KingTony

"When your past catches up to you."

William was conflicted watching and listening to Edward and Keziah: he knew they'd made the correct decision having her come home to her father; yet at the same time, having Edward with her like this meant that Keziah needed William less. And that was only more of a conflict: he'd actually expected Keziah to jump with joy at his awkward, vague marriage proposal, and when she didn't he was surprisingly devastated; and yet, he should have been thinking about how to get to New York, to his ancestor, to that rifle so that he could get home to the 21st century.

He had turned to stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace to consider his future when he felt movement very near him. Edward was within reach of him, staring into his eyes with Rose Anne in his big, powerful hands. The older man studied him for a moment, then offered out the tiny child.

"Oh, no ... I'm good," William said, laughing. There'd been a reason one of his Militia escorts -- a father of six himself -- had been responsible for Rose Anne's care on the walk to Lexington. "I, um ... I would -- I would probably drop her on her head--"

"Coward," Edward snapped, moving toward a withdrawing William until the man came against the cabin's wall. He nearly showed the child into the wide eyed man. He gave the younger man instructions on how to properly hold an infant, and after William finally had Rose Anne comfortably and securely in his crossed arms, he said almost in a whisper, "If you are going to one day be a father ... you should know more than how to simply make one."

William looked to the man in surprise, which caused Edward to smirk devilishly. The younger man said quietly, "I can't figure you out, Edward. I just can't."

They stood together for a long moment, admiring the baby before she began to get fussy. William tried to unload Rose Anne but instead ended up with a bottle provided by Edward, who again reminded him, "More than just making one, son."

William had avoided looking to Keziah during the exchange with her father, not sure how she would feel about Edward's intrusion into the very odd situation. But, finally, he looked up from the tiny thing to see her auntie...

The First War

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...

"When your past catches up to you."

Court. At the sound of the word, William's lips had spread just a bit. He knew from his historical research that couples sometimes courted for years before marrying. Hell, some courted for years before kissing for the first time. As she went silent, blushing -- for a reason other than what he thought -- William thought back to his last relationship: he met the woman in a bar, fucked her that night, began courting her three or four times a week, then quietly slipped out of her life when it became obvious that they weren't meant to be with one another long term. That was courting in the 21st century.

"I would be honored to court you, Keziah," William said, squeezing her hand again before releasing it and standing over her. Right now, though ... I have got to bathe."

He looked to the baby in Keziah's arms, marveling at how that vulnerable little thing could still be alive and well when all about her people were dropping of a multitude of causes. "I'll protect the two of you, Keziah. I promise. I'll never leave your side." He chuckled, clarifying, "Well, except for right now. I stink ... and I really need to do something about it."

..........

An hour later, William felt like a new man. Edward must have anticipated -- or simply smelled -- the stranger's need and had filled a large kettle with water and put it over a fire near one of the outbuildings. Though it wasn't hot, it was warm enough; and beyond a sheet strung on a line, William took his own sweet time washing away weeks worth or grime, dust, smoke, ash, and even blood. Keziah's father arrived as he was drying, carrying a fresh pair of worn, work clothes.

"You make these yourself?" he asked, holding up an oversized pair of wanna-be boxer shorts that tightened around the waist with a string that wound back and forth through slits in the haphazardly hemmed waist band. When the Lexington homesteader only nodded, William pointed out the very loose fitting crotch, joking, "So ... kinda roomy."

"Maybe for you," Edward commented. When William laughed in shock at the man's comment, Edward looked to him and smiled a bit at his inappropriate humor. But the smile was short lived. "Are you an honorable man, William?"

Not understanding the question at first -- particularly after the unexpected comment -- a moment passed before William's face lit up with shock. "I didn't touch your daughter, sir. I promise you."

Edward stared the other man down for a long moment, then let his gaze drop for a moment before smiling, and chuckling for William -- caught off guard by the unexpected conversation -- was still standing there in the soft grass naked as could be. Without another word, Edward turned and headed for the barn before finally chuckling for what ever reason or thoughts were going through his mind. William quickly donned the clothes, finding them so much easier than the uniforms he'd been wearing previous to this; and once dressed, with his still wet hair slicked back and a hat enclosing it, made his way back to the house. He stopped at the door, turning to watch the sun dropping behind the distant Appalachians. There were very few places in William's 21st century Massachusetts where this view wasn't obstructed or devalued by buildings, power lines, artificial lights, or cell towers. This place had the true feel of a wilderness area...

