Mavelle smiled while she watched Railtus place her rose on one of the pillows. Part of her wanted to suggest that they join the blossom, but since Railtus had declined to remove his armor, she doubted he’d be willing to lie beside her on the bed. Pressing things further would only make her sound overeager, without changing his mind.
One last shuddering breath escaped Mavelle as Railtus dragged his hands down her arms. When he reached her wrists, she turned her palms upward, tangling his fingers with her own, and preventing him from slipping completely away.
“In public, we should continue to behave as we have been,” Mavelle suggested. “My father observed me flirting with you. If I suddenly stop, he’ll suspect something.”
Speaking those words, Mavelle felt a pang of guilt. She knew Railtus didn’t enjoy such evasions. And, for his sake, she hoped that he would be able to court her openly as soon as possible. But for her, the drama of having a secret lover, and all the furtive kisses and covert meetings that it entailed, thrilled her to the core. She’d wanted excitement. Now, how much more exciting could her life get?
Then, worried that her mention of a practical concern had spoiled the mood, she addressed a more pleasant subject. “By the way, you kiss wonderfully.”
Family Affairs
“No, M’lord.” Julen still spoke with an almost ruthless calm. Like stepping through a wall of fire, he’d passed beyond anger, and it had burned away his doubt and fear until they were no more than ashes lying at his feet. Now, he felt nothing except a strange clarity.
“It is not a trophy from my strumpet. It is a gift from my wife. And never, as long as I live, will it be yours to demand. You had an opportunity to win it, though I now see that you squandered your chance most shamefully.”
“Still, I’m almost tempted to make a gift of it to you. Because, M’lord, you have rendered me a most valuable service. One which honestly deserves my thanks.” Slowly, Julen uncurled his fingers from around the locket. Then, he dropped his hands to his sides, displaying the piece of jewelry before Phelan. “Despite what I’m beginning to suspect was ample cause, Rosemary never said a word against you. So I never fully understood her choice. Coming here today, I hoped to learn why she married me when she might have picked you -- someone wealthier, handsomer, and more sophisticated than I could ever be.”
Julen wasn’t taunting, he wasn’t trying to provoke. He wasn’t attempting to score points in some petty game. He was just speaking the truth. “You have made her reasons abundantly clear to me. And, knowing them, I’m sure that I’ll sleep better at night.”
“So, M’lord, I wish you good day.” Turning from Phelan, Julen took a step toward the kitchen door. He didn’t know where he was going -- maybe all the way back to the bakery, if necessary. If there had been nothing outside the kitchen but a pit of hungry tigers, he still would have tried to march out.
“It is not a trophy from my strumpet. It is a gift from my wife. And never, as long as I live, will it be yours to demand. You had an opportunity to win it, though I now see that you squandered your chance most shamefully.”
“Still, I’m almost tempted to make a gift of it to you. Because, M’lord, you have rendered me a most valuable service. One which honestly deserves my thanks.” Slowly, Julen uncurled his fingers from around the locket. Then, he dropped his hands to his sides, displaying the piece of jewelry before Phelan. “Despite what I’m beginning to suspect was ample cause, Rosemary never said a word against you. So I never fully understood her choice. Coming here today, I hoped to learn why she married me when she might have picked you -- someone wealthier, handsomer, and more sophisticated than I could ever be.”
Julen wasn’t taunting, he wasn’t trying to provoke. He wasn’t attempting to score points in some petty game. He was just speaking the truth. “You have made her reasons abundantly clear to me. And, knowing them, I’m sure that I’ll sleep better at night.”
“So, M’lord, I wish you good day.” Turning from Phelan, Julen took a step toward the kitchen door. He didn’t know where he was going -- maybe all the way back to the bakery, if necessary. If there had been nothing outside the kitchen but a pit of hungry tigers, he still would have tried to march out.
Last edited by Julen on Sun Mar 04, 2007 7:53 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Sir Karsimir
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(NPC POST)
Fear.
That was the only thing preventing the kitchen from bursting into applause. Each and every one of the staff knew there would be consequences for such a thing. Phelan did not take defeat lightly.
Enjoying the protection of high society required a thin veil of civility, allowing status to keep the weak in their place, and those of high birth to act with impunity. Any confrontation could be blamed on the low-born, yet for Phelan to launch an unprovoked assault would lead to inconvenience. After all, few tales of glory are sung about a thug beating unarmed peasants.
So what we needed was for this to escalate.
Phelan wondered what he could say to prevent the rustic from leaving. Apparantly the weakling was determined to leave, to escape to feign victory by leaving with the last word. The fool had hinted of duty before, and maybe that weakness could be used against him. Rediculous notions of kindness seemed to hold meaning to him.
Yet time was one luxury unavailable to the stunned Phelan, a male most accustomed to luxuries.
Instead, Phelan lunged forward to intercept Julen, and attempted another grab for the locket. After all, the lesser had refused a demand from Phelan. Him! Phelan Anstrun! So he would exercise his right by blood and power.
"You'll give it or I'll take it." he hissed as he reached for the locket once more.
