For Whom the Bell Tolls

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Thu Jun 12, 2014 2:18 pm

Letters begin to arrive with her men, their eyes and spines filled with steel. They may find their way, wax seals intact, to each member of the Council as well as the Governor himself. Breaking the seal would reveal a well-penned letter written in the most sturdy of hands. The men would retreat with a nod, vanishing from whence they came, back to their Lady.

Most Esteemed Governor Burnie,

We have yet to meet, I'm afraid. I have been remiss, though I must admit that you are not an easy individual to fasten down in these last few months.

I bring you news. Your people are floundering in your absence. You have left your tiny kingdom in disarray and left an opportunity for others to make up for your failings.

As you may have heard, your unruly neighbor is at the end of a leash that grew far too long with inattention. That is a matter that will be rectified and Razasan's attention is wholly on Thessil's foolish rebellion. The crown stands poised to bring in troops to demonstrate their prowess in these troubling times. They can not, and will not, afford to leave any territory in chaos. Myrken Wood's loyalties are in question.

I write to you as a kindness. The King wishes to leave his matters handled by those who wear his loyalty like a second skin. He has sent word that he is at my elbow, as we share a most proud bloodline. The might of Trae Kelsa stands with me, Governor.

Step aside graciously and you may yet live through this transitory period. Stand in my way and Myrken will be a distant memory in idle minds.

Please feel free to discuss with your Council. I have softened the blow for you with letters to them all.

Pray do not be foolish.

The Lady Egris Verreaux
The Kestrel


Councilman/Councilwoman,

I pray that you will still your loyalties to the Governor to heed the dire warning that I bring.

The King has noticed the faltering attentions in the territories that He controls. He will stand against the cur in Thessil very soon, since that dog continues to bite the hand that feeds. In that most urgent duty, He wishes to gather close all of those loyal to him in a united front. His questioning eyes rest solidly upon Myrken Wood.

He wishes for a kinswoman, his favored cousin, to bring order to the current chaos.

Baron Surdemer and his men stand at my side in defense of His Majesty's rulings. I have sent word to your wayward Governor. I would expect him soon, should it find him in good health. Your positions on the Council will not be altered. You have my word.

I implore you, do not stand against the Might of your King. For the people's sake and for your own, do not earn his ire.

I will humbly step aside if you find that I am not fit to give these lands guidance.

The choice is yours, good Ser(a).

The Lady Egris Verreaux


And now, she waited.
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Treadwell » Sun Jun 15, 2014 6:37 pm

Numerous drafts of a reply had been started and, ultimately, set to flames in the past days since receiving the message from Lady Egris Verreaux.

The result was one kept, for Treadwell, short and simple.

= = = = = = =

Dearest and Most Esteemed Lady Verreaux,

I hereby acknowledge the receipt of your letter regarding this matter. Myrken Wood has seen very much even in the past year alone, numerous concerns that brought all of this mess about in the first place; Myrken has seen a succession of dreadful blows to her populace, from a woman seeking to control the hearts and minds of the town, to locusts devouring crops and stretching remaining food supplies quite thin, to your stated concerns with Governor Burnie.

That is not to say that Myrken Wood does not need stable leadership.

As seniormost councilor (my areas of concern particularly being those of finance and of taxation), occasional Acting Governor, and former Governor of Myrken Wood province some years past, I very much extend, again, a request to speak with you personally, as I have requested at other recent moments, at your earliest convenience. Discussing matters in person would be much more beneficial and efficient than awaiting replies to letters. In addition, you would not need suffer through reading this horrible, splattered mess of script more than this once!

I humbly await your reply, either by note or by appearance. One of your men may find me most easily throughout the week either at my office at the meetinghouse or at my toy shop. I'm sure you know the location of the former well enough; the latter is directly behind the town's central gallows platform in the marketplace. Should you find me at my shop, I could quite easily lock and bar the door, closing it up long enough for us to locate anew to do business at the meetinghouse.

By my hand, in all sincerity, and with great respect and humility,

Morning of the sixteenth day of the sixth month, A. R. 214

Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, Councilor for Revenue and Finance
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Mon Jun 16, 2014 7:12 am

Four things. Four frustrating, painful, unending, unbending things. Four ways to lose yourself so deeply that you might never be found. Four hooks to pull you, one for each limb, until you stretch and strain, until you would scream out if only you had a voice left to scream with. Four things that, in and of themselves, keep you from screaming for each requires your voice, each more than the last. Each the same and each so different. Recovery.

