LKFRP: https://www.rprepository.com/community/forums/topic/120676
Barely crack of dawn was upon the kingdom of Camelot, yet anywhere there was everything but silence and peace. Ever since King Conrad had appointed Sir Tron Pentre as the lord knight of the realm, the pursuit of traitors had become relentless and brutal. It was a purge of sorcery and crime throughout the entire kingdom, though the biggest crime of all went unpunished and encouraged even, it was the collection of trebled taxes in a year were harvest was the poorest. Bounties and threats delivered good enough results and the king was pleased at the new perceived law and order and increased wealth in the royal coffers.
Fresh dark red blood stained the streets like crimson rivers, with villages burning like large pyres in the far distance f onor offering the least resistance or failing to surrender anyone deemed guilty. Prince Merthyr was anything but pleased with his father's new proclamation, but there was very little he could do on the matter. The king had spoken, and doing or saying anything contrary could already be deemed treason.
Incensed in simmering fury, he abandoned the capital city to take shelter and residence in the lively, humble town of Sheridan. His mistake was assuming that his safety would be assured away from his father's men and the castle walls; he was, after all, the crown prince.
Merthyr's journey to Sheridan revealed the stark contrast between the vibrant town and the chaos sweeping across Camelot. He embraced the lively atmosphere, trying to find solace among the laughter of children and the bustling market stalls. Yet, his heart was heavy with concern for his people and the kingdom’s fate under King Conrad's ruthless regime.
The townsfolk of Sheridan appeared unaware of the full extent of the turmoil. They celebrated the coming of a new season, blissfully ignorant that shadows lurked in the form of King Conrad’s loyal men. As the prince moved among them, feigning the guise of a commoner, he listened intently to whispers of fear and dissent that circulated in hushed tones. Bright colors of fresh produce and the scent of baked goods filled the air, creating a juxtaposition with the darkness lurking outside the borders. Individuals murmured about the king's cruelty, challenging the benevolence they once believed he possessed.
Roaming the town, Merthyr wrestled with conflicting loyalties. He questioned how to confront a father's tyranny without betraying his blood. Recognizing the need to take action, he understood that it wasn't merely about self-preservation; it was about advocating for those suffering under enforced rule.
That evening, while the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the village in an orange glow, Merthyr heard news that thickened the air—an unexpected gathering in the center of town. Drawn by curiosity and instinct, he made his way through the small crowd. Local villagers and travelers spoke of forming a resistance, a movement dedicated to undermining Pentre by robbing his collected taxes and dislodging King Conrad’s grasp on power. Charismatic figures rallied the audience with talk of justice and freedom, igniting a spark among the crowd.
Listening intently, Merthyr felt a pull toward this cause but hesitated. Openly supporting them could mean sealing his fate as a traitor to his father. As night fell, the prince found himself at a crossroads. The kingdom was in turmoil, and while he harboured the blood of a king, his heart aligned with the suffering of Camelot’s people.
He faced a critical decision: would he remain silent, a bystander in his own life, or would he step into the fray, risking everything to protect his people and fight against a tyrant, Sir Tron Pentre? If not him, who could or would stand against the black hearted knight, the black robed assassin?
The path ahead was cloaked in uncertainty, but one thing was clear—he could no longer afford to walk in the shadows. The call for justice rang in his ears, and whether he liked it or not, he had to answer it.
Another matter at hand was whether the people would side by him or whether he would stand accused of his father's sins on account of carrying the same lineage and bloodline. He had to tread carefully and remain unnoticed until he was certain he enjoyed a level of support, some followers at least.
He made his way to the tavern, eating his broth slowly, his mind too consumed by thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings, the wandering thieving hands around at work or the poisoned food that was quickly taking effect, Merthyr starting to cough, each time more violently, his hand shakily reaching for the goblet to gulp down mead and quell the dry mouth and burning throat, only to clumsily knock the cup instead, causing a spillage in his desperation
Barely crack of dawn was upon the kingdom of Camelot, yet anywhere there was everything but silence and peace. Ever since King Conrad had appointed Sir Tron Pentre as the lord knight of the realm, the pursuit of traitors had become relentless and brutal. It was a purge of sorcery and crime throughout the entire kingdom, though the biggest crime of all went unpunished and encouraged even, it was the collection of trebled taxes in a year were harvest was the poorest. Bounties and threats delivered good enough results and the king was pleased at the new perceived law and order and increased wealth in the royal coffers.
Fresh dark red blood stained the streets like crimson rivers, with villages burning like large pyres in the far distance f onor offering the least resistance or failing to surrender anyone deemed guilty. Prince Merthyr was anything but pleased with his father's new proclamation, but there was very little he could do on the matter. The king had spoken, and doing or saying anything contrary could already be deemed treason.
Incensed in simmering fury, he abandoned the capital city to take shelter and residence in the lively, humble town of Sheridan. His mistake was assuming that his safety would be assured away from his father's men and the castle walls; he was, after all, the crown prince.
Merthyr's journey to Sheridan revealed the stark contrast between the vibrant town and the chaos sweeping across Camelot. He embraced the lively atmosphere, trying to find solace among the laughter of children and the bustling market stalls. Yet, his heart was heavy with concern for his people and the kingdom’s fate under King Conrad's ruthless regime.
The townsfolk of Sheridan appeared unaware of the full extent of the turmoil. They celebrated the coming of a new season, blissfully ignorant that shadows lurked in the form of King Conrad’s loyal men. As the prince moved among them, feigning the guise of a commoner, he listened intently to whispers of fear and dissent that circulated in hushed tones. Bright colors of fresh produce and the scent of baked goods filled the air, creating a juxtaposition with the darkness lurking outside the borders. Individuals murmured about the king's cruelty, challenging the benevolence they once believed he possessed.
Roaming the town, Merthyr wrestled with conflicting loyalties. He questioned how to confront a father's tyranny without betraying his blood. Recognizing the need to take action, he understood that it wasn't merely about self-preservation; it was about advocating for those suffering under enforced rule.
That evening, while the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the village in an orange glow, Merthyr heard news that thickened the air—an unexpected gathering in the center of town. Drawn by curiosity and instinct, he made his way through the small crowd. Local villagers and travelers spoke of forming a resistance, a movement dedicated to undermining Pentre by robbing his collected taxes and dislodging King Conrad’s grasp on power. Charismatic figures rallied the audience with talk of justice and freedom, igniting a spark among the crowd.
Listening intently, Merthyr felt a pull toward this cause but hesitated. Openly supporting them could mean sealing his fate as a traitor to his father. As night fell, the prince found himself at a crossroads. The kingdom was in turmoil, and while he harboured the blood of a king, his heart aligned with the suffering of Camelot’s people.
He faced a critical decision: would he remain silent, a bystander in his own life, or would he step into the fray, risking everything to protect his people and fight against a tyrant, Sir Tron Pentre? If not him, who could or would stand against the black hearted knight, the black robed assassin?
The path ahead was cloaked in uncertainty, but one thing was clear—he could no longer afford to walk in the shadows. The call for justice rang in his ears, and whether he liked it or not, he had to answer it.
Another matter at hand was whether the people would side by him or whether he would stand accused of his father's sins on account of carrying the same lineage and bloodline. He had to tread carefully and remain unnoticed until he was certain he enjoyed a level of support, some followers at least.
He made his way to the tavern, eating his broth slowly, his mind too consumed by thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings, the wandering thieving hands around at work or the poisoned food that was quickly taking effect, Merthyr starting to cough, each time more violently, his hand shakily reaching for the goblet to gulp down mead and quell the dry mouth and burning throat, only to clumsily knock the cup instead, causing a spillage in his desperation
Janella had arrived in Sheridan recently, having taken a contract from a thieves guild. She rarely arrived at a place without a purpose, and it was never a good purpose. The cruelty and incompetence of leaders often made a rogue's job easier. People that were hard-pressed, resentful and fatigued were easier to manipulate, to exploit and to recruit. The mixed elf had caused quite a lot of trouble in Camelot recently which had been a contributing factor to her decision to accept ‘work’ in Sheridan.
Sitting in the tavern, disguised with most of her form concealed within her hood, mask and cloak, she spotted Methyr right away. People of her background often knew a disguised person at first glance, and she was no exception. Her typically ashen skin was pale, marked and disfigured to make her look like a scarred old woman. From beneath her hood, her ebony gaze followed the prince. Just what in the hells was he doing here? Why would he be in disguise?
It was comical to watch him being poisoned and robbed, it happened adroitly and almost went unnoticed by her. She felt impressed, and normally she would not have intervened on another’s behalf. However, she knew enough about Methyr to know that he was a man of honor. If she did save him, then he would feel like he owed her a great debt. What would she be able to gain for herself? Janella rose from the table in a fluid motion, startling the patrons around her since her movements had been slower and deliberate before to give more credence to her own guise.
Walking quickly to the prince, she took an antidote from one of the pockets of her cloak. As someone who worked with poisons, she often had a dose with her. Pushing him upright and tilting his head back, she intended to pour the liquid down his throat so he could recover while she regained what had been stolen.
The thief made it outside, running down an alley before Janella slipped out of a window almost like she was falling. Her movements proved to be anything but accidental, landing in front of the man noiselessly, too softly for the height she had landed from. “You’ll be handing over whatever you just pocketed from him,” she said, letting her disguise falter and revealing her heritage. The shock of white hair, the gray skin, realizing who she was, made him hesitate. She extended one of her hands, long fingers ready to accept. The other hand held one of her daggers, the blade glistening with poison.
He tried to slash at her and run away, it was too good of a prize to give up so easily. Janella disappeared in a silvery mist, stepping out of that same mist that materialized before him. She tripped him up, holding out the hilt of her dagger so that his face bashed into it on the way down. Her soft boot found purchase on his throat, and she started to press down. The mixed elf didn’t weigh much, but it was enough. He tried to grasp at her and she rewarded him with a slice to his hand from her dagger. Part of his finger rolled away. He had been scared before, but now he was utterly panicked.
He produced a coin pouch and a royal seal from his pocket, but she still kept pressing. He handed them up to her, his face starting to turn red, veins bulging, before she lifted her foot. Gasping for breath and rolling away, she left him there and put her hood and mask back up, concealing her hair and most of her skin. She went back into the tavern, so she could make sure the Prince had survived.
Sitting in the tavern, disguised with most of her form concealed within her hood, mask and cloak, she spotted Methyr right away. People of her background often knew a disguised person at first glance, and she was no exception. Her typically ashen skin was pale, marked and disfigured to make her look like a scarred old woman. From beneath her hood, her ebony gaze followed the prince. Just what in the hells was he doing here? Why would he be in disguise?
It was comical to watch him being poisoned and robbed, it happened adroitly and almost went unnoticed by her. She felt impressed, and normally she would not have intervened on another’s behalf. However, she knew enough about Methyr to know that he was a man of honor. If she did save him, then he would feel like he owed her a great debt. What would she be able to gain for herself? Janella rose from the table in a fluid motion, startling the patrons around her since her movements had been slower and deliberate before to give more credence to her own guise.
Walking quickly to the prince, she took an antidote from one of the pockets of her cloak. As someone who worked with poisons, she often had a dose with her. Pushing him upright and tilting his head back, she intended to pour the liquid down his throat so he could recover while she regained what had been stolen.
The thief made it outside, running down an alley before Janella slipped out of a window almost like she was falling. Her movements proved to be anything but accidental, landing in front of the man noiselessly, too softly for the height she had landed from. “You’ll be handing over whatever you just pocketed from him,” she said, letting her disguise falter and revealing her heritage. The shock of white hair, the gray skin, realizing who she was, made him hesitate. She extended one of her hands, long fingers ready to accept. The other hand held one of her daggers, the blade glistening with poison.
He tried to slash at her and run away, it was too good of a prize to give up so easily. Janella disappeared in a silvery mist, stepping out of that same mist that materialized before him. She tripped him up, holding out the hilt of her dagger so that his face bashed into it on the way down. Her soft boot found purchase on his throat, and she started to press down. The mixed elf didn’t weigh much, but it was enough. He tried to grasp at her and she rewarded him with a slice to his hand from her dagger. Part of his finger rolled away. He had been scared before, but now he was utterly panicked.
