He had been at the estate longer than anyone could remember—a looming presence, both comforting and enigmatic. Clad in worn clothes that hung loosely on his muscular frame, his deep scars whispered stories of battles fought far beyond the farm's borders, each mark a testament to a life steeped in shadow. Where he had come from, what horrors he escaped, and the origins of his pain remained wrapped in mystery. No one dared to probe too deeply, for his silence was an unspoken pact they all shared—one that promised not to disturb the ghosts of a past still haunting him. He had been a fixture at the farmstead for longer than anyone could remember—a compassionate, soothing shadow that loomed over the remnants of a once-thriving estate.
But it was the widow, lady Hunith, who truly held the fabric of this place together. Her presence combined strength and resilience, perseverence and endurance, a testament to the trials she had lived through since the wrongful execution of her husband, lord Arnold, a nobleman wrongfully convicted of treason for standing against the oppressive tax collectors, executed for his loyalty to the lesser folk, betrayed for his loyalty to the people he had sworn to protect.
Though titles had been stripped and lands confiscated, she was trying her best to rebuild the leftover ruins and make a modest shelter and livelihood out of what had once been an impressive manor, burnt to the ground, and partially restored.
Every year, as the anniversary of his death approached, the weight of sorrow deepened in her heart. The villagers, while sympathetic, could never fully comprehend the grief she carried. They knew her as the steadfast matriarch, raising two children alone in the wake of unimaginable loss, but the echoes of mourning never fully left her. She was the guardian of their father’s legacy, a woman of soft eyes hardened by the burdens she bore, and the scars of her soul ran deep.
With hands that had transformed from the delicate softness of a lady to the rough, calloused ones of a worker, she toiled on the farm, cultivating crops and nurturing her children. The farmstead had become a refuge and reminder, alive with the laughter of her children and yet haunted by every whispered prayers for help, for survival, nay, for success.
A sense of community bound them all—peasants and noble alike. On each anniversary, by sundown, the villagers rallied around her, bringing lanterns, wreaths of wildflowers and they all sang mournful songs as they honored the memory of their fallen lord. They brought small tokens of comfort to the widow who never asked for help for she was no beggar, but accepted it with gratitude and honest relief. They ensured her livelihood discreetly, by purchasing her home-made goods to ensure her sustenance for the harsh winter season ahead. In their eyes, she was not just a survivor; she was a symbol of resilience, navigating the turbulent waters of grief and responsibility with unwavering grace.
Yet, beneath her composed exterior, a tempest brewed. Each day brought more whispers of unrest and uncertainty, stirring her once-peaceful thoughts into a churning sea of anxiety. She felt the weight of an uncertain future pressing down upon her, a foreboding sense that her children's futures and lives were at risk now that they had come of age, a lingering anxiety that kept her awake at night.
The quiet man, her steadfast protector, worked diligently beside her, offering silent support. Though he rarely spoke, a bond had formed, one forged through shared loss and unspoken understanding. Little did the villagers know that the farmstead was not just a refuge for a wandering soul or a homeless helper. The bonds between the widow and her silent protector ran deep, entwined in a shared history that could change their fates forever. He was her anchor in the storm, a whisper of strength in her moments of self-doubt or distress. In a world where loyalty was in short supply and betrayal loomed large, the quiet man became more than a servant; he was a protector, the guardian of the family, a keeper of secrets, a bridge to a past that shaped their lives, and perhaps, their only hope against the encroaching darkness.
As the fateful night approached—an annual remembrance mingled with sorrow—a sense of foreboding settled over the farmstead. The warm glow of the hearth flickered, as if in anticipation of something dark on the horizon. Little did anyone know, the calm was about to be shattered.
Despite the steady routine, Hunnith remained tense, ever-watchful, as if she sensed an impending storm. The looming threat was yet to reveal itself, but threatened to tear apart everything they all had fought so hard to rebuild and protect. Turning their world upside down without warning.
But it was the widow, lady Hunith, who truly held the fabric of this place together. Her presence combined strength and resilience, perseverence and endurance, a testament to the trials she had lived through since the wrongful execution of her husband, lord Arnold, a nobleman wrongfully convicted of treason for standing against the oppressive tax collectors, executed for his loyalty to the lesser folk, betrayed for his loyalty to the people he had sworn to protect.
