The Tales of Nemean JeVondair Renodin

[Renodin]

Next up is how Nemean reached Perdan city and now has to navigate the Capital city to its center of power. The Palace.


Arriving at the Palace

People were generally the same everywhere. Nemean looked at the people of Perdan city and compared them. All the while making his way to the palatial grounds perched atop the broad hill overlooking the harbor. He saw small workshops with storefronts filled with hardworking families. The father and brothers plying the craft of their ancestors as the sisters were tending the shop. A babe could be heard wailing from the residence above the shop. Undoubtedly being looked after by the mother as she tried to keep the rest of the toddlers in line.

That was not his life though. No matter where he went, nothing seemed familiar. Nothing he could identify with. He didn't have a sprawl of sisters and brothers. No hard working father with rough hands from working timber or cloth. There was no crowded home where his mother lorded liked a supreme being. His eyes wandered over to the image of the palatial grounds. No home of his own. The hiss of a cat interrupted his musing. The lines on his face hardened as he thought about it. My father is gone, my mother is dead. I've lived in palaces and on the muddy road. Been submitted to more ascetic  training than fanatical monks. I want to relate to these people. These simple lives!

The storm of thoughts manifested themselves in an angry gaze as he rode past a a small gang of street-bound orphans. They froze mid game as Nemean looked at them. The youngest of them, perhaps three summers old, burst out in tears. The teenage girl holding him tried to soothe him. Whispering sweet nothings at the little one. Taken aback and realizing he was the cause of their distress Nemean spoke. ''At ease.'' As if the children were horses or soldiers. Ridiculous. Now he also felt stupid and frowned. An improvement over his previous angry look. ''Here.'' In a desperate act he tossed a few silver coins on the ground before speeding on. Nudging his horse on. He more heard than anything else how the children literally dove for the coins. Muffled thanks mixed with squabbles as the coins found new owners.

Riding on he left behind the common areas of the city and entered the Noble district. Naturally a gated district but none of the guards dared challenge him. His clothes and gear marked him as wealthy but his demeanor more than anything screamed Noble. They just saluted and Nemean nodded at them. The wealthy domiciles that followed impressed him. Mostly in their contrast to where he was not thirty minutes ago. Great and imposing fronts, columns and gardens. Some even had fountains and lots of decorations of course. Somehow, it didn't feel right to him. A waste of wealth he realized. The feeling was new to him. Useless. A round bellied man, clearly a noble with his walking cane crossed the road. Flabby cheeks moved as he dipped his head in greeting to Nemean. As response he sneered at the fat snob. Whom in turn looked shocked and a bit outraged but didn't challenge the warrior Noble on horseback beyond that.

As the sun began to dip and cast the world in a rich amber glow, Nemean reached the palace at last. The careful blending of the old, functional castle with the more recent, lavish grandeur which made it a palace stood out to him. A strategic tower with guardhouse and below it a fishpond flanked by a small menagerie. Granite and marble. The main gate was where he stopped and announced himself. Requesting entry and an audience with the Master of the Palace. Be that the Duke or the King he wasn't entirely sure but he hoped to find out soon enough.

And that is how Nemean reached the Palace in Perdan. Waiting to see if he'd be allowed in and more importantly, if he would be received.

[Renodin]

During a turn change I got the message that one of my soldiers captured an Enemy scout. The scout belonged to a Noble from Greater Eponllyn. the Realm Nemean grew up in and left for Perdan. There is some violence described in the rp, be aware.


Decisions while Waiting

The companion of every person. Grumpy and insatiable yet exceptionally grateful and often the cause of indulgence had driven Nemean, as it had many before him, to a guardhouse near the palace main gate. When he saw soldiers coming and going from the building with bowls filled with deliciously smelling stew, he had to obey hunger and investigate.

