The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

[Renodin]

Of course, here we go.


Old Familiarity
 

Alyssa shot Dustiria a skeptical glance before turning back to the not.  Her presence may not be an accident. She considered, standing at ease, before addressing the knight who had fumbled his way to her.

"Indeed, I am here.  You have summoned me, Sir, and I have come.  Would you speak with me here or privately?" ~Alyssa Kingsley

Her words sounded exactly like the letters she'd send him the last two years. Fortunately, during that time he'd become more practiced at dealing with them. Internally at least but the moment it took him to respond caused him some embarrassment. ''Ehm'' He considered Dustiria sitting right there and looked over at her for a moment. ''Privately? I think that.. yes, privately would be better.''

His eyes moved back to the double doors that led the Stump room and then they went to the exit that led out towards the alley. ''I don't quite know what would be quite private though.'' As if asking a question he glanced over at Dustiria.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

She looked like she was considering something then said,"follow me." She led them behind the bar. She made a movement with her fingers at the barkeep that those following couldn't see and the large muscled man moved aside. She slid aside a panel that looked like wall and motioned Alyssa and Nemean into a room that clearly looked like it was used for private gambling. "Will this do?"

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Alyssa bit her tongue as the knight's eyes shifted towards the back room and the exit.  He does not know what would be private?  It was he who summoned her to this dingy place, he did not know where he wished to speak?

Dustiria motioned before she could speak and took the knightly pair to a back room behind the bar.  There were tables set up loaded with dice and cards of varying sorts, clearly a room for playing games.  Alyssa wondered why such a room would be hidden away and also why her sworn knight would own such a secret place, still she did not question it and entered the private room, followed by the Sir behind her.  Standing again at ease she nodded to Dustiria and thanked her for the privacy, before turning to Sir Nemean, looking at him expectantly.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

Taking the hint she leaves and slides the panel back in place. Outside she leans against the bar scanning the room.

[Renodin]

What ensued behind closed doors was agreed to be a set of Private RP's between the Player of Alyssa Kingsley and myself.

I will however share some of the Rp titles I used:


Presence of Mind

> Rp from Alyssa

Heart and Mind

[Renodin]

To illustrate, as the private part of the story / RP went on, Smiddich took it upon himself to do the following. Which was absolutely gold.


Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine


A Night in the Life

The doors to the 'Stump flew open, the saloon flapping wildly as the sun set. The individual in the lead was well known in the city, and apparently among the patrons of this bar, as a small cheer went up and glasses clinked.

Those with an eye on the well-to-do in this city might have overlooked this swarthy individual, a tall and broad man in a shirt and breeches and second-best-jacket and boots, save for a medallion around his neck; this was Margrave Smiddich Fontaine, the black-bladed Duke of Perdan. His fingers were bedecked by rings, a cutlass at his hip; not his daily carry anymore, but a comfortable and familiar sidearm.

If the Duke was trying to be discrete, he was failing spectacularly. While the Pirate Lord was definitely dressed down for the evening, he was joined by a gaggle of followers who could barely stand, let alone keep quiet. Here, a bankers son, a merchant and his brother, a wealthy tradesman (complete with strumpet clinging to his arm); these were not nobles themselves but comfortably upper middle class.

"Your Grace", offered the barman, saluting with an empty shot glass, "Cleaned that office out like you asked, Lord. The regular?"

Smiddich nodded in the affirmative as his throng milled through the tables, greeting patrons with a laugh and a slap on the back. The barman reached under the table, pulling out several dusty glass bottles of dark green; the Duke snatched them up, and a packet of cigars from a stand. The Duke flipped a dark cigar into his mouth and patted down his jacket for a light until one of his groupies obliged.

"We'll be taking over the Double-down", grinned Smiddich, his face already ruddy from some previous engagement. Before the barman could offer any complaint about the room already being occupied, Smiddich and his throng departed, plucking glassware from tables and trays amid hollering and cheering.