He produced a coin pouch and a royal seal from his pocket, but she still kept pressing. He handed them up to her, his face starting to turn red, veins bulging, before she lifted her foot. Gasping for breath and rolling away, she left him there and put her hood and mask back up, concealing her hair and most of her skin. She went back into the tavern, so she could make sure the Prince had survived.
Merthyr was awake, recovering slow but steadily, his eyes unwaveringly fixed on the door intently, dutifully waiting for her to return rather than retire to rest for the night.
The heir to the throne didn’t know who she was or whether she would indeed come back at all or if she had moved on with her own business but the great debt he owed her tethered him to that moment. It kept him rooted in place, a silent resolve binding him to her presence. He stood vigil, a silent promise to the woman who had risked her safety perhaps even her life to save his own, each second hanging onto his hope that she would walk back through the threshold.
He had been battling the effects of the poison, and though his body felt heavy, his mind was sharp, consumed with worries about the dangers she faced out there, alone. He was trying to gauge who she really was and how to proceed. The tension in the air was palpable as he considered the life he owed her. That knowledge anchored him, creating an unexpected bond between them—a connection forged in the chaos of his near demise. Each minute and hour that passed felt like an eternity, fraught with uncertainty.
Majestic yet fleeting, the memories of her swift movements were etched in his mind like engraved in stone. Her clothing, the flash of her dagger, white hair strands, the glow of her vial caught in the dim light... it all lingered in his thoughts. Who was this mysterious figure who had saved him against the odds? Merthyr found himself wishing that she would come back, that the skill she displayed was enough to keep her alive and victorious upon her return.
He felt torn and conflicted. He was a royal prince bound by duty and lineage to the kingdom's customs, traditions and protocols, yet felt drawn to this enigmatic rogue, this obviously outlaw who had shown him a glimpse of honor, courage and bravery amid desolation. A helping hand when nobody else cared. A woman no less.
The tavern around him hummed with noises, laughter, conversations, shouts, music, bets, even the odd scuffles here and there with accusations of various sorts, mostly cheating, yet all he could focus on was the door, waiting for the moment when she would step through again, bringing with her a new chapter in his unfolding story.
As he perched on the edge of the stool, each creak of the wood and door opening echoed his anticipation, the hope that the woman who had intervened so unexpectedly was out there ready to step back inside any moment now. Did she know who he was? What price would she ask off him to settle the matter? what task or quest would she entrust him with? The ransom remained unknown but he owed her everything and he would do his earnest to fulfil her every wish, request, demand, to repay his dues properly.
When she finally stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted, her presence seemed to cast a different light around the dimly lit room. Shadows danced across his features, hints of relief clearly visible in his gaze.
Merthyr immediately rose to greet her, leaning his chest slightly forward and bowing the forehead deeply as he would when greeting royalty, a symbol of profound gratitude and acknowledgment. This act was not merely a nicety; it was a mark of utmost respect, a gesture of deference for someone he recognized as his better, his new master, and serve her he would, earnestly, without reservation or quibble, in body and soul if she demanded this off him.
He immediately offered her a seat, remaining standing until she was seated first, all the while he spoke softly to her "Please, take a seat, mistress" invited Merthyr, his voice steady and kind despite the watery eyes, drumming headache and lingering weakness from the poison. "Allow me share this table and spend time with you, my lady. We need to talk" requested formally
He hoped to engage her in conversation, to learn her name, understand her trade, needs and journey, how to best assist her, and ascertain if she had suffered any injuries or losses because of him which also had to be repaid. The depth of his curiosity was as intense as the gratitude he felt. Each moment spent in her company would be a chance to discover the noble rogue who had dared to intervene in the chaos of his otherwise shortened life.
Merthyr discreetly scrutinized her every movement, the air between them crackled with unspoken questions and the possibility of a new friendship perhaps. He waited patiently for her to make a move, addressing her in a friendly tone in the meantime. He could have chosen to ignore her, he could have chosen to alert the nearby guards who drank at the far corner. It was far more convenient for him to have her arrested, executed even, after all dead men tell no tales, nobody owes corpses nothing, but no, he was a man of honour and knight at heart. He would do in justice what was right.
“Listen, I don't know who you are or why are you here but you saved my life this evening. Clearly, I owe you a great deal, so, from this night forward, I pledge myself to your service. I'm yours to command until you consider this life debt repaid to your satisfaction, mistress” he continued, sincerity etched into every word. The weight of his vow hung in the air between them, an unspoken pact forged through their recent encounter and near death experience.
"Till then, do with me what you will. I swear I will obey your every word, undertake every errand you appoint, answer your every question truthfully. I will stand by your side wherever you go, no matter where, I will serve you well, day and night, without protest or objection, no matter what" Promised Merthyr
"I can offer you little else at the moment. I confess I came to this village in haste, in a fit of rage, rather thoughtlessly and woefully unprepared, but, I will make up for my lack of wealth with servitude" promised Merthyr, even if his lengthy absence from the royal palace and crown's duties infuriated the king himself.
"If you prefer a large sum for ransom, instead, any amount of your choosing which will be paid out to you by week's end at the latest, at a location of your choosing" mused Merthyr, knowing commoners appreciated gold and wealth far more than he did.
Merthyr studied her, eager to bridge the gap between their disparate worlds. The bustling tavern faded into the background, and all he would focus on was this questionable woman who had altered the course of his destiny and had secured the kingdom and crown's future.
"Pray tell me, mistress, did you suffer any injuries or losses on my account milady?" asked Merthyr, spilling the key question that had been nagging him
The heir to the throne didn’t know who she was or whether she would indeed come back at all or if she had moved on with her own business but the great debt he owed her tethered him to that moment. It kept him rooted in place, a silent resolve binding him to her presence. He stood vigil, a silent promise to the woman who had risked her safety perhaps even her life to save his own, each second hanging onto his hope that she would walk back through the threshold.
He had been battling the effects of the poison, and though his body felt heavy, his mind was sharp, consumed with worries about the dangers she faced out there, alone. He was trying to gauge who she really was and how to proceed. The tension in the air was palpable as he considered the life he owed her. That knowledge anchored him, creating an unexpected bond between them—a connection forged in the chaos of his near demise. Each minute and hour that passed felt like an eternity, fraught with uncertainty.
Majestic yet fleeting, the memories of her swift movements were etched in his mind like engraved in stone. Her clothing, the flash of her dagger, white hair strands, the glow of her vial caught in the dim light... it all lingered in his thoughts. Who was this mysterious figure who had saved him against the odds? Merthyr found himself wishing that she would come back, that the skill she displayed was enough to keep her alive and victorious upon her return.
He felt torn and conflicted. He was a royal prince bound by duty and lineage to the kingdom's customs, traditions and protocols, yet felt drawn to this enigmatic rogue, this obviously outlaw who had shown him a glimpse of honor, courage and bravery amid desolation. A helping hand when nobody else cared. A woman no less.
The tavern around him hummed with noises, laughter, conversations, shouts, music, bets, even the odd scuffles here and there with accusations of various sorts, mostly cheating, yet all he could focus on was the door, waiting for the moment when she would step through again, bringing with her a new chapter in his unfolding story.
As he perched on the edge of the stool, each creak of the wood and door opening echoed his anticipation, the hope that the woman who had intervened so unexpectedly was out there ready to step back inside any moment now. Did she know who he was? What price would she ask off him to settle the matter? what task or quest would she entrust him with? The ransom remained unknown but he owed her everything and he would do his earnest to fulfil her every wish, request, demand, to repay his dues properly.
When she finally stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted, her presence seemed to cast a different light around the dimly lit room. Shadows danced across his features, hints of relief clearly visible in his gaze.
Merthyr immediately rose to greet her, leaning his chest slightly forward and bowing the forehead deeply as he would when greeting royalty, a symbol of profound gratitude and acknowledgment. This act was not merely a nicety; it was a mark of utmost respect, a gesture of deference for someone he recognized as his better, his new master, and serve her he would, earnestly, without reservation or quibble, in body and soul if she demanded this off him.
He immediately offered her a seat, remaining standing until she was seated first, all the while he spoke softly to her "Please, take a seat, mistress" invited Merthyr, his voice steady and kind despite the watery eyes, drumming headache and lingering weakness from the poison. "Allow me share this table and spend time with you, my lady. We need to talk" requested formally
He hoped to engage her in conversation, to learn her name, understand her trade, needs and journey, how to best assist her, and ascertain if she had suffered any injuries or losses because of him which also had to be repaid. The depth of his curiosity was as intense as the gratitude he felt. Each moment spent in her company would be a chance to discover the noble rogue who had dared to intervene in the chaos of his otherwise shortened life.
Merthyr discreetly scrutinized her every movement, the air between them crackled with unspoken questions and the possibility of a new friendship perhaps. He waited patiently for her to make a move, addressing her in a friendly tone in the meantime. He could have chosen to ignore her, he could have chosen to alert the nearby guards who drank at the far corner. It was far more convenient for him to have her arrested, executed even, after all dead men tell no tales, nobody owes corpses nothing, but no, he was a man of honour and knight at heart. He would do in justice what was right.
“Listen, I don't know who you are or why are you here but you saved my life this evening. Clearly, I owe you a great deal, so, from this night forward, I pledge myself to your service. I'm yours to command until you consider this life debt repaid to your satisfaction, mistress” he continued, sincerity etched into every word. The weight of his vow hung in the air between them, an unspoken pact forged through their recent encounter and near death experience.
"Till then, do with me what you will. I swear I will obey your every word, undertake every errand you appoint, answer your every question truthfully. I will stand by your side wherever you go, no matter where, I will serve you well, day and night, without protest or objection, no matter what" Promised Merthyr
"I can offer you little else at the moment. I confess I came to this village in haste, in a fit of rage, rather thoughtlessly and woefully unprepared, but, I will make up for my lack of wealth with servitude" promised Merthyr, even if his lengthy absence from the royal palace and crown's duties infuriated the king himself.
"If you prefer a large sum for ransom, instead, any amount of your choosing which will be paid out to you by week's end at the latest, at a location of your choosing" mused Merthyr, knowing commoners appreciated gold and wealth far more than he did.
Merthyr studied her, eager to bridge the gap between their disparate worlds. The bustling tavern faded into the background, and all he would focus on was this questionable woman who had altered the course of his destiny and had secured the kingdom and crown's future.
"Pray tell me, mistress, did you suffer any injuries or losses on my account milady?" asked Merthyr, spilling the key question that had been nagging him
Methyr ought to have worried more about the other rogue that Janella had just chased down, even as he ran away from her he was still struggling to breath and he cradled his bleeding hand, trying to put pressure on the wound. Janella forced the pick-pocketer to hand over all of his gold as well, though she didn’t plan to keep it. Blood ran down the thief's forearm and seeped across his sleeve. He was lucky he hadn’t lost a finger, or that she hadn’t just stomped on his wind pipe and left him to die, desperate and alone. Putting the loot within an inner pocket of her cloak, she walked back into the tavern as if she had just been out on a leisurely walk. Her motions were not slow like those of her disguise had been, nor was she rushing anymore.
Arriving back at the table, she saw the Prince bowing to her and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. Having always lived among the dregs or outskirts of society, she doubted she would ever experience such a thing again. The other patrons quieted down, realizing she’d been disguised before and that she was indeed a drow. But none of them had the gall to stand up and confront her, or even call out. Whispers and mutters were passed behind raised hands, said close to the ears of the fellows.
Before she sat down, she lifted a hand to pull the hood of her mask down enough for him to see clearly. “You must be more careful in the future, Prince Methyr,” she said, her voice smooth like silk but interrupted with a rough edge around the consonants, tinged with an almost patronizing mischief. It was just loud enough to reach his ears. She pushed his pouch across the table, and he would find the royal seal inside. Sitting down, arranging her cloak beneath her as she did, she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
“You give me too much credit. I saved you for my own reasons. All I want is for you to owe me a favor. As much as I appreciate your honor, your honesty and your offers, that is what will suffice for me. One day, I will be in trouble. Skilled and fast as I might be, each time I take a job it’s a roll of the dice. I’ve been in prison more than once. When that day comes, when I find myself in trouble that I can’t get out of, I will call upon you. And you will do whatever you have to do so that I can escape.” The half-drow had a crooked smile as she talked, speaking as if they were old friends and she was making a request for a simple errand.