Causing a bit of an upset by entering the establishment without announcing himself caused over half a dozen off duty soldiers to stumble to their feet in salute. The confusion was mutual as Nemean looked at them and they back at him. Wordlessly he gestured them to sit back down again. It didn't need further prompting as one of the men, apparently the cook, otherwise a regular soldier himself, ladled out a fresh bowl of the superbly smelling stuff. Nemean accepted it with a soft grunt as he sat himself down at the very same table the other soldiers were using. It reminded him starkly of his days training at the academy. A pang of sorrow crossed his face but the sensation was quickly dispelled as the first spoonful of goodness entered his mouth. Apparently his approving grunt was appreciated as the cook's face lit up and the other men chuckled softly as they to, dug in.

A long happy moment drew itself out far too short as one of Nemean's bannermen stepped in through the door. ''Sire.'' The man stopped himself and saluted before continuing. ''Sire, we captured an enemy scout.'' The bowl promptly found itself slammed onto the table as Nemean got up and all but stormed out.

Outside the guardhouse a few of his men had gathered as they detained the enemy scout. A man somewhere in his twenties Nemean guessed. Older than he was. The scout's hands were bound and he had been forced onto his knees. The Palace Guards apparently allowed it all as Nemean was officially a Noble of the Realm. Not that he paid much attention to common soldiers not his own. Pacing around the scout he tried to get the measure of the foreigner. Foreigner, only by a couple days. The thought made him grimace. ''You are a traitor!'' The scout uttered with disgust. That settled it. A serene composure settled on his demeanor like stepping through a portal. He drew his sword, briefly struck a pose and lunged at the kneeling man. The blade easily pierced the cloth the shirt was made of, flesh parted before the steel tip and a blood rose welled upon the scout's chest. Withdrawing the sword produced a spatter of crimson upon the flagstones. The scout tried his best to remain upright. Eyes filled with dread as his gaze transfixed upon his own blood. A thud brought his attention back to Nemean. The young Noble proceeded to clean the bloody sword upon the scout's shoulder. A visible expenditure of effort that the scout could ill afford as life rapidly departed his body.

Slowly slumping to the ground, Nemean patiently waited until the man died in front of him. Before death claimed the scout the parting words he heard as his world went dark were ''Captain, discard the corpse with the other refuse.'' And a clack of boots before he heard nothing, ever again.

[Renodin]

The following Rp is written not by me, all credits and due respect go to the respective player.


Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine

Requesting entry and an audience with the Master of the Palace. Be that the Duke or the King he wasn't entirely sure but he hoped to find out soon enough. And that is how Nemean reached the Palace in Perdan. Waiting to see if he'd be allowed in and more importantly, if he would be received.

Duke Smiddich had only recently returned to the palace, after the disappointment of the tournament. Coming in at the top four was not an embarrassment, exactly, but he had hoped for more. Perhaps his age was finally catching up with him?

He kept his own ducal quarters at the other end of the palace to the King; there was a huge expanse of ocean to the North and his estate took advantage of that. Where possible, it was windowed or balconied to enjoy that view of blue calm, and sometimes not so calm, where the spray threatened the walls and the ships moored at her docks.

The interior of his rooms were typically lined with a gleaming timber, of sometimes mahogany or walnut. Everything that could be polished, gleamed with care. There was a definite _nautical_ motif; here and there were flags and crossed cutlasses, a ships wheel hung on the wall behind his desk, and everywhere, maps.

The Duke had shucked out of his armor at the first opportunity; he harkened back to his days aboard ship, before all this noble business, when mobility (and the ability to swim!) were paramount. But his attire was altogether finer now than then. There was a time when he had not even two identical boots, but even back then there was the spark of nobility.

A messenger knocked on the open door, just as the black bladed Duke had his matching boots up on the desk, clipping back the tip of a cigar and pouring himself something sweet and strong,

"Sir Nemean, at the gate", said the messenger, and Smiddich nodded, "See him in!"

