Post by Raulwicke on Jun 2, 2016 13:54:37 GMT
Baron Wrest von Myreque settles on behind his desk, adjusts his vest, and nods Raulwicke to the only chair not overburdened by tomes and scrolls. Ignoring the chair, Raulwicke leans up against one of the towers of books miraculously not knocking it over
“Well, my lord Baron. I have already imparted to your court some of the historics of my adventures. I want to know why I was drawn to your court. Why do I sense that you are to become a legend in this land?”
His attention flits between the bard and a ledger left slightly open to his left, “Hum what oh! Yes, yes, yes. I imagine you have a good eye for people, your tales imply that you have witnessed a great many events of note. To that end I-...” His eyes slide across the book again before returning to the man before him. “Ahem, I imagine you are familiar with the patterns. Those unseen by most, if not all. The ones that only observers of the world and all the greatness it has to offer can see. Ah hum...” Wrest pulls a fist to his mouth coughs. “Not to sound arrogant, I am, but not nearly to this extreme. I've just a great deal of faith in what I will be doing in this world.”
A bemused smile flirts with the edges of Raulwicke's mouth
“My lord. You seem distracted. Tell me, what kind of affairs of state keep a man such as yourself so distracted? What plans for Myreque have you so unable to focus?”
A flashed smile and easy chuckle escape the noble as he carelessly closes the book. With a hand pressed upon its cover, the ledger is slid further to the side and the whole of his attention came to rest upon his guest
“My apologies, it's nothing so major, not even something of the state. Well not my state. You see the ah- hum, counties to the north of here are in conflict, and because of that conflict their ah-... they hold mines that are very lucrative. Discovered the veins only a fortnight ago.” His gaze again darts to the book, but the smile widens and he focuses once more ahead.
“It is possible that rumors of just -how- lucrative these mines are proving to be is what started the battle regarding who held what territory. And that of course means our good baron will become involved, which will likely cause the production of hide to decline, not to mention the vineyards have already been suffering this season so-” Blinking, Wrest straightened from casually slouching against his high-backed chair.
“Ah dear, you see I have tendencies to ramble.”
Raulwicke's eye alight with fire. “My lord Baron. I suddenly realize why I was drawn to you. How many of these rumors were begun by those of your court? You seem to be very invested in the ownership of this land and the repercussions of its ownership.” Raulwicke straightens, placing a hand on the stack of books that he had been leaning on to keep it level.
“Baron Wrest. How many of these tomes contain contingencies for action upon the downfall of your neighbors? Exactly how far do your...” Raulwicke clears his throat “political aspirations go?”
The smile stays plastered upon the noble's face, perhaps slightly more stiff than a few moments back. “You hum, certainly do have the imagination of a storyteller. I assure you, I would never plot the downfall of my fellow nobility. That would be criminal! That would be treason! No, no, no. I'm but a merchant minded individual. I simply see opportunity, and move towards it as any reasonable man would do.”
He reaches over the book, towards a small, silver bell lingering on his desk. Giving it a shake, he leans back and folds his hands against his stomach.
He asks “Would you care for something to sup? Tea? Wine?”
As if from nowhere, an astute servant seems to materialize behind the chair of the visitor; a clean pressed hand towel draped over her arm. Her additional skill sets and purpose were only hinted at by the faint gleam of sunlight glinting off the sheathe of her filigreed rapier dangling loose and ready from her waist. “You called, my Lord.”
Raulwicke lowers his hands, unfazed by the appearance of the servant. He finally takes the seat that had been offered him when he first walked in. “Thank you my lord. Tea would be lovely.”
Pausing a moment to contemplate the noble before him he says “Sir... I apologize if I offended. You must understand, as I told your court my latest adventures were with a group that some would consider treasonous. I now see shadows around every turn and am more than willing to offer my lyre and dagger to one whose cause I believe is just.”