Though titles had been stripped and lands confiscated, she was trying her best to rebuild the leftover ruins and make a modest shelter and livelihood out of what had once been an impressive manor, burnt to the ground, and partially restored.
Every year, as the anniversary of his death approached, the weight of sorrow deepened in her heart. The villagers, while sympathetic, could never fully comprehend the grief she carried. They knew her as the steadfast matriarch, raising two children alone in the wake of unimaginable loss, but the echoes of mourning never fully left her. She was the guardian of their father’s legacy, a woman of soft eyes hardened by the burdens she bore, and the scars of her soul ran deep.
With hands that had transformed from the delicate softness of a lady to the rough, calloused ones of a worker, she toiled on the farm, cultivating crops and nurturing her children. The farmstead had become a refuge and reminder, alive with the laughter of her children and yet haunted by every whispered prayers for help, for survival, nay, for success.
A sense of community bound them all—peasants and noble alike. On each anniversary, by sundown, the villagers rallied around her, bringing lanterns, wreaths of wildflowers and they all sang mournful songs as they honored the memory of their fallen lord. They brought small tokens of comfort to the widow who never asked for help for she was no beggar, but accepted it with gratitude and honest relief. They ensured her livelihood discreetly, by purchasing her home-made goods to ensure her sustenance for the harsh winter season ahead. In their eyes, she was not just a survivor; she was a symbol of resilience, navigating the turbulent waters of grief and responsibility with unwavering grace.
Yet, beneath her composed exterior, a tempest brewed. Each day brought more whispers of unrest and uncertainty, stirring her once-peaceful thoughts into a churning sea of anxiety. She felt the weight of an uncertain future pressing down upon her, a foreboding sense that her children's futures and lives were at risk now that they had come of age, a lingering anxiety that kept her awake at night.
The quiet man, her steadfast protector, worked diligently beside her, offering silent support. Though he rarely spoke, a bond had formed, one forged through shared loss and unspoken understanding. Little did the villagers know that the farmstead was not just a refuge for a wandering soul or a homeless helper. The bonds between the widow and her silent protector ran deep, entwined in a shared history that could change their fates forever. He was her anchor in the storm, a whisper of strength in her moments of self-doubt or distress. In a world where loyalty was in short supply and betrayal loomed large, the quiet man became more than a servant; he was a protector, the guardian of the family, a keeper of secrets, a bridge to a past that shaped their lives, and perhaps, their only hope against the encroaching darkness.
As the fateful night approached—an annual remembrance mingled with sorrow—a sense of foreboding settled over the farmstead. The warm glow of the hearth flickered, as if in anticipation of something dark on the horizon. Little did anyone know, the calm was about to be shattered.
Despite the steady routine, Hunnith remained tense, ever-watchful, as if she sensed an impending storm. The looming threat was yet to reveal itself, but threatened to tear apart everything they all had fought so hard to rebuild and protect. Turning their world upside down without warning.
Hunith came out from the kitchens to call out for help to add the finishing touches to the elegantly laid out and well stocke up stalls. "Nora, come over, we must take out the freshly baked loaves from the ovens to warm up the pumpkin pies, people will be arriving soon and they will certainly be tired and hungry, after all, the journey to the farmstead from the village takes its time and toil" reminded Hunith looking at her son, daughter and friend for help and assistance.
"Wesley, go bring more chopped wood, we need to keep the fires high and the coals hot" encouraged Hunith looking at Wesley, her son. "We must also bring out the spicy lentil soup cauldron and rabbit stew" muttered Hunith looking at the large bubbling pots that threatened to boil over and spill at any moment.
Her eyes darted across the courtyard to where the quiet scarred man toiled away whilst her son took the axe and scuttered off to the forest to gather the required wood his mother had asked for. The clothes the boy and girl wore were those of a peasant but the mannerisms were those of a nobleman, even if the children themselves did not notice much difference for they seldom left the farmstead at all.
Nora looked over at her brother and came over to help her mother, as dutiful as a daugther could be, passing by the scarred man that was toiling ever so hard and unfailingly dutiful too. "Clear skies, I foresee quite the starry night tonight... father must be pleased and watching over us" grinned the young woman, attributing the clear skies and full moon to her dead father's protective graze as she did since little.
