Fable - Ask KoA - Lordly Petitions

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Everything I've worked towards is being undone. Everything. And now...this. This rejection.”

Lord Renly ran his gloved fingers across the fold in the paper, sealing the letter with all the finality of the words that lay within. He placed it down upon the oak desk that was five times older than he, crafted at a time when his family estate had far less worries. These worries were collected in the form of financial ledgers and reports from servants to his small corner of the realm that were open at particular times in recent memory. The cost of apothecaries and their supplies to provide assistance to the people during this time of sickness. The projected price and time frame of a militia being fully trained, declined in favour of repairing houses from a storm barely weathered. Evidence that alleviating taxes had rendered the coffers unable to summon a mercenary army to help Lord Renly's people against the vying clutches of the Petty Barons. And now, the evidence of refused help from the Enshrined Blades.

Lord Renly felt the tension in his neck, the stillness of his study, and the warmth of the rising sun that crept across his land. The farmyards, the village, his home, his responsibility. He rubbed at his neck and paced as the early hour gave way to new sounds. The birds of the forest so close and ever present gave their morning declarations.

Sounds the Barons would silence with their industry,” Lord Renly said quietly to himself. He clasped his open palm, as if it seize the thought and truly call it his own. But it was a thought shared by many of his advisors. The Barons wished to claim his land, these villages of farmhands and honest faces that he had guided for almost his entire life, through success and prosperity, to more recent weals and woes.

There's only one thing for it. If the Enshrined Blades won't help me, perhaps they would. Perhaps they might guide me, and deliver us from this malady. Else all be lost to these damn Barons.”

Lord Renly breathed in deep and summoned the spark of magic to his purpose. He had been taught by one of far more proficiency in the magical field than himself a few simple spells that assisted him in his duties. Administration, leadership, politicking and crisis management, alongside other more banal duties. Banal duties Renly would gladly exchange for what was demanded of him these days.

The Lord placed a fingertip to his head and willed a message to one of his most loyal attendants.

I would speak with you post haste old friend. Something must be done about these Barons. About all of these troubles before us. I am in my study.”

Lord Renly sent the message and then went to window to a small collection of drinks and glasses. Taking two crystal glasses, he brought them to the desk alongside some mead which had been produced in the villages he was in charge of saving through these difficult days, and poured himself and his advisor a drink, and awaited the door to open to his study, a small place of business that was adorned with books, ledgers, and signs of years of prosperity which were reminders that the better days of ruling this place were firmly behind them.
 
Matthias Thorne had been meditating in his room when he received his Lordships summons. He had been expecting such a call, knowing as he did the nature of his master's state of mind and circumstance. Rising to his feet he quickly gathered some possessions and with haste made his way to the Lord's study.
Crossing the hallway between his room and that of his Lords, he stopped to gently tap the door to announce his imminent entry before opening it. Closing it behind him he approached his master and bowed his head as he approached.
“My liege,”
Lord Renly Drakenweald
 
My most loyal retainer, and good friend, Seneschal Thorne, guider of my wits during these...troubled times,” Renly said with a warm smile as he smoothed back his white hair, “Please, be seated, sup upon the fruits of this land, the mead, yes, the mead. For I have had news.”

Renly sat down into the chair which had green leather furnishings and burgundy frame, his own house colours. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, collecting his thoughts as the sunlit did banish the shadows from the place in small measure, inch by inch. He looked at Thorne and his expression became more grave.

News from the Enshrined Blades. You may recall that I sent missive to that order which is pledged to defend the nobility of this realm and all they hold dear and are responsible towards. They have...denied us succor. Which, leaves us in a position. And not one of strength, but of desperation. If we cannot seek assistance from the Enshrined, we must seek less martial means to salve our wounds. Indeed, perhaps, this is fortunate. Time will tell. The Enshrined Blades send one man armies, champions on the field. In exchange of having a champion in the field against the Barons in honourable combat, we might have had to pledge all manner of things and peoples to them. They are more expensive than mercenaries, in their way. No. Instead, we must turn to nature's shield and martial gardeners. The Knights of Anathaeum. Are you familiar? I understand if you are not, and I shall share all I can. For I need your honest council, but I would speak to you upon a level footing, my good Seneschal, my good friend who has stood by me through the good, and now, the bad.”

He reached for the mead and drank deep and slow.
 
