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> [RP] Mortimer Castle

Drestakil
"Richard, would you please sit," Drestakil said. "It's difficult enough looking up at you while we chat, but I'm sure it would be easier to drink sitting."

He looked stern, "...and before you object with some nonsense about 'servants shouldn't sit in the presence of their masters' I would like to point out that the door to this room is closed, no one will enter without knocking first, and if they do, you can jump to attention." Drest pointed at the chair behind Richard, "Sit."

"I've been gone most of the evening. Explain how you confused Rose the cook and Penelope Rose, Juliyn's wife?" Drest chuckled, "I have done many things in my life, but I am POSITIVE I would not confuse those two."

Drest upended his ale mug. It looked to be a long night and he welcomed Richard's presence. It kept him from brooding about Pliny, Sindaia, Casimir, the old man who had died in his arms tonight...what was his name? He was concerned about Vice and Cordelia. Gina was in his thoughts as well. Juliyn was going north. Maitane was settling in Ludlow.

"I'm all ears," Drest said, smiling.
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--Richard_bagwell_bocock
Exasperations! If nothing else, Richard had to make heads or tails of this, for even he was getting confused.

First he sat to make Drest happy. He did feel safer standing, but really, he'd began to feel more at ease so this request was easily fulfilled. He finished off his mug, wiped his mouth and got down to business sorting out the facts.

Then he thought about what Drest had said and surveyed the room. As afraid as he ever was of this man, he was more afraid of going back out into the hall than anything. He'd rather take his chances with the Uncle than venture out there where Rose might be waiting for him in the hall!

"When you first quipped about Rose having her eye on me, I'd never met her. I did not know who to look at in the kitchens during dinner, but then this young girl that you speak of, well she came along paying special kindness and I thought SHE was Rose. I am a nervous fellow, it's no fault of my own, I just happen to be stricken with it. So, all at once, in the kitchens, someone called out the name ROSE and then I saw Rose was the cook and not the young girl, and I was confused. You two, You and Bart had acted so strange that I assumed you were planning to have me married. It's really because of the way in which you said it and the way he's been saying many things about marriage lately that I came to such a conclusion. I mistook the young maid Liza to be the ROSE you talked about, not the Lady Penelope.. no I know who Lord Julyin's new bride is. The horrible part is that you are correct. I believe I may have hurt Rose's feelings" he thought about it.

"I told her you might be arranging our marriage but I also told her that I thought she was the younger girl.. I thought she might kill me then, she looked very angry and left" he admitted.

And she has every right to be, I as much as made her think I was willing to marry had she been someone else and not who she really was, he thought, ashamed.

But that wasn't how he had meant it to come out, to her. It was too late to take it back.

His mug of drink had tasted quite nice. He had forgotten how calming it was, how it eased tension, and how it settled into your bones like a good medicine, making every illness subside.

It must have also greased his jaw bone, for he seemed to be able to talk more now than ever, even about things he wouldn't normally say out loud.

"I've been afraid of everything my whole life, I have thoughts about the worst things that might happen, and marriage is no different" he admitted, looking at the bottom of his empty mug.

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Kennagillian
Dutchbart wrote:
Bart saw Kenna pop her head around the bush and grinned.

“Ouch!! stop that.....” he said as the bud hit him “I wouldn't dare you say? Are you sure of that?” he said with an inquisitive look.

He smiled as she came over to him, and was surprised as she took his glass out of his hand “I really should call the guards for that, this is theft, I'm sure they'll agree with me...”

He shook his head when she asked if he wasn't too tired for a drink “I don't think anyone could ever be too tired for a drink, would you like to test that theory?” he asked her boldly.



Smiling mischievously, she shook her head and took his drink again, walking away to sit it on the stone ledge. She could sense him watching and turned to catch his gaze. It had been a long time since they had been alone like this, in a garden, at night.

She returned to his side with softness to her touch, pushing her open palmed hand into his large rough hand. She did the same with her other, and crossed their finger, entwining them together.