Egris,
The first: recovery. His body's. The body had been starved. It was a simple statement, a simple concept. Not enough food. Not enough water. A month. That was not too bad, no? The body feeds upon itself, but after a time, even if some damage is done, there was a simple solution: eat food, drink water. And lo, recovery! Except for, nothing was ever that simple in Myrken. This was not simple starvation. It was an unknowing starvation. Normally, when you remove food and drink, the body suffered, weakened. It could no longer perform. There were checks. There were mechanisms to shut it down, to conserve strength. Imagine a body that could not do that, that did not know it was starving and a mind that had no safeguards at all. So he pushed. He pushed against his environment. He pushed against fate. He pushed against all the things that Glenn Burnie always pushed against. No, food and drink were not enough to fix this.

It's always interesting how a noblewoman signs her letters, don't you think? Oh, but you wouldn't know. It's only when they're writing to one that is not noble where it is interesting. The. You're not a she or a her. You're certainly not an "A." No, you're a "The." You're something, not someone. Then again, Governor Burnie is something. The Governor Burnie is something else, you see? You're a something else. Think about that. You go through life not as a person or even a thing but as the thing. I would say 'you poor woman,' but then you don't let yourself be a woman at all, even if you call yourself a Lady. You poor 'The.' You poor, rich, noble, blue-blooded 'The." There's not even a point to reading the words that follow it. They don't matter. Only the 'The' matters, which is a shame, since that Kestrel bit might actually be interesting otherwise. Ah well. I thank you for your mercy. I thank you for your pity. You needen't thank me for mine. We people tend to reciprocate. Hell of a thing when you carry with you empathy instead of dignity.
The second: recovery. His mind's. He was connected to her when she died. Oh, Wynsee would say he didn't remember. Others would say the same, but memory was more than facts. Memory was more than details. Memory was more than what happened. Memory was so much more. Perhaps the 'what' of it all had been stricken from his mind, just like everyone else's, but life was so much more than 'what.' Life was so much more than "The." He had been deluded by a monster of his own creation. He had been driven mad by the thirst. He had been attacked, down to the deepest core of his subconscious by the woman he loved. Perhaps Golben saved him, for lost as he was, she couldn't even find him, and if she couldn't find him, she couldn't perfect him. Or perhaps that wouldn't have happened at all. Regardless, even as he had regained his soul, he had lost his heart. Even as he regained his thoughts from the haze of a lost month, he had been kissed by death. The taste lingered. Physical strength came and went. Mental strength had to be summoned, had to be dragged from deep wells of responsibility and determination, wells that came up dry more often than not. He could squeeze blood from a stone, but not forever and not all the time, and it was only getting worse, not better.

I wonder though, of your contradictions, Egris. You've been remiss. I'm harder to fasten down. My people flounder in my absence. It is my kingdom but the king's matters. If I step aside I might live. If I do not, Myrken shall suffer. What is a man to make of all of that? Perhaps we can come up with a compromise where I'm a distant memory in idle minds and Myrken yet may live? I'd ask about the one where I may live and Myrken ends up a distant memory, but that seems somehow counterproductive. It rather defeats the point of living for something. I think you might even be able to understand that, though you are just a "The." I wonder what you live for? I wonder much about you. I'm afraid that my spies hadn't decided to take much notice of you. Cousins, you know how it goes, yes? Truly, from what you say, we don't need you at all, just your skin and blood. I imagine the might of Trae Kelsa probably wouldn't recognize the difference.
The third: recovery. The victims. Glenn Burnie was no mentalist. Not now. Not ever. Never again. He had certain tools however. There were certain things he could poke at and moreover, there was an understanding that only one bound to Rhaena Olwak would have had. She left broken people in her wake, pretty little baubles full of giggles and titters. Some, like the knight, he knew he could do nothing for. Others, merchants and nobles, commoners and clerks, perhaps not many, in the grand scheme of Myrken, remained. Most hadn't felt this touch, this extreme change. Most needed just a push or a prod. Most could be convinced to join the tide, to get a reward for the sake of sacrificing one's spirit. Others, some of the best and most stubborn, the smartest and most dangerous, they offended the eyes and the ears and the beauty. He had spent months with them, in the absence of a Lamai and the refusals to see a Kals. He tried to pull them back to who they were through logic and dreams and persistence and kindness, through memories and contradictions, much as he provided dear Egris. These were more than smoke and mirrors though, more than wordplay meant to distract and distrupt. These contradictions meant to break down false walls and recover the foundation of true ones. Two had gone mad in the process, hopelessly, inexorably mad, but others had shown signs. Connie Cross called herself Constance again. She remembered her past in hues other than pink and with sounds that were not covered in giggling. There was a way to go for her and for others, but there was perhaps, a light inside them that they might again reach.