Matthias stood and diligently listened to his master, maintaining a consistently calm expression he knew helped soothe his lordship when of troubled mind. After he was certain it was his turn to speak, he answered the Lord's query.
“I do know of the Knights of Athenaeum my Lord, in fact I was going to suggest their guidance be sought had you not done so yourself. I have learned that some squires of that Order are to be in the heading for us within the next few days.''

He handed Lord Renly a letter, sent on behalf of the Order, which confirmed their approach.

“If we seek the knights assistance, I believe these people will be able to help us get that assistance, syr,”

Lord Renly Drakenweald
 
Renly tilted a glass in slight surprise, his features softening at the sound of his proposition being considered before he had even voiced it. His face settled in a small display of contentedness, for his advisor was one of his more staunch allies and assets in the face of the recent maladies that contradicted his benevolent rule.

Indeed,” Renly said, and allowed the letter to gather some stillness, for he did not wish to seem desperate for information. He was more interested in talking with his advisor, or voicing his opinion so that they might be of one mind. For while Renly knew he had the title, he had the wisdom to understand that a leader who was not mindful of their assets would be afeared of squandering them. Even losing them.

My thanks,” Lord Renly said, and placed the glass down. He felt the warmth of the mead affect him so, not so much to dull and make the senses slide, but enough to give some courage to the circumstances that befell them. Although, he wondered, perhaps it was merely being in the presence of such a loyal attendant, and to be attended so well, that gave him such wellness of fortitude.

Renly began to speak in the comfort of his friend and council, knowing that he was one he could trust with such a monologue, instead of the well placed diplomatic words he had to tend for almost everyone. The responsibilities of nobility meant that to Renly, each word well placed was to represent him and his land. In the privacy of such a meeting, he could voice his thoughts and not be interjected.

Guidance against these plights of ours, guidance against the Barons, I wonder, how much these squires can speak on behalf of their order. I know that they are a goodly sort, or so my father told me so many years ago. But what might they want in exchange for their assistance? Manpower we can scant afford, money we have spent on medical supplies...unless. Unless we might think of a boon beyond what others might provide. Information. Information, and fealty. Yes. Yes, that may be our salve for our want of more material offerings. And who knows, their love for the forest and nature may be enough to aid us. I would be loathe,” Renly said, and drank a sip from the mead to cleanse the thought of it's bite, “utterly loathe to allow the Barons to simply turn this place into a mining center. Or a glorified drillyard. The people have suffered enough without chipping in the dark or fighting for base cause when their hands are for years tending to crops, the arts. Life beyond want someone might exploit from them. All I've tried to do is to help them and guard us against the troubles that any fiefdom encounters. And if I must exchange something of worth so they might help us, I'd consider even parting with that most cherished of things. We can get on by without it. But I'd rather not, but the option is there.”

Renly drained the rest of the mead and set the glass down.

“My thanks for listening so, my thoughts are clear. We shall meet these squires. Set watch for them, and let me know the moment they arrive. Hide nothing from them, we are an honest people in need of honest aid. If nothing else, we shall be that. Honest. Honest and true.”

He began to read the letter and listened for the details his attendant would provide, although most, if not all, was handled by his diligent service without a word passing between them at all. Such was the familiarity of delegation between them, and the bonds of friendship.

Helena
 
Helena sat at her desk, head hung over a piece of parchment with a fine gryphon quill pen held firmly between her fingers. She looked at the hair that lined its shaft. Watched the finest fuzz down by the base, by the nib of the pen, and how they waved and stirred with the flux of the winds. To fly. Wouldn't that be an adventure?

For a moment, she thought of the old gryphon, Pickles. How she payed the beast a visit this morning and fed him his rations of game. Meat hunted by squires, butchered in their kitchens, and fed to one of the oldest members of their order. A creature that saw brighter days pass through the boughs of the Eldyr Tree. Had this feather touched the skystreams?

The wind howled through the window of the captain's office, and she was brought back to the present. Back to the paper before her. She sighed, and leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and thought on the need present before her.

A house that honored some of the old agreements, those ancient treaties of the Wyld that many now forgot, and so few held true. Some agreements would have to do. Like seeds that just broke through the parched earth. Fate would decide if the rains that came next would soften the soil enough for their sproutling roots to take hold, or if the seed was washed away, placed in a more bitter field.

A nod. Her words found, if not felt.