Hopefully the peasant would struggle, and this would give Phelan all the excuse he needed for a sharp backhand to face.
Fear.
That was the only thing preventing the kitchen from bursting into applause. Each and every one of the staff knew there would be consequences for such a thing. Phelan did not take defeat lightly.
Enjoying the protection of high society required a thin veil of civility, allowing status to keep the weak in their place, and those of high birth to act with impunity. Any confrontation could be blamed on the low-born, yet for Phelan to launch an unprovoked assault would lead to inconvenience. After all, few tales of glory are sung about a thug beating unarmed peasants.
So what we needed was for this to escalate.
Phelan wondered what he could say to prevent the rustic from leaving. Apparantly the weakling was determined to leave, to escape to feign victory by leaving with the last word. The fool had hinted of duty before, and maybe that weakness could be used against him. Rediculous notions of kindness seemed to hold meaning to him.
Yet time was one luxury unavailable to the stunned Phelan, a male most accustomed to luxuries.
Instead, Phelan lunged forward to intercept Julen, and attempted another grab for the locket. After all, the lesser had refused a demand from Phelan. Him! Phelan Anstrun! So he would exercise his right by blood and power.
"You'll give it or I'll take it." he hissed as he reached for the locket once more.
Hopefully the peasant would struggle, and this would give Phelan all the excuse he needed for a sharp backhand to face.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
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- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
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"Beginner's luck." Railtus shrugged. "First time." he admitted. Merely returning the compliment did not seem enough. Instead, Railtus used his affectionate grasp to say far more than any spoken compliment. Following his usual courtly manner, Railtus raised the hands that he held and kissed them lightly.
Hearing Mavelle's plans for deception, Railtus felt that it would not matter if her father caught her flirting or noticed that she had stopped. What was there to suspect? Everything Railtus intended was honourable. If Lord Kendall had suspected what was happening, he would have little cause to complain. A man taking an interest in his beautiful daughter was seeking to prove himself worthy and earn the right to court her. Few better or more respectful ways to go about such a thing came to mind.
The whole concept struck Railtus as pointless, although the deception was so weak he felt no reason to try and pierce it. If going through these motions made Mavelle more comfortable, Railtus would tolerate them.
A secret lover was a notion which held no excitement for Railtus. Hiding his actions was not his way. Lying to the outside world seemed to taint any relationship that might develop between him and Mavelle, and this was something he wanted to be pure. Furtive kisses and hidden meetings was demeaning. So Railtus promised himself to keep a keen eye on where discretion ended and where deceit begun.
Rushed footsteps echoed from the corridoor outside, making Railtus raise his head sharply as if trying to lock on to the source. Instantly he knew that this was a House with an illusion of grace to it, which would consider running indoors undignified.
So clearly there was cause.
Thus, Railtus started in the direction of the door, freeing his hands from Mavelle and grasping his shield by the point. With that motion, he spun to take him towards the door and to keep the swing of his loosely held shield well away from Mavelle.
Hearing Mavelle's plans for deception, Railtus felt that it would not matter if her father caught her flirting or noticed that she had stopped. What was there to suspect? Everything Railtus intended was honourable. If Lord Kendall had suspected what was happening, he would have little cause to complain. A man taking an interest in his beautiful daughter was seeking to prove himself worthy and earn the right to court her. Few better or more respectful ways to go about such a thing came to mind.
The whole concept struck Railtus as pointless, although the deception was so weak he felt no reason to try and pierce it. If going through these motions made Mavelle more comfortable, Railtus would tolerate them.
A secret lover was a notion which held no excitement for Railtus. Hiding his actions was not his way. Lying to the outside world seemed to taint any relationship that might develop between him and Mavelle, and this was something he wanted to be pure. Furtive kisses and hidden meetings was demeaning. So Railtus promised himself to keep a keen eye on where discretion ended and where deceit begun.
Rushed footsteps echoed from the corridoor outside, making Railtus raise his head sharply as if trying to lock on to the source. Instantly he knew that this was a House with an illusion of grace to it, which would consider running indoors undignified.
So clearly there was cause.
Thus, Railtus started in the direction of the door, freeing his hands from Mavelle and grasping his shield by the point. With that motion, he spun to take him towards the door and to keep the swing of his loosely held shield well away from Mavelle.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Julen hadn’t been sure what might happen when he tried to leave. Part of him expected Phelan to draw his sword and strike from behind, while another part hoped the noble might summon some hidden scrap of decency and simply let him walk away. But another attempt to grab the locket...something so juvenile caught Julen completely off guard. Phelan managed to close his hand around the charm before Julen could react.
However, it only took an instant for Julen’s reflexes to kick in. Reaching up, he snatched hold of Phelan’s wrist, preventing him from pulling on the locket.
“Let. Go. Of. It.”
The stalemate lasted for under a minute. But for Julen, it seemed to drag on forever. The muscles in his arm started to ache, and then tremble, from the strain of holding Phelan in check. And all the while, the scent of lavender choked his senses. Julen began to wonder if he’d ever again be able to enjoy the delicate purple flowers.
