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46

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 30, 2019, 10:47:58 AM »

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Alyssa put her hand on her temple.  "Of course not.  We know much of each other sir, we have exchanged letters for a year.  I found our correspondence cordial and have always considered you a noble soul, if not a bit confused.  You said you came here because I treated you kindly.  I am happy to hear that I have inspired you, truly, to come to Perdan.  I believe you came because we are of one mind on the honour of a knight and the duty we share as nobles to the smallfolk of this world.  I believe you came to Perdan because you are a true knight, as I hope to be."

A silence hung over them for a few moments and Alyssa sighed.

"I want to be clear I hold no animosity for you, Sir." She said gently.  "I have had my grievance with you that is true.  To me, that is past.  All the cruel things you have written to me, as well as your touching of me without leave I do not hold against you.  I have asked for your forgiveness for mine own transgressions, as I said, I made a few erroneous assumptions and I regret it.  I just..."

She hesitated.  "I want to understand you.   I believe you are a good man, but you treat me with both kindness and cruelty.  It vexes me.  I asked you before: 'What am I to make of this?' Does this man mislike me?  He told me never to speak to him again.  Then he sends me a letter and a puppy.  Is he fond of me?  I grow quickly weary of the back and forth.  Endlessly trying to parse together what is going through your head.  It is becoming a distraction.  One that I cannot afford to have.  So." She said, the weariness in her eyes beginning to sparkle into bright blue flame.

"If you have something you wish to speak with me about, please do so."

47

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 30, 2019, 10:33:23 AM »

My second reply:


A Little Cottage
 

"That depends, Sir Nemean." She began, looking back at him "A great deal, on what you wish to speak of." She continued as gently as she could. "It was yourself Sir who arranged this meeting. I have explained myself in my letter, and as I wrote you are free to visit me if you wished to speak of it further. You have come, and I am here." ~Alyssa Kingsley

He just sat there. Looking at her struggle with the words. Finishing with something that felt like a plea almost. Asking him how she could make him feel better. As she stopped speaking Nemean readjusted his left arm. The sling had become uncomfortable and he used it as a distraction as he felt deflated. Staring at the floor until he was done.

Try as he might but he couldn't help feeling dolorous. Proud waves breaking on the reefs, never reaching the shore. ''I uhmm..'' He cleared his throat. Feigned another cough. He took a deep breath and righted himself. His stray right hand indicating into nothingness as it sat perched on the armrest. ''All that was said.'' An aquiline look preceded the words. ''That meant nothing?''

The chair he sat in suddenly felt like the very bastion of a besieged warlord. ''You can't undo those words.'' His voice started to rise. ''How can you sit there and pretend -nothing- happened.'' If before his eyes were hard, now they were wreathed in licking flames. ''You want to clear the air, then speak of that.''

Nemean looked down at the table. Whatever tectonic plate of his had begun to move, with the air he calmly blew out so too did it settle. ''I came here because I cannot believe, nor accept, that what I said and we shared, meant nothing.'' When he looked at her again, his eyes were calm. His face open but neither was there a smile. Clouds on one side of a valley promising rain and more, while at the other side, blue skies and a radiant sun. At the bottom of the valley, a small cottage seated on the banks of a small lake.

48

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 30, 2019, 10:30:57 AM »

All credit due to the writer, and excellent writer in my opinion.


Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley


/All I wanted to say?/ She thought to herself, feeling a tinge of annoyance at the man's casually flippant attitude. /You came to me!/

But she did not voice her thoughts, instead pinching her the bridge of her nose in frustration. "That depends, Sir Nemean." She began, looking back at him "A great deal, on what you wish to speak of." She continued as gently as she could. "It was yourself Sir who arranged this meeting. I have explained myself in my letter, and as I wrote you are free to visit me if you wished to speak of it further. You have come, and I am here."