Tilting her head, she stared at him for a moment. “What brings you here in a fit of rage? You royals just don’t know how good you have it. Do you need someone taken care of back home? Any kind of dirty work done?” She uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward, an elbow on the table, looking conspiratorial. “Perhaps the kingdom would do better, with someone more . . . compassionate in charge. Someone like you. The King and that Lord Pentre have been sowing a lot of unrest. Makes it easier for criminals to take hold. You’d be doing your country a favor.” Her words were said in a reasonable, almost flattering tone, as if she wasn’t offering to assassinate the King.
Arriving back at the table, she saw the Prince bowing to her and looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. Having always lived among the dregs or outskirts of society, she doubted she would ever experience such a thing again. The other patrons quieted down, realizing she’d been disguised before and that she was indeed a drow. But none of them had the gall to stand up and confront her, or even call out. Whispers and mutters were passed behind raised hands, said close to the ears of the fellows.
Before she sat down, she lifted a hand to pull the hood of her mask down enough for him to see clearly. “You must be more careful in the future, Prince Methyr,” she said, her voice smooth like silk but interrupted with a rough edge around the consonants, tinged with an almost patronizing mischief. It was just loud enough to reach his ears. She pushed his pouch across the table, and he would find the royal seal inside. Sitting down, arranging her cloak beneath her as she did, she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
“You give me too much credit. I saved you for my own reasons. All I want is for you to owe me a favor. As much as I appreciate your honor, your honesty and your offers, that is what will suffice for me. One day, I will be in trouble. Skilled and fast as I might be, each time I take a job it’s a roll of the dice. I’ve been in prison more than once. When that day comes, when I find myself in trouble that I can’t get out of, I will call upon you. And you will do whatever you have to do so that I can escape.” The half-drow had a crooked smile as she talked, speaking as if they were old friends and she was making a request for a simple errand.
Tilting her head, she stared at him for a moment. “What brings you here in a fit of rage? You royals just don’t know how good you have it. Do you need someone taken care of back home? Any kind of dirty work done?” She uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward, an elbow on the table, looking conspiratorial. “Perhaps the kingdom would do better, with someone more . . . compassionate in charge. Someone like you. The King and that Lord Pentre have been sowing a lot of unrest. Makes it easier for criminals to take hold. You’d be doing your country a favor.” Her words were said in a reasonable, almost flattering tone, as if she wasn’t offering to assassinate the King.
Merthyr settled into the chair opposite her “As you wish; a favor it is, then” Merthyr agreed, nodding toward Janella, the rogue sitting across from him. The atmosphere thickened with the weight of their shared understanding, sealing the bond between them.
Glancing at his hand, he carefully removed a ring, a family heirloom of great importance that once belonged to his mother, the late queen of Nemeth, before the kingdom became vassal to Camelot through marriage, extending the ring for her to take it.
“This belonged to my mother. Her royal signet ring with her own coat of arms. Never part ways with it. In Nemeth, it will open doors to you and be of great help. In Camelot....” he urged her, his voice grave. “When the woeful day comes that you are in dire need of my services, extend it to any guard or knight. It will reach my hand quickly, and I will come to you. I will find you—wherever in the kingdom you may be. I will secure your freedom, one way or another, no matter the cost" vowed Merthyr nodding firmly, a man prepared to uphold his promise, understanding the realities of her circumstances. "Be warned, once it is returned to me and you are released, my debt to you is settled.” reminded the royal seeking to be clear about their terms.
When she asked why he left in anger, Merthyr exhaled deeply, his expression hardening as he recalled the heated arguments back at the castle. “I came here in a moment of wrath, furious at my father’s latest decrees and prepared to undermine them as much as possible, within the law, of course. My father has tasked Sir Tron Pentre, driven by his pressure, with imposing thrice the usual taxes—an exorbitant sum that the common folk can ill afford after a terrible harvest. Most families don’t have it to give. This greed will starve the kingdom. Those who refuse to pay, either through desperation or sheer inability, will face arrests, evictions, I see an avalanche of poverty and homelessness growing. Sir Pentre gets to keep a third of all he collects. It’s pure madness—a daylight robbery that my fatherly unfairly endorses. The crown has no need for such excessive wealth” complained Merthyr
His fists clenched angrily on the table, the tension palpable in his voice as he continued, “But it doesn’t end there. My father has been convinced by Sir Pentre and other corrupted courtiers that the poor harvest this year is a curse placed against the kingdom. As a result, king Cornad has commanded a purge to be carried out. He has outlawed sorcery and any use of magic, condemning it to be punishable by death for high treason.” He paused, outrage simmering as he spoke. “This will lead to false accusations against innocent folk, simply because they displease Pentre or other abusive lords and high ranking knights. No actual proof is required to be put to death. An accusation, a testimony will lead to wrongful torture and death. Innocents who have done nothing but use their gifts for good will be slaughtered. Most practitioners are peaceful, conjuring remedies for the ailments of the poor. They help our people. I went to plead with my father for leniency on these matters, but he would hear none of it.”
Merthyr felt his stomach knot as he recalled the most personal betrayal of all. “To add insult to injury, Sir Pentre demands that I wed the Princess of Mercia, our sworn enemies,” he confessed, frustration mounting. “He believes that marrying her would not only bring her kingdom and its wealth as dowry to Camelot, but reinforce our position. He already negotiated the engagement without my consent by capturing and executing their crown prince when the sultan first objected to this union. I outright refused and walked out. I will not be a pawn in his games. The princess is set to arrive next week, after mourning her brother, but if I’m not there, the wedding cannot proceed.”
He took a moment to gather himself, sighing wearily. “I came to Sheridan because it is the poorest and farthest town from the capital, the last settlement by the northern border. I wanted to be here to watch over the villagers, to witness their pleas and suffering, and to help in any way I could. I will protect them from the tax collectors as much as possible. On charges of sorcery however I cannot help” he admitted, opening the royal pouch to extract the royal seal and return her the gold coins, pushing them across the table toward her. “This seal grants me access to whatever I need in this kingdom. It is all I needed. Keep the rest for good services rendered” thanked Merthyr
Merthyr leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed as he contemplated the gravity of the situation. “If Sir Pentre were to fall, it would be a monumental service to the kingdom, yet those like him seldom perish easily and few are reckless enough to stand against him. I have challenged him to a duel on several occasions, but he always declines, on account that a knight serves the crown, and would never dare challenge its heir. He holds sway over my father's ear, and my father simply won’t listen to anyone else, not even me.
But know this: The king cannot die before I’m married, or else Pentre will claim the regency. Such are my father’s newly signed terms, for me to claim the throne… a royal marriage is required. Yet another one of Pentre's insidious schemes. I wouldn't put it past him to try to poison the king himself and keep me locked away so he can rule indefinitely. Perhaps he hopes Mercians will murder me and he gets to keep the throne. Sir Pentre is my father's illegitimate half brother after all, a potential heir to the throne when none left” muttered Merthyr revealing a detail very few outside the royal family knew
The absurdity of it all weighed on him, and he waved dismissively at the very thought of marriage. The obligations and his helplessness to get his father to hear him, to change his mind, leaving him feeling trapped and rushed into a life-altering decision he had no interest in making yet.
The act of sharing his burdens with Janella felt oddly liberating, a release he hadn't anticipated, growing silent to let her talk, suggest, advise, question him further if she wished
Glancing at his hand, he carefully removed a ring, a family heirloom of great importance that once belonged to his mother, the late queen of Nemeth, before the kingdom became vassal to Camelot through marriage, extending the ring for her to take it.
“This belonged to my mother. Her royal signet ring with her own coat of arms. Never part ways with it. In Nemeth, it will open doors to you and be of great help. In Camelot....” he urged her, his voice grave. “When the woeful day comes that you are in dire need of my services, extend it to any guard or knight. It will reach my hand quickly, and I will come to you. I will find you—wherever in the kingdom you may be. I will secure your freedom, one way or another, no matter the cost" vowed Merthyr nodding firmly, a man prepared to uphold his promise, understanding the realities of her circumstances. "Be warned, once it is returned to me and you are released, my debt to you is settled.” reminded the royal seeking to be clear about their terms.
When she asked why he left in anger, Merthyr exhaled deeply, his expression hardening as he recalled the heated arguments back at the castle. “I came here in a moment of wrath, furious at my father’s latest decrees and prepared to undermine them as much as possible, within the law, of course. My father has tasked Sir Tron Pentre, driven by his pressure, with imposing thrice the usual taxes—an exorbitant sum that the common folk can ill afford after a terrible harvest. Most families don’t have it to give. This greed will starve the kingdom. Those who refuse to pay, either through desperation or sheer inability, will face arrests, evictions, I see an avalanche of poverty and homelessness growing. Sir Pentre gets to keep a third of all he collects. It’s pure madness—a daylight robbery that my fatherly unfairly endorses. The crown has no need for such excessive wealth” complained Merthyr
His fists clenched angrily on the table, the tension palpable in his voice as he continued, “But it doesn’t end there. My father has been convinced by Sir Pentre and other corrupted courtiers that the poor harvest this year is a curse placed against the kingdom. As a result, king Cornad has commanded a purge to be carried out. He has outlawed sorcery and any use of magic, condemning it to be punishable by death for high treason.” He paused, outrage simmering as he spoke. “This will lead to false accusations against innocent folk, simply because they displease Pentre or other abusive lords and high ranking knights. No actual proof is required to be put to death. An accusation, a testimony will lead to wrongful torture and death. Innocents who have done nothing but use their gifts for good will be slaughtered. Most practitioners are peaceful, conjuring remedies for the ailments of the poor. They help our people. I went to plead with my father for leniency on these matters, but he would hear none of it.”
Merthyr felt his stomach knot as he recalled the most personal betrayal of all. “To add insult to injury, Sir Pentre demands that I wed the Princess of Mercia, our sworn enemies,” he confessed, frustration mounting. “He believes that marrying her would not only bring her kingdom and its wealth as dowry to Camelot, but reinforce our position. He already negotiated the engagement without my consent by capturing and executing their crown prince when the sultan first objected to this union. I outright refused and walked out. I will not be a pawn in his games. The princess is set to arrive next week, after mourning her brother, but if I’m not there, the wedding cannot proceed.”
He took a moment to gather himself, sighing wearily. “I came to Sheridan because it is the poorest and farthest town from the capital, the last settlement by the northern border. I wanted to be here to watch over the villagers, to witness their pleas and suffering, and to help in any way I could. I will protect them from the tax collectors as much as possible. On charges of sorcery however I cannot help” he admitted, opening the royal pouch to extract the royal seal and return her the gold coins, pushing them across the table toward her. “This seal grants me access to whatever I need in this kingdom. It is all I needed. Keep the rest for good services rendered” thanked Merthyr
Merthyr leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed as he contemplated the gravity of the situation. “If Sir Pentre were to fall, it would be a monumental service to the kingdom, yet those like him seldom perish easily and few are reckless enough to stand against him. I have challenged him to a duel on several occasions, but he always declines, on account that a knight serves the crown, and would never dare challenge its heir. He holds sway over my father's ear, and my father simply won’t listen to anyone else, not even me.
But know this: The king cannot die before I’m married, or else Pentre will claim the regency. Such are my father’s newly signed terms, for me to claim the throne… a royal marriage is required. Yet another one of Pentre's insidious schemes. I wouldn't put it past him to try to poison the king himself and keep me locked away so he can rule indefinitely. Perhaps he hopes Mercians will murder me and he gets to keep the throne. Sir Pentre is my father's illegitimate half brother after all, a potential heir to the throne when none left” muttered Merthyr revealing a detail very few outside the royal family knew
The absurdity of it all weighed on him, and he waved dismissively at the very thought of marriage. The obligations and his helplessness to get his father to hear him, to change his mind, leaving him feeling trapped and rushed into a life-altering decision he had no interest in making yet.