Then, three things happened in quick succession. Phelan raised his free hand and struck Julen’s face with the back of it, using enough force that his rings tore bleeding gashes into Julen's flesh. Julen cried out in surprise and pain, involuntarily releasing his grip on Phelan’s wrist. And the locket chain snapped with a soft “ping” as Phelan managed to rip it off.
Deep inside Julen, something else snapped. To have any part of Rosemary, even the smallest lock of her hair, forcibly taken from him and held at the mercy of this man -- it shoved him across the border into a realm where reason held no power. Snarling like a cornered animal trying to protect its mate, Julen threw a punch. It wasn’t a particularly well aimed punch, glancing off Phelan’s shoulder, but if the intensity of Julen’s emotions could have given it power, the blow would have knocked Phelan to the ground.
However, it only took an instant for Julen’s reflexes to kick in. Reaching up, he snatched hold of Phelan’s wrist, preventing him from pulling on the locket.
“Let. Go. Of. It.”
The stalemate lasted for under a minute. But for Julen, it seemed to drag on forever. The muscles in his arm started to ache, and then tremble, from the strain of holding Phelan in check. And all the while, the scent of lavender choked his senses. Julen began to wonder if he’d ever again be able to enjoy the delicate purple flowers.
Then, three things happened in quick succession. Phelan raised his free hand and struck Julen’s face with the back of it, using enough force that his rings tore bleeding gashes into Julen's flesh. Julen cried out in surprise and pain, involuntarily releasing his grip on Phelan’s wrist. And the locket chain snapped with a soft “ping” as Phelan managed to rip it off.
Deep inside Julen, something else snapped. To have any part of Rosemary, even the smallest lock of her hair, forcibly taken from him and held at the mercy of this man -- it shoved him across the border into a realm where reason held no power. Snarling like a cornered animal trying to protect its mate, Julen threw a punch. It wasn’t a particularly well aimed punch, glancing off Phelan’s shoulder, but if the intensity of Julen’s emotions could have given it power, the blow would have knocked Phelan to the ground.
Last edited by Julen on Mon Mar 05, 2007 3:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Falcon Bertille
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“Your first kiss?” Mavelle smiled, slightly amused by this one area of innocence in a man who seemed to know so much about the world. But also pleased and touched that Railtus chose her to receive such a special gift. “Then I feel very sorry for every other woman. Because, if I have my way, they’ll never know what they’re missing.”
Like a confirmation of her compliment, Mavelle sighed softly when Railtus kissed her hands. She wanted to say something deep and important. Something to show Railtus that she honored his feelings toward her. But deep and important didn’t always come easily to Mavelle. Instead, she once again found herself wondering about a tactful way of finding out if Railtus could dance. That led to other related thoughts. As a result, she was so busy designing a new ball gown in her head that she completely missed the sound of rushed footsteps, only waking from her daydream when Railtus pulled his hands from hers.
“Railtus? What is it? What’s wrong?”
At first, Mavelle was worried that she’d somehow managed to offend him again. But it quickly became clear that Railtus’s attention was not focused on her. The fact that he bothered to pick up his shield seemed to indicate that he expected danger. Confused, Mavelle experienced the first uneasy tingling of fear.
“Railtus? What’s going on?”
Like a confirmation of her compliment, Mavelle sighed softly when Railtus kissed her hands. She wanted to say something deep and important. Something to show Railtus that she honored his feelings toward her. But deep and important didn’t always come easily to Mavelle. Instead, she once again found herself wondering about a tactful way of finding out if Railtus could dance. That led to other related thoughts. As a result, she was so busy designing a new ball gown in her head that she completely missed the sound of rushed footsteps, only waking from her daydream when Railtus pulled his hands from hers.
“Railtus? What is it? What’s wrong?”
At first, Mavelle was worried that she’d somehow managed to offend him again. But it quickly became clear that Railtus’s attention was not focused on her. The fact that he bothered to pick up his shield seemed to indicate that he expected danger. Confused, Mavelle experienced the first uneasy tingling of fear.
“Railtus? What’s going on?”
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Sir Karsimir
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- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
(NPC POST)
Standing straight with his feet so close together, Phelan was not difficult to unbalance. Thus, he threw out an arm to catch his fall, unthinkingly discarding the locket. Catching hold of a nearby surface, he steadied himself a short distance away, face contorted in rage at such defiance.
"You dare!" snarled Phelan. "I am your better!"
Following that outburst Phelan drew a horse-rod from his belt, a wooden stick capped with a ball, to beat unruly animals with. Reaching for the tool was done with an exaggerated motion, gloating through the gesture of his intended cruelty.
Rather than advancing immediately, Phelan chose to wait, tapping the capping sphere against his free hand. First, he wanted to teach the peasant of fear, of pain, of helplessness. A demonstration that there was no one to stop Phelan Anstrun, and that he could do exactly as he wished.
Already a knowing smile lit the aristocrat's face, a smile which seemed sickly in the knowledge of Phelan's rotten core.
The locket was almost forgotten, if it was not moved, Phelan would make a deliberate point of standing on it when his eventual advance begun.