The Duke puffed a plume of dark smoke and looked out from his desk across that stormy sea; the tide was coming in.

[Renodin]

I was naturally very happy to have my Rp's answered and this was my reply. Hope he likes it and you as well of course.


The Smoking Duke

It had been some time since the scout's life had ended. Enough time even for Nemean to have finished his bowl of stew and to compliment the warrior cook. The man was humble about it and that had prompted him to lay it on extra thick. The mood in the guardhouse was as rich and warm as the food had been. The men there had that bond that forms over time and through shared hardship. Unspoken they all recognized this quality. Even the young Noble did.

Mid joke, a particularly burly soldier was interrupted. A finely dressed man had thrust himself into the company. The Winged stag perched upon a field of verdant and alabaster, prominently marking him out as a servant of the Duke himself. ''Sir Nemean.'' The address was truly a formality as the man, even before uttering the words, looked directly at Nemean. It also served to cut short any interaction. As well as a mallet could crush porcelain. ''The Duke will see you now.'' Turning about foot without a second thought the servant walked straight out.

That was more or less the attitude Nemean had expected when he arrived in Perdan but hadn't received, until now. It still stung. The Ducal Palace or perhaps the Royal Palace, he wasn't sure which of the two applied, was grand. The outward improvements and extensions to the complex more than carried through to its interior. Although he found it odd to come across model ships the size of elks and entire carriages. Some were proudly displayed in alcoves nestled along hallways while others had entire rooms dedicated to them.

Eventually he reached a wing of the complex that immediately called out to him as a private section. The variant of guards, the personalized style of decor. The location of the wing. All signs that this was not part of the regular makeup of the place. Aren't we going to throne room? Nemean thought to himself as he took in the gleaming wooden floors. As if to answer his thoughts the servant spoke as he rapped on an already opened door. ''His Grace, the Duke of Perdan.'' He paused for a short moment before continuing. ''Sir Nemean.'' With that the servant left the doorway and took up position in the hallway within earshot, if one raised their voice.

Unconsciously Nemean raised himself to his full height. Eyes looking over everything within his cone of vision. A painting of a defiant ship braving a terrible sea. Dotted with meticulously represented crewmen doing just about every sailor's job you could imagine. The waves towering over the vessel on one side and its captain roaring orders from behind the wheel. Next that caught his attention was the fresh ocean breeze. It carried with it the cry of a gull, the faint taste of salt, or was that just imagined? And tangy smoke, Smoke?

Nemean took a step and then another, following the scent. Around the corner from the small hallway that followed the entrance and precipitated the Duke's private office he saw the man. Boots first actually as they came into view first. Lazily deposited atop a fabulously expensive, mahogany desk. A small puff of smoke drifted into sight next as Nemean entered the room. He saw the smoking Duke perched quite comfortably. Eyes staring out a gilded window. Opened and fully permitting every gift the ocean winds could bestow upon them. Following Smiddich's gaze Nemean too could see that the weather promised little good. If only that wasn't an omen for how the older man would treat him.

''Hgmmgh!'' Nemean cleared his throat and promptly struck a respectful pose. Yet, his chin rose a tad. His chest puffed slightly and his eyes held every so slightly that quality of contempt. So the young lion met the Old Sailor. The Pirate that had followed his father. The Duke that risked it all and now sat right there, before him.

[Renodin]

The following Rp is written by and all due credit goes to:


Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine


The sea breeze rolled into the chamber, gusting and swirling papers but not disturbing anything overmuch; Smiddich knew the drill. The wide windows and doors could be closed and barred but he rather enjoyed the stormy weather now that he was not out at sea in it.

The pirate Duke tapped out his cigar into an ashtray where it remained smouldering, and took his time getting up, drink in hand, "Pour you something, so long as it's brandy?", he said, swaggering to a buffet which was lined with crystal bottles of something warm.