The act of sharing his burdens with Janella felt oddly liberating, a release he hadn't anticipated, growing silent to let her talk, suggest, advise, question him further if she wished
Janella looked down at the ring, it seemed quite plain at first until one took a closer look. She narrowed her eyes a bit toward Prince Methyr, her jaw tilting up and to the side somewhat in a skeptical gesture. The mixed elf was unsure of whether or not he was being serious, but when she realized he was she reached out with a hand to deftly take it from his palm. Looking it over, as if to verify its authenticity, she thought this royal at least kept his word.
The rogue thought little of nobles and royalty, having always been of the opinion they were too coddled and didn’t realize how good they had it. But perhaps not all of them were like this. Or perhaps they were shaped by their environment as they got older. She wasn’t sure how she would keep it on her and not have it confiscated if she was imprisoned.Or she could just hand it over immediately or very quickly after being arrested. She'd figure it out. She always did. So far, anyway. “Understood,” she told him, nodding and inclining her head toward him.
Leaning back in her chair once more and letting an arm hang off the side, the other resting on her lap, she listened as Prince Methyr spoke of the injustices created by his father and Sir Pentre. She was interested to learn that Sir Pentre was actually the King’s half brother, an eyebrow lifting with interest. And illegitimate, too?
Janella made a mental note, being sure to remember it for later. As tempted as she was to accept the money from him, she shook her head. One of her dexterous hands pushed it back toward him. “You will need money. And you can have this, too,” she fished the thief’s coin pouch from one of the inner pockets of her cloak and handed it to him. There was not a lot of gold in there, but there was a lot of silver and some copper. “You can’t live without money,” she said simply.
“And . . . “ she paused for a moment, organizing her words, “I would be interested to see what kind of resistance you might be able to create here in Sheridan. There is a good chance, with your seal, your reputation and your compassion, and some coin . . . that you could help the people here to cause trouble for Sir Pentre. And I love seeing any kind of trouble for the Lord Knight,” she said, a wicked grin stretching almost from ear to ear. There was a lot of bad blood between the two of them. “Let me know if you’d like something to happen to him. He’s got a dangerous job, after all, and there are lots of other ways for people to meet an untimely end.”
Thinking for a moment, she said, “Well, none of this can happen if you are poisoned or robbed again. I can put the word out there that you are under my protection. No thief or assassin that knows what’s good for them will interfere with you.” If she hadn’t already scared them off by slicing that criminal’s hand open and almost crushing his windpipe, anyway. Word spread like wildfire among the thieves and rogues of any city, information was the coin of power after all. They would all know by sundown anyway. “I have always heard that royalty rarely get to choose who they marry. It is always more of an alliance or partnership for their respective kingdoms, is it not? But I can imagine that Sir Pentre choosing for you would be especially chafing.”
The rogue thought little of nobles and royalty, having always been of the opinion they were too coddled and didn’t realize how good they had it. But perhaps not all of them were like this. Or perhaps they were shaped by their environment as they got older. She wasn’t sure how she would keep it on her and not have it confiscated if she was imprisoned.Or she could just hand it over immediately or very quickly after being arrested. She'd figure it out. She always did. So far, anyway. “Understood,” she told him, nodding and inclining her head toward him.
Leaning back in her chair once more and letting an arm hang off the side, the other resting on her lap, she listened as Prince Methyr spoke of the injustices created by his father and Sir Pentre. She was interested to learn that Sir Pentre was actually the King’s half brother, an eyebrow lifting with interest. And illegitimate, too?
Janella made a mental note, being sure to remember it for later. As tempted as she was to accept the money from him, she shook her head. One of her dexterous hands pushed it back toward him. “You will need money. And you can have this, too,” she fished the thief’s coin pouch from one of the inner pockets of her cloak and handed it to him. There was not a lot of gold in there, but there was a lot of silver and some copper. “You can’t live without money,” she said simply.
“And . . . “ she paused for a moment, organizing her words, “I would be interested to see what kind of resistance you might be able to create here in Sheridan. There is a good chance, with your seal, your reputation and your compassion, and some coin . . . that you could help the people here to cause trouble for Sir Pentre. And I love seeing any kind of trouble for the Lord Knight,” she said, a wicked grin stretching almost from ear to ear. There was a lot of bad blood between the two of them. “Let me know if you’d like something to happen to him. He’s got a dangerous job, after all, and there are lots of other ways for people to meet an untimely end.”
Thinking for a moment, she said, “Well, none of this can happen if you are poisoned or robbed again. I can put the word out there that you are under my protection. No thief or assassin that knows what’s good for them will interfere with you.” If she hadn’t already scared them off by slicing that criminal’s hand open and almost crushing his windpipe, anyway. Word spread like wildfire among the thieves and rogues of any city, information was the coin of power after all. They would all know by sundown anyway. “I have always heard that royalty rarely get to choose who they marry. It is always more of an alliance or partnership for their respective kingdoms, is it not? But I can imagine that Sir Pentre choosing for you would be especially chafing.”
Merthyr took the pouches of gold and put them away carefully. "Much appreciated. I will see to it that each coin reaches those who need it most," he assured, a sense of duty washing over him.
He looked down at the tankard before him but pushed it aside. The heat from the fireplace and the lingering fever from the poisoning made any man thirsty, yet he hesitated to take a sip, wary of lingering poisons in his food or drink. Perhaps he'd venture to the well instead to ensure the safety of his drink.
“That is indeed the case,” he began, his brow furrowing with thought. “Crown princes almost always marry for political gain. However, I personally disagree with such traditions and customs. They only weaken the crown because they breed unhappy marriages devoid of trust, happiness, or love. A king cannot rule a kingdom in peace and justice, be proud of his achievements or heed his people's needs if his heart is torn by a lost war between love and duty. I would not marry a stranger for the greater good of the kingdom, or to appeasr anyone if I can help it. I rather follow my heart instead” admitted Merthyr
Merthyr's voice dropped to a whisper, laden with sincerity, his emotions flushed his cheeks as he continued. “I must confess that I love a commoner, a servant named Serena. I like her... a lot. I have every intention of courting her and marrying her, once I gather enough courage to address this in detail with her. If that means relinquishing my claim to the throne… then... for her... I shall abdicate. I hope it won't be necessary. I hope my father gives his blessings, in time, once he gets to know her” admitted Merthyr spilling the beans on his plans and feelings.
"The difficulty is that the maiden belongs to Pentre. She is a prisoner of war, a Mercian woman enslaved during the last incursion. At the final battle Sir Pentre managed to overpower the invading Mercian force, not far from this border, he put their fallen prince to the sword, and claimed many slaves among the defeated, as well as taking a large loot. Among the captives... there was Serena" explained Merthyr rubbing the back of his neck
"He brought her to the castle where we crossed paths, the only minor discrepancy is that she doesn't know my station. She likely believes me to be of a lower class." trailed off Merthyr
He leaned forward, passion igniting his words. “Look, I would rather be a loyal knight, where my heart, sword, and duty strengthen one another, than wear a crown which comes with too heavy shackles, a golden cage without key to open its lock. I rather not live in an unhappy marriage, loathing the kingdom over its demands, yearning for an enemy's maid while fulfilling the burdens of royal obligation and marital duties to another.” sighed Merthyr
"If Serena accepts my heart and hand... I will have to bring the matter to my father's attention, rather carefully. In time, he may come to accept my choice of bride..." mused Merthyr
His gaze grew intense as he laid bare his desires, “I seek a marriage built on love, friendship, and understanding. One built on true love, loyalty, trust, one that endures. Is it too much to hope for that in a world steeped in power plays and obligations?” quizzed Merthyr
"Lords and commoners marry for love... why shouldn't I?" muttered Merthyr "I am of flesh and bone, my blood runs just as warm and red as others..." trailed off Merthyr
Merthyr felt the weight of his confession, realizing how rare such honesty was in his life. In a world that demanded loyalty to tradition and duty, he longed for a love that would allow him to be both a compassionate leader and an honorable man, truthful to himself, his wife, his people. He was determined to carve out a different future—one where his heart could live freely alongside his sense of duty.
He looked down at the tankard before him but pushed it aside. The heat from the fireplace and the lingering fever from the poisoning made any man thirsty, yet he hesitated to take a sip, wary of lingering poisons in his food or drink. Perhaps he'd venture to the well instead to ensure the safety of his drink.
“That is indeed the case,” he began, his brow furrowing with thought. “Crown princes almost always marry for political gain. However, I personally disagree with such traditions and customs. They only weaken the crown because they breed unhappy marriages devoid of trust, happiness, or love. A king cannot rule a kingdom in peace and justice, be proud of his achievements or heed his people's needs if his heart is torn by a lost war between love and duty. I would not marry a stranger for the greater good of the kingdom, or to appeasr anyone if I can help it. I rather follow my heart instead” admitted Merthyr
Merthyr's voice dropped to a whisper, laden with sincerity, his emotions flushed his cheeks as he continued. “I must confess that I love a commoner, a servant named Serena. I like her... a lot. I have every intention of courting her and marrying her, once I gather enough courage to address this in detail with her. If that means relinquishing my claim to the throne… then... for her... I shall abdicate. I hope it won't be necessary. I hope my father gives his blessings, in time, once he gets to know her” admitted Merthyr spilling the beans on his plans and feelings.
"The difficulty is that the maiden belongs to Pentre. She is a prisoner of war, a Mercian woman enslaved during the last incursion. At the final battle Sir Pentre managed to overpower the invading Mercian force, not far from this border, he put their fallen prince to the sword, and claimed many slaves among the defeated, as well as taking a large loot. Among the captives... there was Serena" explained Merthyr rubbing the back of his neck
"He brought her to the castle where we crossed paths, the only minor discrepancy is that she doesn't know my station. She likely believes me to be of a lower class." trailed off Merthyr
He leaned forward, passion igniting his words. “Look, I would rather be a loyal knight, where my heart, sword, and duty strengthen one another, than wear a crown which comes with too heavy shackles, a golden cage without key to open its lock. I rather not live in an unhappy marriage, loathing the kingdom over its demands, yearning for an enemy's maid while fulfilling the burdens of royal obligation and marital duties to another.” sighed Merthyr
"If Serena accepts my heart and hand... I will have to bring the matter to my father's attention, rather carefully. In time, he may come to accept my choice of bride..." mused Merthyr
His gaze grew intense as he laid bare his desires, “I seek a marriage built on love, friendship, and understanding. One built on true love, loyalty, trust, one that endures. Is it too much to hope for that in a world steeped in power plays and obligations?” quizzed Merthyr
"Lords and commoners marry for love... why shouldn't I?" muttered Merthyr "I am of flesh and bone, my blood runs just as warm and red as others..." trailed off Merthyr
Merthyr felt the weight of his confession, realizing how rare such honesty was in his life. In a world that demanded loyalty to tradition and duty, he longed for a love that would allow him to be both a compassionate leader and an honorable man, truthful to himself, his wife, his people. He was determined to carve out a different future—one where his heart could live freely alongside his sense of duty.
Janella could see his hesitation over the drink, knowing he must be thirsty after his ordeal. She picked up the drink and inspected it, performing a quick and simple spell to detect poisons. “It is safe, Your Majesty,” she told him. “I would not save you just to watch you die, after all.”
She was skeptical of him marrying for love, only able to imagine the social pressures he would face from his father and those around him, nobles and subjects, as well as the consequences of not making a transactional marriage. It was unheard of for royalty to marry for love. “Ah well, I believe that royals marry someone for political gain, and then have someone they love on the side, yes? Concubines or mistresses, as they say. But I can guess that you would not be content with that.”
When he began to whisper and blush she leaned forward somewhat, not because she needed to in order to hear him but to indicate her interest. The rogue was picking up on all kinds of juicy tidbits. She was shocked to hear of his love for a mere servant. Maybe she should help or save people more often, she thought to herself ironically. A wry smile donned her features. “It will cause quite the scandal, not only in this kingdom but in neighboring ones, if you married ‘beneath’ yourself. Is there anyone else aside from Sir Pentre that would vie for the crown if that was the case, once your father passed away? I imagine that with some time, people might come around and it might set a new standard.”