...and stepping inside to see Keziah ... and the baby ... and the future that he could have in this amazing place, William suddenly wondered why the hell he was so anxious to find that fucking long gun that had brought him here in the first place.

The First War

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...

The First War

Family Tree of the House of Westrock:

Cranston, Duke of Westrock (Presumed deceased)

Wife: Eddithia, Duchess of Westrock (Banished, 922 UC)

Children with Eddithia:

• Mary, Countess of Ryrstone; wife of Lars Barker (Regent of Westrock, Count of Ryrstone)
  
  (See "Family Tree of the House of Ryrstone for Mary and Lars's children)
• Carl (Presumed deceased)
• Richard (Deceased)
• Paul, heir-apparent of the House of Westrock

Other unnamed siblings of Cranston and those siblings' children are all dead and gone, many by Count Barker's orders, thus leaving the Count's own children -- Cranston's grandchildren by his daughter Mary -- in line for the Duchy ... at least, until Paul returned.

............

Family Tree of the House of Ryrstone:

Lars, Count of Ryrstone, Regent of Westrock

Wife: Mary, Countess of Ryrstone, Lady of Westrock (Daughter of Cranston)

Children with Mary:

• Adam, Lord of Ryrstone:
  
  • Heir to the House of Ryrstone
  • Was heir to the House of Westrock before Paul's return
• Lucas, Lord of Ryrstone.
• Matthew, Lord of Ryrstone.
• Olivia, Lady of Ryrstrone, betrothed of Alexander Gordon, 7th Marquess of Aberdeen.

"The Patriarchists: A Post Apocalyptic Tale of Love, Lust, and Loss"

The Story

Prior to our role play's beginning:

The Apocalypse began in the year 2020 with a biological weapon that would come to be called the Man Killer:

• The virus was designed to affect only those humans with a high testosterone to estrogen ratio, aka males.
• It could not survive outside the human body for more than just a few minutes; and those infected were not later contagious to those who hadn't been directly infected by the virus.
• It would be dispersed by unmanned aerial drones passing over either enemy forces on the battle field or cities occupied by enemy, rebel, or insurgent forces.
• As such -- because the overwhelming percentage of combat troops were still male -- it could depopulated an area of enemy force in under 72 hours without spreading far from the combat zone.
• Of course, other male non-combatants in the combat zone would be affected, but that was determined to be acceptable collateral damage when compared to the death rates of all genders, ages, and combat involvement of normal forms of warfare.

However, shit happens: the virus which had been designed without an ability to mutate did ... twice!:

• The first mutation was communicability: the virus could now be passed from person to the next.
• The second was external longevity: the virus could now live outside a human host for weeks.
• Before anyone realized what had happened, the virus had spread across the globe; and the male population of the world was plummeting.

It was during this spread of the Man Killer that the Third World War -- the Last World War -- began:

• No one today knows who launched the first missile, but the reason for its release had been accusations of responsibility for the Man Killer Virus.
• Blame didn't really much when the shooting was over: hundreds of ICBMs struck cities across the northern hemisphere and even in a few countries in the southern hemisphere.
• The result was devastating:
  
  
  
  • Nuclear Winter:
    
    
    
    • Tens of millions of tons of soot and dust rose to the mesosphere obscuring the sun.
    • Global temperatures plunged, killing most plant life (and many animals incapable of surviving the cold temperatures), thus disrupting food chains across the globe.
    • More than 95% of Earth's plants and animals were wiped out.
  • Nuclear Summer:
    
    
    
    • After the skies began to clear, excessive CO2 levels led to a significant greenhouse effect.
    • The planet warmed, and many of the species who had survived the Nuclear Winter now perished.
  • Ozone Depletion:
    
    
    
    • While this cooling and heating was occurring, a near-global Ozone hole came to be.
    • The high radiation levels caused long term changes to the physiologies of what animals -- including Humans -- managed to survive the 20 years following the war.
• The final result was:
  
  
  
  • Most of the life on Earth was wiped out;
  • And that which survived was altered forever.
  • Humans like all mammals saw physiological changes:
    
    
    
    • Males: sperm counts dropped significantly in most men, causing some to be sterile from birth and others to have difficulty successfully impregnating a woman.
    • Females: many were born infertile.
    • Both genders: the median life span dropped to 28, with very few people living to the old age of 40.

