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> [RP] Mortimer Castle

Reynhard
Reynhard sat quietly listening to the cousins in their discussion of family affairs. To think this kind of thing was in his future, now that he knew who he was, made him almost giddy. Things were still misty and full of holes, but what he did rememeber clearly, was a huge relief after all this time not knowing. It definatley made him thirsty for more.

Drestakil wrote:
Just so you know, our favorite person is anything but...his name is Ignatius Casimir. He has been a major thorn in the side of this family for what seems like cosmic ages. His last escapade resulted in his being thrown into jail and now he's on trial.


Ignatius Casimir. I'm sure I've heard that name before... he said, I just wish I could remember why. He took another sip of the scotch and sighed. I just hope more will come back to me now that I've broken through this wall that's been hiding my past for so long.

Ladygina wrote:
Kenna is the Mortimer Herald for the College of Heraldry, so she will have access to our family records. She will be able to help figure this out, I'm sure.


He felt his heart leap in his chest at the thought of there actually being a record of his family. That would be a great help. She may have more names I recognize.

Drestakil wrote:
She has family records going back generations. It's all there, who's related to who, who married who and when...she lives here in town. But, you probably already knew that.


Reynhard lifted his eyebrows. If you're talking about Kenna O'Neill, the mayor, then yes. I don't think we've ever met formally, though I do recognize her name from seeing it on my tax bill. He upended the glass he was holding, letting the last of the scotch warm its way down his throat. I didn't realize she was a Mortimer, he said, smiling to himself now. It's funny how small you're world gets when something like this happens, he thought. He looked from Lady Gina to Drest, one cousin to another, the realization finally sinking in that he was now another cousin in the room. I would certainly love to find out as much as I could. If you're headed in her direction, sir, I would be more than happy to accompany you.
Drestakil
Drest considered what would be best to do, now that a new family member had been found. 'Although, come to think of it, he's not actually been found. It's not like he's someone we didn't know about. He disappeared and now has reappeared.'

"If it were me, I would go have a talk with Kenna...find out exactly how 'Cedric Mortimer' is related to the rest of us. I wish I could help you out there, but I was gone for many years. I'm constantly coming across people who are part of the Mortimer Family and I had no idea."

Drest picked up his mug of ale and finished it. He rose from his chair, leaned forward, took Gina's hand and raised it to his lips, "Cousin, good by and I'll see you the next time I'm up this way. I really need to get back home and it will take a while to get there."

He looked over to Reynhard, "Young man, let me know what you decide to call yourself...Reynhard or Cedric." He smiled, "Welcome to the Mortimer Family. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know. If I can help, I will. Another person helpful is Lady Gina. I think she knows everyone in England."
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Reynhard
Reynhard listened to the advice Drest gave him about talking with Kenna, and nodded in agreement.

If Lady Kenna has all the family records, I'm sure she can help me fill in the blanks. He took a deep breath, trying to comprehend all that had happened in the last few hours. Just having you walk into my shop, gave me more than I could have hoped for from anyone. You've given me my life back. He looked over at the garment draped over the back of the Drest's chair. For that... the doublet is on me. Please take it with my compliments, and my gratitude.

As Drest stood, Reynhard did too, waiting his turn to thank the lady of the house for her hospitality. He smiled at the notion of her knowing 'everyone in England,' though looking at her stately countenance, he was somehow did not doubt the truth in the exagerated words. He took her hand when she offered it, kissing her knuckles.

I feel blessed to have made the aquaintance of a cousin I had no idea I even had, until now. He felt the presence of the locket in his own hand when he released hers, and looked down at the trinket, amazed that it held such passion for these people.

Squeezing it tight he said, I can understand your trepidation now that I've heard all you've had to say. It is always wise to be cautious when it comes to persons unknown. Escpecially when the unkown person... doesn't even know himself. He tucked the silver pendant and broken chain back into his tunic.