"Wesley, go bring more chopped wood, we need to keep the fires high and the coals hot" encouraged Hunith looking at Wesley, her son. "We must also bring out the spicy lentil soup cauldron and rabbit stew" muttered Hunith looking at the large bubbling pots that threatened to boil over and spill at any moment.
Her eyes darted across the courtyard to where the quiet scarred man toiled away whilst her son took the axe and scuttered off to the forest to gather the required wood his mother had asked for. The clothes the boy and girl wore were those of a peasant but the mannerisms were those of a nobleman, even if the children themselves did not notice much difference for they seldom left the farmstead at all.
Nora looked over at her brother and came over to help her mother, as dutiful as a daugther could be, passing by the scarred man that was toiling ever so hard and unfailingly dutiful too. "Clear skies, I foresee quite the starry night tonight... father must be pleased and watching over us" grinned the young woman, attributing the clear skies and full moon to her dead father's protective graze as she did since little.
Thunk. The mallet smashed down on the post-head with perfect precision, driving it deep into the soil. Thunk. It sank in a few more inches. Thunk. A few more--that would do. It was the most recent in a long line of posts that made up the side of the new sheep pen, which the scarred man had been working on all day. Tomorrow he'd mount the rails. Tomorrow. A pall of dread settled over him, but he paid it no mind. It often came and went in queasy flickers.
He let the mallet come to rest on the ground and arched his back to stretch it out. Despite the nip in the fall air he was sweaty from his labors, and his shoulders had started aching hours ago. The sound of Nora's voice pulled his attention and he turned it wholly to her, just as he had been doing since she and Wesley were children. When they spoke, he listened with his entire person, no matter how busy he was. He did not try to be their father, but he taught them old songs sung in dead tongues, told them stories of distant lands, and even how to sword-fight, though he never answered them whenever they asked how he had learned. The less people knew about him, the better.
Hunith knew more than anyone else, but even she didn't ken the entire truth. Hell, he didn't even know if he kenned it himself. It was easiest to let the townspeople assume that he and she were lovers, despite the whispering that came as a result of the rumor. He worried his presence would keep away real suitors, that he was denying the woman a chance at falling in love again, but she always insisted on keeping him around.
"Mm-hmm," he finally murmured to Nora, grey eyes coursing across the great dome of the sky until they settled in the west. He was always looking out that way, it seemed. The scarred man grabbed the waterskin that hung from one of the posts he had already set. Though his swings had been steady, his hands shook with the more delicate task of pulling out the stopper. After he took a drink, he offered some to her. "There is little thou couldst do that w..ould displease him." His voice did not match his exterior. Though it bore a faint rasp, it was almost boyish, and he spoke in an archaic dialect with a slight stutter that earned him a bit of mockery.
He let the mallet come to rest on the ground and arched his back to stretch it out. Despite the nip in the fall air he was sweaty from his labors, and his shoulders had started aching hours ago. The sound of Nora's voice pulled his attention and he turned it wholly to her, just as he had been doing since she and Wesley were children. When they spoke, he listened with his entire person, no matter how busy he was. He did not try to be their father, but he taught them old songs sung in dead tongues, told them stories of distant lands, and even how to sword-fight, though he never answered them whenever they asked how he had learned. The less people knew about him, the better.
Hunith knew more than anyone else, but even she didn't ken the entire truth. Hell, he didn't even know if he kenned it himself. It was easiest to let the townspeople assume that he and she were lovers, despite the whispering that came as a result of the rumor. He worried his presence would keep away real suitors, that he was denying the woman a chance at falling in love again, but she always insisted on keeping him around.
"Mm-hmm," he finally murmured to Nora, grey eyes coursing across the great dome of the sky until they settled in the west. He was always looking out that way, it seemed. The scarred man grabbed the waterskin that hung from one of the posts he had already set. Though his swings had been steady, his hands shook with the more delicate task of pulling out the stopper. After he took a drink, he offered some to her. "There is little thou couldst do that w..ould displease him." His voice did not match his exterior. Though it bore a faint rasp, it was almost boyish, and he spoke in an archaic dialect with a slight stutter that earned him a bit of mockery.
"If you say so, Crow, if you say so." nodded Nora "I do not remember him at all, naught but the portray in mother's quarters. You knew him better than I so I shall take your word for it" concluded the young woman.