The half-drow glanced around to be sure no one was trying to eavesdrop or approach them as Prince Methyr confessed that he would rather be a Knight than be burdened with being a monarch. She could see how that might allow him to pursue his passion, to keep from being bogged down with all the laws and customs that were associated with being a King. “Ah, but if you are the King, you could affect change as well. Or try to, at least. But we all must follow our hearts. You humans have short lives, so it’s important to do what appeals to you most.” Snickering when he asked if it was too much to hope for true love and the like in a world such as this, she said, “For you, it might be too much to ask. But if you go about it the right way, and with some luck, you might achieve it.”
She stood, her cloak flowing around her as she did. “I look forward to seeing you again, and hopefully in better shape. You should eat, drink and rest. And I should look into a few things. If you ever need my services, you can speak into this,” she handed him a small stone that had a mouth on it. “The message must be short, no more than twenty-five words. And if you ever want me to interfere with or take care of Sir Pentre, I will do it for free,” she said, her smile mischievous. “Any other work, however, will cost you. Take care, Prince Methyr, and think on what I said. Your kingdom would benefit, and I’d love nothing more than to cause hardship or worse for the Lord Knight.” The rogue turned and walked out of the tavern, and soon afterward it was like she vanished altogether.
She was skeptical of him marrying for love, only able to imagine the social pressures he would face from his father and those around him, nobles and subjects, as well as the consequences of not making a transactional marriage. It was unheard of for royalty to marry for love. “Ah well, I believe that royals marry someone for political gain, and then have someone they love on the side, yes? Concubines or mistresses, as they say. But I can guess that you would not be content with that.”
When he began to whisper and blush she leaned forward somewhat, not because she needed to in order to hear him but to indicate her interest. The rogue was picking up on all kinds of juicy tidbits. She was shocked to hear of his love for a mere servant. Maybe she should help or save people more often, she thought to herself ironically. A wry smile donned her features. “It will cause quite the scandal, not only in this kingdom but in neighboring ones, if you married ‘beneath’ yourself. Is there anyone else aside from Sir Pentre that would vie for the crown if that was the case, once your father passed away? I imagine that with some time, people might come around and it might set a new standard.”
The half-drow glanced around to be sure no one was trying to eavesdrop or approach them as Prince Methyr confessed that he would rather be a Knight than be burdened with being a monarch. She could see how that might allow him to pursue his passion, to keep from being bogged down with all the laws and customs that were associated with being a King. “Ah, but if you are the King, you could affect change as well. Or try to, at least. But we all must follow our hearts. You humans have short lives, so it’s important to do what appeals to you most.” Snickering when he asked if it was too much to hope for true love and the like in a world such as this, she said, “For you, it might be too much to ask. But if you go about it the right way, and with some luck, you might achieve it.”
She stood, her cloak flowing around her as she did. “I look forward to seeing you again, and hopefully in better shape. You should eat, drink and rest. And I should look into a few things. If you ever need my services, you can speak into this,” she handed him a small stone that had a mouth on it. “The message must be short, no more than twenty-five words. And if you ever want me to interfere with or take care of Sir Pentre, I will do it for free,” she said, her smile mischievous. “Any other work, however, will cost you. Take care, Prince Methyr, and think on what I said. Your kingdom would benefit, and I’d love nothing more than to cause hardship or worse for the Lord Knight.” The rogue turned and walked out of the tavern, and soon afterward it was like she vanished altogether.
Merthyr watched as Janella left, feeling the weight of both her words and his own declarations lingering in the air. The tavern now buzzed alive with patrons recognizing his royal presence. They had finally taken stock of his majesty's identity and presence and shifted their conversation to hushed tones mixed with awe and curiosity.
Gwen, the taverner, quickly wiped her hands on her apron and bustled over, bringing forth a banquet of fresh food—the finest dishes she could muster from her half stocked pantry, along with fine wine and the best kept ales for the future king. Despite the oppressive tax increases, Gwen remained a stalwart royalist. After all, when people felt hard pressed, it drove them to the tavern to drink themselves to oblivion. It was good for her business, all in all. The influx of tavern-goers seeking solace in drink was good profit, and now her luck shone bright with the prince at her table.
Merthyr let Gwen crowd his table full of dishes and desserts. As her offerings crowded Merthyr’s table, rather than indulge immediately, he excused himself, stepping outside for a breath of fresh. air. In the darkness, he walked through the village, searching for those who had been forgotten— the frail elderly, the homeless, the orphaned half-starved children huddled in corners. Guiding them back to the tavern, he invited them to partake of his meal, which was large enough to feed quite a few people, a good sized feast had been laid out with care.
The other patrons watched in astonishment as the prince returned with the downtrodden, welcoming them into the warmth of the establishment, offering them food and kindness where there usually was none to be found, not even leftovers or scraps. Merthyr paid no heed at the stares and murmurs as though he had sat among equals, a warm honest smile as he served the younger ones and helped them eat, making small conversation of how life as a knight was. Answering questions from the little bright minds that looked up to him as though he was a hero.
Once the meal had finished, he saw the less fortunate leave the premises rather hastily to return to their corners and hideouts whilst Merthyr rose from the table to retire for the night, heartened by the laughter and lively music that had filled the room. He paid Gwen for the meal and allowed her to accompany him to his quarters, appreciating her eagerness.
“Come, your highness…” Gwen invited, leading him to the best quarters she had to offer. She prepared a hot bath, leaving fresh towels ready for him, bowing and withdrawing with hopes that the prince would linger indefinitely in her tavern—knowing well that any establishment blessed by royalty would draw even more patrons, of the well heeled, higher-paying kind. Any establishment deemed worthy by royalty had a reputation that brought in more and better paying clientele, regardless of its whereabouts. A lifeline this village desperately needed, more merchants, more traders, more customers and visitors.
Alone in the comforting warmth of his room, Merthyr sank into a moment of quiet reflection. The day's revelations weighed heavily on his mind, yet hope remained firm in his mind. Janella was right, perhaps, if he navigated the turbulent waters of love and duty wisely, he could reshape not only his future, but that of his kingdom as well.
Gwen, the taverner, quickly wiped her hands on her apron and bustled over, bringing forth a banquet of fresh food—the finest dishes she could muster from her half stocked pantry, along with fine wine and the best kept ales for the future king. Despite the oppressive tax increases, Gwen remained a stalwart royalist. After all, when people felt hard pressed, it drove them to the tavern to drink themselves to oblivion. It was good for her business, all in all. The influx of tavern-goers seeking solace in drink was good profit, and now her luck shone bright with the prince at her table.
Merthyr let Gwen crowd his table full of dishes and desserts. As her offerings crowded Merthyr’s table, rather than indulge immediately, he excused himself, stepping outside for a breath of fresh. air. In the darkness, he walked through the village, searching for those who had been forgotten— the frail elderly, the homeless, the orphaned half-starved children huddled in corners. Guiding them back to the tavern, he invited them to partake of his meal, which was large enough to feed quite a few people, a good sized feast had been laid out with care.
The other patrons watched in astonishment as the prince returned with the downtrodden, welcoming them into the warmth of the establishment, offering them food and kindness where there usually was none to be found, not even leftovers or scraps. Merthyr paid no heed at the stares and murmurs as though he had sat among equals, a warm honest smile as he served the younger ones and helped them eat, making small conversation of how life as a knight was. Answering questions from the little bright minds that looked up to him as though he was a hero.
Once the meal had finished, he saw the less fortunate leave the premises rather hastily to return to their corners and hideouts whilst Merthyr rose from the table to retire for the night, heartened by the laughter and lively music that had filled the room. He paid Gwen for the meal and allowed her to accompany him to his quarters, appreciating her eagerness.
“Come, your highness…” Gwen invited, leading him to the best quarters she had to offer. She prepared a hot bath, leaving fresh towels ready for him, bowing and withdrawing with hopes that the prince would linger indefinitely in her tavern—knowing well that any establishment blessed by royalty would draw even more patrons, of the well heeled, higher-paying kind. Any establishment deemed worthy by royalty had a reputation that brought in more and better paying clientele, regardless of its whereabouts. A lifeline this village desperately needed, more merchants, more traders, more customers and visitors.
Alone in the comforting warmth of his room, Merthyr sank into a moment of quiet reflection. The day's revelations weighed heavily on his mind, yet hope remained firm in his mind. Janella was right, perhaps, if he navigated the turbulent waters of love and duty wisely, he could reshape not only his future, but that of his kingdom as well.
Back at the royal castle, King Conrad paced restlessly around the room, addressing the courtiers, with particular focus on his so-called cousin, Sir Pentre. "I should not have been so harsh with Merthyr...," Conrad admitted, regret tingeing his tone. "Perhaps if I had broken the news of the marriage more gently, introduced her at a ball or something, discussed the new decrees to share the benefits of my vision... listened to his opinion a bit more... he wouldn’t have left so abruptly. Who knows what harms may have befallen him now?"
Conrad's eyes narrowed as he turned to Pentre. "Any ransom requests at all, lord knight?" quizzed the restless guilt-ridden kin
Pentre shook his head, his expression neutral but his mind racing with opportunism.
"A week has passed, and still no news from his Highness... your Majesty," reported a breathless messenger who had just arrived, having scoured the surrounding villages and towns for information, only to find silence.
Conrad's eyes narrowed as he turned to Pentre. "Any ransom requests at all, lord knight?" quizzed the restless guilt-ridden kin
Pentre shook his head, his expression neutral but his mind racing with opportunism.
"A week has passed, and still no news from his Highness... your Majesty," reported a breathless messenger who had just arrived, having scoured the surrounding villages and towns for information, only to find silence.
"I will put a bounty on anyone who can provide news of his last whereabouts," Pentre declared, determination rising. "For the right price, people will talk. I will personally cover the sums from my own estates, no matter who the informant may be. If this yields no results in three days, I will search the kingdom myself to find him." vowed Pentre, feigning concern while secretly seething over the postponed marriage that had been arranged for his advantage. His self-serving reasons for wanting the young royal found were far from altruistic.
With the king's approval, Pentre exited the throne room and the castle, heading directly to the scribes to announce the bounty. He dispatched one hundred messengers in every direction, knowing he needed to act swiftly; the princess would soon arrive, and Merthyr had to be there waiting for her.
Delving deeper into the matter, Pentre ventured into the most dangerous taverns of the capital city, weapons concealed and without soldiers or knights escorting him, draped in a dark hooded cloak that concealed his features, he made his move. If someone had indeed kidnapped the prince, it would require the cunning of a thief to catch a thief. He sought the aid of a dubious outlaw, someone well-versed in the darker corners of society, to gather intel on the missing prince.
Dean Morgan's tavern, a a notorious den of iniquity by the sewers, at the lowest end of the city slums. A place of disrepute where the worse sorts gathered. A place no decent man, not even knights or guards ventured into for fear it would likely lead to their deaths. Many of them entered and none ever walked out alive or was seen again. Nonetheless, Pentre was different to those law-abiding ones. He was ruthless, heartless enough to pass for one of the assassins.
The Rising Sun. It was clear, even from the outside, that the establishment had doubled up to accommodate a brothel rather than just being a tavern as it used to be. This was probably done to ensure customers would stay at the place longer and spent all the more so during their stay. It seemed that need caused even an honest man like Dean Morgan to allow less honest yet more profitable work. It was undeniable the business was thriving and provided a higher revenue. Despite Dean Morgan's discomfort at first, he had grown accustomed to the new environment, focusing on the tavern, serving ales and food and leaving the women to the oldest trade known to man.
Open entering, Pentre immediately noticed the mismatched furniture that contrasted with the impeccable and lavish palace furnishings. Here it was found in large numbers but it was all assorted, clearly dated and well used, if actually misused and battered. It was distasteful and tatty, pieces patched and badly mended but clearly without any intention to restore it to its original condition, simply kept usable despite the discoloration and damage, like the couch, left stained to the point it was hard to tell its true colour. Not one piece was alike any other there.
The dinning hall was filled with light smoke from the burning wood of the large glowing hearth at the far end, which provided light, warmth and a somewhat homely feeling to the establishment, making the air heavy but not at all unpleasant.
The large room was rather dark for lack of adequately sized windows or sufficient ventilation, which gave it a sinister look and apprehensive feel. Overall, it was poorly lit up by oil lamps and candles, here and there, sparsely distributed upon the scattered tables.