Standing straight with his feet so close together, Phelan was not difficult to unbalance. Thus, he threw out an arm to catch his fall, unthinkingly discarding the locket. Catching hold of a nearby surface, he steadied himself a short distance away, face contorted in rage at such defiance.
"You dare!" snarled Phelan. "I am your better!"
Following that outburst Phelan drew a horse-rod from his belt, a wooden stick capped with a ball, to beat unruly animals with. Reaching for the tool was done with an exaggerated motion, gloating through the gesture of his intended cruelty.
Rather than advancing immediately, Phelan chose to wait, tapping the capping sphere against his free hand. First, he wanted to teach the peasant of fear, of pain, of helplessness. A demonstration that there was no one to stop Phelan Anstrun, and that he could do exactly as he wished.
Already a knowing smile lit the aristocrat's face, a smile which seemed sickly in the knowledge of Phelan's rotten core.
The locket was almost forgotten, if it was not moved, Phelan would make a deliberate point of standing on it when his eventual advance begun.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Sir Karsimir
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- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
A great heft swung the shield up into position, free to be worn on a left arm. Railtus slid his hand through and clasped the handle in one practiced, if rather dramatic, motion.
Hearing Mavelle speak, Railtus cast a swift glance her way, but had no answer this time. All he did was flicker his gaze from her to the source of the sound, hopefully guiding her to follow his attention.
One long step took him to the door. His free hand opened it and he poked his upper body out, glancing up and down the corridoor. Up told him the presence of a rushed, flustered and concerned servant on the way. By dress one of the kitchen staff.
"My Lord...there..." panted out, out of breath and panicked.
Railtus made an educated guess. "Phelan?" Nod. "Kitchen?" Nod. "I'm on it."
A final concerned glance travelled Mavelle's way before Railtus closed the door over behind him, thinking to preserve her reputation by not having her seen with him in his chambers. On a guess she would not be pleased with this, but as far as Railtus was concerned, she did not have to be. Either way, Railtus was moving.
More careful than an outright sprint, Railtus still raised the pace, quite impressively considering his armour. The shield was bunched high against his shoulder, to keep the point clear of his legs. Even dressed in steel, he was outpacing the servant.
Approaching the grand stairs, Railtus rushed across to the opposite side, so that he could hold onto the handrail as he descended stairs two at a time. Memory pointed out the exit from the main house, leading to the stone kitchen in the courtyard.
At once, Railtus knew that Julen was in imminent danger. For beyond the door, in that stone building, was an intense, burning evil. Whereas Lord Kendall bore a foul shadow on his spirit, this was an infernal brand of radiant darkness, shedding gloom like a corrupted likeness of a reverse-torch. Railtus knew when he was in the presence of evil, and he was now like never before.
Struck momentarily before continuing his now-more-urgent approach, Railtus murmured to himself. "Someone is about to get killed."
Hearing Mavelle speak, Railtus cast a swift glance her way, but had no answer this time. All he did was flicker his gaze from her to the source of the sound, hopefully guiding her to follow his attention.
One long step took him to the door. His free hand opened it and he poked his upper body out, glancing up and down the corridoor. Up told him the presence of a rushed, flustered and concerned servant on the way. By dress one of the kitchen staff.
"My Lord...there..." panted out, out of breath and panicked.
Railtus made an educated guess. "Phelan?" Nod. "Kitchen?" Nod. "I'm on it."
A final concerned glance travelled Mavelle's way before Railtus closed the door over behind him, thinking to preserve her reputation by not having her seen with him in his chambers. On a guess she would not be pleased with this, but as far as Railtus was concerned, she did not have to be. Either way, Railtus was moving.
More careful than an outright sprint, Railtus still raised the pace, quite impressively considering his armour. The shield was bunched high against his shoulder, to keep the point clear of his legs. Even dressed in steel, he was outpacing the servant.
Approaching the grand stairs, Railtus rushed across to the opposite side, so that he could hold onto the handrail as he descended stairs two at a time. Memory pointed out the exit from the main house, leading to the stone kitchen in the courtyard.
At once, Railtus knew that Julen was in imminent danger. For beyond the door, in that stone building, was an intense, burning evil. Whereas Lord Kendall bore a foul shadow on his spirit, this was an infernal brand of radiant darkness, shedding gloom like a corrupted likeness of a reverse-torch. Railtus knew when he was in the presence of evil, and he was now like never before.
Struck momentarily before continuing his now-more-urgent approach, Railtus murmured to himself. "Someone is about to get killed."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
(OCC -- This post has been significantly rewritten for the benefit of the story.)
If Phelan hoped that his dramatics might make Julen cower, he was sorely disappointed. Julen barely noticed the horse rod. He’d turned his full attention to the locket, which now lay on the floor where Phelan had dropped it. Getting that back was the only thing which mattered to him. He had to rescue it -- rescue Rosemary -- from this man who seemed so intent on dishonoring her.
Dropping into a crouch, Julen lunged forward without regard to balance or dignity. And as his body hit the floor, leaving him sprawled out on his stomach, he did manage to snatch the locket. Victory. Feeling its cool, smooth texture against his skin once more was the only victory that mattered to him.
