Medieval Fantasy Adult Only RP

The Order of the Silver Gauntlet has always been the most presitigious army in the kingdom of Maestreg. Their word is unchallenged, their command is immediately followed, they are the king's eyes, ears and mouth. Judge, jury and executioner all single handedly and without appeal.

While the majority of knights aspire to join the king's side and favour within this order, very very few are ever allowed to join from the outside, only the lord knight of the Order may grant that permission on recommendation from the king. Formed off the members of the royal family in its different ancient lineages, the priviledge to enter is passed by bloodline from father to son. Every time a firstborn son is born, he is gifted a unique piece of jewelry bearing the family's coat of arms, to ensure he can easily be found and join later in life wherever life may lead them.

While it is not strictly demanded, members of the order follow the highest possible way of life. They are seen as righteous, fair and just. They marry among popular nobles and powerful royalty and procure themselves a worthy bride to bear that important first child. They shun scandalous lifestyles and briberies and uphold themselves to the Old Code of Chivalry more often than not.

To support such a lasting position of power, that of an order who topple and make kings and queens, the Order has a network of Temples scattered throughout the realm within which lay stored vasts amounts of wealth. Trespass leads to immediate execution to deter pillagers and only those with a written permission from the lord knight may remove any of its funds that are always accounted for and ever increasing.

At a war with the south bordering kingdom of Wyndham,the yet unmarried head knight of the Order, lord Lucas, was defeated... in fact... he surrendered into enemy hands to spare the rest of his men's lives who watched ashamed as their mighty leader was taken in chains deep into enemy territory, leaving behind a wounded king among disarmed men.

Having fallen into the wrong hands and a relentless enemy, Lucas's spirit finally broke, his morals faltered and he ended up embracing a woman in nights of forbidden passion for the amusement of his masters who saw this as their complete victory over the righteous head knight. This lead to Lucas bearing that all important first son during his captivity.

Made to return to Maestreg under threat of execution when his ransom was paid up, Sir Lucas was forced to leave behind the little boy, unable to see his son or speak to him ever again. None but the king knew of the child born out-of-wedlock child, the future head knight of the order if the lad ever managed to escape Wyndham and return to Maestreg. The only consolation... the family ring he left behind with the only son lord Lucas ever had.

Years have passed and the newborn is a lad of age, exploring the worlds and kingdoms as much as his merchant master will allow him to do.

When he returned to Maestreg the lad was not a powerful mighty wealthy lord everyone expected but a lowly, lively, cheeky slave, working for a merchant like so many more that came and went in these times of peace, but, his destiny still remains to defend the royalty of Maestreg, his rightful and future monarch, and rule over the mighty Order of the Gauntlet like his father, grandfather and those that came before him had done. Unfortunately, the first encounter between protector and royal protegee didn't exactly go according to plan for neither knew who the other truly was and their entwined fates

Dawn had long passed, the markets were bustling with laughter and chatter, traders and customers battering away and sealing deals when Taff Gelligen, prince Fulco's manservant, finally woke the prince up, the room warm, the breakfast served, the regalia and robes ready to help the prince wake and change.

"Good morning, your highness, you shall be pleased to know the merchants from Wyndham have finally arrived, four caravans worth of exotic cloths, trinkets, jewellery, weapons, goods of every kind, foods and... slaves... are heading to the lower square to set up the stalls" added Taff revealing the location.

Slavery was frowned upon in Maestreg, slaves were found but they were few and far between, mostly they were indebted men who resorted to enslavement to settle otherwise unsurmountable debts.

"Breakfast is served" waved Taff in a bow, letting the prince sit to eat before tidying the room and making the bed

Fulco was quiet as he sat up in bed, as he usually was. He replied to Taff mainly in grunts, or single words of command. He barely spared a glance in the servant's direction as he dressed, preferring flamboyant displays of his nobility in his attire. His finery was bright, and advertised the royal arms of Maestreg plainly on his chest. He sat at the table without giving a word of thanks, beginning to eat. As Taff made mention of Wyndhamian slaves he paused, frowning.

The prince had a stern and cold reputation, but he was never known to look favorably upon the practice. After several moments of silent contemplation he poked at his food again, speaking in a cool tone. "I suppose we ought to have a look, see if they have anything interesting." Something in his downturned gaze suggested he was more keen on looking for trouble with the foreign merchants.