I must head back to my shop, but I will seek out Lady Kenna tomorrow, after I've had a night's sleep... if sleep will even come to me. Reynhard's head was spinning, as much from the ale and scotch, as from all he'd uncovered in such a short time. If I have any further questions after I've looked over her information, would it be all right if I call upon you again?
Ladygina
As Drest rose to leave, he took her hand, and brushed it with a kiss. Laughing at his comment of her knowing everyone in England, she said, "Well, I wouldn't say everyone, but I do know a few. Cousin, 'tis always a delight to see you. I just wish you could stay longer when you visit." Then Reynhard, or Cedric, did the same, and asked if it would be alright to call upon her again should he have questions. She nodded, smiling, and said, "If I can help in any way at all to help you regain your memories, please do not hesitate. I do hope you are unable to uncover your past. I, for one, know what it is like to not have all the answers you seek. There is much of my childhood I did not know happened. But I have started slowly learning things that I would never had dreamed possible." She was thinking of the letter in her Mama's book, telling her she had a sister somewhere. A sister she never knew existed. How would she ever find her?? Shaking her head, she looked at them both and said, "Please, travel safe Drest, and stay out of trouble. And Cedric, when you speak to Kenna, tell her I said she had best get over for a visit soon."
_________________

| Countess of Arden | Herald of Arms of the CoH | Member of the RHA |
Reynhard
Reynhard made his way slowly through the Ludlow streets to the front of his shop. He hardly heard the bell tinkle as he opened the door, but his shop mistress did.

"Oh good, you're back," Ezzy said, as he made his way quickly toward the stairs leading up to his office on the next floor and his small apartment above that. As she took the cloak from around his shoulders, she looked at his face, creased with concern. "Is everything all right?"

"Hm?" Reynhard looked up to see Ezzy's worried expression. His hand slipped the locket and broken chain from the pocket of his cloak as she pulled it from his shoulders. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ezzy. My thoughts were elsewhere." As he watched her hang his cloak on the hook on the wall, he grabbed the railing of the stairs and started up. "Would you bring me up a cup of tea, please?"

"Right away," she said, smiling, but still concerned.

On the second floor, Reynhard found his handyman, Cranston, poking at the fire in the hearth by his desk. "Ah, good to see you back, sir. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you, Cranston," he answered, dropping himself heavily into the chair behind his desk. "Ezzy's bringing up some tea."

"Pardon my saying so, sir but... you look like you've seen a ghost."

Reynhard looked up at the older man on the other side of his desk. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose I have." He watched as Ezzy came up the stairs carrying a tray with tea pot, and three cups. "I believe I know who I am." He didn't notice as the pair exchanged glances, before Ezzy set the tray down.

"That's wonderful, sir. How did you find out?" she said, pouring the dark liquid into the cups.

He related the story of breaking open the locket and following his customer to the Sutton Estate, and all that transpired there. He laid the locket on his desk, open, and let them each look inside, at the strangely shaped token with the stylized M in the centre on one half, and the etching of the young fox and the words engraved on the other half.

"Petite Renard" Ezzy read out loud, her French not half bad. "That's lovely."

"It's what my mother used to call me," he said, the memory returning in the same rush it had in Lady Gina's sitting room. "I remember now."

"Cedric Mortimer," Cranston repeated the name, feeling the weight of it and the significance of what he knew of that family. "I suppose we'll have to change the name on the sign over the shop door, now," he said quietly, stroking his chin in contemplation.

"Not just yet," Reynhard said with a sigh. "I'm still me, for the time being." As he finished his tea, Reynhard stood and headed toward the stairs again. "I have so much more to discover. All I have now are brief glimpses of who I was. I need some rest. There's someone I need to see in the morning." He grabbed the railing and made his way up to his bed chamber in the loft.
--Cranston
The old man helped gather the tea cups as he watched Reynhard climb the stairs. Finally, he looked into Ezzy’s worried face. “Stay near him tonight. If his memories come out, he’ll have a restless sleep.”

“Indeed he will,” she agreed, squeezing her husband’s hand. “You can look after things at the cottage?”

“The sheep are no trouble,” he said, smiling. “I just want to make sure he's all right.”

“You know he will be,” she said, reassuringly. “He’s always been a fighter.”