Still, the room was festooned with trophies and souvenirs; a swath of sail with a needle and thread, a small pile of cannonballs, a belaying pin so weathered it might as well be a toothpick. Yet all of these were beloved mementos of a time at sea.

"Allow me to welcome you to Perdan City", said the Duke finally, once his drink was refreshed, and one forced into the hand of his guest, "I hope you have found everything to your liking, accommodation and such. It is no so often we receive a guest from the North, even less, one who renounces them completely! I must admit, I am surprised but not disappointed."
He puffs on his cigar and blows out the thick dark smoke, "I knew your mother for a short time", he says curtly, "Before her.. before she passed away. That was a dark time and I am sorry for that! Were she alive now, I daresay her and me might have made this continent stormier than _that_", he grinned despite himself, motioning with his glass towards the window. Surely... they could have made peace between the North and the South but that was not to be; Ayden was overwhelmed by militia before any real talk of a union could take place.

"I knew your kin, also, Hogny", said Smiddich, a little more softly now, "Spent a summer with the boy, Gia and me". The duke peered off into that storm for a little while before returning, "That were a wonderful summer. Taught him to swim! Gangly, not too sure of himself, but he got it in the end. He had no choice!", laughs the black bladed Duke, remembering picking the lad up and tossing him unceremoniously overboard.

Sink or swim.

"So, Sir Nemean... mind telling me why you're here?"

[Renodin]

Here is the response to the above Rp by Smiddich. Wonder if I did the emotions well enough. Hope you enjoy it!


A Forced Drink
 

"Allow me to welcome you to Perdan City", said the Duke finally, once his drink was refreshed, and one forced into the hand of his guest, "I hope you have found everything to your liking, accommodation and such. It is no so often we receive a guest from the North, even less, one who renounces them completely! I must admit, I am surprised but not disappointed."

And after some more words:

"So, Sir Nemean... mind telling me why you're here?" ~Smiddich Fontaine

The quiet disregard of the pirate Duke and the apparent ease with which the man turned his broad physique away from Nemean unsettled him. Wasn't this supposed to be a confrontation? The marble-esque visage of the younger man crumbled in the interim that eyes weren't locked. The thrust glass filled with amber liquid found perch in his hands. Intrusion. The shifting frame of the older man. The predatory confidence. The quiet simplicity with which the Duke moved in his own home. The larger muscles that overshadowed the younger Noble's, while arms didn't lock they were close enough to be compared.

Nemean felt more than willed his gaze drop to the ground as the Duke offered his first words. ''I hope you have found everything to your liking..'' The wood paneling of the floor stared back up at him. Fingers gripped the expensive glass tightly. ''It is no so often we receive a guest from the North..'' Warmth of an unkind spring welled, deep in his chest. ''Even less, one who renounces them completely!..'' Slow breaths brought some measure of control to Nemean as he forced his eyes to meet those of the Duke. The man continued his brief story and all Nemean could do to attempt and remember his teachings in custom, was to sip the Brandy. The burning liquid running down his throat.

As the Duke asked his final question, the room fell silent. Slowly taking a sip Nemean put the glass down on the Duke's desk. A flash in his mind, he saw himself launch over the desk. The whipping sound of sails in the imagined background. His hands around the master swordman's neck. The voice of anger nudging him: Do it.

''Don't speak of my mother in that way.'' Eyes full of promise, Nemean approached the desk. A slither of a thought formed in the recesses of his mind. Near silent but powerful still. -Remember your training-. Marble slowly crept back as his face set into a mask. ''I am here to find out about my family. My father, who you served. Were sworn to.'' Nemean stopped himself. Visibly struggling despite his efforts to appear neutral. Eyes closed.

''There never was word from him.'' Eyes opened again. ''Not a letter, not a story, nothing. My mother..'' A fierce glance lashed out at the Pirate. ''..never spoke of him. She only fought and had little time. All of the Golden Wings were forbidden to speak about. I know nothing about him. Who he was.'' Whatever anger had risen in the young man, it now all but suddenly left him as a great tree giving in to the logger's axe. He even marked the desk with the tip of his boot and shrugged.

