitch continued onto the explanation.
"Wo-wo-woah, what murder doll? What witch?...Wait..."
Witch...Doll...Doll Witch?
"Stay here, yall." Irian gestured immediately upon suspicion towards the guards, who seemed just as confused as he was a few seconds ago. But the keywords Lirrah blurted out let him knew what his opponent might be, and the arrow he drew from his quiver glowed a cyan color. "Chill, I'm here. Just guide me there, alright?"
Time: 6pm Location: Sorian Park, Princess Sadie's picnic Interactions: @Tpartywithzombi Violet @JJ Doe △△△ @Potter Sadie, @ReusableSword Roman, @Rodiak Mathias Mentions: Her name is Violet. It really is her.
"My name is John. Dr. John Williamson of the Varians."
Contained behind the friendly and polite greeting, his mind continued to run amok. He knew it was virtually impossible to medically revive someone. He knew it was possible to even heal from such an injury within a single night. He knew something weird was going on with some of the people around him. This made too little sense.
A metallic taste formed in his mouth. John barely was able to contain his panic as he took a gulp from the cup of water he had. Thankfully, the taste went away, or it was made up by his own mind.
'Why would anyone be dabbling in this? Don't they know how dangerous it is?'
Speaking from first-hand experience, this was looking very serious, even if people around him hadn't realized it yet. Maybe except for one individual.
"Oh yeah, now that we're both here, Lord Ravenwood. Is it alright if I can see you later tonight? There's something I want to discuss with you."
Two even...but that person John didn't have much trust in.
"Anyway. Hope you'll enjoy the picnic Lady Violet." John gave the lady a bow before excusing himself to a different area of the picnic, exchanging a glance with Count Fritz inbetween. He stopped by Sir Mathias and offered the man a cup of water.
"Good evening Sir Mathias." John greeted. "It's been a while, eh? How's your trip been so far? And Lukas too, how's he been doing?"
In his trusty and comfortable oak chair, Steffen laid his head on one palm and the other holding a white quill, occasionally slipping the paper he was writing on onto a stack of them, moving almost automatically just from muscle memory. He had lost count of how many times he had to fill this document out just this quarter, so much so that he wanted this form pinned on the training yards for members to do it themselves. But given certain ‘individuals’ they had in the Roses - a certain opportunistic Hundi, mischievous rogue, lazy vampire, or just people who would just plain forget about due process - he wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea.
Finishing the last of the form, Steffen cracked his knuckles, twisting his wrists a couple times before rearranging the pile neatly and heading out to Sir Renar’s office. The Ingvarr knocked on the door upon seeing the light from beneath.
”It’s me.” Steffen said.
"Enter," Renar glanced up from his desk, tucking the letter he’d been drafting off to the side. Fortunate that it was Sir Steffen, which meant that the following conversation would likely be something of substance, even if it was just regarding the day-to-day administration of the keep.
”The broken training equipment is documented. Can you write the smith the order to make new ones?” Steffen said, peeking in from the door. ”Also, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to that order about the squeaky door in my office?”
"Very well," Renar nodded in response to Steffen’s first request, reaching for another sheet of parchment to do as he was asked. "Who was it this time? If it was Fionn or Gerard again, I apologize on their behalf. They tend to underestimate their own strength at times. As for the door," He sighed, dipping his quill back into the inkwell.
"The request to oil the hinges has already been sent in. If it’s not been done by now, either someone’s marked it as low priority or the culprit has intercepted the message. Knowing Lein, I give it even odds."
”It’s both. But that’s fine, if it’s for the cause of improvement.” Steffen entered the room and handed those aforementioned documents to Renar. ”You should bet money on that odds. He did cause the door to be that way, I’d imagine he’d do that too just to annoy me.” Steffen rolled his eyes, but the Ingvarr sounded more amused than angry.
Renar matched Steffen’s rolled eyes with his own as he took the documents, though his tone sounded more exasperated than anything.
"I will never understand why our better archers all seem to have inane personality defects." He groused, scanning the sheets over briefly before setting them down on his desk’s inflow pile.
"Have I complained to you yet about Dame Cecilia getting exceptionally drunk in the Knight-Captain’s presence? I swear she emptied an entire cask of wine on her own. At that point, it was too much to conceal in the bookkeeping, and I’d had to inform the kitchen staff."
Steffen burst out a laugh as he stroked his cheek. ”Really? That’s probably more than I could on any given meal.” Though given that he rarely ever drank in his life, it was hard to accurately determine his limits.
"And unlike you, she isn’t seven feet tall." Renar remarked wryly. "In any case, while you’re here, I’d like to ask a favor of yourself as well." His eyes narrowed slightly as he began to explain.
"To be frank, you’re one of the only knights in administration that bothers to give me the time of day. My birth status does me little favors with several of these parchment-pushers that see no field action. If I could trouble you to deliver some of these requests and suggestions I have, I’d be very appreciative."