With the locket back in his possession, Julen became aware of his vulnerable position. Quickly, he rolled to the side, feeling a glancing blow from the horse rod as he did so. Then, he scrambled to his feet and stood facing Phelan. He wasn’t sure what might happen now. But he had the locket. He had Rosemary. And even the tiniest part of her was enough to give him the strength to endure anything.
Again, the strange calm descended over him. “If you are my better,” Julen responded, recalling Phelan’s earlier statement, “then I must be a small and petty man indeed.”
If Phelan hoped that his dramatics might make Julen cower, he was sorely disappointed. Julen barely noticed the horse rod. He’d turned his full attention to the locket, which now lay on the floor where Phelan had dropped it. Getting that back was the only thing which mattered to him. He had to rescue it -- rescue Rosemary -- from this man who seemed so intent on dishonoring her.
Dropping into a crouch, Julen lunged forward without regard to balance or dignity. And as his body hit the floor, leaving him sprawled out on his stomach, he did manage to snatch the locket. Victory. Feeling its cool, smooth texture against his skin once more was the only victory that mattered to him.
With the locket back in his possession, Julen became aware of his vulnerable position. Quickly, he rolled to the side, feeling a glancing blow from the horse rod as he did so. Then, he scrambled to his feet and stood facing Phelan. He wasn’t sure what might happen now. But he had the locket. He had Rosemary. And even the tiniest part of her was enough to give him the strength to endure anything.
Again, the strange calm descended over him. “If you are my better,” Julen responded, recalling Phelan’s earlier statement, “then I must be a small and petty man indeed.”
Last edited by Julen on Tue Mar 06, 2007 4:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Falcon Bertille
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Mavelle let out an indignant gasp as Railtus shut the door in her face. How dare he! No one treated Mavelle Anstrun with such discourtesy. Honestly, as long as she lived, she would never figure that man out -- kissing her hands in one moment, and then slamming the door on her in the next.
However, after a moment’s consideration, Mavelle’s temper cooled. Railtus wasn’t being rude, she realized. He was trying to protect her from whatever danger he’d sensed. That was actually quite sweet. But Mavelle was no wilting flower, and she wasn’t going to be denied this chance for a little excitement, especially since she’d heard Railtus mention Phelan’s name. She wasn’t afraid for Phelan, of course. He could take care of himself. But if he was having some sort of adventure, this might be her first chance to see her brother and her lover fight side by side.
Perhaps, she speculated eagerly, those bandits followed Railtus all the way to Marn...
Throwing open the door, Mavelle darted out into the hallway. Railtus had already gotten a good head start, and was out of sight, but Mavelle knew where he was going. She’d heard Railtus mention the kitchen. So, lifting up the skirts of her dress, she started running in that direction.
However, after a moment’s consideration, Mavelle’s temper cooled. Railtus wasn’t being rude, she realized. He was trying to protect her from whatever danger he’d sensed. That was actually quite sweet. But Mavelle was no wilting flower, and she wasn’t going to be denied this chance for a little excitement, especially since she’d heard Railtus mention Phelan’s name. She wasn’t afraid for Phelan, of course. He could take care of himself. But if he was having some sort of adventure, this might be her first chance to see her brother and her lover fight side by side.
Perhaps, she speculated eagerly, those bandits followed Railtus all the way to Marn...
Throwing open the door, Mavelle darted out into the hallway. Railtus had already gotten a good head start, and was out of sight, but Mavelle knew where he was going. She’d heard Railtus mention the kitchen. So, lifting up the skirts of her dress, she started running in that direction.
Last edited by Falcon Bertille on Tue Mar 06, 2007 7:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Sir Karsimir
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- Race: Reichvolk human
"Please! My Lord! Don't hurt him!"
That shriek came from the dark-haired girl, finally finding the courage to speak. Everything froze for a few moments, even Phelan's rage. A sneer contorted his face, delaying Phelan from turning towards her. After all, it would not aid his seduction to show his true contempt for her on his face.
Phelan spoke slowly, coldly. "You ask me," A long pause followed that word, "to spare this insolent wretch?"
"I do my lord." the girl answered, eyes downcast, voice shaking. Fear quivering through her. While she did not dare believe that Phelan would turn such cruelty on her, what she feared most of all was that he would withdraw his favour.
Phelan suppressed a chuckle. Fine, he thought. She does not need to see it. Once he was gone, far worse would be in store for him. Once he was done with the girl, she could suffer too. Presuming to demand anything of Phelan Anstrun.
A door opened, and Railtus burst into the room, taking less than a moment of thought before throwing himself into the gap between Julen and Phelan. What he wanted to do was throw himself sword-drawn directly at Phelan, but some notion of civility interfered.
Such...decisiveness startled Phelan, so used to others seeking permission. So the sudden leap drove him back, away from the shield leading.
At a total loss as to what to do next, Railtus stood between the two, wishing for more room and keeping his eyes squarely on the golden-hilted sword on Phelan's waist.