''There was nothing left in the North.'' He tried to look at Smiddich. ''The family I was raised in is gone. There is no will where I came from. I could not stay there. I was rich there.'' Nemean raised his chin as if wealth mattered and was an achievement, but he knew otherwise already. ''My name, I couldn't use it. One I could but not all of my name. It was wrong. They didn't say why it was wrong. Only to destroy Perdan.'' A hand reached up and rubbed his chin. ''To destroy the Realm and Home of my father. My family's land. That isn't right but they wouldn't hear it.''

Unknowingly Nemean had begun to pace. ''I am looking for Family Smiddich.'' A statement, a challenge, a quest. A desire and a problem. Caught between worlds and far from illustrious heritage on either side. A young man without that, which everyone seems to simply have. Looked at the older and wiser man in front of him.

[Renodin]

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.

[Renodin]

And that concludes this particular story


Cutting Words
 

"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." ~Smiddich Fontaine

The careful vulnerability that had previously won over Nemean's baser anger recoiled from the brief barrage from the Duke. His face registering shock before likewise retreating behind pride. Hard and angular. A cleanly shaven chin rose slowly. There was no time to respond however. Words flowed from Smiddich like a rising tide. About the North, about Perdan and about Redemption. It was hard to dislike the impassioned words. Young green eyes softened as the Pirate Lord spoke of his father. Among those words, Praise, something that was seldom his. It made him feel awkward. It didn't sting but his reaction was akin to warding off a blow. Shuffling a step backwards.

As the Duke finished, another promise hung in the air. Protective and enshrined in a proverbial wreath of defiance. Nemean nodded, this he could understand.''I, I would never give up the City of my father.'' It took a moment before the next set of words came to him. ''Apologies for calling you by your name. It wasn't meant as disrespect. In Xavax it is a sign of respect when you are familiar. I thought..'' But he didn't finish the sentence. Instead Nemean nodded to himself and took a more formal pose. Bowed and proceeded to leave the room.

As he pulled the door shut behind him, these words escaped his lips: ''Thank you.''   

[Renodin]

Here Nemean just recruited some new warriors and also went to try and look for the Bloody Stump. A tavern he was suggested by a mutual friend.


The Drinking Hole

Looking at the new additions to his petite company of riders Nemean glanced over at the walls of Perdan. Just beyond, his old comrades were laying waste to Brive. A small simmering pain drew his attention. The healers had done a good with his left forearm. The arrow had lanced the inside of it but fortunately it had only been a flesh wound. A stinging, nasty reminder of his mortality.

He nodded to himself having resolved his thoughts. ''Take the day to familiarize yourself with one another, tomorrow we'll ride for the frontline again.'' Nemean looked over to Jacinta, his captain. ''They're all yours.'' With that he left the recruitment grounds and set out to discover the elusive location of the Bloody Stump. A tavern he had been told that was supposed to exist somewhere in Perdan City.

Strolling the streets of the Capital the green eyed noble did his best to find a drinking hole reputed to be for the common man.

[Renodin]

Here we have Nemean, discovering just what kind of place the Bloody Stump, really is. In all fairness, I dressed it down too much. As you'll soon see.


The Stump

A wet splash startled Nemean. Dashing to the side as the yellow liquid drenched the ground he had been walking on not moments ago. He shot an angry look upwards. Only to see shutters being deftly closed.  The pungent, reeking odor of piss greeted him with a sickly welcome. One he was quick to abandon as he pressed on through the alley.

Pedan hadn't been kind to the exploring noble. He certainly regretted not bringing at least a bodyguard. The slums of the great city sprawled before him and he was sure he'd been lost at least a dozen times by now. The beggars were legion and some of them only practiced the trade as a cover for more sinister deeds. Children in stained clothes and with hands practiced at pick-pocketing often gawked at him with big, teary eyes. His somewhat fine clothing in his own mind must've been unrivaled decadence in theirs. The sword on his hip had so far been enough deterrence.