His entourage preceded him into the chambers, throwing themselves into the chambers with abandon until their clamoring suddenly stopped; the room was already taken, and by a couple of nobles, no less..... their very own Imperatrix, and Knight Nemean. One standing, the other seated with a quill and papers.

"What be the hold up?", asked Smiddich as he shouldered his way in past the strumpet.

"Ah...", he said simply, and his throng shuffled their feet listlessly, for in a way they spied their evening about to be ruined. "Imperatrix", he nodded, "Sir Nemean"

"...."

"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Alyssa jumped, startled at the booming voice of the entrant Duke. Yanking her arm away from Nemean's hand, who was holding her own hand to his chest. She stared mortified at the black-bladed duke and her own sworn knight, as well as some of the curious bar patrons who gathered to the bar for a chance to spy at the cause of the commotion, wholely aware of what they might be thinking at the sight they came upon. The Duke looked quite surprised at the sight Alyssa's hand upon the young knight's chest while the woman who winked at her in the barroom gave an encouraging holler. She heard a laugh from further back, who's it was she could not see.

She turned to Nemean, a horrific realization on her face as all the pieces fell into place in her mind. /I have been set up/ She thought, recalling the cheeky smile on his face when he first appeared to her, Dustiria's unexpected presence, and the seedy locale she had been brought to. As the shock and horror on her face quickly turned, her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared in Nemean's direction.

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!". She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I think I do know who you are." She barked andstormed past him towards the exit, stopping to address the intruders. "My apologies your grace," she said to Duke Smiddich "There is a meeting I must attend."

She then addressed Dustiria whose role in this she was unclear on but whose involvement she was convinced of. "You and I will speak this evening." She growled. Her heart racing as she stormed out of the establishment, her face red with water begining to form in her eyes.

[Renodin]

This happened just as the Duke was walking in.



Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

She startles as the rambunctious party enters the bloody stump. She had never seen this man before what an odd mix of dandy and commoner. Dustiria relaxed as people cheered and went back to her watch. Obviously this group was no threat. Then as the man goes behind the bar her warrior mask face exspession slaps into place and she forces her way to him. As he looks in the room she grabs his arm

"sir I must ask you to leave" dustiria says and then her face shows confusion as he addresses those inside the room.



-=-=-=-



Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

"your grace" Alyssa's words echoed in her head as realization sunk in. She released the dukes arm as fast as one would avoid touching fire. The normally confidant knight stood still in shock and was brushed aside as the Imperatrix stormed off.

[Renodin]

With this piece I'm trying to illustrate a lot of feeling rather than action. As such, there is some abstract symbolism.


Tumbling

Panes of glass, thick and strong. Yet, allowing vision without hindrance. Not stacked but carefully placed, one next to the other. As tall as a person. The beginning and the end of this string beyond knowledge.
 

"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.
~Smiddich Fontaine

The rock was hurled. Grey, bordering on anthracite. Specks of quartz glittering in a perfect summer sun.

He felt her hand upon his chest. The briefest of moments. It might've been four heartbeats, it might've been five. However long it lasted. I felt like the blink of an eye. A ripple rumbled through her from the core. She tore her hand from his. The sharp edges of her nails hurting his skin. The pain was ignored though. Fury rained on him and it consumed all of his attention. Her blue eyes rose like icebergs in an angry northern sea. Dipping into the frosty waters as she uttered the words:

 

"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!" She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger. ~Alyssa Kingsley

The mass of rock touched the first pane. First imperceptibly slow. Like the last drop of honey, refusing to fall from the jar. Cracks started to appear. A brilliant star was born. Then in a storm, it burst outward as the glass gave way to stone.

Nemean couldn't speak as Alyssa turned away. Every detail flooding his mind. Unbidden he saw her rage. Outrage. The hurt in her eyes. The rising tide of tears she fought. The questions that streamed past her mind's eye. Glancing eyes seeking answers and accusing at the very same time. They didn't meet his anymore.

An awkward stance was struck as she faced the Duke. Words murmured.  A pivot, defensive stance. The warrior unsure. Retreat became the path and gone. She was gone.