The floor, covered with spilled drinks and discarded, half eaten, dropped food, was mostly made of uneven mismatched tiles, the odd mice and some ants, here and there, which were putting Pentre out of eating any food there altogether, given the disgusting conditions, not that the dirty tables would make it more appealing anyways.
From time to time, as he entered further, passing tables, benches, stools and sofas, he had to duck out of the way. Drunken patrons engaged in scuffles, shouts, accusations and punches, tossing items at one another carelessly and almost hitting him. There was a stronger whiff of tobacco here and there from the pipes being smoked by the seasoned patrons, somewhat suffocating for those accustomed to the fresh air and outdoors.
The deeper he got into the tavern, the stronger were the scents of the food being cooked, baking breads, grilled meats, roast vegetables and steaming hot pots which were bound to make anyone hungry at any time, especially at the late hour. He had spent all day visiting taverns and brothels unsuccessfully. The disappointment and effort had indeed exhausted him and worn him down and he expected yet a final disappointment at this last establishment.
Entering Dean Morgan's tavern, Pentre knew he was stepping into a dangerous world. Many a death had occurred between its walls and it always went unpunished, brushed aside as if such murders had never happened. Yet, he brushed aside any reservations as he finally reached the bar. He ordered a tankard of mead and settled into a quiet corner, straining to overhear conversations, eager for any clues that might lead to his runaway nephew's whereabouts or fate
With the king's approval, Pentre exited the throne room and the castle, heading directly to the scribes to announce the bounty. He dispatched one hundred messengers in every direction, knowing he needed to act swiftly; the princess would soon arrive, and Merthyr had to be there waiting for her.
Delving deeper into the matter, Pentre ventured into the most dangerous taverns of the capital city, weapons concealed and without soldiers or knights escorting him, draped in a dark hooded cloak that concealed his features, he made his move. If someone had indeed kidnapped the prince, it would require the cunning of a thief to catch a thief. He sought the aid of a dubious outlaw, someone well-versed in the darker corners of society, to gather intel on the missing prince.
Dean Morgan's tavern, a a notorious den of iniquity by the sewers, at the lowest end of the city slums. A place of disrepute where the worse sorts gathered. A place no decent man, not even knights or guards ventured into for fear it would likely lead to their deaths. Many of them entered and none ever walked out alive or was seen again. Nonetheless, Pentre was different to those law-abiding ones. He was ruthless, heartless enough to pass for one of the assassins.
The Rising Sun. It was clear, even from the outside, that the establishment had doubled up to accommodate a brothel rather than just being a tavern as it used to be. This was probably done to ensure customers would stay at the place longer and spent all the more so during their stay. It seemed that need caused even an honest man like Dean Morgan to allow less honest yet more profitable work. It was undeniable the business was thriving and provided a higher revenue. Despite Dean Morgan's discomfort at first, he had grown accustomed to the new environment, focusing on the tavern, serving ales and food and leaving the women to the oldest trade known to man.
Open entering, Pentre immediately noticed the mismatched furniture that contrasted with the impeccable and lavish palace furnishings. Here it was found in large numbers but it was all assorted, clearly dated and well used, if actually misused and battered. It was distasteful and tatty, pieces patched and badly mended but clearly without any intention to restore it to its original condition, simply kept usable despite the discoloration and damage, like the couch, left stained to the point it was hard to tell its true colour. Not one piece was alike any other there.
The dinning hall was filled with light smoke from the burning wood of the large glowing hearth at the far end, which provided light, warmth and a somewhat homely feeling to the establishment, making the air heavy but not at all unpleasant.
The large room was rather dark for lack of adequately sized windows or sufficient ventilation, which gave it a sinister look and apprehensive feel. Overall, it was poorly lit up by oil lamps and candles, here and there, sparsely distributed upon the scattered tables.
The floor, covered with spilled drinks and discarded, half eaten, dropped food, was mostly made of uneven mismatched tiles, the odd mice and some ants, here and there, which were putting Pentre out of eating any food there altogether, given the disgusting conditions, not that the dirty tables would make it more appealing anyways.
From time to time, as he entered further, passing tables, benches, stools and sofas, he had to duck out of the way. Drunken patrons engaged in scuffles, shouts, accusations and punches, tossing items at one another carelessly and almost hitting him. There was a stronger whiff of tobacco here and there from the pipes being smoked by the seasoned patrons, somewhat suffocating for those accustomed to the fresh air and outdoors.
The deeper he got into the tavern, the stronger were the scents of the food being cooked, baking breads, grilled meats, roast vegetables and steaming hot pots which were bound to make anyone hungry at any time, especially at the late hour. He had spent all day visiting taverns and brothels unsuccessfully. The disappointment and effort had indeed exhausted him and worn him down and he expected yet a final disappointment at this last establishment.
Entering Dean Morgan's tavern, Pentre knew he was stepping into a dangerous world. Many a death had occurred between its walls and it always went unpunished, brushed aside as if such murders had never happened. Yet, he brushed aside any reservations as he finally reached the bar. He ordered a tankard of mead and settled into a quiet corner, straining to overhear conversations, eager for any clues that might lead to his runaway nephew's whereabouts or fate
The tavern that Sir Pentre found himself in was full of every earthly delight a person could want. Food, a variety of ale and liquors, men and women that could be sold for the night and some illicit substances as well. Some people tried to tempt him, thinking that he must be there for someone or something in particular.
Eventually, he would overhear a conversation. A few people were sitting around a table nearby, deep in their cups and trading gossip. It wasn’t something they would have done if they were sober, but drinking clouds the judgment.
“He was actually seen in a tavern over in Sheridan, people couldn’t believe it at first but someone in the Veil’s guild spotted the royal seal.”
“You cannot be serious, Marty, a Prince all the way out in Sheridan and being protected by her. You’re always embellishing but this is another thing altog-”
“I’m not!” Marty insisted, getting more indignant by the second. “Word is spreading like wildfire! Prince Methyr was seen in Sheridan, and Ol’ Tony poisoned him and robbed him blind, but was very quickly hunted down by none other than Janella Silentread. She also saved the Prince, I’m sure for her own nefarious reasons.” He paused for a moment and looked around the table, seeing that the atmosphere had suddenly become very somber. No one who wanted to live joked about that one. “After what she did to him, Ol’ Tony will never be able to pick a lock or pocket with that hand again and he keeps having to drink potions from where she stepped on his neck. Robbed him blind, too! She was seen handing the Prince’s money and his royal seal back to him. They sat down and talked for a while like old friends. And ever since then, the word is that Prince Methyr is under Silentread’s protection. No one’s even looked at him twice since.”
He was getting louder in his excitement over knowing something that they didn’t and he was hushed by his peers, they fell into whispers, wondering at just what Prince Methyr was doing in Sheridan. And what exactly Janella Silentread was doing over there as well. One of the women at the table said, “I’d heard Janella was commissioned by her own guild to go over there to spy on someone and kill them if need be, or at the very least scare them witless to send a message. A man by the name of Orion who is a merchant. He’s refused to make any deals with the Snakes and they’re mighty pissed off about it.”
A short time later, the man named Marty got up and started making his way out of the tavern, passing close by Sir Pentre as he did so. He was grumbling and muttering to himself, something about having to go and check on something for his own guild even though he’d been loath to leave his friends and his tankard. A barmaid arrived to the table shortly afterward, asking the patrons seated there if they needed another round or any more food. This made Marty even more surly, as he had been flirting with said barmaid all night. He was thoroughly distracted, thinking he should splash some water on his face to sober up a bit.
Eventually, he would overhear a conversation. A few people were sitting around a table nearby, deep in their cups and trading gossip. It wasn’t something they would have done if they were sober, but drinking clouds the judgment.
“He was actually seen in a tavern over in Sheridan, people couldn’t believe it at first but someone in the Veil’s guild spotted the royal seal.”
“You cannot be serious, Marty, a Prince all the way out in Sheridan and being protected by her. You’re always embellishing but this is another thing altog-”
“I’m not!” Marty insisted, getting more indignant by the second. “Word is spreading like wildfire! Prince Methyr was seen in Sheridan, and Ol’ Tony poisoned him and robbed him blind, but was very quickly hunted down by none other than Janella Silentread. She also saved the Prince, I’m sure for her own nefarious reasons.” He paused for a moment and looked around the table, seeing that the atmosphere had suddenly become very somber. No one who wanted to live joked about that one. “After what she did to him, Ol’ Tony will never be able to pick a lock or pocket with that hand again and he keeps having to drink potions from where she stepped on his neck. Robbed him blind, too! She was seen handing the Prince’s money and his royal seal back to him. They sat down and talked for a while like old friends. And ever since then, the word is that Prince Methyr is under Silentread’s protection. No one’s even looked at him twice since.”
He was getting louder in his excitement over knowing something that they didn’t and he was hushed by his peers, they fell into whispers, wondering at just what Prince Methyr was doing in Sheridan. And what exactly Janella Silentread was doing over there as well. One of the women at the table said, “I’d heard Janella was commissioned by her own guild to go over there to spy on someone and kill them if need be, or at the very least scare them witless to send a message. A man by the name of Orion who is a merchant. He’s refused to make any deals with the Snakes and they’re mighty pissed off about it.”
A short time later, the man named Marty got up and started making his way out of the tavern, passing close by Sir Pentre as he did so. He was grumbling and muttering to himself, something about having to go and check on something for his own guild even though he’d been loath to leave his friends and his tankard. A barmaid arrived to the table shortly afterward, asking the patrons seated there if they needed another round or any more food. This made Marty even more surly, as he had been flirting with said barmaid all night. He was thoroughly distracted, thinking he should splash some water on his face to sober up a bit.
Pentre placed a hand on Marty’s shoulder as he brushed past. “Come, take a seat,” he urged, gesturing to the table and flashing some coins to draw the man's attention. He also waved Ebony over to his table, able to easily afford the woman's time and the man's services. The expensive leather beneath his cloak made it evident that Pentre was of considerable wealth, capable of affording the best on offer at the tavern. The gesture of extending his arm also made the not so well hidden blades to flash under the candlelight, an indication that sitting down was not exactly an offer at all.
“Janella Silentread... where would I find her? How do I find her?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink, his tone direct and demanding. He watched closely, ensuring Marty complied with his request to sit down, whether he liked it or not. “See, I have dire need of her services, important matters only she is capable of undertaking swiftly” Pentre explained, forcing himself to spit out her name with a feigned interest, as if he were merely a shady character seeking unsavory work done. Her name burning on his tongue as if it were made of sulphur but gritted his teeth and forced a toothy sly grin.
"This pouch is yours to keep if you go send word right away that I require her presence and immediate assistance... before sunrise tomorrow. She can find me in the quarters upstairs, enjoying life's pleasures. You can assure her that no harm will come to her... this time.” he added, leaning back in his chair, projecting an air of relaxed authority, typical of overly confident warlords. The man clearly oblivious to the fact that he held in his hand and grasp the prince's greatest weakness, the only leverage that could make the prince return and yield. If only he had suspected Merthyr's feelings for Serena... but no. His mind had been too busy collecting taxes and watching his wealth and ruthless reputation grow to pay attention to subtle details.
Without further ado, he selected a few young women for his chambers. The night was cold and long, he had every hour of it to waste away in sinful pleasures. After all, he was only a knight by title... nothing more.
“Janella Silentread... where would I find her? How do I find her?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink, his tone direct and demanding. He watched closely, ensuring Marty complied with his request to sit down, whether he liked it or not. “See, I have dire need of her services, important matters only she is capable of undertaking swiftly” Pentre explained, forcing himself to spit out her name with a feigned interest, as if he were merely a shady character seeking unsavory work done. Her name burning on his tongue as if it were made of sulphur but gritted his teeth and forced a toothy sly grin.
"This pouch is yours to keep if you go send word right away that I require her presence and immediate assistance... before sunrise tomorrow. She can find me in the quarters upstairs, enjoying life's pleasures. You can assure her that no harm will come to her... this time.” he added, leaning back in his chair, projecting an air of relaxed authority, typical of overly confident warlords. The man clearly oblivious to the fact that he held in his hand and grasp the prince's greatest weakness, the only leverage that could make the prince return and yield. If only he had suspected Merthyr's feelings for Serena... but no. His mind had been too busy collecting taxes and watching his wealth and ruthless reputation grow to pay attention to subtle details.