To The Magnanimous, Lord and Keeper of the lands of Jalis, Renly Drakenweald

Word of your plight has reached our order. Our scouts, at the edge of the Wyld Woods of the Valen, report the shifting of territorial lines. Your house has long honored The Old Treaties of Wyld and Stone. The house of Galdabrent has shown not but greed and want, with little thought to the cost their ambitions have exacted upon the lands and lives of those such desires require.

We wish to nurture those old roots that connect us. An offer made in the hopes of seeing our bonds flourish.

Should terms be met, a Knight of Dawn and a Knight of Dusk shall be stationed to Jalis Hold, to act as mentors, and aid your loyal men in the learnings of our timeless Pursuits, in the ways mundane and arcane alike. Said knights are en route, accompanied by two squires who are to learn from the negotiations to take place.


In Strength and Trust

Captain Helena of Dawn
 
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"In Strength and Trust,” Renly said to himself. He weighed the letter within his hand and mind.

“Strength and Trust,” he repeated as he looked at his empty glass and considered another dose.

Should I be magnanimous to myself in this moment?

A smile was created, and then discarded as the seriousness of his station reminded him of his true self.

I should be live up to my title, to prove it in every endeavour. For what is it to be Magnanimous? It is to be practice consignment with my compassion. I would help more if I but had the way, but help I can with the preoccupation to utility. To utility.

He gave a heavy eye to his books, the ledgers, the letters of thanks, the gifts, the painting of himself. Allowed himself to be affected by his trappings.

I have all I need to navigate these knights.

He did not allow doubt to linger, rather, he banished it with such a thought, arming himself with his assurity.

The barons, not yet. Not yet. But soon, with their help, I shall. We shall overcome these troubles. That would be best. Best for one known as magnanimous to deliver their people from their troubles with Barons and blight and darkness. I am a Drakenweald. I shall act as it. And win!

Win the hearts and minds, that's what father instructed me, after a life living in spite of tyranny.


Lord Renly narrowed his eyes at the middle distance, focusing on nothing in sight, yet all within reach.


* * * * * * * * * * * * *


The territory known as Jalis, ruled by Lord Renly Drakenweald, was home to a myriad of honest and hard working people who tilled the farmlands and tended orchards, who always made allowances for scrumpers at the insistence of Lord Renly himself. Scrumping was something Renly had been taught was indicative of the plight of the people, their hunger. A foreign word to most Lords, who simply knew it as theft of food from worked land. But to Renly, it was the right of anyone to go without hunger eating them. If it ate into the profits for the year, so be it, but alternatives were provided.

Soup kitchens were offered as Renly's alms to the people, as well as assistance with whatever mishap had befallen individuals according to their need. A roof in need of rethatching. A business expense gone too far in the red. A child unexpected who required an education to suit their disposition. But the people suffered much from circumstances that conspired to be relentless in their impedance of normal village life. The people were oft blighted by maladies, maladies that were tended by the Apothecaries of Heart, a small band of mercenary healers who plied their healing trade. They did so while wearing masks of the long beaked bird, their robes thick wool, their masks warded by magics and strains of herb.

The people were fearful of the hills being host to Baron Brellick Hal Galdabrent's men as it had done three years ago. The people were troubled by nightmares of shadowy things and called it a blessed day when sleep was undisturbed once in a week.

The city guard was a small band of fellows who were part divided by those who might be ready and able to fight proficiently against the occasional frenzied beast that might crash through wooden pallisade gatehouse and those who were big bluster of talk in youthful exuberance but quailed at the sight of blood. Renly knew the difference between the two, and set two finer examples of their guard on watch on the appointed day the Order of Anathaeum were set to arrive.

The day was bright, the wind was cool, and two guards, dwarven brothers adorned in chainmail and gripping pikes, stood at the gatehouse which was the entrance to the place. They had some skill with their weapons, but more importantly, they were stout and well accustomed to the warm welcome that Renly was willing to set about. They were given orders. Upon receiving the knights of Anathaeum, they were to welcome them, open the gates, and bid them to the town square to meet Renly himself. Renly would be informed by blast of horn, and would quickly meet them.

Pann, the oldest of the dwarves, white bearded, pipe smoking, fearful of sickness yet defiant of Baron, stood watch as he saw something in the distance as he stood upon the palisade gate, a narrow entrance for the wider fields.

Take a sip of beer and be ready about the horn brother,” Pann said as he cleared his throat in a grumble of noise he feared was the first sign of sickness, “this may be they.”