The grin loosens, becoming more relaxed. “Oh no, no! Not offended at all, ambition is a compliment, and your mind is most entertaining. I know the stories of ah- how coincidences aligned to see myself profit could very well imply my hand in each of them. However each and every instance failed to prove my involvement. No matter how roundabout the investigations were. Why, they even once sent an agent to me under the guise of a wandering minstrel, quite the folly.” He snaps his gloved hands and drags a point from the servant to the storyteller “Tea for him.” He then hums, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he speaks. “Your lyre would be -marvelous-, I quite enjoy the tales you weave and there are many uses for one with such smooth oration. But your dagger...?”
The servant slips out of the room without a word, giving the visitor a brief stern glance before disappearing from view. Raulwicke glances at the servant leaving, catching the glint of the rapier. He does a mental calculation. Finding himself to still be safe, he relaxes... slightly. “Yes sir. You see, my uncle is a thief and my father a blacksmith by trade. I grew up in a world where daggers and blades were a welcome and often necessary part of life. As you can tell, I am not a large man. I rely mainly on speed and cunning to get the better of my foes, and I do it well. Many a fight I have been in that has been shifted by a note from my lyre followed by a flick of my dagger. When you travel with legends, it is best to be able to defend yourself.” Raulwicke sits quietly for a moment.
“Baron Wrest. Do not think it escaped me that you manservant is armed. Do not think me so droll as to not catch the threat you offered me a mere moment ago. I am no roundabout wandering minstrel. I am the Legendsinger of the House of Ya. I know that this means not much to you, but there are kings, queens and gods who have heralded my approach. I do not say this to inspire awe, but merely to show you that I mean you no harm or ill-will.” He pauses again.
“Believe me. I would not be here if I did not believe in your cause.”
In the silence that gradually stretched between the two, Wrest drummed his gloved fingers along the old, worn wood of his desk. His eyes lower from the ceiling to the door left ajar, a soft hum leaving his lips to end the quiet. “Let's have a story then. I confess it will not be told nearly so eloquently as those you regaled me with, but ah well. Let's have a story of a boy raised with full knowledge of a great family since fallen to a state barely considered noble. A story where the boy takes the reigns and turns the family into a local power, but remains unable to do justice to its legacy and those who stand by him because of the shortsightedness of his peers and betters. A story of a boy who becomes a man by controlling chance and fate, taking the reins of destiny in his own hands.” His eyes slowly turn towards the Legendsinger, and in a blink his smile is back in place
“I'd tell it, but hnn-... It would have to be just that. A story. And you, you being a heralded individual. One with a deal of wits about him. You would follow this story? What, pray tell... is the cause you attribute to me? And how, do tell, did you come to this conclusion?”
The servant reappears as suddenly as she left, carrying an antique silver tray adorned with all the sweet smelling confections and fragrances of fine tea. Bringing the tray 'round, she balances it atop a short stack of books between Wrest and his guest with a polite bow and a calm, practiced, poised expression; before taking up her familiar post by Wrest's side by the window, just behind his chair. Raulwicke eyes the servant warily. He is still unsure as to what her part in this is.
“Yes my lord. I will follow that story. Because every story stems from truth. Stories become yarns. Yarns become fable. Fables become legend. I follow the stories, like those of young men who become great and noble heroes, and nurse them along so that they become the legends they deserve to be.” Raulwicke bows his head slightly as he reaches for the tea. “I apologize for my pride, my lord. I am told that my boastful and abrasive nature is charming once you've been forced to travel with me.” Chuckling, he leans back in his chair and sips the tea
“The cause I see in you in that of a hero. A Causa Virtutis, not the Causa Bellum that these warmongers use to make off with each others women. I see noblemen, heroes, and Kings from your line and they begin in this place, at this time. I have been with men as they have done the stuff of true heroes my lord. I have also sat with them as they have succumbed to darkness and become the legends that haunt our children at night. But I wish to stand with you, and your suitably terrifying manservant, and shepherd your legacy into that of the great heroes of this land.”