“Indeed he has,” Cranston agreed.
______________
Reynhard

The snow crunched under his feet as he walked his head still sore from last night’s ale. He’d gotten a late start, leaving Ludlow at almost midday. Now, the darkness gathered, the cold penetrating more sharply as he tugged his cloak around his shoulders. Maybe taking the long way wasn’t such a lark, after all, he thought… but that was his mother nagging, he knew, and he shook off the thought as instantly as it had entered his head.

A sound. Behind him. A twig snapping.

He turned, but no one there. He tried to peer into the trees, but with the sun nearly below the horizon, naught could be discerned. An animal, he told himself, quickening his pace. Shrewsbury was still an hour or two away.

The sound again. Closer, this time.

As he turned, suddenly a presence. A man. Cloaked. His sword raised.

A dodge, the blade barely missing. A lunge forward with his shoulder. The figure staggers back, but stays afoot.

Then the blow. The crack of the sword hilt against his temple. Searing pain. The ground coming up to meet him. Freezing snow against his face. Then the kick. His ribs on fire with pain. On his back now, his vision full of agony, but not enough to miss the flash of the blade, coming straight down. A twist sideways. More pain. But now, the lip of the roadside. Falling. Tumbling. Rocks and brush biting and tearing. Rolling, over and over, until… the splash. Ice cold water. The river seeping through his clothes. His legs instantly numb. His face pressed to the bank. His hands clutching a slippery tree root. Dizzy. Nauseous. Then blackness…

--Ezzy
“No! No!!” The scream woke Ezzy as she dozed in the chair just outside the master’s bedchamber. On her feet in an instant, she was through the door, beside his curtained bed.

He was thrashing, the blankets askew, his brow covered in sweat, his face red with strain. “NO!!” he screamed once more, his hands clutching the quilt for dear life. She knew what she had to do.

“Master. Wake up! Wake up!!”
Ezzy took hold of Reynhard’s arms, shaking him, gently at first, but more urgently, as his head continued to thrash from side to side.

“Who!? Why!?”
he blurted. Then a gasp, as he sat bolt upright, nearly banging his head against hers.

“It’s all right. It’s all right now,”
she cooed. “Just a ride on the nightmare.”

“What!? Who!?”
he stuttered, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. “Ezzy?”

“There, there,”
she said, releasing his arms from her grip. “Just a bad dream, is all, sir.”

“Ezzy,” he repeated. “Why are you here?”

“Thought you’d be needin’ a voice of reason, after today,” she explained. “Findin’ out who you really are, and all. It was bound to let the nightmares out of the stable.”

He heaved a sigh, the visions in his mind dissipating like the smoke from s snuffed candle. “I … I was attacked,” he tried to explain. “On the roadside. A hooded man. Rolled down an embankment into a freezing river….”

“Outside Shrewsbury,” she said, quietly finishing his thought. “That’s where you was found. Nearly frozen to death, you was.”

She watched him take a few ragged breaths before he could speak again. “How do you know that?” he whispered.

She placed her hand gently on his arm. “It was Cranston what found you. Brought you straight to me, he did.”

“In Shrewsbury?” he said, wrinkling his brow.

“We was visiting our new grand daughter. Our son lived there. He and Cranston just happened to be out gatherin’ firewood when they heard the commotion on the road. When they saw you tumble down to the river, they knew you needed help. But, they had to wait until the figure on the road was gone, before they could scoop you up and bring you to me.”


“You…?” he said, his voice as shaky as his hands, still clutching the bedclothes. “You nursed me back to health?”

“Not entirely,” she admitted. “Got you started on the road to recovery, though. When Cranston and I headed back here, we made sure you had a bed in the infirmary. They take good care of folks there, they do.”

Reynhard let his head settle back onto the pillow behind him. “Why didn’t you say anything before this?”

“No need. When you arrived here to open your shop downstairs, we were just happy that you’d pulled through.” She patted his hands as he folded them on the blanket. “Cran and I both knew you’d remember some day.”

“Thank you, Ezzy,” he said, closing his eyes, his breathing quieter. “Thank you for … everything.”

She watched as he drifted back off to sleep. She waited a few minutes before heading back out to the sitting room. ‘Not goin’ home just yet,’ she thought. ‘Those nightmares aren’t anywhere near bein’ stabled. They’ll be back.’ She stirred the fire in the hearth, sending sparks flying up the chimney, before settling into the soft chair she’d pulled close to stay warm.
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Reynhard
Laughter. Rowdy laughter. The smell of ale. The taste of it. The heady, dizzy feeling as he emptied another tankard.