That shriek came from the dark-haired girl, finally finding the courage to speak. Everything froze for a few moments, even Phelan's rage. A sneer contorted his face, delaying Phelan from turning towards her. After all, it would not aid his seduction to show his true contempt for her on his face.
Phelan spoke slowly, coldly. "You ask me," A long pause followed that word, "to spare this insolent wretch?"
"I do my lord." the girl answered, eyes downcast, voice shaking. Fear quivering through her. While she did not dare believe that Phelan would turn such cruelty on her, what she feared most of all was that he would withdraw his favour.
Phelan suppressed a chuckle. Fine, he thought. She does not need to see it. Once he was gone, far worse would be in store for him. Once he was done with the girl, she could suffer too. Presuming to demand anything of Phelan Anstrun.
A door opened, and Railtus burst into the room, taking less than a moment of thought before throwing himself into the gap between Julen and Phelan. What he wanted to do was throw himself sword-drawn directly at Phelan, but some notion of civility interfered.
Such...decisiveness startled Phelan, so used to others seeking permission. So the sudden leap drove him back, away from the shield leading.
At a total loss as to what to do next, Railtus stood between the two, wishing for more room and keeping his eyes squarely on the golden-hilted sword on Phelan's waist.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
(OCC -- Julen's previous post has been significantly changed, so this one will make more sense if you read the revised version first.)
Julen’s gaze jerked toward the dark-haired girl as she pleaded with Phelan. Later, Julen would admire her bravery, and pray that it eventually led her to break free from a man who obviously intended nothing honorable. But right then, he only felt an overwhelming fear for her safety. His opinion of Phelan had sunk so low that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the noble started waving the horse-rod at her.
Opening his mouth, Julen started to say something, in an attempt to draw Phelan’s wrath away from the girl. But before any sound could escape, Railtus burst through the kitchen door and leapt between Julen and Phelan.
Relief swept over Julen as he found himself suddenly sheltered behind Railtus’s imposing form. Then, relief gave way to shame. He’d been in Railtus’s employ for barely a day and already he’d managed to get in a brawl with a member of House Anstrun, probably embarrassing Railtus and jeopardizing his position with his family. That was no way to repay someone who had shown him such kindness.
Obviously, Railtus deserved an explanation. But Julen couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t include unflattering comments about Phelan. Julen didn’t want to make Railtus chose between his kin and someone he’d only known since last night. So he decided to focus on his own role in the altercation, hoping that would allow Railtus to save face. “Master Railtus. I...I forgot my place and struck your kinsman. I’m sorry. Whatever punishment you feel is appropriate--”
However, at that moment, Mavelle dashed into the kitchen. When she saw the three men just standing there, her face reflected obvious disappointment. Dropping her skirts, she placed her hands on her hips, and demanded “What’s going on? Did I miss everything?”
Julen’s gaze jerked toward the dark-haired girl as she pleaded with Phelan. Later, Julen would admire her bravery, and pray that it eventually led her to break free from a man who obviously intended nothing honorable. But right then, he only felt an overwhelming fear for her safety. His opinion of Phelan had sunk so low that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the noble started waving the horse-rod at her.
Opening his mouth, Julen started to say something, in an attempt to draw Phelan’s wrath away from the girl. But before any sound could escape, Railtus burst through the kitchen door and leapt between Julen and Phelan.
Relief swept over Julen as he found himself suddenly sheltered behind Railtus’s imposing form. Then, relief gave way to shame. He’d been in Railtus’s employ for barely a day and already he’d managed to get in a brawl with a member of House Anstrun, probably embarrassing Railtus and jeopardizing his position with his family. That was no way to repay someone who had shown him such kindness.
Obviously, Railtus deserved an explanation. But Julen couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t include unflattering comments about Phelan. Julen didn’t want to make Railtus chose between his kin and someone he’d only known since last night. So he decided to focus on his own role in the altercation, hoping that would allow Railtus to save face. “Master Railtus. I...I forgot my place and struck your kinsman. I’m sorry. Whatever punishment you feel is appropriate--”
However, at that moment, Mavelle dashed into the kitchen. When she saw the three men just standing there, her face reflected obvious disappointment. Dropping her skirts, she placed her hands on her hips, and demanded “What’s going on? Did I miss everything?”
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Kindness, courtesy, understanding and mercy were so clearly a part of Railtus that most overlooked the ferocity contained within. Hearing Julen's stammered apologies was a moment of sublime frustration. At this moment, one would suspect a switch had been flicked, replacing the gallant gentleman with a deadly warrior.
"Quiet! You are not helping!" Railtus barked at Julen, a stark contrast to the soft tones the fellow had known him to use thusfar. Imagining Railtus angry was difficult, the actual sight of him angry was no easier.
When Mavelle rushed in, Railtus never took his eyes away from Phelan's sword-hand, a fact Phelan took note of. The set of his shield was also braced against his shoulder, as if ready for use. Another fact Phelan took note of.
"Thankfully, ye-" Railtus began answering Mavelle before Phelan cut him off.
"Do you know who I am?" Phelan sneered at Railtus. So much defiance, the peasant, the wench, and now this child.