Taff smiled at the prince and his clear intentions that were written upon his visage like an open book, at least, for the manservant. After all these years together, Taff knew very well of the Prince's intentions and antics.

"I need not remind your royal highness that the markets, whilst lively and vibrant, they are not safe at all. The streets are always full of hidden dangers, especially busy corners, bustling taverns, narrow dark alleyways, not to mention that peace with Wyndham remains very fragile at beast and they can easily turn enemies, sire. Please make sure to bring armed escort and take all the necessary precautions, my liege" Requested Taff concerned at that look of mischief that was clearly seeking trouble, the young manservant preparing pouches of gold and silver pieces of varying amounts to facilitate paying for the purchases according to the prince's whims

"I'm well aware of the danger." Fulco replied sharply, hearing what he believed was an implication of ignorance or naivety in Taff's warning. He continued eating, scowling at his plate. "As though I couldn't handle whatever fool thief or cutthroat blundered at me..." Despite this outburst, he chewed over the servant's words for a silent moment before sighing in acquiescence. "We'll bring a few of the house guards along, but I want them to follow at a distance. Last thing I need is some soldier stepping on my heels while I'm trying to shop."

Finishing his breakfast he went to put on his sword belt, a beautifully crafted rapier hanging from the scabbard. He threw his cloak over his shoulders and clasped it before turning to Taff with an imperious expression. "Let's be off then." As for the peace with Wyndham, the prince didn't look concerned with maintaining appearances at all. His distaste for their long standing rivals to the south was well known.

"Of course, highness. I shall tell the guards to keep a distance so as to not disturb your majesty's acquisitions." nodded Taff keeping pace with the royal, walking three steps behind the prince as protocol mandated, on his way out gazing up at the skies with a silent prayer, wishing that all went well least the king demanded the servants' head yet with that ominous feeling he couldn't shake off that something, somehow would go wrong, how wrong it remained to be seen.

All actions, no matter how small, carry at times unforeseen consequences, the extent of which can unleash unpredictable events and unwittingly change fates and affect the course and destiny of entire nations.

On this occasion, the day started off like any other, with morning dew that sparkled upon the grass and cobbled stones of the great city of Valoria, the great capital city of the kingdom of Maestreg.

A handful of tired guards were reaching the barracks for their well-earned rest after the lengthy and gruelling night watch, their duties to keep the city safe and enforce law and order, now taken over by other guards who were refreshed and alert after a good night sleep.

At the heart of the city, the main streets opened up to many squares where merchants set up stalls to sell their wares, bringing fashionable goods, exotic foods and much needed varied provisions from spices and fruits to cloth, tools, remedies, and other wares.



The people were spread across the city's different layers and levels according to their wealth, social class, and purchasing power. At the highest level was where the nobles lived in fancy large manors sprawled closest to the castle, along the main road, safely guarded by the passing knights and guards at the king's service. Towards the end of the high level was where the wealthy merchants and educated citizens like healers and tutors and court scribes lived. Their homes are still enclosed by the gated wall which lead to the middle level.

This middle layer, which was by far the largest portion of the city, was where the law-abiding middle-class citizens lived. Ordinary commoners like artisans and traders of every kind resided here. There was the healing house, the theatre and the barracks where the knights trained and the town's guards lived. It had its own stables too.



Towards the end of this middle level, one would also find the many workshops and forges in full swing, the choking fumes, endless clanging and loud banging noises at all times were not so pleasant when passing them by, yet they were much needed workshops all the same.



A further, thicker taller wall separated these overall honest citizens from the slums which were made of crammed, unkempt, and shoddy buildings, uneven and unsightly, a mish-mash of properties made of straw roofs and low-quality wood, ghastly to look at and unfit for human use, for they were often rat-infested dwellings with poor ventilation, poor sanitation and poorer lighting.

One could see sparse torches, that shed meagre light to the walls, windows, tatty doors, badly patched here and there whenever the greedy landlords could be bothered to do any sort of repairs.



This lowest level of the city was crime-ridden, barely watched, where the riff-raff lived. A mixture of homeless, orphans, thieves, unemployed, or extremely low-paid workers shared this hideous area. The taverns offered the ladies of the night ample clientele along with the cheapest meals and drinks, for travellers were occasionally forced to take up what rooms were spare if they reached the city after curfew and the gates were already closed.