"I'd rather not pass or fail your tests, sir, I'd rather you tell me about that night a very long time ago" she began "at Combe when I was but newly single and masked" she cocked her eyebrow at him and waited for him to catch her line of questioning.
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Drestakil
"Trust me...marriage is not the worst thing that could happen," Drest said. "I've been married and it was definitely not that." Drest thought back to his short married life. It was the happiest time he could remember. He reached over and refilled Richard's mug, topping off his own at the same time.

Drest let his gaze wander around the room. There was the window seat, his bow and quiver of arrows lying on it. The floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with books he'd picked up here and there in his travels. Many of the books were descriptions of different regions of the world. There was one shelf filled with scrolls which, when unrolled, became maps of those same regions. The heavy, dark oak table dominated the center of the room. His knives and sword laid on it, otherwise, it was bare. Aside from a couple of chairs, the only other thing in the room was a large round globe of the earth. Drestakil had made the globe himself, based on his own journeys and information from other travelers.

"Why have you been afraid of everything? I can understand being afraid of some things, but everything?"
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--Richard_bagwell_bocock
Richard let his mug be filled willingly and as Drest talked he realized this was one of those times in a mans life when important things could be discussed. He'd not really been old enough as a kid to bond in such a way with his father, never had uncles who took him along, his grandfather had died early on. No man other than Bart had really ever treated him as an equal.

He sat a little straighter and looked at the uncle a little different than he had before. Married once, obviously a long time ago by the looks of his life now. It was hard not to wonder what might have happened. Even as a stranger he felt better off for even knowing one part of this family, better even still for not being their enemy, but belonging to them would be hard to walk away from.

He found it amusing when Drest said "Trust me...marriage is not the worst thing that could happen, I've been married and it was definitely not that" and he watched the older man scan the room as if he were looking for what he'd lost or maybe he was looking at all the things he'd collected, where he'd been.

The room was full of things Richard had never seen, weapons, old papers rolled tight and loose, and just like in the Prince's library, an assorted collection of books.

"Hmm? Why am I?" he was enjoying the ale now, relaxing instead of being so tense and on edge.

"It might be because Scotland was my first time away from home. All I had ever known before that was the social affairs hosted by my various aunts to which I played no part in other than to watch others from my own seat. I'm not a poet or a scholar, I'm no warrior or swords man, and to be true, Lord Drest, I am not really sure what I am" he finished. It was true. He could not think of one thing he was good at.

Just like this evening, he'd not even been able to wash his hands with out nearly breaking the basin. At least in Scotland he'd managed to survive long enough to find purpose. Even though Bart was often advising him again and again, the man had been patient and trusting. He was never angry with Richard, not even the day he'd left the grain sitting near the cattle pen. Bart's best animal had swollen up and nearly died from trying to eat all 11 bags of grain that morning.

No one, not even Bart, blamed him for the barn fire that had almost killed the horses this spring. It had been hard to explain that he'd taken a nap in the hay because he was exhausted. It had looked so comfortable and so inviting. He'd convinced himself he'd only just lay there for a minute, putting the lantern just beside him. A field mouse, smaller than the thick of his thumb had wriggled it's way into his pants leg while he napped. From the shock and surprise, he'd lept up, knocked the wick and oil over, and sent the whole place up into flames.

Bart had laughed, well only after hearing the whole story. It was only because he knew and expected Richard to struggle. They had spent the better part of a year repairing his mistakes and fumbles. But "you have to start somewhere" Bart had said "no one person can be perfect all the time".

"I spend so much time worrying over messing up that I do anyway. Things have always been harder for me to do. So I'm afraid.." he told him " I suppose" he took a drink.

"How do you do it? You seem not to be afraid anything.." Richard asks.

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Drestakil
"How do you do it? You seem not to be afraid anything.."and when Drest heard that he had to laugh out loud. Drest smiled and said, "Richard, I have been so scared so many times I can't even begin to count them." Drestakil stood, his mug in his hand, and walked over to the globe. He gave it a quick spin, then stopped it. He almost absentmindedly traced a line across the Mediterranean, through the Holy Land, across mountains to a coastline.