"Oh, in that case," Railtus began in mock surprise, "feel free to assault whoever you like." he finished sarcastically.
Expecting Julen to begin shouldering blame further, Railtus swung a free hand lightly behind him, gesturing towards Julen without turning away from Phelan. "Quiet."
Countless emotions warred on Phelan's face. Hate, shock, anger, contempt. Even curious wonder, who was this... Railtus who felt so free to oppose him? The other two were afraid, their defiance was forced through an internal struggle, as they forgot their rightful place beneath Phelan's heel. Yet this man... showed not the faintest glimmer of fear, no hesitation about his decision. Phelan had no concept of resolve or conviction, only that this was a defiant fool who should be taught his place.
"What do you think you are doing?" demanded Phelan.
"Protecting your family name." answered Railtus caustically, while also quite truthfully. "Lord Kendall would not wish you to shame yourself so. Stand down."
By this point the confrontation was obvious. One wish Railtus prayed for was the chance to deal with this villain in peace. Honestly, he would much prefer to deal with him in war, either way, he wanted to deal with him undisturbed.
As if he was ever that lucky.
"Quiet! You are not helping!" Railtus barked at Julen, a stark contrast to the soft tones the fellow had known him to use thusfar. Imagining Railtus angry was difficult, the actual sight of him angry was no easier.
When Mavelle rushed in, Railtus never took his eyes away from Phelan's sword-hand, a fact Phelan took note of. The set of his shield was also braced against his shoulder, as if ready for use. Another fact Phelan took note of.
"Thankfully, ye-" Railtus began answering Mavelle before Phelan cut him off.
"Do you know who I am?" Phelan sneered at Railtus. So much defiance, the peasant, the wench, and now this child.
"Oh, in that case," Railtus began in mock surprise, "feel free to assault whoever you like." he finished sarcastically.
Expecting Julen to begin shouldering blame further, Railtus swung a free hand lightly behind him, gesturing towards Julen without turning away from Phelan. "Quiet."
Countless emotions warred on Phelan's face. Hate, shock, anger, contempt. Even curious wonder, who was this... Railtus who felt so free to oppose him? The other two were afraid, their defiance was forced through an internal struggle, as they forgot their rightful place beneath Phelan's heel. Yet this man... showed not the faintest glimmer of fear, no hesitation about his decision. Phelan had no concept of resolve or conviction, only that this was a defiant fool who should be taught his place.
"What do you think you are doing?" demanded Phelan.
"Protecting your family name." answered Railtus caustically, while also quite truthfully. "Lord Kendall would not wish you to shame yourself so. Stand down."
By this point the confrontation was obvious. One wish Railtus prayed for was the chance to deal with this villain in peace. Honestly, he would much prefer to deal with him in war, either way, he wanted to deal with him undisturbed.
As if he was ever that lucky.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Railtus’s rebuke struck Julen like a blow. Wincing, he swallowed his words. He’d never seen his friend like this before and it scared him. Not that he feared for his own safety. In his gut, he knew Railtus would never raise a hand against him. But he felt afraid for Phelan. The noble, who had appeared so fearsome just moments ago, now seemed small and feeble in comparison with the avenging angel Railtus had suddenly become. Lasting hatred rarely found a hold in Julen’s heart. Even in the heat of fury, he hadn’t wanted to truly harm Phelan -- just to make him shut up, give back the locket, and go away. Now, hearing the righteous anger in Railtus’s voice, Julen felt genuinely concerned that Phelan might get seriously hurt.
I’m alright, he wanted to assure Railtus. It’s just a few scrapes, a broken piece of jewelry, and the lingering sting from some unpleasant words. It’s not worth this. Let’s just go. Anywhere else except here.
But Railtus’s command for quiet held him back. So he stood in silence, waiting to see what happened next.
Mavelle, however, have been given no such order. And even if she had been, it’s doubtful that she would have paid it any heed. At first, she thought the bandits had somehow come and gone before she arrived. But then she began to notice details about the scene before her -- the bleeding scratches on Julen’s face, the fact that Phelan was holding his horse-rod instead of his sword, and most importantly, Railtus’s antagonistic attitude towards her brother. Slowly, the pieces fell into place. Railtus’s manservant must have attacked Phelan. So why was Railtus apparently siding with the hired help instead of his own kin?
Finally, when Railtus made his comment about shaming the family name, it was too much for Mavelle. “Why are you defending him?” she demanded. “Obviously, your manservant attacked Phelan, or otherwise provoked him. Why are you acting like my brother did something wrong?”
Turning her attention to Phelan, she fixed him with imploring eyes. “Tell him! Tell him what really happened.”
I’m alright, he wanted to assure Railtus. It’s just a few scrapes, a broken piece of jewelry, and the lingering sting from some unpleasant words. It’s not worth this. Let’s just go. Anywhere else except here.
But Railtus’s command for quiet held him back. So he stood in silence, waiting to see what happened next.