Pann's brother, Sanni, blonde of hair like Pann before his went white, braided well and often, thick with metal shining medallions and with gauntlets that were oft spent assisting the blacksmith, went to the palisade wall and peered out to see who might approach for himself.

Helena Abrielle Huxley
 
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"Squires!" Syr Lefelen called out as their party marched toward the lands of Jalis Hold. "Remember, we are on a diplomatic mission, to serve as examples of the order!" the mist-elf called out, his voice as hot as a flame, though tempered with the pressure of deep water. "Your primary objective is to observe, learn, is that understood?"

Hector blinked, head lifted up in alert as he heeded the Sworn Dusker's alert. "Yes, Syr Lfelen, Syr!" he called back in orderly clip.

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Syr Sando smirked. "Easy now, Lefelen, no need to be so rough on the squires," the old Sworn let his smile grow easy, as he strode his lax strides across the green country. "They'll learn, just as they always do," he said with a wink and a nod aimed at Abrielle and Hector. "Pair of good eggs we got right here," the old sworn said. with a warm rumble in his voice.

Lefelen spit. "Nothin but a pair of green-acorns, Sando, and you know it," he growled.

"Come now, they've proven their mettle in quests before,"

Lefelen laughed, bitter. "Combat, work a dog can do,"

"Lefelen, you overstep, surely,"


The dusker glared at his dawn counterpart. "You heard about the broofest, yeah?"

Sando laughed nervously, side eyeing the Anirian born squire. "Come on now, we've trained worse,"

"Yeah," Lefelen cut. "For combat,"

Sando scratched the back of his head, tilted his hat up and down and caused the floppy feather to bob about. "Yeah, truth in that,"

"We deal with matters of diplomacy now, matters that might have armies march on the wylds, or dealings that would have us pitted against forces that outnumber us twenty to one," Lefelen did not relent. "We do not, coddle them in this,"

Sando laughed small and to himself. "Right, right, I catch your meaning,"

Hector gulped, and marched on, his spear, tall and rising overhead, it bared a standard, blue of field, with the white chrysanthemum of their order blooming proud across its spread as they approached the gates of Jalis.

"You listen first, speak only when addressed, understood, squires?" Lefelen tested.

"Syr, yes syr!" Hector answered.



Abrielle Huxley Lord Renly Drakenweald
 
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Abrielle rolled her eyes as Sry Lefelen barked out another reminder of their mission for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. "Yeah, yeah..." she muttered grumpily, as she smoothed her tabard that was emblazoned with the symbol of the order.

Her dislike of Lefelen knew no bounds, and for once it only had a tiny bit to do with him being an elf. Everything about him was just... infuriating.

Then there was her fellow squire. Hector wasn't the worst person she had ever had the displeasure of working with. He was amiable enough, even through facing the full force of her temper on a nearly daily basis. And the fact that he looked like an elf didn't do him any favors in Abrielle's eyes.

"You heard about the broofest, yeah?" Abrielle rolled her eyes a second time. That was done and over with. Wasn't it about time to let that go? Abrielle returned Sando's side eye glance with a wolfish grin. Sure, she had been forced to formally apologize for her behavior at the Broofest. But did she really regret her actions that day? Only slightly.

She returned her gaze to the scenery before them, silently listing to the knights conversing. Gods Lefelen was a hard ass. Despite her childish appearance, Abrielle was a fully grown woman. Did Lefelen really believe that she nor Hector didn't know the consequences of not behaving themselves on this mission? She was pretty sure that they all knew that one mistake could be disastrous.

"You listen first, speak only when addressed, understood, squires?" Lefelen tested. Abrielle huffed out a dramatic sigh. "Yes Syr." she replied halfheartedly. This whole trip was going to dreadful, she could already tell.
 
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Sanni squinted.

Of course it's fucking they,” he said to his brother Pann and turned from the palisade to make hurried motions to the horn.

Pann sniffed loudly as if he might detect something on the wind. It was nought but cold in the air to him. It made him feel better about accepting the assessment nonetheless.

Sanni was about to blow upon the horn when paused to continued his mutterings to his brother.

Who else would wreathe their shields in pine trees, and moons, and so much bloody blue,” he continued in a tone that was growing dangerously audible to those of elevated hearing. Pann wracked his knuckles on the wood as if compelling the very wood to inspire obedience. The truth of it was Sanni was slightly deaf from blowing the horn so oft and could not hear the irritable rapping of his brother's bones on the defenses.