She sighed futilely, before continuing "I truly do want the air between us to be clear Sir. We have wounded each other, and that will not do. We are both knights and as such should be above the pettiness we have both shown to the other. And we are both Perdan. Our foe is not each other but those false knights who burn our crops and slaughter our people. So please Sir. If there is something I can do to help you feel at ease, please tell me so that we can forgive one another and put this distraction behind us."

She looked at him exasperated and weary, both from little sleep and the difficulty of the man before her.

49

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 30, 2019, 10:28:58 AM »

My reply.


A Tower to Climb
 

"Sir Nemean.  You received my letter?" She asked hoping she did not sound too cold. He nodded."So you wished to speak to me of its contents.  Very well." She said, sitting back down and motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk. She took a deep breath. "Then let us speak." ~Alyssa Kingsley

The half mantle whipped from his left shoulder like a banner taut in the wind, as he ascended the steps of the tower and stood in the doorway. He didn't give much for the room. Instead he tried to carefully take a first step towards the table. Stones somewhat uneven but after that first step, he no longer cared. His left arm firmly in a sling, tight to his body.

With his free hand he pulled out the proffered chair and took his time to sit down into it. Deliberately shifting his weight and making sure he sat comfortably.  Blueberry-bush green eyes perused the contents of the Imperatrix's table. Letters, mostly scattered over a map. A writing box of well worked wood. The clipped feather of a goose, almost hidden in the curling roll of a parchment. Nemean wet his lips and with discernible discomfort pulled his gloves off. Particularly the right one gave him trouble.

Once done, he threw them on the desk with a laconic toss. ''Was that all you wanted to say?'' He canted his head and leaned back into his seat.

50

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 30, 2019, 10:28:13 AM »

Welcome, welcome. Glad you're here. Got another string of Rp's for you. It begins with the one just below. Not written by me but the player of Alyssa. Its one of those strings yes but I won't spoil too much.


Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

"A knight to see you my lady." Gareth said, still clearly nervous from his first day on guard duty.  He was about her age possibly a little older, and his hook nose and droopy eyes gave him a look of feebleness.  Still she would not underestimate him.  She had been surprised in the past, meekness hiding great strength and a warrior's spirit.  And Perdan is a realm of warriors.

Alyssa sighed. "Which knight?" she asked wearily.  It had been her fifth meeting that day and she was frankly tired.  Gareth leaned back out of the door and called down the stairs.

"Which one?" He yelled as Alyssa shook her head.  A muffled call back came from below she could not make out and Gareth leaned back in the door way.

"Some knight called Sir Nemean."

Alyssa paused.  "Bring him in." she said curtly.  She stood at her desk, with her hands behind her back at ease when Sir Nemean entered the room.  He wore a neutral expression she could not read.  Not that she could ever read him. 

"Sir Nemean.  You received my letter?" She asked hoping she did not sound too cold.

He nodded.

"So you wished to speak to me of its contents.  Very well." She said, sitting back down and motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk. She took a deep breath.  "Then let us speak."

51

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:42:38 AM »

Here is a bit of an intermezzo. Lucius Poe, a warrior poet who speaks with the universe and sees things others can only dream about challenged Nemean to a duel. Because Nemean has no song in the Universe and it is all quiet around him, according to Lucius. Naturally, Nemean accepts.


Duel

Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin, Knight of Bisciye meets his challenger Lucius Poe, Knight of Aix for the agreed duel till surrender.
Lucius has decided to use the 'trick moves' strategy while Nemean JeVondair has chosen the 'neutral' strategy, giving Nemean JeVondair the advantage.
The duel rages for quite some time and superficial wounds are suffered on both sides. Finally, a deep blow strikes Nemean JeVondair down and his second declares it a surrender.


---


The Healing Process

Days blend together as Nemean lay in bed. Fortunately the windows permitted fresh air and during the evenings the hearth bloomed with heat. He hadn't known boredom before suffering the near mortal wound at the hands of Lucius Poe. The fight had replayed itself in his mind over and over. At first he could only grasp and hold on to bits and pieces of it as he passed from wakefulness into delirium. At some point, it was hard to discern when exactly, it played out like a scene at a theater. Stroke up, the blade sang. Feet shuffled. The sound of fabric straining.