Mavelle, however, have been given no such order. And even if she had been, it’s doubtful that she would have paid it any heed. At first, she thought the bandits had somehow come and gone before she arrived. But then she began to notice details about the scene before her -- the bleeding scratches on Julen’s face, the fact that Phelan was holding his horse-rod instead of his sword, and most importantly, Railtus’s antagonistic attitude towards her brother. Slowly, the pieces fell into place. Railtus’s manservant must have attacked Phelan. So why was Railtus apparently siding with the hired help instead of his own kin?
Finally, when Railtus made his comment about shaming the family name, it was too much for Mavelle. “Why are you defending him?” she demanded. “Obviously, your manservant attacked Phelan, or otherwise provoked him. Why are you acting like my brother did something wrong?”
Turning her attention to Phelan, she fixed him with imploring eyes. “Tell him! Tell him what really happened.”
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Facts would make no difference to Mavelle. A trend had been established showing that much. For one glowing in the light so darkly to be so easily accepted in defiance of all evidence shows a remarkable capacity for self-delusion. A capacity which was becoming tiresome.
Phelan, of course, revelled in such foolishness. So pathetic, so useful, willing to believe anything he said no matter who it hurt. At times he wondered how far he could push this. Directing her towards vice would be an entertaining thought.
"How?" Railtus mouthed helplessly, unbelieving that such evil existed so close to Mavelle, for so long, without her ever being the victim of it. A happy surprise admittedly, but a source of sorrow for all the pain she had blinded herself to.
Instead of speaking to Railtus, Phelan exploited the support of Mavelle. If he could engineer a confrontation, then he could pit Mavelle against the stranger, leaving both of them to take the blame for his scheming. "This, disgrace of a servant challenged me, insulted me, and then struck me. He forgets his place. I demand the right to exact punishment, to see him flogged for this offence!" Such a humiliation would be the ultimate victory over Julen, for him to know his own defeat before his life was ended.
"Then claim that right in a court of swords!" called out Railtus.
Silence. Dead silence.
Court of swords. Trial by arms. Hushed breaths held still with the gravity of such a declaration. Poems were written and songs were sung of Phelan's skill with a blade. A more renowned swordsman would be hard to find.
And Railtus had openly declared that he would welcome a formal challenge of combat.
Phelan was not expecting this either. Now his jaw had dropped. How could this be? First, defiance, now someone willing to face him in combat? What was happening? Had this stranger not heard of his renown?
"Child!" Phelan snarled, making no move to offer challenge. A dashed hope for Railtus. In the presence of such evil, he at least hoped to draw swords against it, to smite it into what oblivion awaits. Alas, there was no such luxury. Civility chafed against Railtus, forcing him to suffer such an evil to live. Instead to engage it in conversation.
Not what he wanted. Still, the service of right often demanded forsaking desire.
Phelan continued, "What has gotten into you that you would die for a servant?"
"I keep no servant, and will gladly fight for the innocent." Railtus replied.
Technically speaking, no challenge had been issued just yet. Still, the matter had been raised, and all knew that Phelan could not bring the matter further without issuing the challenge. It was a conscious maneuver.
A dangerous one too.
Phelan, of course, revelled in such foolishness. So pathetic, so useful, willing to believe anything he said no matter who it hurt. At times he wondered how far he could push this. Directing her towards vice would be an entertaining thought.
"How?" Railtus mouthed helplessly, unbelieving that such evil existed so close to Mavelle, for so long, without her ever being the victim of it. A happy surprise admittedly, but a source of sorrow for all the pain she had blinded herself to.
Instead of speaking to Railtus, Phelan exploited the support of Mavelle. If he could engineer a confrontation, then he could pit Mavelle against the stranger, leaving both of them to take the blame for his scheming. "This, disgrace of a servant challenged me, insulted me, and then struck me. He forgets his place. I demand the right to exact punishment, to see him flogged for this offence!" Such a humiliation would be the ultimate victory over Julen, for him to know his own defeat before his life was ended.
"Then claim that right in a court of swords!" called out Railtus.
Silence. Dead silence.
Court of swords. Trial by arms. Hushed breaths held still with the gravity of such a declaration. Poems were written and songs were sung of Phelan's skill with a blade. A more renowned swordsman would be hard to find.
And Railtus had openly declared that he would welcome a formal challenge of combat.
Phelan was not expecting this either. Now his jaw had dropped. How could this be? First, defiance, now someone willing to face him in combat? What was happening? Had this stranger not heard of his renown?
"Child!" Phelan snarled, making no move to offer challenge. A dashed hope for Railtus. In the presence of such evil, he at least hoped to draw swords against it, to smite it into what oblivion awaits. Alas, there was no such luxury. Civility chafed against Railtus, forcing him to suffer such an evil to live. Instead to engage it in conversation.
Not what he wanted. Still, the service of right often demanded forsaking desire.
Phelan continued, "What has gotten into you that you would die for a servant?"
"I keep no servant, and will gladly fight for the innocent." Railtus replied.
Technically speaking, no challenge had been issued just yet. Still, the matter had been raised, and all knew that Phelan could not bring the matter further without issuing the challenge. It was a conscious maneuver.
A dangerous one too.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.