Seeking female for crime story with "fade to black" sex

Seeking female writer for a story with some "fade to black" sex in it ... not an all out sexual role play!

• You are a shy, conservative 18-22 year old from a little town in the country.
• You are a virgin and plan to be such until your wedding night.
• After a life time of being a goody-two-shoes performing social and charity work, the people of your community pooled their money together and sent you to an exotic tropical resort for 5 days.
• While there, you met a man who took you to his private villa, where -- after two days of great fun -- he asked you to sleep with him.
• Despite desperately wanting him -- or maybe the romantic, exotic, erotic memory of it -- you said you couldn't.
• He was disappointed, but accepting. However, he suddenly cut your time together short, telling you he had business he couldn't avoid.
• You came home thinking that you would probably never have an experience like that again.
• That's when I showed up at your door, telling you that the man you'd met wasn't the man you thought he was ... and that to save hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives, you have to go back to his villa and get close to him ... very close.

Concerning sex:

• Your character begins the story as a virgin.
• To keep the interest of the man with the villa, you're gonna have to put out.
• However, this is an adventure with a little bit of sex, not the opposite; and there won't be graphic sex in the thread.
• Sex will be R-rated at the most, with the rest of it fade to black.

"The Patriarchists: A Post Apocalyptic Tale of Love, Lust, and Loss"

In and out of consciousness, Trent had been hearing nothing but female voices. If he'd been clear headed enough, he would have come to the conclusion that he was, indeed, in a Patriarchist village. This was good news for him, of course: he was a strong, healthy, fertile male, the last evidenced by the children he'd fathered over the past years of his Wandering. They would surely tend to his wounds, give him time to recuperate, then send a few fertile women to his bed to add some diversity to their village's gene pool...

..........

Peter heard the familiar, confident, and demanding voice of the village's Matriarch as he followed behind the women carrying the injured Wanderer toward the Communal Hut. “What is going on..? Why is a stranger here this late?”

"He's injured ... been attacked," Peter said, taking a moment to give orders to the Guard Watch's Captain to add bodies to the perimeter watch. He looked to Caia, adding, "Man or beast we don't yet know."

They all entered the Communal Hut. It was an interesting structure, a combination of "A" frame, log cabin, and teepee: it was round at the base except for where the front entrance sat in a straight section of wall, with a base diameter of almost 30 feet; then it rose at a steep angle -- a safety feature for the sometimes heavy winter snows -- to a height of nearly 40 feet. The first Patriarchists of Tall Rock had lived in temporary huts while building this structure, and for years everyone had lived in just this one building. But as the population grew and resources were increased, additional buildings were constructed. Today, Tall Rock included the Communal Hut, six Home Huts, and eight additional buildings for stock animals, food stuffs, firewood, scavenged goods (for which a use was still unknown), and more.

And, of course, the Breeding Hut. Peter had never once in his 12 years as Patriarch been inside the Breeding Hut. His sharing of his own Seed was done in his own bed. No, the Breeding Hut was the domain of Peter's female counterpart, and he left the Matriarch to make any and all decisions about who used it, with whom they used it, and how often they used it.

“Should we go ahead and treat him, Patriarch?"

The irony of the Breeding Hut and the relationship between Peter and Caia was, of course, that while she made the decisions about which of Tall Rock's fertile women bred with the Wanderers who sometimes dropped in on them, he made the decisions about whether they came through the gate or not. The Patriarch of a Patriarchist village was honored and respected by those who lived in his care. However, there came a point in each Patriarch's life when his major contributions to the almost entirely female population -- his seed and his security -- might be better provided by a new and younger male. Truly, the only thing that kept the women of any Patriarchist village from killing or running off their Patriarchs one after another was that no matter what you thought of the man, the next man could be even worse.

"Treat him," Peter said, quickly adding, "And ... if he lives..."

He didn't continue. There was no need. If the Wanderer didn't bleed to death in the next minutes, he would like die of infection in the next days. The era of antibiotic pharmaceuticals was long gone, so long gone that the Patriarchists had no knowledge of them at all. Peter knew that Caia's girls had quite an array of natural remedies for this, that, and the other ailment, but ... well, this man looked pretty bad, and Peter held little hope that the Wanderer would ever share his Seed with the Breeders of Tall Rock ... let alone any fear that the man might one day take his place as leader of the village.