Cara stands there, expression unchanged but for a subtle adjustment of her hands. Wrest inclines his head, making a sweeping motion with his hand while ignoring the tea left for him. The gesture nearly knocks over the pewter cup.
“By all means then, far be it from me to turn away one who wishes to aid in my legend. That's part of what it's all about isn't it? Playing the great game and the legends that come with it. I'll warn you, I don't imagine it will be terribly exciting. Me repeatedly encountering good fortune upon good fortune due to the most odd of happenstance...”
Wrest Von Myreque trails off, and looks intently upon Raulwicke. His gaze penetrates, offering none of the easy grins and laughter shown during the stories and past conversation. Finally, he raises a shoulder in a half shrug, knocking his cloak from where it hung at the corner of his chair.
“And maybe someday you'll be able to see the scripts written and strewn about the room. I can only pray mine does not turn into a legend mothers use to terrify ill-mannered children.”
Raulwicke laughs “Sire, if I have anything to do with it, your legends will be used to inspire those ill-mannered young ones. And fortune favors the bold as my grandfather used to say. Besides, I have some experiences with those that seem to be especially gifted in luck. It isn't always what it appears to be. But these scripts you speak of...” He looks around the room and the tomes and scrolls, “Are they these resources that surround us?”
Cara snatched up the cloak before it could hit the floor, draping it over her arm without breaking the pace of Wrest's conversation, or taking her eyes from the bard. Again the Baron casts the black gloved hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Now, now, mind what curiosity did to the foolish mapmaker. That was an enjoyable story, but ah- hum... Perhaps I'll leave you with this before you make your way back to Myreque's best inn the Bounding Stag.” He makes a series of hand motions to Cara, directing her to make arrangements for such. His eyes remain focused on his guest, while his fingers spill yet more messages unknown. “Oh yes, leave you with this. That which is in this room here is the research material for the scripts. The knowledge is obvious, tomes, receipts, scrolls, lineages, maps of all make and style etcetera. However so too are the ores at your feet, the bottles on that shelf behind you, and the samples of hide just right here.” To illustrate, he smacks the pile of skins with an open palm. The crack snaps through the room, followed by a swift sucking of air and the shaking of his hand.
“Mmm. Forgot about the bit where you cup your... Oh yes, I was getting to something. The script is in here.” With his other hand, he raps through the short, black hair on his head. Raulwicke waits patiently for the Baron to continue. He is starting to recognize a pattern in the speech of Lord Wrest and is finding it best not to interrupt for fear that some important piece of information will be lost forever.
Cara inclines her head in silent acknowledgement, making her way around the desk silently and without pause before exiting the room. She made mental notes as she moved down the hall, but would honor Wrest's wishes. Raulwicke would be comfortable and well-attended...closely.
Halting his rambling, Wrest takes a moment to lean back and relax within the chaos of his study. He allows his lids to lower for but a second, and soaks in the patterns, the strings tying everything together. How the grade of the gold ore in one corner impacted the decline of a trade route mapped out on the wall to his right. Where maps of fertile ground were marked off not due to their crops, but because they would be a battlefield in the coming months once long since forgotten claims resurfaced after being discovered in a book now used to balance a wobbly chair. “I'm sorry, I've lost my train of thought. Was there anything else I could do for you before you retired for the night?”
Raulwicke is both bemused and frustrated and the mad Baron's antics. “None my lord. You have given me much to ponder this night and I look forward to many such discussions over the coming months. But as you said, it is time to retire. I will use the day tomorrow to explore your fair city and meet the denizens that reside here. Thank you my lord for speaking with me tonight.” Bowing deeply, Raulwicke turns to leave.
Cara is already waiting for him by the front door, a coach ready and waiting outside. Raulwicke smiles at the manservant. “Thank you my dear. And while the Baron and I have many conversations to have during the daylight hours, I look forward to possibly getting to know you during the night time ones.”