There was the grim orphanage as well, but just as overcrowded as the houses around it. In this outer city, there were no neatly cobbled roads with pleasant flower pots, sculptures nor nice displays, rather it was a labyrinth of similar-looking streets, a mish-mash of uneven dirty floors made of muddy soil, badly laid down stones, steep coarse dark alleyways, dusty paths, narrow spaces that were filthy and crowded by the day, or frightening to travel through by night. The slums were where one could find the cheapest and smallest accommodations for those lucky enough to be able to afford them, or mayhap a larger room to share among many other strangers, most of the area residents enduring chronic lack of decent wages and ever-growing debts.

It was at the lowest and most ominous level of the city, by the stench of the sewers, where the lowly, hard-working slaves were kept in terrible conditions. Those fortunate enough would be kept chained or caged in warehouses, with the added benefit they kept watch over the wares meant for the markets and those better-off.

These large grotty buildings in clear disrepair were not far from the mouth of the sewers, where one would also find the city's port and docks that extended alongside the rows of these rundown warehouses.

Between building and building there were also simpler enclosures that offered no protection at all against the elements nor the bitter wintry icy winds. In these sort of barely closed off spaces was were the less fortunate slaves were kept at, among dusty ores, wood, sands and other raw materials used for constructions or else among the cattle, cows, horses, pigs, chickens and what not which were also intended for the markets and the better off.



The sea breeze and crashing waves, especially during strong Winter storms, created much dampness in these frontline dwellings, if they could be called that, which were in clear estate of disrepair, not that anyone seemed too troubled about it.

Drunkards, notorious pirates, and brigands, and many other persons of dubious walks of life gathered by the seaport to conduct their more than questionable, shady businesses and dishonest trades. The slaves and low paid workers would come here by the docks, and bring the goods into the middle layer markets and bazaars, kept under the watchful eyes of the law to ensure no rebellion struck and caused riots.

Among the renowned pirates from the various wanted posters, stood out young Adrian Teach. He was an old seadog despite his young years and youthful scraggy appearance. He had earned more than his own fair share of a ruthless reputation, especially for thievery and run-ins with the law. His father, Edward Teach... infamously called Blackbeard... was notorious for his cruelty and bloodlust and illegal trading, lately spending time locked up at the dungeon's tower over unpaid taxes, finally arrested by the Order of the Silver Gauntlet.

Adrian preferred close encounters and brushes with the law instead of outright murder, though it was not beyond his grasp if needed be. He preferred the thrill of danger, having confronted guards and knights alike, without the least caution or care; he had escaped justice's grasp on many occasions and it was his ability to scurry away from the many dungeons and various holding cells that exasperated most knights.

Adrian truly was a street rat, without steady employment or income, he relied on his precision at dagger throwing in the taverns competitions, on cheating at the cards, and petty thieving of those distracted enough, just to get by and offered services at the docks helping unload cargo as and when vacancies for work were announced.

He had a taste for rum and was always keen to cause a ruckus. He was a gambler without remedy, reckless and resourceful much like his father was known to be, if not more, yet unlike his elders, Adrian possessed a heart of gold, filled with compassion for the lesser than him, giving away much of what he laid hands upon. He also possessed true swordsmanship the likes of which one struggled to find in the realm. Both qualities, swordsmanship and generosity having been learned from none other than his best friend Wesley. If Adrian was a gem in the making, Wesley was a diamond in the rough. They just needed the right opportunity in life to turn their fortune around.

Wesley was an exceedingly resourceful and skilled slave from Wyndham. He had been raised a blacksmith's slave for most of his years thus he was well versed in every weapon and its usage, faultlessly so at that. He had to have such mastery if he was to find faults and repair them to perfection. He was able to fight fairly and play dirty alike to ensure his victory. Though, unlike Adrian, he was too honourable and skilled to resort to trickery.

With the hard labour he had become rather muscular and strong too, despite his young years, able to easily hold his ground against one and many armed men. Though from time to time he had been defiant to given commands which lead him into chastisements and greater trouble, in the form of harder and longer work to put him back to his place.

After catching Cenrid's attention, an extravagantly wealthy trader from Mercia, Wyndham's capital city, the youth was sold on and was forced to leave behind Sandspire, his calm and quiet village, his master's forge, taking nothing with him but a signet ring that held little meaning to him other than remind him of the old man and place he once called home.