Sanni continued, “And there's a whole bunch of them, why the Enshrined Blades-”

Pann cut him off with a severe look that was all the more withering for their bond of brotherliness and chided with quick instruction.

Just blow the damned thing Sanni, it's all you're good for these days, now out with it and let me open the gates to them so Renly doesn't have a fit, Gods!”

The brief quarrel might be heard by some of the more acoustically gifted in the party of the Order that did arrive by foot. But it was soon punctuated by a deep bass blast of a horn that was admirable in it's density of sound. It carried through the grounds of the village, a single blast in such times of peace was simply to alert of new comers to the gates, a sense of ceremony to the occasion of possible immigrants. More blasts than that and there would be no time for quarrels that were becoming more and more common between the dwarven guard that Renly had trusted in such an event. People had been prepared by the attendants of Matthias Thorne to be on their most upstanding behaviour.

Renly had commanded the following. If there were to be quarrels, let it be done another day, if there was struggle, be clear about it, so that the knights have honest report of what needed attention.

Perhaps, Pann thought as he threw the lever that would send the gate to lurching open for their new guests, that Sanni had been deaf to the announcement's part about quarreling. He shook his head and put on a presentable face that would redeem the pair in Renly's estimation as he hopped down the stairs, medallions upon his beard glittering and clanking as he jostled his way down the stairs.

The gates opened, revealing the singular dwarf, and road that was almost, but not quite, on the side of disrepair. It could still carry cart and foot passenger well, but lacked the majesty or smoothness that had so given Renly cheer and his people pride in smooth operations of daily matters. With the troubles that had plagued them for these many months, such upkeeps had fallen to the wayside, both from lack of manpower dedicated and resources required.

Welcome prompt Syrs,” Pann said, his blonde hair gleaming as the sunlight did give it and his medallions full lustre, “please, come on through, come, Lord Renly Drakenweald will receive you. It's good to see you come in number.”

Pann gestured and walked beside the entourage, giving them small appraisal that he was careful not to linger on any one too much.

A particularly cold wind blew through the corridor of air revealed by the open gate, fresh yet chilling. His squat legs moved as quickly as the Knight's were want to keep up with, and Pann was all too aware that he didn't want to seem as if Lord Renly was to drag his feet concerning those who were the true arbiters of the fate of these lands.

That or the Barons themselves.

Lord Renly sealed the door to village hall and made quick stride to the central road that snaked through the village. Renly had decided to wear his typical day to day fineries, no pomp and circumstance beyond what was afforded by his namesake, which was some level of nobility to be sure. All except one addition to his regular outfit. A rapier, a thing more to show off his official position within this place, a mark of authority between warriors who would have to command a place. The people saw the blade at his belt and knew that today was the day of official business being wrought. A scabbard of Oraculum, inlaid with livery and fineries of dragons wreathed around the thing.

Where there might have been warm greeting and questions about how he was, there was instead only nods and knowing looks to that sword that Renly took to mean, “Don't mess this up,” and, “If you don't ask them for help, we will.” All delivered with a familiarity and respect that was well earned from his years in charge of this place, and council that girded him well in this moment.

He made approach alone. He knew his Senseshal Thorne was busy with matters that would only aid the process.

His wizened brow was furrowed in thought but not in consternation, he resolved to put what calculations he had made present in his mind but not to dominate them. The cold wind blew and set his cloak in motion, a green, red and white display that was unmistakably his own heraldry. It was dramatic flair that Renly did not plan, but was all the more enthused about as he gave thanks to the spirits of the air for making him more visible to his assistants. He tucked his cloak back in, but had allowed it to emblazen his approach for a few heartbeats, as was his indulgence of his privilege.

He stopped as Pann made official greeting.

My Lord, I present to you, the Knights of Anathaeum,” Pann said with genuine relief that was too heartfelt to be providing news that was goodly instead of ill to his lord. He inhaled and turned to the Knights of Anathaeum and was about to make proclamation to the knights as to who they were received by.

Renly hushed Pann with but a gentle gesture and smiled, his eyes on the newcomers, and spoke warmly.