Drest pointed to a spot in the mountains, "I was almost killed here by some villagers. They didn't like the shape of my eyes." He pointed to a spot on the coast, "Pirates attacked here. There were six of us, two of us got away." He pointed to another spot out in the ocean, " The galley I was with got overtaken by storm. It lasted 3 days...blew us from one end of the earth to the other. Half the time you couldn't breathe, the wind was blowing so hard. The rest of the time you were all but drowning from waves washing over the sides."

Drestakil walked over and sat down. He smiled again, "Yes, I've been afraid. I hear about men...and women...who say they aren't afraid of anything. I try to stay away from them...those are the ones who'll get you killed. If I die I want it to be for a reason. A line on a map doesn't qualify."

He looked Richard in the eye, "This family has lost people and will lose more. That's the way of things...it's something that can't be changed. It's up to each of us to make sure the family continues. That means you, Richard, because you're one of the family, whether you have the Mortimer name or not."
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Dutchbart
Kennagillian wrote:
Smiling mischievously, she shook her head and took his drink again, walking away to sit it on the stone ledge. She could sense him watching and turned to catch his gaze. It had been a long time since they had been alone like this, in a garden, at night.

She returned to his side with softness to her touch, pushing her open palmed hand into his large rough hand. She did the same with her other, and crossed their finger, entwining them together.

"I'd rather not pass or fail your tests, sir, I'd rather you tell me about that night a very long time ago" she began "at Combe when I was but newly single and masked" she cocked her eyebrow at him and waited for him to catch her line of questioning.


Bart watched as she took his drink once more, this time Kenna walked over to a stone ledge nearby. He smiled as she paused and looked back. She walked back to where he was standing and pushed her hand into his.

He grinned widely as she mentioned the past at Henry's castle “Ah, the masked ball you mean, yes... I met this girl there that I'm rather fond of...” he responded as he looked into her eyes “...I wonder how she's doing nowadays....” he said teasingly.
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Mary-Calista Marlise O'Neill
--Richard_bagwell_bocock
Richard smiled a broad enlightened smile. The man seemed to know just what to say to set things straight. The only thing he'd done wrong was give Richard ale and tell him to drink it. By now the room seemed swollen or.. was it his bladder? He couldn't tell which but thanks to the warm fuzzy feeling he'd developed in the last hour, he didn't much care either.

So he answered Drest's remark with a "Cheers" and then finished off the last refill in his mug, standing slowly. He was feeling perfectly well into having a good go of a nap. If he sat a minute longer he might fall asleep sitting up. Swaying as he walked a few steps he smirked a drunks smirk and said "You're a right nice man Drest, right nice" he repeated "You're not half as scary as you look" he pat him on the back "thank you for the proper chat but I better be off to bed now. We should do thish a again shometime" he says, turning through the door now to go.

All the way down the hall he leaned against the wall as he walked, the corridor seeming to be miles long instead of minutes. He fumbled out into the darkness through a door that let to the gardens, leaving for the stables to check on his horse. He couldn't remember now if he'd put him in there or if he'd even brought him. He ducked and dodged through the bushes, hearing strange voices in the night. When he was closer to the trees and the field he began to call out in a hushed whisper.

"Horse... Horse.." wait he'd not come that way "oh what's his name?" he mumbled. Inside the stable everything was quiet. A few snickers of the other horses and a snort or two, but none he recognized. He wondered which of these beasts belonged to Drest but none of them looked like what he would imagine. Besides everything he looked at seemed smaller and more blurred than he remembered.

All the stable hands were probably in bed. In fact, everyone with any sense should be sleeping, he thought, pausing to scratch his belly with lazy disinterest.

The name suddenly came to him when he focused on something stomping the ground just ahead of him.

"Aw Mister Heffer, I've looked all over for you" he crooned, rushing over to greet his steed. Only Richard Bagwell BoCock would name his horse after a cow. But in all fairness, it was black and white and reminded him of the ones he'd seen in countryside.