"I am going to help mother bring out the soup and stew cauldrons and lay out the hot pies and fresh bread in the stalls. All is ready for tonight's remembrance and celebrations. Mother insists there should be joy among the tears for we are all still alive and together, getting by, despite all our losses. I think... you ought to go help Wesley with chopping the wood. Forests at this time of the year can be dangerous with hungry wild beasts and we need lots and lots of wood too. One man cannot carry enough of it. If you could please assist him, it would leave mother and I more reassured" explained Nora having been watching him hammer down the posts with precision, the young boy well out of sight by then
"I am going to help mother bring out the soup and stew cauldrons and lay out the hot pies and fresh bread in the stalls. All is ready for tonight's remembrance and celebrations. Mother insists there should be joy among the tears for we are all still alive and together, getting by, despite all our losses. I think... you ought to go help Wesley with chopping the wood. Forests at this time of the year can be dangerous with hungry wild beasts and we need lots and lots of wood too. One man cannot carry enough of it. If you could please assist him, it would leave mother and I more reassured" explained Nora having been watching him hammer down the posts with precision, the young boy well out of sight by then
Lady Hunith and her family were well loved in this village, they had always done right by their people, even if it meant the death of lord Arnold and subsequent loss of lands and titles. They gathered together every year to show their support as they all mourned their late lord. So when Peregrin spotted guards marching toward the village, he thought only of lady Hunith, and warning her before the worst could happen.
He took off running to the manor that lay on the other edge of the village, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he reached the courtyard, his gaze searching for the lady. "Lady Hunith! Trouble!" He shouted, breaking the silence as his gaze settled on the scarred man that had been friend and helper to the lady longer than most anyone in the village could remember. "Guards... coming.." He started, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.
He bent over slightly, resting his hands on his thighs as he took several deep breaths while he waited for Hunith to meet him in the courtyard. "Guards, approaching fast. I do not recognize their leader, but he seems dead set on whatever he is here for." He explained, the image of the man fresh in his head. "His eyes are like cold steel, dark hair hanging around his face. I swear, the shadows seemed to be clinging to him." He said, a small shiver running down his spine. "The best way I can describe him is.. evil." His gaze shifted from Hunith to the scarred man and back. "I don't know what he wants, but he's coming here for you."
He took off running to the manor that lay on the other edge of the village, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he reached the courtyard, his gaze searching for the lady. "Lady Hunith! Trouble!" He shouted, breaking the silence as his gaze settled on the scarred man that had been friend and helper to the lady longer than most anyone in the village could remember. "Guards... coming.." He started, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.
He bent over slightly, resting his hands on his thighs as he took several deep breaths while he waited for Hunith to meet him in the courtyard. "Guards, approaching fast. I do not recognize their leader, but he seems dead set on whatever he is here for." He explained, the image of the man fresh in his head. "His eyes are like cold steel, dark hair hanging around his face. I swear, the shadows seemed to be clinging to him." He said, a small shiver running down his spine. "The best way I can describe him is.. evil." His gaze shifted from Hunith to the scarred man and back. "I don't know what he wants, but he's coming here for you."
Crow rubbed the back of his neck and glanced off in the direction that Wesley had gone, then nodded to Nora. "Aye, Miss Nora. By thy w..ill."
But before he could head that direction, he heard the frantic footfalls and shouting of someone sprinting up the lane. His hand flexed in the air beside his hip, where the hilt of a sword would be if he was wearing one, but when he saw that it was just one of the village boys he relaxed. "Nora, fetch thy mother," he ordered as he trotted forward to intercept Peregrin.
The young fellow's description made the blood in Crow's veins instantly turn to ice water. His cheeks went from flushed with exertion to pale with dread, and he leadenly handed Peregrin the waterskin so he could quench his thirst after his hard run. "And his r..aiment was dark?" he asked, though it was hardly a question. Crow hoped so badly he was wrong ... but in his heart he already knew that wasn't the case.
They were doomed.
"Nora, thou must fetch Wesley and stay hidden in the woods. And thou, young master," he glanced over to Peregrin, "w..ouldst thou accompany them for their safety?" The man looked to Hunith for approval of his order. He kept his voice level and steady, but when he met her eyes, he allowed some of his concern to show through.