From then onwards, there was no day of rest and idleness in his schedule. He was at times used to train gladiators, at times used for hard labour like carving marble and stone, or chopping wood, shifting ores and loading and unloading heavy merchandise. Other times he put to work on blacksmith's chores from making delicate trinkets and lavish jewellery to heavy tools, chains and sharpening weapons. He had to expand his skills to work wood, leather, cloth, wool, ropes to ivory and all sort of ores and stones, whatever his master wanted, he would have to provide and to a good enough standard to avoid further reprimands. One could think of him as a resourceful tinkerer with an unusually strong sense of duty guided by a solid moral compass.

Under Cenrid, Wesley also travelled a lot more, far and wide across Wyndham and onward to other countries beyond the known borders. He had met Adrian in Valoria's ports during a rough storm, whilst unloading Cenrid's ships and the pair had become best of friends, spending time together, whenever Wesley's master travelled to Maestreg to sell his wares, this being one of the many occasions.

"Fancy seeing you here again so soon" greeted Adrian from the adjacent ship, casually spinning his compass, one of the few keepsakes he kept for himself which he had inherited from his father and grandfather before him. The ship he was currently helping unload was still docked, though practically empty by then. Adrian was walking along the decking during his short rest when he caught sight of his good friend Wesley and exchanged a few words of greeting.



"Indeed, Adrian, indeed. We are back to Valoria from Mercia. Seems master Cenrid's business is thriving here" nodded Wesley shifting crates in preparation to offboard them

"Come on Adrian, give a hand... we need to carry these expensive trinkets to the main square. We can't let less skilled thieves rob us blind now, can we?" teased Wesley, Adrian having been hired by Cenrid alongside other cheap local labour to help unload and protect the goods and see them safely brought to market.

Once the loads had been entered into the workshop, Adrian and the other labourers were paid in silver and dismissed for the day, the rest of work left to Wesley and a handful of other slaves who carried on diligently and without protest, after all, they were nothing but disposable slaves.

For the most part it seemed a rather uneventful day, filled with mundane chores. He had unloaded cargo, then he had been spending hours chopping wood at the back and brought the logs to the forge to keep the coals hot. It was hard work, but, even worse to have to lit up the furnaces again. Having ensured the fires were kept roaring, he collected polished wares and brought them to the market stalls, and had just finished carrying pails of water for the horses, for the marketplace and for the forge.

Far from the bleak and despairing life that the citizens endured at the furthest and lowest corners of Valoria, right at the heart of the city itself, risen on a plateau above all others, sprouted the royal palace, elevated high for all to see from all corners even from a very great distance. This was the castle where the royal family lived and ruled over all the lands and vassals alike, which lacked nothing, even its own hunting grounds at the back of it.



The widowed king Conrad had grown old and weary, distraught at his wife's passing, he had put all his trust upon Sir Lucas of Askia and the grand Order of the Silver Gauntlet to protect and educate his son and help run the kingdom until the youth was deemed worthy of the crown.

For now, the prince was still rather young and reckless, and it had not escaped Sir Lucas attention the rumours that abound along the palace halls that the prince often absconded from the castle grounds, yet again, without adequate royal escort, to roam the city beneath them at leisure, placing himself in inevitable danger, as it happened on this very morning, causing the lord knight, the prince's mentor to exhale when he was informed.

"Would you have me escort him back to his lessons?" asked Sir Igor



"No, no, leave him be on this occasion but have the gates watched that he may not leave the city" waved Sir Lucas

Fulco made no effort to hide his identity as he walked through the market square, one more quirk that caused great distress among those charged with protecting him. His unique appearance would have been easily recognizable enough, with his silver hair looking starkly out of place on a young man. But he was also tall and handsome, dressed as richly as he would at a noble's ball, and displayed his castle-forged weapon plainly on his waist. A thief could not ask for a more appealing target, but Fulco's hawk-like gaze suggested he welcomed the attempt.

He walked at a brisk pace, happy to let Taff and his guard struggle to keep up in the crush of the crowd. He kept his chin high and proud as marketgoers hastily made way for him, scanning the stalls for anything of interest. The actual goods were not what he was inspecting however. It was the sellers. He looked over each man and woman carefully, reading their dress and appearance and trying to find the Wyndhamians he was intent on meeting. If he offered any words they were short and interrogative, asking where goods came from, the materials they were made of and the meaning behind their designs. He bought nothing though. His walk about the market created more the sense of an inquisition then a curious shopper, and he was beginning to stoke an uneasy tension in those nearby.