He plopped down on the mess of clean hay against the stable wall.

"I think it's too late to go home, Mister Heffer" he told the horse "I think I couldn't be bothered with it. We'd better stay here, sleep it off, and go in the morning" he closed his eyes and yawned.

Mister Heffer never replied. He could care less. He'd not been the one drinking till near dawn so he'd be good enough either way.

Slowly Richard got comfortable, slid down in the hay and curled up. Before a few minutes passed he was snoring softly, dreaming of traveling the world on adventures he would never dare take if he were awake.

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Drestakil
Drestakil smiled as Richard rose and chuckled when he said "You're not half as scary as you look" and patted Drest's back. Still mumbling, mostly incoherent, Richard made his way out the door, leaving it open. Drest could hear him shuffling uncertainly down the hall.

It had been a long time since Drest had had a chance to just sit and chat. Richard was a good man. Inexperienced, maybe, but the time might come when that would help him.

He sighed. It seemed to him that there was trouble on the way. Somehow he could feel it...a dark, formless cloud moving toward him. No, not toward HIM, but toward the family.

One would think the family had been through enough, but he was beginning to wonder if whatever gods there were had something against the Mortimer Family. There were too many missing who had been here at one time. THAT NIGHT...he even capitalized the words in his mind. Casimir and his men had tried to destroy the family.

Drest looked at his hands. It didn't show outwardly, but he could see the blood. Men and women had died that night, some by his blades.

Drest rose and walked over to the open window. He stood there looking out at the dark countryside spreading out from the castle walls. He breathed in the night air, cool and fresh. The sky was bright and clear, a dark blue background pierced by fiery points of light. He listened. It was so quiet. The only sounds were the breeze through the trees, the stream moving noisily along, horsed moving in their stalls.

He walked over and picked up the empty ale bottle and took it downstairs to be refilled. Hooking a couple more bottles under his arm he went back to his room, pulled a map out and filled his mug. It was going to be a long night.
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Drestakil
And it was a long night, and the one after that and the one after that. Drestakil traveled back to Salisbury to take care of his land, his bakery shop, buy supplies for both and got in touch with the county trade minister to see if he could help. It turned out that he could. A trade deal had been arranged with Chester...iron for stone...someone was needed to help transport the stone.

A day later Drestakil found himself riding rear guard for a group of wagons carrying stone north through Evesham, Warwick, and Birmingham. In Stafford Drest found out that his services were no longer needed. The land ahead was free of bandits.

This suited Drestakil just fine. Several of the family had moved to Ludlow. It had been quite some time since he had been there. The perfect opportunity to stop in and see everyone. He was hoping to visit Maitane's hostelry, but mostly he wanted to see the family. Gina might have already had her child by now. Kenna was Mayor of Ludlow. Bart was....Bart. There was no telling what he would be doing.

He came riding into a storm, literally and figuratively. The rain came down in sheets, he was almost run down by a carriage. Thunder, lightning, wind...when he arrived at Sutton Estate he found tragedy. Mai was dead and Fiona had been taken. Mai, beautiful Mai...was dead. This was a hard enough blow to take. Little Fiona, pretty little daughter of Viceroy and Cordelia, had been taken away. A letter had been left detailing instructions for Vice and Cordelia to follow. But they were in Sussex.

Drestakil and Richard had mounted up and ridden like the wind to take that letter to Viceroy. He was in Sevenoaks, celebrating his elevation to the throne of England. The news Drestakil brought enraged Viceroy and devastated Cordelia. There was nothing they could do, though, because Viceroy was now King of England. He had duties which did not allow him to pursue any personal agenda. Richard rode back to Ludlow with news for the family. Drestakil followed a few days later.

He was walking down the main thoroughfare of Ludlow. There were several shops, taverns, the main church of the town off in the distance. Drestakil was trying not to brood, trying not to dwell on everything that had happened. 'Get your mind off it,' he thought. 'Try to think about something else, anything else.'