Without further ado, he selected a few young women for his chambers. The night was cold and long, he had every hour of it to waste away in sinful pleasures. After all, he was only a knight by title... nothing more.
Marty was annoyed that someone was delaying him leaving at first, looking over sharply, “Oi! Wh-” he cut himself off when he saw it was someone who had some money, his mannerisms immediately becoming more cooperative. “How can I help you, sir?” he asked, “my apologies, this tavern is known for being dangerous.” He sat down, slow and cautious, with Ebony joining him as well. They were suspicious, since they did not recognize this apparently wealthy man in his well-made armor, but the lure of money kept them from showing it too much.
Both Ebony and Marty shifted uncomfortably in their seats whenever he mentioned Janella, wondering just how much this unknown man knew about the half-drow. “I would be happy to do so, sir, especially considering the generous amount offered for the deed. But Janella is in Sheridan on a job from her guild, and she wouldn’t leave without good reason. I suppose she might be convinced to hurry up and finish her work and then get back here, but it would take her time to travel without some kind of portal . . . Sheridan is at the further reaches of the kingdom after all.”
Both of them were anxious, glancing at one another and fidgeting. Neither of these people wanted to cross Janella, she was well-known for making sure people that crossed her ended up either dead or wishing that they were. “Begging your pardon, my lord,” Ebony said, wanting to forestall any kind of confrontation and having more finesse than Marty, “we just don’t know your name so we wouldn’t be able to tell her properly who she’d be meeting. Her kind are a very paranoid lot after all. And we wouldn’t want to create any kind of delay if you need her for urgent work."
Both Ebony and Marty shifted uncomfortably in their seats whenever he mentioned Janella, wondering just how much this unknown man knew about the half-drow. “I would be happy to do so, sir, especially considering the generous amount offered for the deed. But Janella is in Sheridan on a job from her guild, and she wouldn’t leave without good reason. I suppose she might be convinced to hurry up and finish her work and then get back here, but it would take her time to travel without some kind of portal . . . Sheridan is at the further reaches of the kingdom after all.”
Both of them were anxious, glancing at one another and fidgeting. Neither of these people wanted to cross Janella, she was well-known for making sure people that crossed her ended up either dead or wishing that they were. “Begging your pardon, my lord,” Ebony said, wanting to forestall any kind of confrontation and having more finesse than Marty, “we just don’t know your name so we wouldn’t be able to tell her properly who she’d be meeting. Her kind are a very paranoid lot after all. And we wouldn’t want to create any kind of delay if you need her for urgent work."
"Of course, of course I understand. You require... a little more... for the urgency" accepted Pentre tossing the pair of them a pouch bursting with golden pieces, raising to his feet, letting the cloak fall away to reveal his imposing figure.
"When you send word to Janella... let her know... her old friend awaits her. An impatient man with more money than morals, one who holds no remorse or mercy whatsoever. Payment-wise, I offer her anything she demands without any reservation, except a dagger to the heart or throat on this occasion. Tell her she should know by now who are those that tower above her, after all, we had quite an intimate encounter at the dungeons... three seasons ago..." waved Pentre in a pompous tone, insinuating a pleasurable affair between him and Janella, when the reality was far more gruesome.
He left the pair to the task, turning to the ladies in the room to select his first whore from among them, circling them like a predator stalking its prey, savouring his sense of authority and control.
"When you send word to Janella... let her know... her old friend awaits her. An impatient man with more money than morals, one who holds no remorse or mercy whatsoever. Payment-wise, I offer her anything she demands without any reservation, except a dagger to the heart or throat on this occasion. Tell her she should know by now who are those that tower above her, after all, we had quite an intimate encounter at the dungeons... three seasons ago..." waved Pentre in a pompous tone, insinuating a pleasurable affair between him and Janella, when the reality was far more gruesome.
He left the pair to the task, turning to the ladies in the room to select his first whore from among them, circling them like a predator stalking its prey, savouring his sense of authority and control.
Marty and Ebony bowed to him to show their compliance, but they didn't have the bravery nor the stupidity to tell Janella all of those things about having people above her, or having a lord or master. In the days to come, rumors did fly about that this unknown man and Janella had a steamy affair three years back, something that would surely enrage the half-drow and make her determined to kill him if and when she found out. They did pass along the message that someone was waiting for her in Dean Morgan's tavern, and that she should arrive quickly to receive a very lucrative job.
Janella was about to finish up intimidating the merchant, Orion, that had refused to deal with her guild. She could not make it back from the furthest reaches of the kingdom in the time he wanted her to, but she got there two or three nights later. Having traumatized Orion and spurred him into accepting the conditions the Snakes had brought to him, she headed back to Camelot to collect her reward from her guild and see just who was summoning her.
The rogue arrived at Dean Morgan's tavern, walking in like she owned the place. People went quiet at the sight of her, the barmaid pointing her up toward Pentre's room. She could see that everyone was nervous, but figured it was just because a dark elf was in their midst. Making her way up to the room, she listened while picking the lock like it was child's play. Pushing the door open, she looked around before walking inside. In her dark clothes, leather armor and with blades strapped to her waist and hips, she felt ready to take on a job or handle any threat. The ring that Prince Merthyr had given her was in a pocket of her trousers. Soft boots fell over the floor, making not even a whisper of noise.
Janella was about to finish up intimidating the merchant, Orion, that had refused to deal with her guild. She could not make it back from the furthest reaches of the kingdom in the time he wanted her to, but she got there two or three nights later. Having traumatized Orion and spurred him into accepting the conditions the Snakes had brought to him, she headed back to Camelot to collect her reward from her guild and see just who was summoning her.
The rogue arrived at Dean Morgan's tavern, walking in like she owned the place. People went quiet at the sight of her, the barmaid pointing her up toward Pentre's room. She could see that everyone was nervous, but figured it was just because a dark elf was in their midst. Making her way up to the room, she listened while picking the lock like it was child's play. Pushing the door open, she looked around before walking inside. In her dark clothes, leather armor and with blades strapped to her waist and hips, she felt ready to take on a job or handle any threat. The ring that Prince Merthyr had given her was in a pocket of her trousers. Soft boots fell over the floor, making not even a whisper of noise.
Pentre looked up at her, straightening up when he finally saw her, raising from the bed rather unashamed, giving her his fullest attentions.
"Ah, I see you finally came, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up, three days late but good to see you here all the same.
Now don't get feisty just yet. I need work done and I will pay you well, this time. Whatever you ask off me, you will get it" offered Pentre waving her to a seat by the fireplace as he dismissed the whores and servants away
"I hear you hold prince Merthyr's ear these days... I would be remiss not to ask you to help ensure his return to Capital city, seems his majesty is late at his own wedding. Nonetheless, the work for you is far more delicate, if you're agreeable enough, you shall be well rewarded" muttered Pentre
"Ah, I see you finally came, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up, three days late but good to see you here all the same.
Now don't get feisty just yet. I need work done and I will pay you well, this time. Whatever you ask off me, you will get it" offered Pentre waving her to a seat by the fireplace as he dismissed the whores and servants away
"I hear you hold prince Merthyr's ear these days... I would be remiss not to ask you to help ensure his return to Capital city, seems his majesty is late at his own wedding. Nonetheless, the work for you is far more delicate, if you're agreeable enough, you shall be well rewarded" muttered Pentre
The servants and whores were more than happy to vacate the room, and the half-drow didn't bat an eye at the nudity or scantily clad bodies on display. Her black eyes narrowed when she saw the Lord Knight, one of her hands twitching like she wanted to loose a dagger and fling it right at his face. Fair facial features tightened with hostility. "Oh, so sorry that I couldn't arrive in a single night from a city at the edge of the kingdom," she said, her voice both silky and sarcastic. She took a couple of steps toward him, her cloak billowing around her as she did.
"I don't care what you offer me, I'm not going telling you anything. I trust you as far as I can throw you. Had you any sense at all, you would have just sent for Prince Merthyr directly, since you no doubt heard we were talking in Sheridan." She did not sit down, her eyes narrowing further due to the light from the fire. Whenever Sir Pentre mentioned that the prince was late to his own wedding, she snickered in a very malicious sort of way, as if she knew things that he did not. Her grin widened, and it was not at all friendly. "Oh, is he? Prince Merthyr feels he has been treated very unfairly. I'm not sure that he will be returning in time for his wedding," she said. The rogue was not refusing to say anything out of loyalty to the prince, but because of her hatred for Sir Pentre. "I did learn you are an illegitimate half-brother to the King, however. Tsk tsk," she said. "Maybe it's the source of your insecurity."
"I don't care what you offer me, I'm not going telling you anything. I trust you as far as I can throw you. Had you any sense at all, you would have just sent for Prince Merthyr directly, since you no doubt heard we were talking in Sheridan." She did not sit down, her eyes narrowing further due to the light from the fire. Whenever Sir Pentre mentioned that the prince was late to his own wedding, she snickered in a very malicious sort of way, as if she knew things that he did not. Her grin widened, and it was not at all friendly. "Oh, is he? Prince Merthyr feels he has been treated very unfairly. I'm not sure that he will be returning in time for his wedding," she said. The rogue was not refusing to say anything out of loyalty to the prince, but because of her hatred for Sir Pentre. "I did learn you are an illegitimate half-brother to the King, however. Tsk tsk," she said. "Maybe it's the source of your insecurity."
Pentre immediately stood up offended, looking at her with a scowl, it was clear she was holding back. He snatched his shirt all too carelessly and put it back on clearly irate at her revelation. It was obvious by her remark that she would not let him live it down.
"If you are calling me son of a whore... let it be the last time you do. I will pay you any sum to forget such a knowledge." offered Pentre "I am sure with enough gold and silver, lips can be sealed enough to not let such rare gossip leave these four walls. The alternative is a rather painful removal of your tongue... my preference... of course, but, entirely up to you which one it is to be" bribed and threatened Pentre right away
"I always thought you to be a careless self-serving outlaw, one who cared not for politics, crowns and kingdoms. Seems I misjudged you and since you have turned out to be such a keen royalist... I may as well fill you in on the family's affairs that not even my nephew knows about.
My mother.... was Helen the Fair, sultana of Mercia... not a common whore at all. Years ago, she visited this kingdom to ransom her husband, sultan Cenrid of Mercia, who had been taken captive by border while on a hunting trip. At the time Cenrid was taken to a settlement called Sheridan. However, on the night of the sultan's release a drunkard king Richard of Camelot took advantage of Helen. He forced himself in the presence of her husband even after the ransom money had been paid... and he kept her. It was not till noon three days later that sultan and his wife were permitted to leave Camelot. Once king Richard of Camelot was sober again, a few formal apologies were issued, mostly blaming the strong Mercian wines. Nobody since that day spoke of these shameful deeds and eventful nights. But, it caused a rift between Mercia and Camelot, an enmity that has never healed. Excessive mating has its unforeseen consequences, I was born from Richard and Helen, it makes me of royal blood on both sides yet direct heir to none, given I was born out-of-wedlock through adultery by either side" muttered Pentre clearly fuming at the suggestion of being an illegitimate child, tugging the shirt down over his chest irked at the offensive wording.
"Camelot must repair the dishonour it brought upon Mercia. I will ensure reparations by forcing Camelot to unite to Mercia through marriage. My half niece and my half nephew shall put an end to this feud once they're wed. A union where I stand to benefit greatly from... wealth wise. See, my lands extend between south of Mercia and north Camelot and have always been depleted of stability or wealth due to the constant skirmishes from either side. Once there is peace, I shall become the Warden of the North, its overlord, without king or kingdom to kowtow to, and good relations to both sides. A ruler in my own right" explained Pentre
"There is one loose end that needs tying up. However, a young man called Leonardo who also has a right to throne of Camelot. He is Merthyr's younger brother but... neither knows this. The boy was sent away at birth by king Conrad himself so that the two brothers would never fight over the throne. This lack of knowledge and lack of contact prevents uprises and treason. The heir was kept in Camelot, the spare... was sent away to fend for himself. If something happened to Merthyr... Leonardo would assume the crown... unless he relinquishes all rights to the throne. That is where you come in, you will find the lad and you will make him sign this abdication. It will be my wedding gift to prince Merthyr. A crown without challengers or contestants.