Raulwicke laughs at his own wit as he climbs into the carriage. Cara leans in before closing the coach door. “If you ever have to see me at night, good sir, prithee kiss any future mornings goodbye.”
And with that she closes the carriage door with a polite click.
“Well, my lord Baron. I have already imparted to your court some of the historics of my adventures. I want to know why I was drawn to your court. Why do I sense that you are to become a legend in this land?”
His attention flits between the bard and a ledger left slightly open to his left, “Hum what oh! Yes, yes, yes. I imagine you have a good eye for people, your tales imply that you have witnessed a great many events of note. To that end I-...” His eyes slide across the book again before returning to the man before him. “Ahem, I imagine you are familiar with the patterns. Those unseen by most, if not all. The ones that only observers of the world and all the greatness it has to offer can see. Ah hum...” Wrest pulls a fist to his mouth coughs. “Not to sound arrogant, I am, but not nearly to this extreme. I've just a great deal of faith in what I will be doing in this world.”
A bemused smile flirts with the edges of Raulwicke's mouth
“My lord. You seem distracted. Tell me, what kind of affairs of state keep a man such as yourself so distracted? What plans for Myreque have you so unable to focus?”
A flashed smile and easy chuckle escape the noble as he carelessly closes the book. With a hand pressed upon its cover, the ledger is slid further to the side and the whole of his attention came to rest upon his guest
“My apologies, it's nothing so major, not even something of the state. Well not my state. You see the ah- hum, counties to the north of here are in conflict, and because of that conflict their ah-... they hold mines that are very lucrative. Discovered the veins only a fortnight ago.” His gaze again darts to the book, but the smile widens and he focuses once more ahead.
“It is possible that rumors of just -how- lucrative these mines are proving to be is what started the battle regarding who held what territory. And that of course means our good baron will become involved, which will likely cause the production of hide to decline, not to mention the vineyards have already been suffering this season so-” Blinking, Wrest straightened from casually slouching against his high-backed chair.
“Ah dear, you see I have tendencies to ramble.”
Raulwicke's eye alight with fire. “My lord Baron. I suddenly realize why I was drawn to you. How many of these rumors were begun by those of your court? You seem to be very invested in the ownership of this land and the repercussions of its ownership.” Raulwicke straightens, placing a hand on the stack of books that he had been leaning on to keep it level.
“Baron Wrest. How many of these tomes contain contingencies for action upon the downfall of your neighbors? Exactly how far do your...” Raulwicke clears his throat “political aspirations go?”
The smile stays plastered upon the noble's face, perhaps slightly more stiff than a few moments back. “You hum, certainly do have the imagination of a storyteller. I assure you, I would never plot the downfall of my fellow nobility. That would be criminal! That would be treason! No, no, no. I'm but a merchant minded individual. I simply see opportunity, and move towards it as any reasonable man would do.”
He reaches over the book, towards a small, silver bell lingering on his desk. Giving it a shake, he leans back and folds his hands against his stomach.
He asks “Would you care for something to sup? Tea? Wine?”
As if from nowhere, an astute servant seems to materialize behind the chair of the visitor; a clean pressed hand towel draped over her arm. Her additional skill sets and purpose were only hinted at by the faint gleam of sunlight glinting off the sheathe of her filigreed rapier dangling loose and ready from her waist. “You called, my Lord.”
Raulwicke lowers his hands, unfazed by the appearance of the servant. He finally takes the seat that had been offered him when he first walked in. “Thank you my lord. Tea would be lovely.”
Pausing a moment to contemplate the noble before him he says “Sir... I apologize if I offended. You must understand, as I told your court my latest adventures were with a group that some would consider treasonous. I now see shadows around every turn and am more than willing to offer my lyre and dagger to one whose cause I believe is just.”