The meals were awful. The liquid greens and bitter grub the healers forced him to eat made him retch. At least there had been a kind nurse. Employed by one of the greybeards. She'd wait until her Master and employer was done with Nemean and came to smuggle boiled fruits in for him. And cakes. Usually after the midday sun had begun to dim. He'd begun to keep a watch for when the sun began it's descent for it would herald her arrival. Neala was her name. Cream white skin. Dusted lightly with freckles. With large brown eyes that always made him feel welcome and safe.

She wouldn't say much and made a point for keeping her private visits brief. Nemean was in no position to protest. Not until the second week. But as soon as the healers noticed his steady recovery they placed new demands on him. Apparently one of the healers had been a career soldier before taking up the profession as bonemender. The man had forgotten none of the military discipline as he broke Nemean like a horse tamer does a stallion. He had the Prince exercising his legs, first stumbling and shuffling. With ample of cursing from Nemean which was about as harmless as feathers being thrown at a slab of granite. Consequently the warrior healer worked his hard hands on the Prince's muscles and much howling ensued.

While it felt like torture the effects were unmistakable. The wound healed steadily. His body was growing stronger and his vigor returned. While he wasn't out of the woods yet, the warrior healer agreed, he could return to active duty. Nemean, ever discovering new humilities. Profusely thanked the healer. The man offered some somber wisdoms and Nemean vowed to commit them to memory.

''Now where is that Poe.'' The words said far more confidently than the duel's result would suggest. Nevertheless, armour was donned and the mantle worn.


----


Lucius Poe declares friendship afterwards and overall it was a great character development moment.

52

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:39:10 AM »

Different Conclusions
 

He dropped his jolly demeanor and spoke to Nemean with a plainer, more serious tone.  "Lady Alyssa has a heart of ice.  She left it behind to lighten the load she bears for the realm.  And  it was left buried and hidden in the snow for so long it will take the brightest of flames to warm it.  She needs joy, Sir, desperately.  What the nobles of this brave realm did to her is an inexcusable crime.  To burden one so young and bright with such grave responsibility." ~Maron, Bard in the service of Alyssa Kingsley

The serious tone from which Maron lept and announced his performance at the Lion's Den did little to amuse Nemean but it did cartloads to diffuse the situation. Broadly remaining where he was Nemean looked on expectantly after the guards informed him that it'd be only minutes now.  A tiny voice in the depths of his skull made him turn his head in the direction Maron had vanished into. He tried to spot the man but had no such luck.

He wondered what Maron had meant with the Ice and the great crime the realm had put on Alyssa. For a moment he did his best to inspect the problem with his mind's eye but his conclusions remained the same. A problem to revisit perhaps he surmised, time was not a luxury right now. Satirically as that might've seemed as he continued to wait, with purpose now, some more.

53

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:38:07 AM »

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Maron

"The lute had me confuse you for a bard, not a jester" the young knight barbed at him.  Oh he is quite fun Maron thought to himself as he watched the knight lie to him about his own tender heart.

"Oh she is in Sir, I had the pleasure of waking her this morning. Seeing her tender face with the dawn is one of the greatest pleasures of my life.  She is most spirited when she arises." He said with a wink. He paused for a beat before continuing.  "And her voice so full of life as she calls my name!  'Maron!' she cried out to me this morning.  It was more music than anything I could play, Sir."  The knight just stared at him as another smile began to form.  "Her aim though is lousy." he offered, having had his fun.  "The slipper she threw in my direction at the doorway did not even come close to me.  A wound, to be honest, that she would even consider to strike this humble singer who only seeks to bring her joy, but the spirit in her voice as she chastised me for playing for her before the sunrise was worth any wound, Sir."