So, Egris, practicality then. I'm not unreasonable when there's a sword at my throat, despite my penchant for being very effective at offensively bleeding on someone. No pretty words. I step down or what? You begin to kill my people? Or is it that you just kill me? Do you take their things? Do you round them up and cut off the head of every third citizen? Is this the face of the king triumphant? Is that how Myrken may some day be a memory? Or is it just my head on the line? What happens if you fail? Is it then yours? You must have done something fairly wretched to get shunted upon Myrken Wood duty to begin with. Do you know what happened to your predecessors? To mine? Death and threats, even perfectly reasonable threats backed up with the most proud elbow strength can only go so far. You've offered your threats. What else do you have in their stead? Honeyed promises would be nice? For my people, you see, not for myself. I'm too recent a widower. It'd be in bad taste. Provide me with something other than a harsh truth. We have no time for the harsh truth of a "The," you see. Such shoddy kindness, that.
The fourth: recovery. Myrken Wood. He was no king. He was no judge. There was no one else. Every single person, it seemed, between the Foundation and the hunger and the mob and just the basic business of government, had a complaint. He heard them every day and he satisfied no one. Those of the new wealth wanted to keep what they had gained, even though it was through Rhaena that they gained it. Those of the mob-stolen wealth wanted what they had lost, even if they had snatched it up in the first place. Those who the mob punished wanted retribution as did those who were punished by the mob after the mob. Everyone had a point. No one was pleased. No one could be pleased. It was an impossible situation yet he had to sit and listen and continue to give verdicts that made no one happy. At least they could feel heard in their unhappiness. Perhaps, just maybe, they'd turn their ire towards him instead of their neighbors and in doing so, Myrken could become whole once again. What fear had he of death in the face of the necessary fate he sought for himself?

So there it is. Thank you for writing the Council. At least now they'll know why I'm so intractable and unpleasant next time I see them. Please write back, this time without the "The," and with something more engaging than threats. I'd love to be able to get to that Kestrel. It sounds fascinating.

Yours,
Glenn
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby channe » Wed Jun 25, 2014 2:04 am

Two letters:

The first, for Glenn, delivered by her most trusted militiamen.

Glenn,

I have been to the Derry Gate with the Baron and I have seen what the Crown has done. They have turned my beautiful King's Own, the servants of God, into a disgusting blasphemy worse than the Aegis. I advise that we do not fight today. Today. I am not being a coward; I would just advise you that this is a battle we cannot win. Let them have what they want. We will win in the end, because we always do.

We will let Myrken drag the fucking Kestrel to the dirt and smother her. All we have to do is wait. We both know that is what Myrken is good for. We both know that is what she will do. We will convince Catch that she has worms and let him screw her up. There are many ways to win. But outright fighting her? Will only finished what Golben started. Fuck that. You are more valuable than her. You did not come this far to be executed on Gallows-hill.

But. You know I will follow you.

Your orders?

Yours,
Agnieszka


And one to Lady Egris:

My Lady,

On my ride to the Derry Gate with the esteymed Baron Surdemer I understood very well the Message you and the Baron wish to tell me. Obviously my ragtag Militia will not stand against you, I value their lives, they have families, etc., etc. But I am sworn of the King's Own as you very well know, and I am not just one of your tied-up magickers but a full Servant of the Bright One and the very first woman to serve on the Myrken Wood Council in its long history. I think that makes us Sisters as women who are working in a Political Arena, yes? I am also sworn to uphold the Myrken Way Of Life, which has been elected Governor and Council since the very inception of this place, back with the tradition of Our Dear Lord Chedwry's great-great-great grandfather. It is something the Crown wants! This elected stuff! We Elect here, we Run our own Affairs, and we do not let the terrible magic of this place leave and affect any of our King's lands, sometimes at the cost of our own blood. The slight you say that we may be anything but truly Loyal wounds me.