Wesley had barely finished puttting down the buckets of water when his eyes caught sight of a wealthier buyer trying to steal a sword from Nora, another Wyndhamian slave who was manning their stall and was a good friend of Wesley.

"Sir, the blade costs fifty silver pieces, you cannot simply take it. Please, return it" protested Nora in dismay at the theft. Seeing the buyer smirking at Nora prompted Wesley came over, unafraid to confront the thief.

"What if I do not?" taunted lord Jason used to taking what he wanted from whomever he wanted

"I would put that back if I were you... or pay for the goods if they are so pleasing to you... my lord. A man of your station who can afford such high quality silk shirts with golden embroidered coat of arms, can easily afford the sharpened sword" suggested Wesley, picking up his own sword and confronting the rich man who thought he could take what he wanted on account of belonging to nobility and pay nothing for it.



"Else what? What will you do? Commoners are not permitted to wield swords in public, it is against the law to do so, more so if you threaten a lord of the realm" scolded Jason

"Please, do not neglect laws on my account. Feel free to try to disarm me... if you feel up to the task. I never give away my steel, especially to a noble... thief" scolded Wesley, taking steps back and forth during the fight



Jason had tried to disarm Wesley but the peasant was too skilled, far too well trained and with a good grip on the unusual blade. It would be impossible to prey it away from Wesley's hand. The hilt of that sword, wasn't an ordinary blade either. It had engravings and markings typical of Valoria's highest ranking nobility, though the slave seemed unaware of its significance.

After some time fighting, lord Jason ended up tired, for he was not used to hard chores as Wesley was, slavery having helped Wesley build resilience and endurance.

It was obvious Jason was losing ground and creating a spectacle as more passers-by stopped to watch, some going as far as cheering and placing bets,

With one quick gesture, Wesley got two swords and Jason none to claim as his own any more, the stolen goods returned into Wesley's hands by his better swordsmanship. Lord Jason, however, rather than pay or leave he decided to pull rank instead, calling several guards come over and to stop the young man

"Guards! Arrest the peasant! He refuses to disarm and surrender and attacked a lord of the realm!" called out Jason watching the guards rush forward to help

Wesley, of course, was having none of it, now fighting off the guards too. He put his leather coat back on to prevent injury as much as he could, tossing the stolen sword back to Nora for her to return it to the market stall while he pushed them back.

He was doing a good job at keeping guards and knights and Jason at bay until he caught sight of master Cenrid coming back from perusing the city. The fight had to stop regardless.



Wesley immediately lowered and put away his sword, bending down to the ground to kneel before his master and owner. Head ducked even deeper, as a mark of respect. One of the guards kicked his stomach hard enough to make Wesley bend over even further in a mild groan but the youth didn't retaliate or speak out of turn.

Cenrid crushed Wesley's back with his boot, rubbing the sharp heel deeper.

"Next time you scare away my clientele, I will send you to the butchers to be ground to the bone and your carcass and flesh shall be fed to my dogs. Now, get back to work, grab the pails and go water the horses" Scolded Cenrid, watching Wesley kiss his boots at the merciful opportunity to make amends and hurry to take the filled buckets to the beasts, making as many trips as required to ensure the horses were well watered.

Cenrid saw Fulco making his way to the furthest stalls, his own. This was no ordinary buyer, his mannerisms, the robes he wore, the golden crest clearly glowing upon his chest and the way people bowed and moved out of the way could only mean one thing... royalty... Perhaps not all sales were lost.

It was just most unfortunate that the guards tripped Wesley up and pushed him out of the way with enough force that the buckets spilled and sent the content flying towards Fulco, causing Cenrid to grow pale faced in case the icy water soaked the royal or even his path.

Hearing a commotion coming from the furthest stalls, Fulco's curiosity was immediately piqued. Beneath the chattering and shouting of the crowd he could make out the clashing of steel. All the guards running in that direction only confirmed the thought. Fulco left his own household guards behind, muscling his way through the crowd to try and catch sight of the action. One hand reflexively gripped the hilt of his rapier, ready to draw it on a moment's notice.