The knight said nothing, but looked annoyed as Maron continued on.  Perhaps that is enough for today.  "In any case, Sir, I am indeed in her service.  Maron is my name and entertainment and pleasure is my trade.  I am sure you have heard my songs, I have grown quite popular here in the city.  Have you heard "The Lady in White?"  It is of course about our fair lady, and written by yours truly, and is often loved by the smallfolk.  Not so much among the noble crowds though, but no matter.  A dozen coins are the same whether given by twelve peasants or one noble."

The group of logistics officers that Maron had spotted on their way to the tower earlier this morning were making their way down from Alyssa's solar.  Nemean seemed to shift somewhat uncomfortably as the guards informed him that it would be just a few minutes more as the Imperatrix prepared for her next meeting. Poor fool Maron thought.

"Well Sir Nemean JeVondair" Maron began once more.  "It was a pleasure to meet you Sir.  I look forward to our legendary duel for our beloved lady's heart.  I wish you the best of luck, though I am determined to be the victor.  As a gentleman I will grant you a boon to more even the field, perhaps it will make it interesting."

He dropped his jolly demeanor and spoke to Nemean with a plainer, more serious tone.  "Lady Alyssa has a heart of ice.  She left it behind to lighten the load she bears for the realm.  And  it was left buried and hidden in the snow for so long it will take the brightest of flames to warm it.  She needs joy, Sir, desperately.  What the nobles of this brave realm did to her is an inexcusable crime.  To burden one so young and bright with such grave responsibility."

And then he gave an extravagant bow.  "I am playing tonight at the Lion's Den in the city as well Sir.  All are welcome!" He announced jauntily to the knight, soldiers, servants and officers who scurried about.

54

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:36:21 AM »

Sir Lover

He saw Sir Nemean's frown as he turned to see who called him such a name.  Very good, Sir. He thought to himself.  As he reached the knight in sour armor, the bard gave a gracious and exaggerated bow. "Is she keeping you waiting too, my lord?  How women play with our hearts, this one especially."  He grinned a knowing grin.  "Tell me Sir, what brings you to our darling lady? ~Maron

Standing around and waiting had aggravated his wounded shoulder. The people milled around almost mindlessly or so it seemed to Nemean and he had to pay attention to any of them that came close enough to bump into him. Something he really didn't want to happen. The constant attention wore on him and now this figure appeared.

Looking the bard over Nemean noted the instrument, the somewhat foppish tints and of course the self-indulgent smirk. ''She invited someone like you?'' He coldly dropped on the commoner. ''The lute had me confuse you for a Bard, not a Jester.''

After a moment Nemean decided against further antagonizing Maron. ''You are in her service?'' His eyebrows arched. ''She hasn't played with anything to be fair.'' He discovered this was harder to talk about than he had anticipated. ''Quite the opposite actually. It was quite clear what she thinks and wants.'' Not wishing to elaborate on the subject. Nemean looked up at the tower. Spying several neatly placed windows. One above the other.

''I might've arrived early.'' He turned his gaze to the bard. ''The army only just returned from their successful battle in Eldoret and Brive.'' The tone of his voice continued to lose much of its original edge. ''But yeah,'' He swallowed. ''She asked me to meet her here. Would you know if she's in?''

55

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:35:44 AM »

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Maron

"Sir Lover!"  Maron called as he turned the corner, spotting Sir Nemean standing at the foot of the steps to the White Lady's office and quarters.  Now this is an interesting sight! He thought to himself.  The singer had heard of what happened during his lady's previous visit to the capital.  He tried to comfort the girl with a song when she came back to her tower in a huff.  He certainly did not expect the object of that irritation here before.  He wondered to himself whether the young man simply enjoyed heartache.  For Maron it was a game, one he enjoyed very much.  He of course knew Alyssa would never fall for a man like him, but she was quite an inspiring figure and an interesting one.  There would be songs about her, and he wanted them to be his songs.  In the meantime, he enjoyed pushing her buttons for a simple delight.  This Nemean on the other hand...

He saw Sir Nemean's frown as he turned to see who called him such a name.  Very good, Sir. He thought to himself.  As he reached the knight in sour armor, the bard gave a gracious and exaggerated bow.