The grin loosens, becoming more relaxed. “Oh no, no! Not offended at all, ambition is a compliment, and your mind is most entertaining. I know the stories of ah- how coincidences aligned to see myself profit could very well imply my hand in each of them. However each and every instance failed to prove my involvement. No matter how roundabout the investigations were. Why, they even once sent an agent to me under the guise of a wandering minstrel, quite the folly.” He snaps his gloved hands and drags a point from the servant to the storyteller “Tea for him.” He then hums, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he speaks. “Your lyre would be -marvelous-, I quite enjoy the tales you weave and there are many uses for one with such smooth oration. But your dagger...?”
The servant slips out of the room without a word, giving the visitor a brief stern glance before disappearing from view. Raulwicke glances at the servant leaving, catching the glint of the rapier. He does a mental calculation. Finding himself to still be safe, he relaxes... slightly. “Yes sir. You see, my uncle is a thief and my father a blacksmith by trade. I grew up in a world where daggers and blades were a welcome and often necessary part of life. As you can tell, I am not a large man. I rely mainly on speed and cunning to get the better of my foes, and I do it well. Many a fight I have been in that has been shifted by a note from my lyre followed by a flick of my dagger. When you travel with legends, it is best to be able to defend yourself.” Raulwicke sits quietly for a moment.
“Baron Wrest. Do not think it escaped me that you manservant is armed. Do not think me so droll as to not catch the threat you offered me a mere moment ago. I am no roundabout wandering minstrel. I am the Legendsinger of the House of Ya. I know that this means not much to you, but there are kings, queens and gods who have heralded my approach. I do not say this to inspire awe, but merely to show you that I mean you no harm or ill-will.” He pauses again.
“Believe me. I would not be here if I did not believe in your cause.”
In the silence that gradually stretched between the two, Wrest drummed his gloved fingers along the old, worn wood of his desk. His eyes lower from the ceiling to the door left ajar, a soft hum leaving his lips to end the quiet. “Let's have a story then. I confess it will not be told nearly so eloquently as those you regaled me with, but ah well. Let's have a story of a boy raised with full knowledge of a great family since fallen to a state barely considered noble. A story where the boy takes the reigns and turns the family into a local power, but remains unable to do justice to its legacy and those who stand by him because of the shortsightedness of his peers and betters. A story of a boy who becomes a man by controlling chance and fate, taking the reins of destiny in his own hands.” His eyes slowly turn towards the Legendsinger, and in a blink his smile is back in place
“I'd tell it, but hnn-... It would have to be just that. A story. And you, you being a heralded individual. One with a deal of wits about him. You would follow this story? What, pray tell... is the cause you attribute to me? And how, do tell, did you come to this conclusion?”
The servant reappears as suddenly as she left, carrying an antique silver tray adorned with all the sweet smelling confections and fragrances of fine tea. Bringing the tray 'round, she balances it atop a short stack of books between Wrest and his guest with a polite bow and a calm, practiced, poised expression; before taking up her familiar post by Wrest's side by the window, just behind his chair. Raulwicke eyes the servant warily. He is still unsure as to what her part in this is.
“Yes my lord. I will follow that story. Because every story stems from truth. Stories become yarns. Yarns become fable. Fables become legend. I follow the stories, like those of young men who become great and noble heroes, and nurse them along so that they become the legends they deserve to be.” Raulwicke bows his head slightly as he reaches for the tea. “I apologize for my pride, my lord. I am told that my boastful and abrasive nature is charming once you've been forced to travel with me.” Chuckling, he leans back in his chair and sips the tea
“The cause I see in you in that of a hero. A Causa Virtutis, not the Causa Bellum that these warmongers use to make off with each others women. I see noblemen, heroes, and Kings from your line and they begin in this place, at this time. I have been with men as they have done the stuff of true heroes my lord. I have also sat with them as they have succumbed to darkness and become the legends that haunt our children at night. But I wish to stand with you, and your suitably terrifying manservant, and shepherd your legacy into that of the great heroes of this land.”
Cara stands there, expression unchanged but for a subtle adjustment of her hands. Wrest inclines his head, making a sweeping motion with his hand while ignoring the tea left for him. The gesture nearly knocks over the pewter cup.