“When were you supposed to start your classes, again?” one asked.

“Sometime… ah…last week!” he answered. More bawdy, raucous laughter.

“Won’t they be missing you by now?”
another asked.

“Does it matter? They’ve already been sent their fee,” he answered. “When you’re a Mortimer, you don’t have to deal with trivial things like… money.” He tossed his jingling coin purse down on the table.

“Besides. I think I’m getting a much better education… right here!” As he spoke the last words, he reached for the serving girl, pulling her by the waist until she was seated, with a squeal, in his lap.

More laughter.

Unnoticed is the solitary man, slowly sipping a tankard of ale, at a table in the corner, far from the hearth. His cloak hood is pulled up over his head. Not for warmth, but to funnel the sound of the conversation at the rowdy table directly to his ears. It is the name mentioned that catches his attention. Mortimer. A name he’d heard his master speak with venomous derision many times.

--A_hooded_man
How could he be this fortunate? Luck never came his way. Even games of chance cost him more than he ever won. So, how had he stumbled upon such an opportunity.

A Mortimer.

Ignatius Casimir had sworn to track them all down… one by one… He’d raved about it on many an occasion. And now, here was one, on the lonely Road between Ludlow and Shrewsbury, ripe for the picking.

His hood still hiding his face, as it had done in the tavern the night before, he stood and waited, out of sight.

It had been a long wait, so far. He should have known. The amount this Mortimer had drunk last night would preclude an early start to his travels. Now, near dusk, almost to Shrewsbury’s gates, he realized he’d gotten too much of a head start.

But his patience was paying off. He could hear snow crunching footsteps approaching. A lone pair of feet. He smiled.

Peering out from behind the tree, he could see the young man who had been boasting loudly in the tavern. Slipping his sword quietly from its sheath, he just knew this would be easy. A few crunching steps of his own, as his target rounded the bend in the road, and suddenly they were face to face.

Easy pickin’s, he thought, raising his sword to swing.

But the young man was agile, dodging the blow with the reflexes of a fox. A moment later, a shoulder in his midsection, pushing him backward, the hooded man staggered, but managed to stay upright.

Bringing his sword hand back down, the hilt connected with a crack, knocking his prey to the ground, bloodying his temple. A boot in the ribs for good measure, turned him face up, the better to bring the blade down into his chest. Lifting the sword with both hands, point straight down, he put his weight behind the thrust.

But again, the fox like reflexes rolled his quarry out of the way of harm, the blade biting the frozen ground, sending a shudder through his whole body.

A moment to get his bearings, then the realization his prey was still rolling, over the lip of the roadbed. Reaching quickly, the hooded man grabbed at the front of the young man’s cloak, his hands latching onto the brooch holding the garment closed. A rip. The momentum of the tumbling body too much for the pin to hold, and then he was gone.

The hooded man stood and watched as the body tumbled and pitched down the steep slope of the roadside, leaving streaks of blood and bits of clothing in the brush and on the rocks before coming to rest half submerged in the river.

He waited, watching for any movement. Nothing. Stillness. He knew he should climb down and make sure, but with the bitter cold and the approaching night, what the freezing water didn’t accomplish, he knew, the hungry animals in these woods surely would.

He looked down at the trinket in his hand. The Mortimer crest, as plain as day, etched in the polished silver, the back pin still clinging to a small piece of a now tattered and bloodied cloak.

He smiled to himself. How COULD he be so fortunate? He felt his luck turning, as he pocketed his prize and slid quietly across the bridge, into Shrewsbury. Ignatius must be told of his good fortune. But first, he would find a tavern with a card table. Perhaps he could actually win a few hands before he went on to inform his master that one more Mortimer was no more.

_____________

Reynhard
His fitful sleep had been not much rest at all. Ezzy had stayed the whole night, he discovered, eveidenced by her humming outside his door, and his wash pitcher full of steaming water from the hearth. He poured some into the basin underneath and used it to scrub the sleep from his eyes, and wash his face.

