Author Topic: Family reunion: House Bedwyr (With Permission)  (Read 2899 times)

Bedwyr

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Family reunion: House Bedwyr (With Permission)
« Topic Start: March 12, 2011, 05:31:34 AM »
(OOC Please see http://forum.battlemaster.org/index.php/topic,176.msg1747.html#new for a basic explanation of this)

Word was sent to the Far East, Atamara, Dwilight, and the ancient East that all members of House Bedwyr were to attend a reunion with such friends, allies, and retainers as they felt appropriate.  The House had lost cohesion, with high-ranking members not knowing the others, petty feuds keeping them from corresponding, and the long-festering debates on uses of the family coffers needed to be resolved, as did the precise nature of the blood-alliance with House Kindon, various lesser alliances with other Houses, and the blood-feuds proposed against others still.

This would be...Interesting, to say the least.
"You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with 'til ya understand who's in ruttin' command here!"

Igelfeld

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Although his family lineage was nothing to laugh at, Sir Ulrich Von Igelfeld felt distinctly nervous as he rode towards the Bedwyr manner. But alas, an invitation from the King and soon to be Emperor is not to be turned down.

Although always on the edge of fashion, for this occasion Ulrich spared no expense. The finest tights, and his most intricate tunic grounded the look, but the true feather in his cap was his actual feather and cap! shipped in from his family's estate in Dwilight, the four foot (1.3 Meter) bright red plume of the Caerwynian Flockbird was sure to make a statement.

As he rides towards the reunion, for just one moment he forgets his nervousness and thinks, "I wonder how old Jenred's daughter is now..."
Moritz Von Igelfeld - King of Asylon
Moria Von Igelfeld - Viscountess of Lanston
Ulrich Von Igelfeld - Knight of Remton, Dark Isle Colonist

Haerthorne

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For many years the Haerthorne House had been strong allies of the Bedwyr's, though the allegiance of Aerywyn to Jenred had not continued in so strong a fashion as that of his sons after his death. Nevertheless an invitation had been sent to their estates in Remton.

Only two had chosen to come of the remaining members of the family. The light of the sun caused Celyn to wince as he rode over the top of a hill before the estates. Aeriel, sister to Aerywyn and many years retired from active service, had the sense to cover her eyes as she followed Sir Celyn from behind along with a few choice retainers chosen for the event - Celyn's Captain of the Guard, a redheaded soldier named Xavier, and an old man whose donkey could hardly keep up with their noble horses who bore the name and title Cier'tal the Chronicler.

Celyn himself had his brown hair long enough to be bound in a few short warriors braids, though he wouldn't admit it in public that Aeriel had fussed over him and taught him how. Though not much older than he was she treated him like a mother would treat a son. His strength was returning since the ordeal in Beluaterra as well, so that he looked more and more like an aging bear who'd been through far too many scrapes over the long years of its life. Sir Caim was visibly not in attendence, drilling his men in the northern front and preparing ground for the coming assault. Unlike his older cousin, the handsome prick still saw war as a fun ordeal. Not enough time on the losing end, Celyn supposed, and still able to wake up each morning after a battle retaining the ability to command obediance from his muscles. He hated how mortal he was becoming.

The lingering and unabashed touch of Aeriel's hand on his arm brought him back out of his bitter shell. She was smiling at him, Celyn noticed. Ever since she had saved his life and took this ragged, almost unrecognisable form into her home he had never seen her show anything but that motherly affection. He'd been suspicious at first, the snarling visage of a broken warrior clumsily probing her for the woes that must hide beneath it. And yet despite his attitude she had not let up, continuing in her small acts of kindness and persistent in the hours of each day she gave to him. By the time he thought of attempting to smile back at her, Aeriel had turned away again, her face hidden on the right by her grey hair streaked with stubborn red lines.

A few jokes were passed around until they reached the front gate. They all dismounted and dusted off their clothes from the long ride. Celyn in particular fussed around with a short green cloak that didn't appear to fit right to him at whatever angle it rested off his shoulders. A few other worries twisted knots with his guts as he thought of the possible insult of his cousin not attending and whether anyone would actually recognise them, but with a customary coldness he managed to strike down such thoughts with a rod of steel down his spine and replaced his face with an anvil in time to stare down the footman who came to greet them.

They were brought into the estates with particular silence.
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Sacha

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Some distance away, a man stood watching Celyn and his retinue. The upper half of his body was obscured by the shadow of a large oak, but his silhouette revealed a sinister characteristic. His left arm was mostly missing, with only about half of the upper arm still attached to his shoulder. His clothing was that of a warrior noble, yet no crests or emblems could be seen. A black, unmarked kite shield was slung over his shoulder and a studded leather belt was tied around his waist, with an unsheathed scimitar hanging on each hip. The one on the right seemed as good as new, while the other appeared to be heavily used, with many chips and bits missing from the blade edge. A gloved fist gripped the handle of the sword.

"Celyn...", a hateful voice growled.

Haerthorne

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He caught sight of the lone swordsmen just as the others were entering the estate. Aeriel turned around to see why Celyn wasn't following, and her expression turned sour when she saw what he was looking at.

"Celyn...", she began cautiously.

"It's just an old friend. You go inside." Celyn waved her off and walked out to meet Noah. She was hardly convinced that Celyn had left Beluaterra in such a state with many 'friends' to speak of.

Neither was Celyn convinced, his hand cautiously holding onto the pommel of his own sword so that the newcomer knew he had one. He was rising to what looked like it would be a dangerous challenge he could easily avoid.