"Is she keeping you waiting too, my lord?  How women play with our hearts, this one especially."  He grinned a knowing grin.  "Tell me Sir, what brings you to our darling lady?

56

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:35:13 AM »

This is the start of a new story arch I believe, or rather, a new chapter in an old one. Unexpectedly, Nemean received an apologetic letter from Alyssa. Asking him to meet her in her Tower.


A Painful Walk

Some days had past since the fight in the Bloody stump. Days or weeks, it didn't feel much different either way. He still had to wear a sling for his left arm and every time he snuck it off, one of the healers would verbally assault him and fuss all over him again. Fortunately for him, the army did not require him to travel with them. Instead he'd poured over scouting reports and spend his afternoons and evenings penning letters. It was more difficult than it sounds, not the writing itself but the bracing of the blasted parchment. Sling in the way and a paperweight more clumsy than a drunk chicken. He had managed though and although there was little feedback, he liked to believe his reports were useful.

It was one of those afternoons. When he sat down to write the next bit on Bescanon and what enemy forces his scouts had sighted that he noticed an unusual letter, perched upon his desk. His chambers were modest and not spacious whatsoever. Still, they inhabited the Ducal palace and that beat any tavern. The thought made him wince. He couldn't even keep himself from mocking himself with his own words.

He shrugged it off, the Duke had won fair and square. The letter. The seal that it bore displayed a wolf. Alyssa's wolf. Using the inkwell  and a letteropener he sliced it cleanly off. Moments later he held her words in his hand. Leaning back into the chair his eyes studiously roamed the parchment until he finally put it back down. A deep sigh ensued which further necessitated pinching the bridge of his nose. ''This'll be great.'' The crass scraping noise of the chair on stone as Nemean got up from his seat. He paced towards the door of his room where he stopped and took a half cape from its stand, slinging it deftly around his left shoulder. Obscuring the physical weakness and also, it felt nice, the additional warmth it provided.

Moments later Nemean was skipping down the stairs of the Ducal palace. His captain, Jacinta, spotted him in the main courtyard. The two made eye contact and Nemean waved her at ease. Something the woman seemed content to comply with, resuming her meal of roast chicken bits in whatever broth that was. He didn't linger and promptly made his way towards the Imperatrix's Tower. Passing several guards whom he scantly paid attention to. He finally reached the small and quite secluded part where the tower itself actually stood. Not that it was abandoned. Not by any stretch of the word. Scribes and servants of every color and stripe frequented the area. Warriors too of course and it all made Nemean feel even more skeptical than he had before finishing her letter.

He didn't like having to dodge out of the way of a small group of messengers but did. It was just more expedient. The personal guards of the Imperatrix saw him coming. They waited. When he finally drew up beside them they mouthed their greetings. ''I'm here on request of the Imperatrix.'' Seeing they weren't yet satisfied he continued, a bit exasperated. ''Nemean, Knight of Bisciye.'' He eyed them and they eyed him right back. He shifted his weight from hip to hip. Licked his lips with nascent annoyance. ''Knight of the Realm? I'm the one that writes the Scouting reports about the front? She asked me to visit her?'' It wasn't sure which of the answers the guards were actually waiting for or if they were waiting for any in particular even. They were content to just let Nemean wait a bit and then, and only then forwarded the notice of his arrival.

So the young Prince waited. Perhaps she'd be as coy as her guards. Maybe she wasn't even home and the letter send from the field. Whatever it was going to be. Nemean could swear he heard some distant or muffled laughing coming from somewhere about. He could hear words and bits of phrases: ''Must've been a deep cut!'', ''Wonder if the pup learned his lesson?'', ''Wonder what the Duke will do to him this time if he finds out the boy visited her tower!''

The walk was unpleasant and so was the wait.

57

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:32:53 AM »

And this concludes the duel. I am very grateful for the players of Smiddich, Alyssa and Dustiria. Couldn't have done it without them.


The Red Tide
 

Even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep. "Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."