Forlorn. Usually the first to storm the walls. First to die. First to be remembered. The feeling that he felt was nothing like the way they spoke of the word. Crushed, abandoned, torn. Like the soldier attempting to scale the walls by ladder. Only to catch a cruel boulder thrown from above. Marking both his doom and his grave.

 

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"
~Smiddich Fontaine

Pane after pane shattered. The Chorus of shards being born from glass a deafening song. The rock lost none of its momentum. An onlooker might've hoped it would've. But it didn't and the blizzard grew.

The Duke's words reached his ears like the fiercest hiss of a kitten when he had just endured the roar of an entire pride. A blank stare was all he could muster as he looked at the man. An expression one might find on a man that was lost and had strayed beyond caring. Having foregone drink and sustenance a long while ago. Beginning to accept that the road will be his final home.

Henna eyes demanded his attention. They weren't alone and a new storm brewed.

 

Narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand," her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?" ~Dustiria Noire

What did I do to the Imperatrix? The words formed in his mind. Sometimes a warrior crosses the line. When a dear companion, a brother in arms has fallen. The danger becomes insignificant. The threat of death and excruciating pain a mere nuisance in comparison to the desire to follow. To avenge. To feel like you've done something about it. There was no enemy here now to unleash such blind rage. Dustiria was no foe he could try and batter down and it would make no difference anyway. Like other brothers in arms would hold you down as they saw the abandon in your eyes. They were the first to know. Sorrow has to come out.

Nemean's head lulled forwards. His knees felt weak and the wind in his lungs seemed to evaporate as he opened his mouth. He slouched against the table. Sitting, leaning and looking defeated. The green glimmer in his eyes, so cast in the light of candles. Extinguished as they shut.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine


Blood on the Stump

Duke Smiddich had apparently walked in on quite a scene.

His crowd of hangers on were shuffling listlessly, not knowing where to look. Sir Nemean and the Imperatrix had obviously been in the middle of something, and once they were sprung, the tensions on their coils had snapped. Nemean looked confused, Alyssa looked furious and hurt, and a short, rusty haired knight had clapped her black gauntlets on his arm.

"Sir!", said the braided knight, wearing a black padded jacket and a purple surcoat with a heraldric pin, "I must ask you to leave!"

His eyes narrowed on the knight protector. Black and purple, a left-facing hunting bird. House Noire.

***

He had purchased this locale long ago, while he was still Duke in Bescanon.. back when there was a duchy in Bescanon. Oh, she was a fine city and his first real command in Perdan. He thought back on those days fondly. They had a new King, then a new Queen; portal magic was out of control on both sides. Perdan and her new Knights and refugees were finally making a name for themselves and carving out glory for themselves.

There hadn't been much call for renovations on this dingy dive; it wasn't meant to make money. Instead, she served as a clandestine location for meetings, gambling, and a venue for the performing arts. Smiddich hadn't thought much on the 'Stump until he heard that his knights had been frequenting again, sometimes in public and sometimes in private.

Those that knew him before, when he was a mere Knight of Xavax, thought him fierce; he was fierce, and feared, and smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His low speech, bad habits and questionable morality spoke of an adventurous upbringing as a privateer. A deft hand with a cutlass and the compunction to use it at the merest slight made him unapproachable... practically feral.

The Perdan duchy appointment had cooled all of that. That, before, was pleasure, and this was business... the business of keeping his realm running. As much as he tried to deny it, he found a life of wealth and affluence appealing, and slowly the rough exterior was plastered with a veneer of untouchable civility. His rough speech was as clipped into sensibility as his facial hair, and he groomed both fastidiously. A Duke had to make appearances.

Which was why it was so important to have a place to relax, enjoy a drink and a smoke, and utterly destroy some fools at cards every once in a while.

***

The Black-bladed Duke gave way as Alyssa shoved her way through in no uncertain terms, "My apologies, your Grace!", she mumbled, and the gauntlet released off his arm as if burned.