Dressed again, he emerged from his bed chamber to find hot tea and biscuits waiting.

Morning, sir, Ezzy smiled as he sat to take his breakfast.

Thank you for staying, Ezzy. he said, sipping the hot liquid, letting it warm him the way the scotch at Lady Gina's had the night before. Did I cry out much in the night? It felt like I did nothing but dream, and vividly.

Only a few times. But it's to be expected, what with all you found out yesterday.

Lady Gina Sutton gave me the name of another cousin... a Lady Kenna O'Neill... he explained, sipping more of his tea. Said she would have records that could tell me more about my past. I'm headed there this morning. Now that I have the picture of who I was started in my mind, I have to fill in all the missing colours. No matter what they illuminate.

As he finished the last of his biscuits, Reynhard stood and headed for the stairs. He could hear Ezzy humming to herself, clearing the table, as he grabbed his cloak and headed out the door.

It was a short walk to the O'Neill home, but each step felt heavy and full of anxiety. What could she tell him about the rest of his family? Did he have siblings he couldn't remember? Where was the manor house he recalled living in? And who was this Richard, his grandfather? His mind was spinning with these questions as he approached the front door of the manor and knocked.
Kennagillian
Kenna sat down the blanket she was mending, still quite unsatisfied with the stitch, she scowled at it as she walked away.

Pulling the door in to show who was standing there at the threshold she aimed at making her greeting with a smile.

"Reynhard, what a pleasant surprise! Please come in and join me by the fire. I just put on a log and I have some tea out on the table there if you like" she stepped back to let him in and closed the door. Mary went on playing with her carved horse, not even interested that they now had a guest.

Molly came into the house by way of the pantry entrance and was knocking the mud from her old boots, muttering something about dirt and the devils. She absentmindedly hung her cloak on a rack and went to putting away the goods she'd been carrying in a sack. Then she disappeared into a room, only nodding politely as she passed by.

"Are you well sir? You have reason to call or is this a friendly visit?" Kenna asked as she took her seat again and laid the blanket across her lap. She did not stitch, but waited to see why he looked so at odds or was it confused?
_________________
Reynhard
Reynhard stepped into the warmth of the room, sliding his cloak from his shoulders and hanging it from a hook by the door.

Tea would be wonderful, thank you, he said, reaching for a cup and pouring from the pot, watching the steam rise, filling his nostrils with the aroma of the steeped leaves within.

He sat in a chair across from Kenna, his eyes barely glancing at the child quitely playing in the corner.

My visit may seem somewhat unorthodox, I suppose, he began, not sure quite how to proceed. I'm not sure how much of my history you know. He gave a quick overview of his memories of waking in the infirmary, and his life so far here in Ludlow. Until recenlty, I had no recollection of what came before... no memory of who I was even. He sipped the tea, feeling the warmth of it spread through his chest. Until just yesterday. Reynhard reached into his pocket and pulled out the broken chain, the locket still attached. He held it out for Kenna to examine.

You see, I've had this around my neck the whole time, but until a fortuitous accident yesterday, could not get it open. He watched as she clicked the clasp, the two halves of the locket unfolding to reveal their contents. Just by chance, a man had come into my shop, and was there when it happened. He took me to your cousin's home, Lady Gina Sutton, and they told me the crest inside proves I'm ... a Mortimer. But it was the picture etched opposite, that brought my memories back. He paused, still getting used to saying it out loud. My name is Cedric. Cedric Mortimer. And the words etched below the picture are what my mother used to call me. 'Petite Renard." It must have been what I was ranting while I had my fever, why they gave me that as my name.

He related how the memories had come back to him there in Gina's sitting room, that he rememebered his mother's name and his grandfather's, but not much else. The only other things I can vaguely recall now, came from dreams I had last night... dreams of my attack on the road. The attack that gave me this... He lifted the whisp of hair above his left eye, pulling it all the way back to reveal a jagged scar, a healed gash that he now knew came from the sword hilt weilded by the cloaked and hooded figure in his dream.