Several hours later, Nemean came upon a seedy looking place. His mind worked, weighing the options. Would he actually enter this place? The roof sagged, the tiles stuck together as a worn crown of clay reds and browns while some of them sported moss or whatever that green stuff was. He shuddered but steeled himself as he pushed the door open. The sign was beyond doubt. A tree stump covered in blood. Like a bleak omen of what he was to encounter inside.

His eyes stung and all he could do was to shut them as he stopped dead in his tracks. A dense current of woodsmoke mingled with the plumes rising from dozens of pipes. It clung to the ceiling and had no escape but to invade the headspace. Nemean coughed as he tried to adjust to it. Peering through slids he wiped away a tear. Raucous laughter emanated from a grand bar decorated with crudely carved statues of bears. They stood on their hindlegs and with their paws supported the massive counter. Brass chandeliers supported rings of fat candles stained yellow that in turn cast the room in a flickering orange glow. Slowly pacing deeper into the establishment Nemean felt something speed past his legs. The sound of paws upon the wooden floor told him it must've been a dog but he couldn't quite tell. Someone bumped into him as he approached the bar itself and before he could even challenge the man a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder and some slurred cheer was shouted into his face. Nemean's face shriveled into a ball of wrinkly disgust. The smell of cheap ale and whatever the drunk had been snacking on nearly made him retch. Fortunately the drunk lumbered off with a loud laugh.

Finally managing to reach the bar he discovered a pocket of not so rancid air. The bundels of aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling doing their job. He gulped in air like a fish on land. Softly chuckling a broad armed man moved to face him on the opposite side of the bar. ''New are you?'' The impressive arms rested on the counter. Rows of dark hair did a poor job of hiding the layers of muscle. Nemean caught himself staring. There was a tatoo of crossed spears there as well. ''You going to buy me a drink next?'' The man intoned. Several patrons seated at the bar chuckled. Nemean looked up and regained some of his demeanor. Big Arm put up his hands. ''No offence, you seemed pretty far away.'' The words were delivered with an easy prose that belied years of mediation and social intuition. The forte of any barman worth his salt. It did its magic on Nemean as it had on so many before him and disarmed him.

''Are there any..'' Nemean glanced back into the crowded, main common room. ''..more quiet seats?'' A nasty yellow grin greeted Nemean from the patron seated right next to where he was standing at the bar. The patron received an admonishing look from the barman. ''Of course good sir. You might find more peace and quiet in the Pinter Room, its just to the right through that door where the barrels come from. If that isn't quiet enough you might take a table in the Stump room. There's no shows on, it should be quiet in there.''
The barman indicated the double door next to the bar. It just so happened to open and showed a room with a large central stump. Like, from an immense oak. And the doors shut again.

Nemean nodded towards the double door. ''I'll take a table in there. Please send in some wine and cheese.'' The imperious tone drew eyes. Mostly mocking ones but the Barman played alone as he pocketed the silvers Nemean had placed on the bar. ''Of course.'' He said with a jovial tone. It was lost on Nemean though. He simply went into the Stump room and spied out a suitable table. It fascinated him that the room was centered on a huge tree stump podium. Having settled in he took out his writing kit and penned a letter.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

Dustiria pulls up here horse and more falls than slides off her horse. In her hand a crumpled letter. Her feet barely support her as she pats Belmont her trusty steed. She hands her reigns to her captain. "See to him and our new men. " She says wary. She looks up at the Bloody Stump sign as it creaks in the wind. Her hand crushes the letter more,"how dare he." She mutters

From the outside it looks rustic, homey and well maintained. Burnished timbers and huge stone beams make up most of the building's outer structure.
It's tough to see through the windows, but the music and voices from within can be felt outside.