”I don’t know if my status is that much better, having none of that noble blood to come along, but I’ll gladly help.” Steffen nodded with a small smile. ”Is it alright if I ask what those requests are?”
Renar grinned slightly in satisfaction, gesturing towards the half-drafted letter he’d set aside.
"Merely some thoughts as to how to speed up the flow of paperwork among Candaeln’s administration. Less extraneous requests, shortened orders, abbreviation for common forms. And frankly, better an upjumped commoner at times than a bastard. You’re here unquestionably on merit and valor."
”Hmm, alright. Yeah that makes sense.” Steffen simply agreed, taking the letter, thinking nothing much of Renar’s requests. ”Though to be fair, you did do your part on merits as well. Just that the blood in your veins even spilled for Thaln is not enough for some people.”
”Though, just prefacing it, it’s still going to be quite a difficult proposal, with all the traditionalists and all. I know it’s just mundane paperworks, but who knows how many of the traditionalists in our court are motivated by laziness.” Steffen sighed. ”I wish we’re a bit more progressive sometimes. For this, and…well…people like you, getting stained by that.”
"I’m aware." Renar said in response to Steffen’s first few statements. "The state of things isn’t something that any one person can change, even if the crown decreed it so. Royal proclamations don’t change how people think, and they can always fall back on any number of excuses to keep the status quo as it is. Creative interpretations of the law are something I’m rather familiar with." His tone was cold, though turned wry at the last few words.
"Frankly, any dreams I had of the state of things improving died with my boyhood. All I can do is rise as high as possible, no matter what stands in my way. And what of you? As I understand, you aren’t Thalnan by birth. I’m not quite fool enough to believe that crown and country are what binds every knight of our order, but what compels you to stay, outside of a better life than you would have had otherwise? Which is quite a good reason in itself, honestly."
Yeah, Steffen couldn’t blame him for that. The society they both lived under created the kind of person he was. Still, he hoped that at the end of the day, his ambitions came with good intentions after all was said and done.
He leaned onto the wall nearby, crossing his arms. ”Yeah you can say that. I’ve never been into what my ‘compatriots’ are known for: a life of constant fighting. It’s…unfulfilling.” He shrugged apathetically. ”Now, I know, it sounds oxymoronic that now I’m in the knights doing the fighting, but life finds a way to ruin peace. At least here, I’m fighting for a purpose.”
”I guess that makes us sort of opposites?” Steffen let out a light-hearted chuckle. ”N-Not in that sense. Just goal-wise I suppose.”
"Don’t concern yourself overmuch about the matter." Renar waved a hand dismissively, unconcerned. "My goals stand at opposites with many knights. You share more in common with most of our fellows than I do, at this point. If I were talking to Fionn about this, he’d give me grief over it." To say nothing of the damned dream. Blasted Merillia, and that shade of Edwin.
"But that does make sense. You have no opposition to fighting, you only seek to derive purpose from it. How noble."
”...Thanks, Sir Renar.” Steffen rubbed the back of his neck in response. ”It’s more a lesson learned.”
Going back to the topic about Renar’s ambition though. ”For your ambitions. For the state of things right now, what do you expect to rise to? Baron? Count? And what do you want to do once you get there?”
Renar pursed his lips as he considered how to answer the question. After a few moments, he deigned to speak.
"Currently? Any landed title. More to prove certain naysayers I have wrong than anything. In truth? I’d not put too much thought into what I would do should I achieve that goal. Getting there will be difficult enough as it is."
Spite-driven apparently. It is certainly a motive, just not something Steffen would want to see in a person. But then again, from Renar’s shoes, after having been beaten and dragged through mud his whole life for something he couldn’t control, it’s understandable.
”Because it might entail more work and responsibility than what you would bargain for. And also you can’t be proving everyone wrong all your life, right?” Steffen said, lowering his voice again. ”You don’t have to decide what you want to do right away though. Everybody has a dream first and consideration later. Just, I guess, sleep on it.”
Renar narrowed his eyes at Steffen’s words, well-meaning as they might have been. Fionn all over again. Goddesses save him from this sort of concern.
"Your consideration is duly noted." His tone turned glacial. "I am more than aware of what goes into managing and administering lands." And like hell he couldn’t spend his life defying fools. It was what had gotten him this far in the first place. Though it went unsaid. There wasn’t any point in needlessly antagonizing the man. Pressuring him into backing off the topic, though? Absolutely.
"To both of our modest ambitions, then, Sir Steffen." Renar’s face locked up into passive formality. "I’ll be certain to get those forms of yours sent in to the right places. Now if that will be all? The hour grows late, and it’s soon time to sleep on certain considerations."
A rather cold response, he could sense, but Steffen harbored no ill-will against that. If his experience with himself ever told him: doubling down on telling the unwanted what to do would just deepen the wounds.
”To both our modest ambition, Sir Renar.” Steffen gave the man a friendly two-fingered wave. ”Thank you, that should be it. Yeah, get some good rest. Who knows when the Knight-Captain would want us bashing undeads again.”
Another wave sent Renar’s way before the door was closed.
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