"Sir Noah", his voice came at a low rumble. "I don't think we've ever actually met like this in person."
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Sacha

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Noah spat on the ground. "Spare me the attempts at conversation, dog. I'm not here to talk... I'm here to settle an outstanding debt." He pulled the damaged scimitar from his belt, and planted it in the ground before drawing the other, newer one, holding it out in front of him, the tip pointed at Celyn's throat.

"Do you remember this blade, "King" Celyn?", he asked, hatred seeping into his voice.

Haerthorne

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Celyn's jaws clenched. This was not how his visit was meant to have gone. The fact this man must have followed him out of some grudge he couldn't even remember was galling.

"You're an idiot, Noah. I'm nobody's King here." He stubbornly refused to draw his sword. "Whatever I did to you, I stopped caring about it a long time ago." His eyes strayed to the ruined stump of an arm at Noah's side. "You'd do well to do the same."
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Bedwyr

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Jenred smiled as Ashkeyana craned over the neck of her horse to look around at her family's ancestral home.  After the ship had deposited the royal party in Narville, Jenred and Edara had allowed her to ride a horse rather than a pony into Dorton.  She could ride well enough now at eight, and it seemed a reasonable birthday present to provide her own horse for the visit.  Edara was riding beside him, with Donovan and Dougal riding with their nursemaids behind the couple.  The rest of their coterie was relatively small, for them.  Some guards hired in Narville, a few upper servants, their personal stewards, squires and the like but they had not brought their full retinue's across the ocean from the Far East.

Jenred was wearing his normal riding gear, little more impressive than a normal knight's leathers, but the guards at the main gate bowed deeply.

"Your Majesties, welcome to Dorton."

Jenred cocked his head.

"How did...?"

The guard who spoke before grinned.

"Your Majesty, you are the only Bedwyr out of the halls with the eyes.  Easy enough, really."

Jenred nodded slowly.  His cinnamon eyes seemed to have their own light...A curious relic from bygone days only seen within House Bedwyr, but even there it was rare, usually skipping a generation.

As they rode up to the main gate, Jenred summoned a footman to help him dismount.  The old wound in his right leg was bothering him, and it had been some years since he willingly subjected it to the stress of an unassisted dismount.  Edara and Ashkeyana dismounted more easily, and joined him at the front door.

Jenred felt Edara hold his left hand, the one not occupied with his rather elaborate cane with the phoenix top, and she looked up at him searchingly.  He had only been to this gate twice...Once when Damian had agreed to his proofs of nobility, but the other, earlier...

Jenred closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

The other, when he had tried to prove himself, only to have his father Gaharis set the guards on him and ship him off to the Far East half-dead.

But much had happened to the man since that day.  He had been tortured in truth, seen wars, starvation, glory, grief, and lived far from here.  He was no longer a young, powerless man, but a man of power and prestige in his late middle age.

His eyes opened, and he smiled reassuringly down at his tiny wife.

"Shall we?"
"You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with 'til ya understand who's in ruttin' command here!"

Solari

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« Last Edit: April 01, 2011, 03:20:20 PM by Solari »

Nathan Simmons

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When was the last time I wore this thing, Nathan thought as he stared at the fine overcoat his manservant had laid out for him. It seemed so long ago that he had traveled through Carelia as a simple Count, working to ensure that men of ability found their ways into the machines of the provinces of Sullenport over the men of ambition.

I suppose my job has not changed overmuch, he thought ruefully as he pulled off his traveling clothes, still damp from the hard ride he had made to arrive at an inn near House Bedwyr with enough time to spare for cleaning before he left for the party. His eyes paused, as usual, on the black scar that ran over the ribs of his right side. Even now, pus would still occasionally leak from it, though his physician assured him that all infection had been cleaned out. And, even now, seeing it caused him to remember the sight of that blade, dark with poison, flying through the air, and then the sight of the bone handle sticking out of him, before he saw no more.

---

As he approached House Bedwyr on foot, Nathan spied a familiar head, cocked at an angle of inquiry, standing near the doors to the estate.
"Oh, Thomas, thank Magnus! I had feared that I would know no one here but our host!"

Evadne

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Their carriage finally pulling to a stop in front of the Bedwyr family home, Adine Evadne Massey stretched gladly and took her husband's hand as Goffrey helped her down. Strangely, she was not at all nervous about meeting so many new faces, instead finding herself looking around at the other guests arriving to see if she recognized any.

She thought she caught a glimpse of Jenred and Edara entering the main gate ahead of them. Time enough to find them later, she thought.

Slipping her arm through Goffrey's, she smiled up at her husband of just over a year. "Shall we then, my love?" she asked, pointing to the main gate.

Massey

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"Well we did come all this way, it'd be awfully anti-climatic if we turned back now," said Goffrey with a bit of a smile, as he escorted his wife through the main gate.

Their shared retinue was small for the most part, an honor guard of Goffrey's men, lead by Captain Burgolf, and a few other standard noble 'walking baggage' was all they brought along.

It was interesting to see the ancestral home of his oldest friend, though he was a little anxious to meet the rest of his family, gods only knew what a whole family of Jenreds would be like, but he had to admit an almost morbid curiosity to find out for himself.

"Right then, what do you suppose is first on the agenda?"

Stabbity

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Alioth approached, clutching his black cloak close against the wind. Beneath the cloak, he wore the height of fashion, mostly dyed black, with scarlet trim. He wore a badge with the crest of the Himoura family on his breast. A straight, single bladed sword hung on his left hip, and he wore gloves that were cut off at the knuckles. His eyes were a dark green with yellow flecks, and his short cropped black hair was unkempt. He approached the estate and announced himself.

"Sir Alioth of House Himoura."
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