But before he could head that direction, he heard the frantic footfalls and shouting of someone sprinting up the lane. His hand flexed in the air beside his hip, where the hilt of a sword would be if he was wearing one, but when he saw that it was just one of the village boys he relaxed. "Nora, fetch thy mother," he ordered as he trotted forward to intercept Peregrin.
The young fellow's description made the blood in Crow's veins instantly turn to ice water. His cheeks went from flushed with exertion to pale with dread, and he leadenly handed Peregrin the waterskin so he could quench his thirst after his hard run. "And his r..aiment was dark?" he asked, though it was hardly a question. Crow hoped so badly he was wrong ... but in his heart he already knew that wasn't the case.
They were doomed.
"Nora, thou must fetch Wesley and stay hidden in the woods. And thou, young master," he glanced over to Peregrin, "w..ouldst thou accompany them for their safety?" The man looked to Hunith for approval of his order. He kept his voice level and steady, but when he met her eyes, he allowed some of his concern to show through.
Hunith came out quickly when he heard the callout from Peregrin. When she joined them out in the courtyard she was clearly alarmed at Crow's concern but tried to feign calm for her daughter's sake, as if nothing was amiss
"Many people will come today to pay tribute to your father's grave, mayhap the man be one of lord Arnold's friends in the army, or a trade acquaintance, coming to pay him tribute and honour his death. Nonetheless, we must be cautious all the same. Best we all do as Crow asks and you go deep into the forest, with your brother Wesley and good Peregrin. Peregrin will keep you safe, he knows the ways of these woods better than the two of you" advised Hunith grateful to have Crow there and Peregrin as well, entrusting the safety of her children to the town's lad who often came to bring news.
No sooner Nora turned to hurried to the forest, out of sight, Hunith looked at Peregrin and mostly Crow, as if Peregrin's answer was key to something sinister the farmer might be familiar with. Her silence discreet and her demeanor calm and patient, but her graze followed her daughter till she was out of sight, turning to Peregrin with a silent plea to go with the youths and keep them safe.
"Many people will come today to pay tribute to your father's grave, mayhap the man be one of lord Arnold's friends in the army, or a trade acquaintance, coming to pay him tribute and honour his death. Nonetheless, we must be cautious all the same. Best we all do as Crow asks and you go deep into the forest, with your brother Wesley and good Peregrin. Peregrin will keep you safe, he knows the ways of these woods better than the two of you" advised Hunith grateful to have Crow there and Peregrin as well, entrusting the safety of her children to the town's lad who often came to bring news.
No sooner Nora turned to hurried to the forest, out of sight, Hunith looked at Peregrin and mostly Crow, as if Peregrin's answer was key to something sinister the farmer might be familiar with. Her silence discreet and her demeanor calm and patient, but her graze followed her daughter till she was out of sight, turning to Peregrin with a silent plea to go with the youths and keep them safe.
Peregrin accepted the waterskin from Crow gratefully, taking a long swig from it while Crow and Hunith addressed Nora. With the request that he keep watch over the kids, he nodded and smiled reassuringly at Nora. "Don't go too deep, I'll meet you in a moment." He said before they all watched her take off to find her brother and do as they had been told.
Turning his attention back to Crow and Hunith, he handed the waterskin back as his smile tightened. "His raiment is indeed all dark. You look as though you have seen him before sir Crow, and I fear your reaction confirms he is here for something far worse than paying respect. I worry about leaving you two alone with him, but I can alleviate some worry for you by protecting the children, no matter what. Is there anything else I can do? The guards should be hitting the village by now." He said, looking between the two of them for an answer.
Turning his attention back to Crow and Hunith, he handed the waterskin back as his smile tightened. "His raiment is indeed all dark. You look as though you have seen him before sir Crow, and I fear your reaction confirms he is here for something far worse than paying respect. I worry about leaving you two alone with him, but I can alleviate some worry for you by protecting the children, no matter what. Is there anything else I can do? The guards should be hitting the village by now." He said, looking between the two of them for an answer.
"If it is as you say, best go quickly, these guards and knights may well bring with them hunting hounds and make your task of evading them all the more difficult. If they truly came with ill intent... the children are my dead husband's heirs... sons and daughters of traitors are seldom safe in this unjust kingdom" urged Hunith hearing barking at the far end that was growing nearer and closer
"Do not let them see you or follow you... and keep safe... all of you. When the danger is passed I will send someone to tell you" urged Hunith worried at Peregrin's ominious confirmation. She feared Crow was somewhat in the know but would not dig into the matter least the good farmer chose to share of his well kept past.