He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince.
~Smiddich Fontaine

The cold was replaced with searing heat. Steel made way for a steady stream of crimson. It quickly covered half his chest, oozing nay, pulsing out of his flesh. Nemean tried to sit up and yelped as he instinctively had put weight on his hand. The Duke's basket hilt already forgotten. The young man fell backwards and droplets decorated the scene.

Among the fury, worry and much greater parts concern swiftly turning to panic a strong and steady hand presented itself. A clammy youth's hand clasped it. Slick with more than mere sweat. Nemean winced, croaked a protest he tried to stifle as the powerful hand gently closed around his and pulled him up. Everything spun before his eyes. The warm yet piercing oaken eyes of the Duke studied him. Why? A weak confusion skid across his face. Not realizing his legs were already wobbly.

As he followed Smiddich's eyes he saw that his entire right side was red. The floor around his feet had begun to pool. Nausea swept through him and his head felt light. That didn't seem to be the most important fact of his life though. Nemean made an effort to look at the Duke. ''Well fought.'' His head bobbed. ''Your Grace.''

Rushing away from the Bar, the burly barkeep sped towards the pair. ''Proper station be damned! Can't have a Noble dying in my bar.'' With a very back-alley technique Nemean had his deep shoulder wound triaged and the flow stemmed with a firmly knotted washcloth.

Fluttering his eyes, Nemean looked up at the Duke a final time and smiled before passing out.

58

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:31:12 AM »

Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine


A Bottle of Rum

Playing cards were fluttering lazily through the air as Nemean was forced into a corner, and he spun, panting. Despite the sudden and frenetic fight, his steel was steady even as his eyes darted around for an escape.

"This is not the game I'd intended on enjoying tonight", said the Duke with a grin, his sword  low alongside his leg in a ready stance, "But it is thrilling. Tis as well I own the place". The princes blade was aimed at a broad torso, the master swordsman already calculating a myriad defense.

Sir Nemean pushed himself off the wall with the one hand, a wordless scream, his blade coming in high and fast. What would have bisected the Duke in one moment was dashed aside at the last, sparks flying from their sharpest edges. Nemean turned to face his foe again; he had won his freedom from the corner but found himself still with few places to go. The Duke pivoted smoothly in his tall dark boots which crunched on broken glass, an errant lock of dark hair across his face.

"All other concerns wash away in this moment, Nemean. Win or lose, now", said the pirate lord, stalking his prey, "Now we are countrymen!"

The Prince was backing away, near slipping, as the Duke began his playful onslaught. The blows rained on him from the left and right, with disemboweling lunges, each repelled with inches to spare before finding flesh. In truth, Smiddich relished this return to his familiar weapon and its wicked curve.

"Is everything alright in...?", ventured a voice, forcing open the door which had become jammed with debris, and Nemean took this advantage to launch his own volley. An array of overhead, dashing blows at the neck and shoulders which Smiddich parried in a dazzling blade-dance, his feet stepping lightly with a hand behind his back. Twice, Nemean would have punctured him had he not turned aside at the last second....and, enough!

The Duke brought his basket hilt down hard on Nemeans own hand, having overextended at the last. His sword dropped from his numb, fractured hand with a cry, even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep,

"Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."

He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince.

59

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:30:32 AM »

Here I tried to write a small piece for the first bit of the Duel. Hope I did it justice.


A Practice with Steel
 

"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!" ~Smiddich Fontaine

All he wanted to do was just to disappear. How the sounds of the tavern hummed and ebbed through the wooden wall. Ethereal and able to just glide from room to room. He envied it. Glasses clanked, boots scuffed on the floorboards. A stool fell over. His arms felt heavy. Why wouldn't the Duke just let him go. Couldn't even muster dislike for the caring Pirate right at that moment. Only a fleeting desire to cease.
 

"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"

Perhaps meant as a challenge or as a taunt, the words dissipated rapidly but not before they surprised Nemean. The older man still managed to find something to sting him with. The prick of a honeybee. Painful. He rolled his eyes, gaping a word before deciding with some measure of defiance not to utter it. He'd just ignore it. Ignore it and not give him the satisfaction. He didn't realize it but the Duke was drawing him away from the self wallowing despair. A favor but he didn't even see it as it was happening.