'Ye Olde Next Level Taylor Shoppe' was on the sign. He stopped to look in the windows. Through one side he could see the tailors working on various articles of clothing, through the other window he could see sets of clothing. There were pants, shirts, mantles, cloaks, doublets, belts, dresses, skirts, blouses...all new and well-made. There was one doublet, in particular, that caught his eye. He spotted a young man standing inside, arranging it to show it off. The young man looked up, caught his eye and smiled, then turned away. Drestakil entered the shop.
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Reynhard
At #40 Mill Street in the town of Ludlow, there is a weaver shop.



It is a simple place. The windows on the left of the door look in on the workshop, providing light for the looms and workbenches, but also allowing passers-by to see the work being done. To the right of the door, the windows illuminate the finished product, providing ample sunshine to the shop, and the clothing within.

In that front window, on this winter's day, the proprietor, a man known around town only as Reynhard, puts the finishing touches on the display facing the street. Hanging from the rack is his latest creation; a doublet of the softest black leather, with wool accents, dyed a striking green with a leaf pattern weaved intricately through the material. It is wrapped over a white cambric shirt, above a pair of dark breeches, tucked into high boots. The whole ensemble resembles a man, oddly headless, standing there for all the town to see as they pass by.


You've outdone yourself, sir, the shop matron commented, helping Reynhard straighten the fabric, as he stooped to align the boots on the platform that was set in front of the window, bringing that portion of the floor up to the level of the glass panes.

Thank you, Ezzy, Reynhard smiled, looking up and down the length of the display, checking to see if there was even one stitch out of place. I am rather proud of this one.

As you should be, Ezzy answered. You've become a fine craftsman in your short time here. The number of customers who walk out of this shop satisfied should make any man proud of his work..

Reynhard smiled to himself. He knew he shouldn't allow pride to swell his head, but looking over his latest creation, he felt blessed to be living the life he was here in Ludlow.

It hadn't been that long ago that he'd awakened from a fever that had claimed his memories. How he'd come to be in an infirmary bed, how long he'd lain there... even who he was, had all been wiped clean from his mind. All that his attendants had told him was the only word they could discern from his fevered ranting... "renard". Unsure of it's significance, whether a first name, a last name, or even a name at all... when he was well enough to be released from the hospice, it had been given to him as his only name. The monk who had signed his papers had written it with a bit of a flare, R-e-y-n-h-a-r-d, the down-stroke on the y and the up-stroke on the h, both curling in opposite directions. It seemed an odd spelling of the name, but he'd liked the way it looked on the parchment, and, now, a year later, he'd had it stencilled exactly the same way, under the word Proprietor, on the sign over his new shop door.

Straightening up, a flash caught his attention. Sunlight sparkling off the pendant that had loosened itself from the folds of his shirt. It was his only piece of jewellery, a locket, sealed shut, unyielding to any attempt he made at prying it open. It had been hanging from a sturdy chain around his neck when he'd awakened from his fever. He took it between his fingers, turning it over, feeling frustrated by its secrets. He sighed and tucked it back into his tunic.

Hearing the sound of townsfolk moving about on the street outside the panes of glass behind him, he turned his head to see a face staring back at him. He gave an impish grin to the potential patron, then stepped down off the window casement, waiting for the sound of the tiny bell he'd hung above the front door, to tinkle as it was opened to admit his next visitor.
Drestakil
Drestakil entered the shop. It was warm inside, odors of fabric, dyes, wood, different threads hung in the air. The hilt of his sword caught the bell hanging above the door and flipped it, making a small clinking, tingling sound. 'So much for the surprise attack,' thought Drest, chuckling to himself.

The young man had his back turned to Drest, who walked over to the doublet hanging in the window. It was a soft, green fabric, laced down the front. This would be perfect under his mantle. Drest wasn't sure he had enough money on his person, but if not, he could probably borrow some from Gina and Dran. He turned just as the young man turned toward Drest. They almost bumped into each other. Drest smiled, stepped back and said, "Pardon me, but I would like to know how much you are asking for the doublet?"
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Reynhard
Reynhard walked around the edge of a rack of shirts, and nearly ran into the man he'd seen through the window. He'd heard the bell over the door, but had hardly expected him to be on top of him so quickly.