At first it was hard for him to navigate the swarming crowd, even with his angry commands for passage. Once the marketgoers caught sight of him and registered his appearance they quickly started making a hole however. Even so, by the time he reached the head of the crowd the excitement seemed to be over. The market guards were dispersing, as was one angry looking noble. Fulco started approaching the stall where the fight seemed to have been centered, hoping to gain some information. In the moment he let his guard down, and only noticed too late the peasant stumbling towards him.

Fulco froze in place as he was drenched by the flung water, a gasp of shock and horror coming from the nearest onlookers. After the moment of pure astonishment passed, Fulco turned a furious gaze on Wesley, practically shaking with rage. Even his usually authoritative voice turned to a barely controlled splutter. "You... idiot!" He managed to get out, gritting his teeth. "Have you got two left feet? Damn fool!" He made jerking motions, tugging at his soaked clothing.

Cenrid looked stunned, speechless and horrified as his slave caused the prince to get soaked in cold icy water. He immediately ventured into his tent to find suitable replacement clothes for the prince least he caught a cold and fell ill and an expensive gift suitable for royalty.

"I will have it sorted right away, your highness" Spluttered Cenrid nervously looking into his chest of most expensive outfits intended for the sultan of Wyndham though it would take some time to choose the right gift from among so many trinkets

Wesley frowned deeply, clearly bothered at being insulted, called an idiot and clumsy when it had not even been his fault that he was pushed out of the blue by the defeated guards.

"Easy for you to say, when everyone moves out of your way" Pointed Wesley standing up and dusting himself, collecting the now empty buckets unhappy.

"No need to be such an ass, you know, it is only a bit of cold water at the end of the day, your clothes will dry up quickly enough. Surely you must have noticed your guards shoving me unexpectedly towards your path and tripping my feet on purpose, or are royals too busy admiring fawning commoners to pay attention to their own guards' harassing actions?" Quizzed Wesley not about to plead guilty over an accident caused by others with malicious intent.

"I find the crown should not have to rely on idiot slaves with two left feet and superior swordsmanship to help prevent thefts at the local markets. What kingdom relies on cattle to keep law and order anyways?" Muttered Wesley shaking his head

"In any case, while I'd love to bask in the greatness of your presence, I am hard pressed for time, with much work to do still, my lord. With your leave... your highness" Muttered Wesley making a deep bow in reverence and straightening up right after, slowly backing off and withdrawing a bit, waiting to be dismissed altogether

Fulco stood dumbfounded for a moment, mouth agape in disbelief. The last thing the prince expected was to receive insults in kind, and a lecture from a commoner. A slave even! The man spoke of things Fulco had not directly witnessed, and he was left only more confused and enraged by the accusations. Thus any sympathy he might have typically held for the slave was overshadowed by the prince's infamous temper. He lifted a hand to push some wet locks out of his face as he tried to control himself enough to speak.

"You recognize me as royalty and yet you have the audacity to speak to me in such a manner?" He started in a low, ferocious voice. "You should be begging my forgiveness. And what are you on about, insulting the honor of my father's men?" He glanced around at the remaining guards, who had likewise frozen in place when the incident occurred, including those that had shoved Wesley. "Well? Someone speak up!" He made no move to dismiss the slave, clearly intent on drawing out the truth of the situation.

Nora, who stood by the stall, knelt briefly and rose up to speak to the royal prince from where she stood, not daring to get closer to royalty, her eyes staring at the guards involved with a steady gaze



"Your majesty, this is all my fault. I was at the stall when a sword was taken and not paid for. I should have just let it go. We have others to sell.

Wesley saw the theft and came to help ensure the stolen item was either paid for or returned. It is just unfortunate the guards were called to arrest the slave, out of spite, after he disarmed the thieving lord through sheer skill. Wesley is by far the best blacksmith in Wyndham, the Valorian guards stood no chance against this Mercian swordsman.

Perhaps, to teach him a lesson, they shoved and tripped him up while he carried the buckets in order to cause him additional work. They seem disgruntled because none were able to best him in combat.

But I'm sure no one here, not even the guards, intended your majesty any harm. It was somewhat accidental that your persona was so badly affected altogether" assured Nora

"I implore you do not blame Wesley nor the guards, highness, they all acted thoughtlessly to the consequences. An impulse in the heat of the moment if you will.

I am sure your majesty understands a warrior's pride better than most, for them to be defeated by a foreign, lowly slave, in public, it isn't a comfortable outcome" excused Nora, hoping to de escalate the situation by providing clarity

Wesley took a deep breath and left the now practically empty buckets aside, coming to stand before the prince, unafraid. All in all, he was a righteous man, honourable enough to see the error of his ways in how he had addressed the prince, humble enough to acknowledge his mistakes, failings and the harm caused, man enough to properly apologize for it all.