My good honourable fellows you honour me by answering my call to aid so promptly, you do cast light of the day and night favourably upon your Order, and bring solace to a, if I am to be frank in the spirit of co-operation, co-ordination and well,” Renly said and smiled brighter, his affectations growing more pleasant for the act of acting as official of this place and getting into the swing of things, jolly collaboration, you bring solace to a troubled mind by your presence."

Lord Renly gave bow, one that was not humiliating, but perhaps refreshing for a Lord to perform to knights, instead of the other way around. He rose and spoke of himself.

I am one Lord Renly Drakenweald, servant to this, my home, servant to these, my people. Anything you may need in information, service, supply, or indeed, rest after your travels, I would be glad to answer most readily with quick hand. Consider me a source to slake your questions and I will find you answers. I have much to say on behalf of my people, and much reason to push for expediency, but no-one besieges us, and this is a day to be marked in the annuls I am sure of it. I feel it in my fingertips that destiny smiles upon this day. You have answered our call. I will reward your answer with my own capacity to be candid with my own, Gods be willing. Speak, and let me know your hearts and minds.”

Abrielle Huxley Hector
 
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Lefelen's expression tightned, but only Hector really understood why. Their gift of wonderous hearing oft came at strange cost.

The horn blasted through the air, and its long heated rumble bade them welcome.

Lefelen grimaced, and shook it off. "Remember," Lefelen cut. "Silent, unless spoken to," Hector blinked back the pain that still rung in his ears, and nodded in response.

The gates opened, iron gears turned and the sound of chains clinked as they wound up.

Pleasantries exchanged, titles given, Hector made sure to follow the instructions of Syr Lefelen. The squire maintained alertness, and posture, as the guards gave their introduction, and when Syr Sando gave his name and title, and those of his fellows, Hector made sure to bow respectfully when his name was called, a quick salute snapped with the pound of fist against the plate of his cuirass.

The cold wind blew, and the banner of their order snapped in response. They were lead forward in good confidence, their pace steady, yet quick with the haste. Pride and dignity. These were the attributes that Hector tried to maintain in the spread of his shoulders and the arch of his brow. It did not matter if the roads were minor disrepair, nor that the peoples of this place looked upon them with a mix of fear and hope in their eyes.

They were here in strength and trust. He would show that, however he could. Even if, well, he wasn't really quite sure how one showed such things.

Syr Sando always walked with an ease in his gait. A long and sure stride. Confident. While Syr Lefelen walked with short crisp steps. Measured and calculated. As if he tread a path he had already seen. The Captains too, had their own strides. Their own assuredness.

They had to. For how else could one stay the path?

The squire met the eye of a young man, who stared at their proud procession with a hint of mystery. A mix of something Hector couldn't quite put to words. But their march went on, until the sound of boots come still against old stone sounded in his sensitive ears.

"My lord, I present to you, the Knights of Anathaeum," there was a coolness in his voice. A sense of relief.

Both sworn gave salutes and bowed their heads, their unison of motion a small display of their discipline. Hector blinked, and followed their form, just a beat behind.

When they rose, he rose, and all together they listened to the magnanimous lord. When he bowed, their eyes widened some, save for Lefelen, who but smiled, and gave a slight nod, impressed. By the Lords manner, as well as his speech.

"Well met, Lord Drakenweald, keeper of the lands of Jalis," Syr Sando began. "Before you stands one Syr Sando of Dawn," he bowed his head in kind. Deep enough to show respect. He rose, and motioned to his fellows in turn. "Syr Lefelen of Dusk, and two squires of our order, Hector and Abrielle,"

Hector bowed, deeper and more drastic in the gesture than his older counterparts, though his hold on his spear and the standard it held never did waiver. He held it for a moment too long, but rememebered to raise up when Syr Lefelen cleared his throat.

"There is much to discuss, Lord Drakenweald, from the state of your roads, to the training we can provide those who are in service to your house and hold," Syr Lefelen cut to the point.

Syr Sando laughed warmly. A small thing, that only served to make more casual the air between them. "But we would know what need you feel is most pressing, m'lord, or perhaps, what, questions you have of us?" He smiled warmly. "We knights of the wyld are wrapped in a fair bit of old mystery to be sure, tell us, if it would not be so bold of me to ask, what of us have you heard?"

Lefelen's brow twitched, but his face remained stony and stoic.

Hector but blinked. Not really sure what to do. He looked to Abri, his hand still holding the spear tight. His eyes asked for an answer, but he didn't dare mouth the question.

Abrielle Huxley Lord Renly Drakenweald