As Dustiria enters the Bloody Stump through the heavily used, wooden door, she is welcomed by excitement and joyful music.
The bartender is engaged in a conversation, but still manages to welcome her with a wink.
She nods back with a small smile and looks around.

It's as engaging inside as it is on the outside. Hardwood beams support the upper floor with hanging lanterns. The walls are littered with all sorts of memorabilia, though whether they're collected or donated is uncertain..

The tavern itself is packed. Travelers and locals mingle happily here with no care for rank. Most appear to be commoners at first glance. Several long tables are occupied by happy, excited groups of people, some are dancing on the table, while others cheer them on with clapping and yelling. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who are indulging in homey food and ale that isn't the best but wets your throat nicely, while some do try to strike a conversation, others can barely speak a word while contemplating their exsistance. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.

Many great her as she walks through and goes to her usual small table. One of the servers places and Ale before her and leaves.

"How can he not see this" she shakes her head again and begins to drink her Ale.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

Alyssa walked through the streets of Perdan City as a light snow fell across the cobbled city streets. There were a few people out and about and they all made way for her and the small company of armed guards escorting her.  The clack of their boots against the stony streets echoed off the tightly packed buildings of Perdan's West Quarter.  Alyssa's own footsteps were light as she stepped carefully, lifting her modest white dress to just above her ankles to avoid it touching cold wet snow.  Around her, a black cloak, somewhat oversized, loaned to her by her elderly squire Graham, and at her hip, the ornate ceremonial Blade of the Imperator hung from a golden sash on her waist.

The place did not smell well and the people looked at her skeptically as she passed.  She continued on towards her destination, head held nobly as she passed by them.  She knew many of these people were refugees who had little and less, and while they seemed unwashed and shifty, she knew them, and their simple desire for a better life.  Children of Perdan, She thought. If only I could lead you back home. Her party continued down the street and into the alley where she spotted the sign, that she supposed was meant to be a stump but looked like a misshapen wooden mass coated in faded red paint.  The Bloody Stump, it read as Alyssa looked at it skeptically.  She was uncertain of why she would be asked to such a place like this.  She doubted any noble lady had ever been near this dank looking tavern.  Perhaps this is some sort of joke. She mused.  She understood Sir Nemean less and less with ever letter he sent.  She felt some unease as she stepped into the barroom, as men armwrestled, drank and laughed with women, musicians playing jaunty tunes.  A few patrons glanced at Alyssa and her guards as she walked in, one man looked nervously at the Blade of the Imperator, likely not knowing it was dulled and served mainly as a badge of office.  Their eyes shifted from her to a table near the back where Dustiria Noire sat quietly.

Alyssa met the other woman's eyes, giving a skeptical look. What is going on She thought, now confused and concerned.  Quickly she stepped across the room to her sworn sword as many eyes looked nervously at the stiff-looking noblewoman and her armed men.

"My lady..." She said somewhat concerned.  "I was to meet Sir Nemean here.  I did not expect to find you in this establishment as well."

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Dustiria Noire

As the doors open she looks up from where she sits with her back to the wall. The crumpled letter the only thing other than a mug of ale on her table. a relaxed Dustiria, something not seen stands and smiles. "Welcome to the Bloody Stump Imperatrix. My home while I am in Perdan and not with you. "

The patrons resume talking now that they are sure Dustiria is not in trouble.

"Have a seat. I must confess when I told you I met Sir Kenneth here I didn't expect you to meet here too," did her cheeks flush a little or maybe it's the poor lighting."it's a good clean place where nobles and commoners can enjoy themselves. I am so thankful Duke Smiddich gave it to me since my men and I enjoy it so much. I am far from Lorient after all and it's a nice place to rest my head. So what brings you here? Miss me?"

Her black gauntlet covered had waves to the barkeep,"ale allright for you my lady?"