Peter looked to Caia, giving her a knowing expression, then turned and departed. There was nothing more for him to do here, and he had three ovulating women in his bed who were eager to perform their most important duty ... bringing forth new life in a world that had suffered such horrific dying.

"When your past catches up to you."

It had been a joy and relief like none William had ever felt to have Keziah throw her arms around his middle. He wrapped his around her upper arms, pulling her tightly to him for a long moment. He looked past her to the man emerging from the barn with a pitch fork in both hands and knew it must be her and Samuel's father, Edward. The man's expression was hard to read: a stranger for whom his daughter obviously had feelings was clutching that daughter to him in a way a stranger not wed to her shouldn't. What was there not to understand and be able to read, right?

..........

William had been unusually quiet since arriving at the farm, answering questions directly but without the considerable additional information he had available to him. At one point after they'd had dinner and Edward offered to put William's escort up in the barn, the Hessian who now consistently wore a Massachusetts Militia uniform asked the home owner if he could have a moment alone with the man's daughter. Edward scrutinized William for a moment, then turned without a word and went out to check on the stock animals.

William sat on a stool facing Keziah as she fed the baby goat's milk from a bottle. He told her what she already knew, that the baby was beautiful and lucky to have Keziah, then went quiet for a moment before explaining the two weeks that had just passed ... and the days that were to come.

"The Second Massachusetts was reinforced, and pushed further up into Boston Proper," he began. "The fighting ... it went on for, what, eight ... nine days." He hesitated, letting his gaze fall to the plank floor. "It was ... it was horrific, Keziah. The Redcoats put up a fierce battle ... because they didn't want to lose the city ... and because they really had no where to go."

Commonly taught history had claimed that the British commander William Howe had only withdrawn when he found the British position in Boston as indefensible. But later research -- including a treasure trove of letters found hidden away in the archives of a London library -- would show that Howe had been trying to leave for months; and that it had been a lack of boats and foul weather that had delayed withdrawal to March 17 1776, yet months away from this day.

"They -- the Redcoats -- they were running out of powder and shot," William continued, "and they'd lost most of their cannons. So.." He drew a deep breath, recalling the sight that would never leave his memory. "So ... to keep the Militias at bay ... Keziah, they burned the city." He hesitated again, trying not to frighten her because he knew her thoughts would be on Samuel. "Boston ... it's gone. Oh, I don't think they meant to burn the whole thing down. They'd set some buildings on fire near the front lines ... fed them with anything that would burn and cause choking smoke. But ... a wind ... a wind came up ... and drove the flames south. By the time the weather changed and the rain helped put it down..."

He stopped there, unable to continue explaining that not only had more than 50 percent of Boston's buildings been destroyed, with half of the remaining structures significantly damages; but the civilian population had been seriously damaged, too. In his never ending search for Samuel and Elizabeth, William had found charred bodies all about himself and even more that had simply succumb to the smoke that had laid low in the city due to a temperature inversion. Even the Militia had withdraw toward the Bottleneck, only returning after the fires had abated.

William reached over to take one of Keziah's hands, telling her in a whisper, "I'm sorry, but ... I can't imagine that Samuel survived that. Or ... or he'd be here ... with you, and his child."

He felt his own eyes beginning to well up, tears specifically meant for Keziah. He let her react to the news and to his thoughts about her brother before gripping her hand a bit tighter -- an attention getting embrace -- and looking her directly in the eyes. With a sincere, deep felt tone, William said, "Rose-Anne needs a mother ... not just an aunt. And..."

He hesitated a moment, a chill rushing up his spine as he thought Are you really going to do this, playa'? This isn't you! He smiled, still shocked that he'd been contemplating this on the long walk from Boston to Lexington. "And Rose-Anne needs a father."

He hesitated, waiting for Keziah's brain to begin its own contemplation. He smiled, chuckling short and sharp about how a liberated woman of the 21st century would react to the way he was about to use the word need. Hell, William would likely get punched in the face by such a modern woman, who would then tell him to go find a job that paid as well as her own did. William slid off the stool to one knee, saying, "And you need a husband."

The First War

(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."