“By all means then, far be it from me to turn away one who wishes to aid in my legend. That's part of what it's all about isn't it? Playing the great game and the legends that come with it. I'll warn you, I don't imagine it will be terribly exciting. Me repeatedly encountering good fortune upon good fortune due to the most odd of happenstance...”
Wrest Von Myreque trails off, and looks intently upon Raulwicke. His gaze penetrates, offering none of the easy grins and laughter shown during the stories and past conversation. Finally, he raises a shoulder in a half shrug, knocking his cloak from where it hung at the corner of his chair.
“And maybe someday you'll be able to see the scripts written and strewn about the room. I can only pray mine does not turn into a legend mothers use to terrify ill-mannered children.”
Raulwicke laughs “Sire, if I have anything to do with it, your legends will be used to inspire those ill-mannered young ones. And fortune favors the bold as my grandfather used to say. Besides, I have some experiences with those that seem to be especially gifted in luck. It isn't always what it appears to be. But these scripts you speak of...” He looks around the room and the tomes and scrolls, “Are they these resources that surround us?”
Cara snatched up the cloak before it could hit the floor, draping it over her arm without breaking the pace of Wrest's conversation, or taking her eyes from the bard. Again the Baron casts the black gloved hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Now, now, mind what curiosity did to the foolish mapmaker. That was an enjoyable story, but ah- hum... Perhaps I'll leave you with this before you make your way back to Myreque's best inn the Bounding Stag.” He makes a series of hand motions to Cara, directing her to make arrangements for such. His eyes remain focused on his guest, while his fingers spill yet more messages unknown. “Oh yes, leave you with this. That which is in this room here is the research material for the scripts. The knowledge is obvious, tomes, receipts, scrolls, lineages, maps of all make and style etcetera. However so too are the ores at your feet, the bottles on that shelf behind you, and the samples of hide just right here.” To illustrate, he smacks the pile of skins with an open palm. The crack snaps through the room, followed by a swift sucking of air and the shaking of his hand.
“Mmm. Forgot about the bit where you cup your... Oh yes, I was getting to something. The script is in here.” With his other hand, he raps through the short, black hair on his head. Raulwicke waits patiently for the Baron to continue. He is starting to recognize a pattern in the speech of Lord Wrest and is finding it best not to interrupt for fear that some important piece of information will be lost forever.
Cara inclines her head in silent acknowledgement, making her way around the desk silently and without pause before exiting the room. She made mental notes as she moved down the hall, but would honor Wrest's wishes. Raulwicke would be comfortable and well-attended...closely.
Halting his rambling, Wrest takes a moment to lean back and relax within the chaos of his study. He allows his lids to lower for but a second, and soaks in the patterns, the strings tying everything together. How the grade of the gold ore in one corner impacted the decline of a trade route mapped out on the wall to his right. Where maps of fertile ground were marked off not due to their crops, but because they would be a battlefield in the coming months once long since forgotten claims resurfaced after being discovered in a book now used to balance a wobbly chair. “I'm sorry, I've lost my train of thought. Was there anything else I could do for you before you retired for the night?”
Raulwicke is both bemused and frustrated and the mad Baron's antics. “None my lord. You have given me much to ponder this night and I look forward to many such discussions over the coming months. But as you said, it is time to retire. I will use the day tomorrow to explore your fair city and meet the denizens that reside here. Thank you my lord for speaking with me tonight.” Bowing deeply, Raulwicke turns to leave.
Cara is already waiting for him by the front door, a coach ready and waiting outside. Raulwicke smiles at the manservant. “Thank you my dear. And while the Baron and I have many conversations to have during the daylight hours, I look forward to possibly getting to know you during the night time ones.”
Raulwicke laughs at his own wit as he climbs into the carriage. Cara leans in before closing the coach door. “If you ever have to see me at night, good sir, prithee kiss any future mornings goodbye.”
And with that she closes the carriage door with a polite click.