He dropped to his knees before prince Fulco and kowtowed till his forehead touched the ground.

"Your highness, I beg your forgiveness for any offense I have caused you or your men. I spoke out of turn, rudely and carelessly, in the spur of the moment, when I should have held my tongue altogether and behaved according to my station. Please pardon my inexcusable behaviour" Apologized Wesley in an honest grovelling tone with regret imbued in every word.

"I also wasn't aware that commoners have no right to bear arms in these lands thus not permitted to cross blades with nobility so openly. If I have broken your kingdom's laws, punish me accordingly, I knew no better at the time and place myself at your hands, do with me what you will, majesty" admitted Wesley honestly, leaving the outcome in the hands of the prince of the realm, the heir to the throne, to do with him as his highness decided was best to settle this matter, not one to shriek from punishments when they were deserved.

He remained silent, kneeling humbly by the prince's feet, unmoving, awaiting to hear his fate, eyes downcast and gazing steadily at the puddle of water whose still waters now acted like a mirror, with a clear reflection of the skyline behind.

While the prince's figure and royal cloak covered much of his view, from this particular angle, Wesley could see an assassin with a crossbow, high upon a rooftop, half leaning half hiding by tall wide chimney and aiming at the prince's back, with a bolt being placed ready to be fired at the royal.

Wesley knew he didn't have enough time to warn the royal brat or alert the guards about the imminent danger in a polite fashion so he made an effort to foil the shot by tugging at the prince, getting him out of the arrow's path somehow.

He suddenly reached out, trying to grab at Fulco's feet, boots, legs, cloak even, whatever he managed to hold onto firmly, if anything at all, and make the royal tumble with a hard tug and a sharp force, as much as he could muster to get him out of the firing line.

If Wesley succeeded, the prince would likely fall backwards out of the way and end up caked in mud, mayhap animal dung which abound in that portion of the lower end of the city, but... he would live to rant about it and he would live to see another day, hopefully barely harmed by the fall.

If Wesley failed to shift the royal at all, the bolt would fly true, the wind and sun were in the assassin's favour, and once it struck at the royal with certainty, the wound would be quite a serious injury if not a mortal one altogether. Better a dirty prince than a dead one for sure.

There was a chance the bolt might still hit his obnoxious prince but it would result in a lesser injury than a direct hit upon his chest and it would not have been for lack of Wesley trying.

Should the prince fall to the ground, of course, he would scramble to throw himself over the youth and cover him with his own body to protect his highness from any other bolts or arrows or darts that might inevitably follow until his bodyguards moved to ensure his royal highness safety.

If Cenrid thought he was having a terribly misfortunate day over soaking the crown prince like a cold wet fish rather than securing a lucrative sale off the extravagantly rich royal, the situation was about to worsen and very rapidly at that.

By the time Cenrid came out of the forge and its workshop and warehouse to present the prince the chosen lavish gift, the finest Mercian short sword he had brought along, as well as expensive clothing with which to atone the offended wet royal, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. Any indulging polite smiles wiped entirely off his face and replaced by deepening concern and growing alarm, incredulous to what his eyes were witnessing.



Wesley was yet again kneeling before the prince, Cenrid still unaware of what offense Wesley had caused this time round, then, in a split moment, he watched the bold blacksmith quickly scramble and lunge forward to try to tug at the royal with force with the clear purpose to make his highness fall. He was literally attempting and perhaps succeeding at assaulting and toppling royalty.

Cenrid, like everyone else, was unaware of the assassins hiding in plain sight, the roguish archer up the roof and those few others lurking among the crowds for the matter.

To Cenrid it felt at though Wesley was an out of control slave, first wetting the prince, then somehow offending him and now launching a direct, frantic attack at the crown prince of all possible customers.

Cenrid and Nora were speechless, stunned, the trader left completely baffled and mortified, if not downright horrified at what his slave was doing or trying to do, all happening so quickly it was impossible to hold back or restrain the unruly serf.

Cenrid stood frozen in place, in his mind already planning a more than harsh reprimand that would leave Wesley within an inch of his life for several days or weeks in a row for daring to place the whole business in jeopardy regardless.