 

"I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"

Looking away from the Duke, Nemean instead looked at the sliding door. A gate that led into paradise. What paradise though? A dark thought wormed its way back into his head. The pirate Lord remained in the way. Nemean turned inward. Searching for what remained in there. What feeling he could discover not yet bruised and broken. A sharp sensation greeted him. That feeling of competition when you want to prove someone wrong even if there is absolutely no reason to do so. Suddenly the Duke's words didn't sound so compassionate anymore. What are -you- gonna do about it? A mental sneer. A vile mask laughed at him and for the first time, his eyes locked onto Smiddich's.

 

"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"

The room became a tiny space. The young Prince sprang from his position. Darting like a bird of prey at the larger man. The table became a spring board. A hand planted on its surface and legs sliding over. With his remaining hand Nemean liberated his sword from its sheath. Mid flight. The naked steel sharp and angry with orange flickers as candlelight reflected.

His prey, the Duke, all but launched himself from his seat. Dashing to the side as his cutlass covered his flank. Droplets of either sweat or lost drink hung in the air as the flesh of men moved faster than gravity, for an instant. A loud crash saw the table upturned as Smiddich kicked it over. Fouling Nemean's landing. Young steel licked out but found no purchase. Forced to crouch while landing Nemean rolled forwards, creating a breath of distance. That space disappeared quicker than liquor before a drunk as the Pirate Blade cut and swung.

The sliding door became intimately known. Like a lover Nemean fell and pressed himself against it as he desperately avoided two downward cuts. The first landed where he had crouched just before. The second drove him up the wall, nearly. Heat burned his toes. Nemean dared a glance and saw a cut candle. Laying on top of his boot. The milky white wax spilling all over. He had no time to wonder where it came from, the wall would inform him later.

Being so awkwardly caught out of place all he could do was dash along the wall. Run full tilt half the length of the room. Muscular arms pursued. The broad blade seeking Princely flesh. A deck of cards took flight. Aces and Spades filled the air. The Duke dashed through with abandon. Dark grey greeted him. His barrel chested frame contorted like a belly-dancer. Eyes wide with shock as he was caught off guard for a moment. The inferior strikes weren't hard to counter for him and he batted them aside. One he even pushed aside with his free hand.

So the two rushed around the room like a baboon chasing a smaller monkey.

60

Roleplaying / Re: The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

« on: December 05, 2019, 10:28:39 AM »

Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine

Yo ho ho!

                        "I'll go back to scouting duty if you don't mind........Your Grace."
                        ~Nemean JeVondair Renodin

"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!"

The older man swaggered to a chair and stretched his leg over it, slopping another measure of brandy into the dirty tumblers. He knocked it back without breaking eye contact with the knight errant. Though he was dressed simply, his fabric was fine and the cut was flattering; everything that could shine or gleam, did.

"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. His ravendark hair was pulled back into his typical ponytail, secured with steel toggles, his fingers bedecked with old rings. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"

The Duke held the bottle corkwise towards Nemean, pouring him another brimming measure,
"I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"

Smiddich poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass, barely half filling it, and he slammed it back. He slapped the glass onto the table with a grimace, "You've got potential... you've got heart! But we none of us know what you're fighting for." The Duke stood, rolling his sleeves smartly, his thick arms bristling with dark hair.

"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"


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Training Match

(Personal message) - 6 days, 15 hours, 42 minutes ago
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin, Knight of Bisciye meets his challenger Smiddich Fontaine, Duke of Perdan, Margrave of Perdan for the agreed training match.
Smiddich has decided to use the 'overrun' strategy while Nemean JeVondair has chosen the 'aggressive' strategy, giving Smiddich the advantage.
After a series of blows, Smiddich wins the training match. Unfortunately, the winning blow was deep and Nemean JeVondair has suffered a minor wound.

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