I know, I know, you feel like you would refuse to help. Clearly your hatred for me runs deep and is on even footing to my hatred for you no doubt. Given the opportunity, I have no doubt we would put a blade at each other's throats and poison each other's drinks. But that is for another day. For the next encounter perhaps. At present, you have services I need off you and I have services you need off me. Seems, we sorely need each other, purely for self-serving reasons" explained Pentre walking over to a heavily adorned chest and extracting a holy symbol of Shar and tossing it at Janella for her to catch and examine.
"This belongs to a cleric... she is still alive... awaiting execution for treason. Erylin uses magic and that makes her a sorcerer, guilty of high treason these days. I might just have a change of heart and pardon her... out of royal mercy... but releasing her requires... fresh ink on this parchment." explained Pentre blackmailing Janella into his service, extending the unsigned document
"I will bring the cleric to Sheridan, you shall bring Leonardo, his signed abdication, or both. We shall trade, a prisoner for a prisoner. That's the friendliest our relationship get to ever be. Once delivered, expect to be hanged if caught again. You are an outlaw after all, an accomplished assassin, a criminal of every dark sort... and I, on the other hand, I am the sword of justice that will extinguish your freedom and breath... in due time" waved Pentre confidently
"About Leonardo, some say the boy is one of your Snakes, a rogue who lives in the wilderness, roaming to and fro doing paid business. Others call him a people's hero, an honourable ranger who helps stranded travellers in the hour of need, providing them food, shelter and medical care out of the goodness of his heart. A few consider him a tinkerer happy to make a few coin here and there through his labour and skills. Be it as as it may, your task is to find him and... convince... him to sign his royal right away, better if you bring him, dead or alive... preferably dead. Dead men tell no tales. Dead spares are no heirs. Do we have an accord? or shall I set alight a pyre with a certain healer consigned to the flames?" quizzed Pentre glancing back at Janella
"If you are calling me son of a whore... let it be the last time you do. I will pay you any sum to forget such a knowledge." offered Pentre "I am sure with enough gold and silver, lips can be sealed enough to not let such rare gossip leave these four walls. The alternative is a rather painful removal of your tongue... my preference... of course, but, entirely up to you which one it is to be" bribed and threatened Pentre right away
"I always thought you to be a careless self-serving outlaw, one who cared not for politics, crowns and kingdoms. Seems I misjudged you and since you have turned out to be such a keen royalist... I may as well fill you in on the family's affairs that not even my nephew knows about.
My mother.... was Helen the Fair, sultana of Mercia... not a common whore at all. Years ago, she visited this kingdom to ransom her husband, sultan Cenrid of Mercia, who had been taken captive by border while on a hunting trip. At the time Cenrid was taken to a settlement called Sheridan. However, on the night of the sultan's release a drunkard king Richard of Camelot took advantage of Helen. He forced himself in the presence of her husband even after the ransom money had been paid... and he kept her. It was not till noon three days later that sultan and his wife were permitted to leave Camelot. Once king Richard of Camelot was sober again, a few formal apologies were issued, mostly blaming the strong Mercian wines. Nobody since that day spoke of these shameful deeds and eventful nights. But, it caused a rift between Mercia and Camelot, an enmity that has never healed. Excessive mating has its unforeseen consequences, I was born from Richard and Helen, it makes me of royal blood on both sides yet direct heir to none, given I was born out-of-wedlock through adultery by either side" muttered Pentre clearly fuming at the suggestion of being an illegitimate child, tugging the shirt down over his chest irked at the offensive wording.
"Camelot must repair the dishonour it brought upon Mercia. I will ensure reparations by forcing Camelot to unite to Mercia through marriage. My half niece and my half nephew shall put an end to this feud once they're wed. A union where I stand to benefit greatly from... wealth wise. See, my lands extend between south of Mercia and north Camelot and have always been depleted of stability or wealth due to the constant skirmishes from either side. Once there is peace, I shall become the Warden of the North, its overlord, without king or kingdom to kowtow to, and good relations to both sides. A ruler in my own right" explained Pentre
"There is one loose end that needs tying up. However, a young man called Leonardo who also has a right to throne of Camelot. He is Merthyr's younger brother but... neither knows this. The boy was sent away at birth by king Conrad himself so that the two brothers would never fight over the throne. This lack of knowledge and lack of contact prevents uprises and treason. The heir was kept in Camelot, the spare... was sent away to fend for himself. If something happened to Merthyr... Leonardo would assume the crown... unless he relinquishes all rights to the throne. That is where you come in, you will find the lad and you will make him sign this abdication. It will be my wedding gift to prince Merthyr. A crown without challengers or contestants.
I know, I know, you feel like you would refuse to help. Clearly your hatred for me runs deep and is on even footing to my hatred for you no doubt. Given the opportunity, I have no doubt we would put a blade at each other's throats and poison each other's drinks. But that is for another day. For the next encounter perhaps. At present, you have services I need off you and I have services you need off me. Seems, we sorely need each other, purely for self-serving reasons" explained Pentre walking over to a heavily adorned chest and extracting a holy symbol of Shar and tossing it at Janella for her to catch and examine.
"This belongs to a cleric... she is still alive... awaiting execution for treason. Erylin uses magic and that makes her a sorcerer, guilty of high treason these days. I might just have a change of heart and pardon her... out of royal mercy... but releasing her requires... fresh ink on this parchment." explained Pentre blackmailing Janella into his service, extending the unsigned document
"I will bring the cleric to Sheridan, you shall bring Leonardo, his signed abdication, or both. We shall trade, a prisoner for a prisoner. That's the friendliest our relationship get to ever be. Once delivered, expect to be hanged if caught again. You are an outlaw after all, an accomplished assassin, a criminal of every dark sort... and I, on the other hand, I am the sword of justice that will extinguish your freedom and breath... in due time" waved Pentre confidently
"About Leonardo, some say the boy is one of your Snakes, a rogue who lives in the wilderness, roaming to and fro doing paid business. Others call him a people's hero, an honourable ranger who helps stranded travellers in the hour of need, providing them food, shelter and medical care out of the goodness of his heart. A few consider him a tinkerer happy to make a few coin here and there through his labour and skills. Be it as as it may, your task is to find him and... convince... him to sign his royal right away, better if you bring him, dead or alive... preferably dead. Dead men tell no tales. Dead spares are no heirs. Do we have an accord? or shall I set alight a pyre with a certain healer consigned to the flames?" quizzed Pentre glancing back at Janella
Janella relished the fact that she had been able to get under his skin. She’d like to slice down deeper, if she could. “I’d no intention of spreading it about, just the knowledge and seeing that it angered you is enough for me. You can try removing my tongue but I might take a much more treasured appendage of your own,” she said, venom infused in every syllable.
She stood and listened, arms crossed over her chest and glaring, watching every movement, as he spoke. “I never called you a son-of-a-whore, just illegitimate, as your parents were not married,” she said. The mixed elf was not in any position to criticize, having been born into slavery and escaping due to a mix of good fortune and her own wits. She still took in every word, knowing that Prince Merthyr probably did not know much of this. Realizing that Leonardo was Merthyr’s younger brother, she thought that the intrigue just kept getting deeper and deeper here. The betrayals, crimes and plot with these royals just got juicier all the time.
The rogue was about to tell him she had no need of his services, when she saw the holy symbol of Shar. Her dark eyes went wide with recognition before rage contorted her features. How had he captured Erilyn?! Memories of when they had met, worked together, sat and talked about the traumas of growing up under dark elves, rushed through her mind’s eye. Erilyn was a full-blooded drow of noble birth who had been exiled, but she and Janella always made sure to cross paths from time to time. Erilyn was the closest thing that Janella ever had to a friend. “You bastard!” she screamed at him, snatching the symbol from the air and advancing on him. A dagger, the blade stained with dark substances that were no doubt poisons, was in her hand so fast it might have gotten there by magic.
She halted, pacing back and forth and keeping her malicious gaze on him, as he spoke of what their deal would be, much like a tiger behind the bars of its cage. Janella was seething, thinking of Erilyn being kept imprisoned. “She’s a cleric, you superstitious fools,” she said, spitting on the ground in her anger. “Someday, I’m going to cut up your face so much not even a whore will touch you, not even for the highest fee!” she said, her grip tightening on the hilt of her dagger so much that the knuckles on her hand were almost white. With a great effort, she kept herself from making good on her promise at that very moment. Erilyn was the only person that knew something of what she’d been through.
“I will be in Sheridan with this Leonardo, and we will exchange them,” she said through gritted teeth. “But one day, I will kill you, if it’s the last thing I do.” She put a hand out toward him, lighting him up with faerie fire. It was harmless, only intended to light a target and make it easier for them to hit, but she doubted that Pentre knew that. Her intention was only to scare him. Janella stormed out, the door slamming into the wall, her cloak swept behind her. People jumped to get out of her way, falling into the wall so that she didn’t run into them. When she got outside, she wanted to scream out her rage and slice someone. Instead, she forced herself to focus. She had to find this Leonardo out in the woods, had to bring him to Sheridan whether he liked it or not. To hell with Pentre and Prince Merthyr and his foolish ideas. She was going to get Erilyn her freedom, and then they would take their revenge. She went to her guild, so she could start gathering all the information she could about Leo and figure out how to set a trap for him.
She stood and listened, arms crossed over her chest and glaring, watching every movement, as he spoke. “I never called you a son-of-a-whore, just illegitimate, as your parents were not married,” she said. The mixed elf was not in any position to criticize, having been born into slavery and escaping due to a mix of good fortune and her own wits. She still took in every word, knowing that Prince Merthyr probably did not know much of this. Realizing that Leonardo was Merthyr’s younger brother, she thought that the intrigue just kept getting deeper and deeper here. The betrayals, crimes and plot with these royals just got juicier all the time.
The rogue was about to tell him she had no need of his services, when she saw the holy symbol of Shar. Her dark eyes went wide with recognition before rage contorted her features. How had he captured Erilyn?! Memories of when they had met, worked together, sat and talked about the traumas of growing up under dark elves, rushed through her mind’s eye. Erilyn was a full-blooded drow of noble birth who had been exiled, but she and Janella always made sure to cross paths from time to time. Erilyn was the closest thing that Janella ever had to a friend. “You bastard!” she screamed at him, snatching the symbol from the air and advancing on him. A dagger, the blade stained with dark substances that were no doubt poisons, was in her hand so fast it might have gotten there by magic.
She halted, pacing back and forth and keeping her malicious gaze on him, as he spoke of what their deal would be, much like a tiger behind the bars of its cage. Janella was seething, thinking of Erilyn being kept imprisoned. “She’s a cleric, you superstitious fools,” she said, spitting on the ground in her anger. “Someday, I’m going to cut up your face so much not even a whore will touch you, not even for the highest fee!” she said, her grip tightening on the hilt of her dagger so much that the knuckles on her hand were almost white. With a great effort, she kept herself from making good on her promise at that very moment. Erilyn was the only person that knew something of what she’d been through.
“I will be in Sheridan with this Leonardo, and we will exchange them,” she said through gritted teeth. “But one day, I will kill you, if it’s the last thing I do.” She put a hand out toward him, lighting him up with faerie fire. It was harmless, only intended to light a target and make it easier for them to hit, but she doubted that Pentre knew that. Her intention was only to scare him. Janella stormed out, the door slamming into the wall, her cloak swept behind her. People jumped to get out of her way, falling into the wall so that she didn’t run into them. When she got outside, she wanted to scream out her rage and slice someone. Instead, she forced herself to focus. She had to find this Leonardo out in the woods, had to bring him to Sheridan whether he liked it or not. To hell with Pentre and Prince Merthyr and his foolish ideas. She was going to get Erilyn her freedom, and then they would take their revenge. She went to her guild, so she could start gathering all the information she could about Leo and figure out how to set a trap for him.
Moderators: Tusitala Guardian_Girl Raider-jack29 The Hanged Man (played anonymously) Janella Silentread (played by JustaBitEvil) Catriona and Calum (played by Cherry_Red) Fulco (played by Reyn) Nettle (played anonymously)