It seems so strange to even ask this. I came here, hoping you could tell me more of my own story. The cup shaking in his trembling fingers, he sipped some more of the tea, his eyes looking hopefully between Kenna's face and the locket she held in her hand. Lady Gina told me you keep the family records... that you might be able to help me fill in some of the missing pieces.
Kennagillian
Kenna was watching him nervously chatter. He seemed very distraught, really caught up in the things he was saying. She accepted the necklace, listened a few more seconds before glancing at it. While he went on talking she examined it, stopped, looked longer and turned it over. There was something. Yes, plain to see. How peculiar.

She looked up at him like she was seeing him for the first time. It made sense then. She was seeing herself several years prior to this time, the same confusion and unrest. It was fantastic, almost surreal. A fox and the Mortimer Crest. It was exciting and shocking!

He went on talking..

My name is Cedric. Cedric Mortimer. And the words etched below the picture are what my mother used to call me. 'Petite Renard." It must have been what I was ranting while I had my fever, why they gave me that as my name....

She wondered then how Gina had remained so calm, how she had not barged into the door and explained everything first. Ah, but the baby was likely keeping her busy and that would mean she was probably bursting at the seams to visit. She'd have to go over there soon but first..

The only other things I can vaguely recall now, came from dreams I had last night... dreams of my attack on the road. The attack that gave me this...

How awful! An attack on the road? That would make sense, seeing as how the family had been made a target for the last several years thanks to one man hell bent on revenge at whatever price he could claim it.

It seems so strange to even ask this. I came here, hoping you could tell me more of my own story. Lady Gina told me you keep the family records... that you might be able to help me fill in some of the missing pieces.

Her turn. She was trying to process it. The very nature of the story and the outcome all having sat down here before her holding a cup of tea and waiting for some kind of response after his very sincere depiction of the days of his life up until now. She sat rigid in her chair, her own tea whipping the declaration of it's warmth but never had been touched. She swallowed.

"I um.. I.." she stuttered " well.. I just don't know what to say" she laughed shaking her head, then finally assaulted her tea to have it help her get the words out that she realized would be appropriate "I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting that. Thought you might be here about business for the town or something about your shop... I am the keeper of records, well the herald for the Mortimer family, but I only keep one parcel here for my own personal use. The other more detailed papers are kept in the halls of the College. I can show you what I have here.." she stood up and sat her tea cup down, leaving him there to rummage through a chest in the pantry. She returned and presented the document.

It was a detailed drawing, with painting on the edges. She'd made it herself. It was a list of names in elegant boxes, etched in swirly handwritten text. It documented all the births, deaths, and marriages. It was like a time line of ancestry for anyone who ever wanted to know who begot who.

"I have several holes, missing links, and to the best of my knowledge these dates are correct. What were their names? Do you see them here?" she asked.

She wanted to help him simply because she knew how it felt to be cut away from your blood relations and float aimlessly without belonging. If he were truly a Mortimer, this was wonderful news, though sad that he had to wait so long to figure it out. Not to mention having suffered so. Poor fellow.
_________________
Reynhard
Reynhard looked hard at the parchment, his mind trying to bring back the names that his memory had whispered to him the night before.

What I can recall, is the sound of voices calling people by name. An older man standing in a doorway, calling out to the woman who must be my mother. He calls her Anne.

Reynhard lets his fingers trace the lines until he finds a box with that name in it. Anne Mortimer, and it's connected to a box with the name Richard, but as a spouse... and the dates seem too early.

No, I don't think that's it, he says, a bit disappointed. The other voice I hear calls the older man Sir Richard, but this says "Earl of Cambridge," and I recall other voices calling him the Duke, but I don't know why.

His fingers move a bit further down. to the children of the couple he's found... to another Richard. Wait... here. Richard, Duke of York. I'm sure that's it... and below that... another Anne. His daughter. That has to be her.

He studies the squares with thier names and dates. Beside the second Richard, the name of a spouse, Cecily Neville... died the same year as the second Anne was born. But that seems to be where things grind to a halt.

But if she is my mother, why am I not listed as her child? And who was my father? There is no name listed beside hers. His heart pounding, Reynhard looks up at Kenna, trying not to appear desparate for answers, but filled with frustration at coming so close. Are the records simply incomplete, or ... or was she not married when I was born?
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