[Renodin]

Naturally, there had to be a way to interject Nemean into the unfolding scene. This was my attempt.


Wine but no Cheese

Sitting by himself in the Stump Room there was little else to do but to turn the cup that held his wine. It was clay and had this strange wavy motief. A child could've made it. That was his first impression and it had stuck. A steady murmur grew into comfortable droning until it slid back again to being more subdued. It was indeed more quiet in here but it worked on his nerves. It wasn't them even, the other patrons, it was something else. Nemean shifted his weight. That didn't help. His lips felt dry and he felt the need to swallow. From the main barroom a higher crescendo came. Some drunk probably fell of his bar-stool or some such. It wasn't unease he figured. He had a hard time keeping still, unusual for him. Against knowing better, he didn't want to admit he was nervous. He knew but didn't acknowledge he'd glanced at the double doors that allowed people into the Stump Room at least two dozen times. Every time someone entered he looked up and every time he felt a bit of disappointment as it wasn't her.

Resolving to wet his lips with a sip of wine he noticed that the cheese he'd asked for hadn't been brought yet. Instantly, a frown appeared as his hand withdrew from the cup of wine. That won't do. He thought to himself. The doors opened again and snippets of a rowdy song snuck in with the new patrons. Nemean placed his hands on the table and pushed himself off his chair before making for the doors himself.

Pushing through with one hand he immediately directed his attention in the general direction of the Bar. Half turning his head preemptively and uttering the words: ''Barman! Where's the cheese? Are you  waiting until it's become blue cheese before you'll serve it to me?'' Looking but not really looking Nemean's eyes came into focus. Armed guards? Eyes scanned the room. Those guards looked familiar. ''Oi! Move off the way lad!'' A man pushed past him from behind as he cleared the doorway. There she was. His eyes beheld her and she stood radiant like a bright star on a cloudy night.

A very cloudy night as his line of sight was promptly broken by a mass of men trying to dance together while having their armed locked together. They managed to go from left to right but even that was quite a feat in their state. Not wanting to wait Nemean maneuvered through the crowd. Pushing, elbowing and dodging. The going was slower than he'd liked and the irritation was only mildly tempered by practiced civility that was mostly lost anyway on the patrons that stood between him and Alyssa.

''Alyssa, I mean, Imperatrix.'' Nemean fumbled as he came close enough to say the words without having to shout to be audible. ''You made it.'' He couldn't help himself from smiling the words and instantly hoped she wouldn't think him mocking.


''Young Master? You be wanting them cheese still?'' The Barman called.

[Renodin]

Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

"I'm afraid I haven't the time today my lady."  She looked around at the many commoners around, and the lack of nobles.  It did not seem a place nobles would wish to find themselves.  Certainly the some of the looks she was getting made her feel that this is the first time some had seen a noble.  A boy her age stared at her uncomfortably, while a couple of old miners whispered glancing at her sword, while a common woman with a tankard of ale sitting merrily in the lap of what Alyssa suspected was a sailor winked at her while laughing and flirting with the man she was with.  Alyssa shifted awkwardly at the attention she had drawn from all of the bar's patrons, but made no other sign of her discomfort.  Her guardsmen said nothing, standing at attention while the music played jauntily in the background.  Perhaps I should send Maron here, he would enjoy it and perhaps get him out of my hair.

"I was asked to meet Sir Nemean here.  I have only a short time before a War Council to begin planning our next offensive.  Have you seen him, my lady?"



-=-=-=-



Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley

He is mocking me. She thought, as she saw the young knight stumble off the the dancing floor before her. It is no matter.  I have allowed him to bother me enough already. Truthfully, she wanted this conversation to be over so that she could return to the War Council.  The failure of the last campaign still weighed on her and she was anxious to start planning for the next.  She had not slept much last night trying to piece together how to avoid the pitfalls she fell into this time and the thoughts continued throughout the morning.

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?"