"Deep in the forest... the huntsman cabin still stands. Worn and dated as it may be, it will provide you and the children some shelter" encouraged Hunith remembering her husband's preferred sporting refuge
"Do not let them see you or follow you... and keep safe... all of you. When the danger is passed I will send someone to tell you" urged Hunith worried at Peregrin's ominious confirmation. She feared Crow was somewhat in the know but would not dig into the matter least the good farmer chose to share of his well kept past.
"Deep in the forest... the huntsman cabin still stands. Worn and dated as it may be, it will provide you and the children some shelter" encouraged Hunith remembering her husband's preferred sporting refuge
The scarred man's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Peregrin's reply. "Gramercy, maister." He still nursed an ember of hope that he was mistaken, but it was seeming less and less likely by the minute. The baying of the hounds made Crow's blood turn cold, but also made him all the more certain of who was coming a-knocking. What normal well-wisher would bring a pack of hunting dogs?
He didn't spend long watching Peregrin and Nora retreat into the woods before looking to his mistress. "Thou mayst need to flee as well." He turned to face her and bowed, deep and formal. When he straightened again, he reached to take her hand in both of his scarred ones. "Gramercy for taking me in, all those y..ears ago."
He glanced off in the direction of the village as though his gaze could pierce through the trees. Whether or not he wanted to share it, the past was coming knocking. Before the visiting party could arrive and get a look at him, the scarred man raised his hood and retreated to a spot where he could watch from a safe distance. It wasn't so far away that he couldn't get back to Hunith quickly, however. Hopefully the visitors wouldn't see him at all. Hopefully it would all blow over ...
He didn't spend long watching Peregrin and Nora retreat into the woods before looking to his mistress. "Thou mayst need to flee as well." He turned to face her and bowed, deep and formal. When he straightened again, he reached to take her hand in both of his scarred ones. "Gramercy for taking me in, all those y..ears ago."
He glanced off in the direction of the village as though his gaze could pierce through the trees. Whether or not he wanted to share it, the past was coming knocking. Before the visiting party could arrive and get a look at him, the scarred man raised his hood and retreated to a spot where he could watch from a safe distance. It wasn't so far away that he couldn't get back to Hunith quickly, however. Hopefully the visitors wouldn't see him at all. Hopefully it would all blow over ...
Peregrin nodded firmly at Hunith's words, the distant barking causing his blood to run cold. If they chose to sic the dogs on the children.. it would evasion far more difficult. The faster and farther he could get the children away, the better. "I will protect them with my life. I wish you both the best." He said, looking from one to the other before he took off running toward the forest. He needed to get out of sight before the guards had the chance to see him.
Once inside the cover of the trees, he slowed down as he called out softly to the children, hoping they had listened and not ventered too deep on their own. "Nora! Wesley!" Once he knew he had both with him, he would urge them deeper into the forest toward the cabin, as quickly as they could.
Once inside the cover of the trees, he slowed down as he called out softly to the children, hoping they had listened and not ventered too deep on their own. "Nora! Wesley!" Once he knew he had both with him, he would urge them deeper into the forest toward the cabin, as quickly as they could.
It was a matter of time before the ominous figure of the lord knight of the realm turned the corner of the farmstead, with hunting dogs, guards and knights in tail. The man clad in black leathers inspired fear, nay terror, for his cruel ways and complete lack of mercy. His heart and morals darkers than the robes he wore, and this time, he came for revenge upon the children of his deceased foe, lord Arnold
Lord Knight Tron Pentre finally reached the entrance and proceeded forward to the courtyard, his black leather armor gleaming under the moonlight. Mounted atop a mighty steed, he commanded attention, flanked by his ruthless hunting dogs and a cadre of knights and guards loyal only to his cruel whims, several exhausted and ill treated prisoners forced to march behind. The air tightened with fear, for his notoriety as a merciless enforcer of vengeance preceded him.
Today, he didn’t come simply to intimidate; he sought retribution against the children of his deceased rival, Lord Arnold. With each purposeful stride of his horse, the echoes of his malevolent intent grew louder, sending ripples of dread through the hearts of everyone around. The villagers and farmstead residents could feel the weight of his presence, a dark shadow looming over their sanctuary, ready to extinguish the flickering hope they held onto amidst the gathering darkness.