"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

Dustiria tried to get out of the Duke's way as well but his followers blocked the way. At her name she looks to the door and sees Sir Kenneth. Her cheeks flush for a moment as she realizes he can see her predicament.

Her eyes go to the Duke," am sorry your grace. If I had known it was you I would never have dreamed of trying to restrain you. Forgive me." She says with a bow before turning her head,narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand,"her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?"

[Renodin]

Here's where the normal story line continues in chronological order. I had waited a bit with that Tumbling RP so I could incorporate all the other people's responses. Here we're back on track.


Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine

Flies and Honey

       "I am Dustiria Noire," she says with a bow,
       "And Kenneth MacArbin, at your service!"

".......Aye", said the Duke, narrowing his eyes at Nemean sitting deflated at the table. Too late to remedy whatever had caused this ruckus, he drew himself up to his full height and took a breath. "Captain, some privacy?", he said pointedly, and the posse of punters were displaced amid groans of disappointment at missing out on a fun, free night in the capital. The door was dragged shut part way as the soldier roused them out of the room.

The pirate lord turned his attention to the two junior knights. Both seemed eager, a little antsy - no doubt on account of whatever had just occurred here. He clasped their forearm in a soldiers salute, one after the other. MacArbin was one of his, a city knight, having recently snatched up one of the new wards. Noire, from Lorient, if memory served. Horses?

"A pleasure", said the Duke, who swayed slightly. Perhaps there was more he wished to ask, had they even more privacy, perhaps for someone to explain what exactly was going on.
"Your letters reached me in the Capital, Lady Dustiria", nodded Smiddich, his low speech slowly evaporating as he took charge, "That is what brings me here. I expect a minimum of decorum among my Knights if they are going to frequent these establishments in my city. I expect you to share that sentiment among the knights and their men, on my orders. In fact",
said the Duke, turning his back on Nemean for a moment, "Why don't you take an estate in the city? There are several new and refurnished estates, and the money would be better."

He had not posed it as a question.

"A pleasure to meet you both. I trust you yet have business; and your lady to protect. Have a fine night", he said, dismissing them casually but receiving their salute in return.

***

They retreated, the door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.

"Lovers spat?"

[Renodin]

This Rp bit of the story was not kept private and as such, you get to fully enjoy it. I know I did.


Plum Brandy and Dreams
 

The door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.

"Lovers spat?" ~Smiddich Fontaine

It was the pop that brought him back. His eyes opened and as he turned his head towards the Duke he could see how the worldly man poured two glasses of the amber liquid. It hadn't quite dawned on him yet that it was Smiddich. Perhaps it had but the fact had whirled itself from his mind again. Nemean pulled himself up by the rim of the table and took the proffered glass. He swirled the liquid. Almost staring into it. The alcohol stung his eyes. Strands of his dark blond hair errant, completing the uncaring posture as he downed the glass with a single swig.

The inside of his throat burned. His stomach protested and he had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that held the now empty glass. From this perspective Nemean looked over at other man. Sharp alarm would've stood out in his eyes at any other day but today. The Duke wore a good but simple shirt. Some of his chest-hair escaping the loosely laced front. Lovers spat? Nemean grimaced.

''Not quite.'' He neatly thumped the glass near the bottle of brandy. ''This-'' Nemean pointed his index finger upwards and spun it around at the room. '' -was supposed to be an apology.'' His chest heaved with a heavy sigh. A flash of Alyssa's furious look passed his mind's eye. Followed by another of her trying her best to rush out of the room. Nemean sucked on the inside of his cheek for a bit before he addressed Smiddich again. ''I don't play Dead man's chest.'' Chapfallen, he worked his lower jaw.

''I'll go back to scouting duty if you don't mind.'' Dimmed emerald eyes, hollow. ''Your Grace.'' The younger man clearly waited to be excused. For all intends, the Duke could be replaced with an executioner and the blade delivering final death, would be welcomed all the same.

[Renodin]

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!"


-----

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.

-----

[Renodin]

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.