Quote:
"Pardon me, but I would like to know how much you are asking for the doublet?"


A man who gets right to the point, Reynhard thought. I like that.

No need to apologize, he said, stepping back, trying not to knock over the rack behind him. I'm glad you found your way inside. He turned back toward the window display, smiling to himself. The doublet is made from my own wool and hides. I raise the sheep myself to be certain of the quality. As he told the man his price, Reynhard ran his hand down the back of the garment, letting his fingers and thumb rub the hem, encouraging his patron to do the same. Would you care to try it on? I have private fitting rooms next to my office on the second floor.

He turned and looked toward his shop mistress, the red haired woman straightening a small display of trousers on a table nearby. I know we just finished hanging it, Ezzy, but could you take down the doublet and bring it upstairs, please?

As he turned back to lead his customer up to the fitting rooms, he felt an odd sense of deja vu. He was certain he'd not seen him around town before, but still, there was something familiar about the shape of his face, the look in his eyes. I'm sorry, but have we met before? He stuck his hand out to shake. I'm Reynhard, the proprietor here.
Drestakil
Another smile as he returned the hand shake, then Drestakil said, "I'm practically certain we've never met before. I seldom come to Ludlow. I live quite a bit further south. I'm only here to visit family. We have had a recent death and this is why I'm here at all, " which was not quite the truth, but close enough. "The price is reasonable. You are right, though, no sense buying it if it won't fit. You say you have fitting rooms?" Reynhard and the woman led the way up the stairs to a fitting room. Drest stepped in, closed the door, took his cloak and mantle off and pulled the doublet on over his shirt.

He stepped outside, "Looks like a fine fit to me. I think the sleeves could stand to be lengthened. I have trouble finding sleeves long enough." He slipped out of the doublet and handed it to Reynhard, "If you would be so kind."
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Reynhard
Reynhard looked the man over as he stepped out of the fitting room. The doublet seemed almost perfect.

Quote:
"Looks like a fine fit to me. I think the sleeves could stand to be lengthened. I have trouble finding sleeves long enough."


Hmm... You might be right Reynhard agreed, grabbing a small strip of cloth from his desk, touching one end to the man's wrist, and creasing it with his thumb, where the cloth met the hem of the sleeve. Just a little bit more should do it. He tore the strip at the crease while the man removed the garment.

Ezzy, he said, handing the doublet to his shop mistress. Take this down to Cranston and have him unstitch the sleeves at the shoulder, and lengthen each one... this much. He held up the strip of cloth and handed that to her as well.

Right away sir, she said, smiling at the new customer as she headed for the stairs. I'll be back in a jiffy.

Reynhard turned back to his patron. Would you care for a brandy while we wait? He moved to an ornate cabinet against the wall, stooping to unlatch the small door at the bottom. As he retrieved the bottle, the locket around his neck slipped, unnoticed, out of his tunic. As he stood, the chain caught the door latch, snapping as his neck strained against it. The force propelled the trinket to the floor with a crack.

Oh, damn! Reynhard said, before he could catch himself. He gathered the locket and the silver links from the floor, holding them gently in his hand as he poured two snifters of the brandy and handed one to his customer. Excuse my outburst... caught my pendant on the cabinet latch. I fear I've snapped the chain.

As he sipped his brandy, Reynhard turned the locket over in his hand. Seems a bit silly... I've had this around my neck for as long as I can remember... which isn't long, really. He explained his short history, waking in the infirmary after losing his memories to fever. This was my only posession, and for the life of me I haven't been able to get it open. He turned the trinket over in his hand, squeezing it once more, the way he had time and again... but this time, the latch holding the two sides clicked.

Well I'll be...he said, peering inside for the first time, at the odd crest etched on one side, and that of a small animal on the other.The smack on the floor must have been enough to loosen it. But... he sighed. I still don't know what it means...
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