He reined in his horse sharply by the courtyard, glaring down at Lady Hunith. "It has been a while since we first met. Alas I have returned to take that which is mine to claim. Where are the children?" he demanded, his voice dripping with menace.
"As the new lord of these lands, you and your vassals are mine to command. I have little patience for games." His eyes narrowed, a cruel smile creeping across his lips as he added, "I have plans for the girl, and the boy will soon find himself in chains, serving his rightful master. Tell me where they are, and perhaps I will show you and them some mercy." The air hung thick with tension, the farmstead's peace shattered by his dark presence.
"Rumour has it that you are also offering shelter to a well-known outlaw around here... an old acquaintence of mine" trailed off Pentre referring to Crow "Hand him over quickly and you will both live to see tomorrow" assured the knight finally dismounting the horse, waving his men to start searching the premises as he circled the still woman, coming to stand right behind, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, the other resting over her shoulder, sliding the sleeve down as if she were a common tavern wench available for him to take.
"I have the power to take your daughter for myself... or have you instead... depends mostly on you. Seems you and Arnold got rather busy... a boy and a girl... perhaps a sibling of proper bloodline is overdue." whispered Pentre, breathing down her neck, as she tilted the head sideways not wanting to put him off and endanger her daughter further, her eyes downcast to not show defiance.
Lord Knight Tron Pentre finally reached the entrance and proceeded forward to the courtyard, his black leather armor gleaming under the moonlight. Mounted atop a mighty steed, he commanded attention, flanked by his ruthless hunting dogs and a cadre of knights and guards loyal only to his cruel whims, several exhausted and ill treated prisoners forced to march behind. The air tightened with fear, for his notoriety as a merciless enforcer of vengeance preceded him.
Today, he didn’t come simply to intimidate; he sought retribution against the children of his deceased rival, Lord Arnold. With each purposeful stride of his horse, the echoes of his malevolent intent grew louder, sending ripples of dread through the hearts of everyone around. The villagers and farmstead residents could feel the weight of his presence, a dark shadow looming over their sanctuary, ready to extinguish the flickering hope they held onto amidst the gathering darkness.
He reined in his horse sharply by the courtyard, glaring down at Lady Hunith. "It has been a while since we first met. Alas I have returned to take that which is mine to claim. Where are the children?" he demanded, his voice dripping with menace.
"As the new lord of these lands, you and your vassals are mine to command. I have little patience for games." His eyes narrowed, a cruel smile creeping across his lips as he added, "I have plans for the girl, and the boy will soon find himself in chains, serving his rightful master. Tell me where they are, and perhaps I will show you and them some mercy." The air hung thick with tension, the farmstead's peace shattered by his dark presence.
"Rumour has it that you are also offering shelter to a well-known outlaw around here... an old acquaintence of mine" trailed off Pentre referring to Crow "Hand him over quickly and you will both live to see tomorrow" assured the knight finally dismounting the horse, waving his men to start searching the premises as he circled the still woman, coming to stand right behind, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, the other resting over her shoulder, sliding the sleeve down as if she were a common tavern wench available for him to take.
"I have the power to take your daughter for myself... or have you instead... depends mostly on you. Seems you and Arnold got rather busy... a boy and a girl... perhaps a sibling of proper bloodline is overdue." whispered Pentre, breathing down her neck, as she tilted the head sideways not wanting to put him off and endanger her daughter further, her eyes downcast to not show defiance.
"Tonight, we are celebrating my husband's passing, if it pleases, my lord may join us in his remembrance and feast afterwards. Hot food and drinks are awaiting all who come" offered Hunith in a tense yet dignified voice, watching Pentre release her and huff
"Of course, of course, let the fallen dead rest in peace, my lady, and the living celebrate my arrival. This shall be my home, for now" declared Pentre coming to snatch a little girl's flower wreath that was being offered to him and toss it over the mound of dirt with little care.
"Thank you, lord Pentre, your gesture means much to my family and these people. Please, come inside peacefully and be our guest of honour, master. I shall ask the servants to come forth and serve you and your men right away.
