Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
As the Duke asked his final question, the room fell silent. A flash in his mind, Nemean saw himself launch over the desk. His hands around the master swordsman's neck.
The voice of anger nudging him: Do it. "Don't speak of my mother in that way", said the knight. Eyes full of promise.
The winds were whipping up the curtains now, and one of the doors had come loose. The black-bladed Duke was still leaning back in his tall chair, booted feet up against the fine desk and a crystal tumbler half full of languid, amber fluid. Did his eyes narrow, for just a moment? A plan, formulated in a second; the tumbler thrown, a letter opener through the throat or eye, a belaying pin to dash out his traitorous brains?
The Duke inhaled as the tension between the pair became stifling, and drank the remains of his glass without taking his eyes from the Knight. He set down the tumbler, smoothed his goatee and moustache with a smack of his lips,
"I apologise", he said slowly, "That was unkind of me. I would have saved her, and you, from that fate if I were able. That your mother was part of your life for an instant were more than I received, in truth. I shall not speak of her again, save that I wish she were alive for both our sakes".
"I am here to find out about my family. My father, who you served...were sworn to! There never was word from him."
"Your father was good to me, nay... the best. He saw our groups splintering and failing without a homeland, and gave us one. He was content to lead but not to rule; I would no be in this position", said the pirate, indicating his fine office with a swirl of cigar smoke from his hand, "were it not for the trust he placed in me. His leaving, so sudden and without warning... it stung! Nay... it bled."
"There was nothing left in the North...It was wrong", continued Sir Nemean, "They didn't say why it was wrong. Only to destroy Perdan...to destroy the realm and home of my father. My family's land...I am looking for family, Smiddich."
The Duke sucked in his smoke, and snorted it from his nose and mouth ignobly. This, like one of his many tells - a penchant for rum, one too many raucous tattoos and a prediliction for objectionable dancing - spoke to his primitive upbringing and a life at sea. But the utter lack of title, of honorific rankled in that moment,
"Know your place, Sir Nemean", said Smiddich, standing. He was broad, in only a shirt, boot and breeches, his long dark hair tied back with silver clips and a scar the length of his face, "It is at the bottom for now. In time, your service, as well as your name, will stand you in good stead in this nation. There are many, myself included, who owe your father a debt."
There existed only an inch or two before the distance between the two men became an inch or two too many.
"You cast off the North, just as we defy their charges against the Perdan of old. Join us in the new Perdan, this place where castaways and refugees find a place of redemption.. of salvation! Gods know.... I need that, just as much as you", admitted the pirate Lord of Perdan,
"Make a name for yourself as your father did, and forge a new history and a new family here. I hear you are already making waves in the military channels; good! But have a care how you treat with our enemies. I may not be the diplomat your father was, but Perdan will not be bought or sold for cheap, and not at the cost of our capital, culture or identity"
The door was clattering now and threatening to shatter, but Smiddich made no move to attend to it. Lanterns and candles in their sconces were flickering madly as the sun dipped finally behind a cloud and the roar of the ocean heralded evening. The once-privateer stretched himself, and his eyes said in no uncertain terms...
Your welcome is running out.