Let this night be a feast to celebrate your arrival and protection, for far too long invaders and bandits have robbed our crops, with no lord to deter them and defend our lands" trailed off Hunith remaining polite despite her trembling hands
"Of course, of course, let the fallen dead rest in peace, my lady, and the living celebrate my arrival. This shall be my home, for now" declared Pentre coming to snatch a little girl's flower wreath that was being offered to him and toss it over the mound of dirt with little care.
"Thank you, lord Pentre, your gesture means much to my family and these people. Please, come inside peacefully and be our guest of honour, master. I shall ask the servants to come forth and serve you and your men right away.
Let this night be a feast to celebrate your arrival and protection, for far too long invaders and bandits have robbed our crops, with no lord to deter them and defend our lands" trailed off Hunith remaining polite despite her trembling hands
Pentre nodded in acceptance waving a few men and the dogs to go stand guard by the entrance, his eyes scouting over those gathered before setting them on Crow.
"You, over there, you seem tall and strong enough, farmer, go prepare me a hot bath. You shall be my manservant" ordered Pentre, his eyes looking away and returning to the quieter crowd, looking for a warrior with a black shield and failing to spot him for now.
"You, over there, you seem tall and strong enough, farmer, go prepare me a hot bath. You shall be my manservant" ordered Pentre, his eyes looking away and returning to the quieter crowd, looking for a warrior with a black shield and failing to spot him for now.
As soon as Crow saw the grim silhouette of Pentre, dread formed an icy chasm in the bottom of his gut, and he let out a soft breath of despair. His vile hands on Hunith made anger spark in him, but he knew better than to charge out there in her defense. That would only complicate things. Pentre had a full retinue of swordhands at his beck and call, ready to turn the old knight into a pincushion at the slightest provocation.
There would be no hiding his identity if Pentre got a look at his face, so he shrank into his hood a little deeper. Crow was grateful he was wearing leather gloves to protect his hands, which were also distinctively scarred, but that wouldn't work forever. He needed to make sure Pentre stayed far from the children. Time might come when he would need to reveal himself to the man just to give them time to slip away. Peregrin was to take them to the hunting cabin and likely no further ... but they needed to be told to flee as far and as fast as they could.
Then those dark eyes landed right on him, sending a jolt of nerves through the stoic old warrior's heart. His hand gripped the doorframe more tightly, before he bowed and retreated to the back kitchens to set water heating, then began the long process of drawing a bath in the tub in the master bedroom. As often as he could he passed by the kitchen doors to catch a glimpse of Pentre, trying to keep eyes on him.
There would be no hiding his identity if Pentre got a look at his face, so he shrank into his hood a little deeper. Crow was grateful he was wearing leather gloves to protect his hands, which were also distinctively scarred, but that wouldn't work forever. He needed to make sure Pentre stayed far from the children. Time might come when he would need to reveal himself to the man just to give them time to slip away. Peregrin was to take them to the hunting cabin and likely no further ... but they needed to be told to flee as far and as fast as they could.
Then those dark eyes landed right on him, sending a jolt of nerves through the stoic old warrior's heart. His hand gripped the doorframe more tightly, before he bowed and retreated to the back kitchens to set water heating, then began the long process of drawing a bath in the tub in the master bedroom. As often as he could he passed by the kitchen doors to catch a glimpse of Pentre, trying to keep eyes on him.
Wesley was hard at work, having been chopping wood by the edge of the forest for a few hours when he heard the rustling leaves and twigs crunching beneath the weight of hasty footsteps. He put the axe down and wiped the sweaty forehead with the back of the hand, stretching backwards briefly and catching a glimpse of hid sister Nora, rushing towards him and a manly figure chasing after her. Unable to tell friend from foe, he waved the young woman over and rested the axe by his hip, should he require it.
Pentre waited impatiently for the guards to finish searching the property, tightening his fists in anger when it yielded no results, neither of the twins found, after many hours of searching every room and corner.
"Nevermind, it is too late to go out at this hour, tomorrow morning search further afield, cover the entire forest and take the hounds with you" waved Pentre finally coming to the room to bathe, having been watching the servant unique gait that felt ever so familiar and ready to question the farmhand
"Nevermind, it is too late to go out at this hour, tomorrow morning search further afield, cover the entire forest and take the hounds with you" waved Pentre finally coming to the room to bathe, having been watching the servant unique gait that felt ever so familiar and ready to question the farmhand
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