Are you really going to join us as a Leader? Because blood is what it will take. Blood is what Myrken asks. I have lost family members and my Dear Husband to its claws. Glenn Burnie lost his Wife and nearly his Life. Helstone fled; Bromn hid. The only Governor who seemed to come out of this without Scars is Treadwell, and if you've met him you know that pretty much nothing touches him, don't know why.

I do not, however, think that you are fit to give these lands guidance. This is not a Criticism or an Insult, it is a Fact. You are an outsider. You will never understand. Myrken will bury you if you continue your Razasani ways of life. This is not a threat; this is truth. There are demons here that do not sleep, there is magic in the hills that you will never understand. I would like to be your friend and I would like to help you Adapt if this is really what you want to do, if you really want to give up your Life to spread your Blood for the defense of Myrken and its people. But you really should probably do what the glorious Crown has done for centuries, and that is to leave us alone.

Unless you're just another prissy Court flower, but somehow I think you are Different. You are like me. Maybe in another Life we would get along.

Sincerely and with the utmost respect for your Exaltedness,
Council-woman Agnieszka Kaczmarek River, commander of the forces of Myrken Wood.
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Wed Jun 25, 2014 4:45 am

Agnie,

No arms. We don't lose our people for a worthless cause. We don't lose you for a worthless cause. Fighting them head on is worthless. Surviving them is not hopeless. We'll endure. That's how we win. What a dull letter. I'm agreeing with you. I blame them, of course. It's not that you don't know your business, but this is one of those situations where the answer is blatant or obvious. I suppose I ought twist the knife a bit. Part of we enduring is you enduring. I will do what I do. You will live with it. We'll need someone who understands the way of it moving forward, just like we'll need a reminder to the people of just what they're enduring for.

We endure but we never forget ourselves. Not again. There's been more than enough of that this year. Not again and not out of fear.

Glenn
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby channe » Wed Jun 25, 2014 5:22 am

Glenn,

This whole letter sounds like you're going to go throw yourself off a cliff. You will do what you do. What is that? Tell me now. Stop being a fecking Oracle and start being a man and let me help you for godsakes.

And I will tell you something that will make your Blood run cold: on my trip to the North with Surdemer, the men of the King have smashed the large Derry gate and taken Wrexham with absolutely no resistance. Indeed, the Duke's men are starving and many of them have surrendered without a fight. Now I know two things in particular: one, that the Aegis is gone. They have not stepped up to fight for Burel, nor have they moved against him. I suspect they saw him for what he is: insane. And left.

Two, and more importantly, that it was not the Aegis but the Crown that destroyed the ships in the Harbor at Orvere a matter of weeks ago, and thus it is the fault of the Crown that Aleksei washed up on the shore Dead and Drowned when he tried to save lives. He may have not known it was the Crown. He just tried to save lives.

There is only so much endurance I can take, Glenn.

Yours,
Agnie
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Tue Jul 01, 2014 2:07 pm

There was no reply to any of them. Days stretched into weeks before there was a sharp, insistent knock at the Governor's door in the deep of night.

Should he answer, the light was thrown on a shock of crimson hair - short on one side of her head and long on the other. It caught, gleamed, on the silver at her temple and scattered across her breast to shoulder. Her eyes shone and the smile was quirked into something almost mischievous in nature. She nodded her head in respect towards the decorated, once-beloved man.

She was alone. No stalwart men stood at her side. No grouchy dwarf glowered at him from the shadows.

It was just her. Just Egris.

Her gaze did not seem to miss any detail, darting across the picture he made framed in the doorway. Her judgements, her considerations, were her own. They did not show on her face.

A bottle of expensive wine dangled from her fingertips behind her.

"I thought that I would come calling, Glenn. Since we so familiar with one another," she recalled his letter, his informality. Instead of sarcasm, her words swelled with amusement. Her hands, folded demurely, were at the small of her back, shoulders back and chest puffed in soldier's stance. "We have much to discuss, wouldn't you agree?"
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Wed Jul 02, 2014 1:37 am

He answered. He was still dressed, still wearing earthtones, fine clothes but plain ones. It was strange. When one hit a certain age (and for Burnie, he looked still in his mid twenties, but weathered certainly, a few years older than he was), certain symbolic decisions like changing the color of your clothing to match your mood or to make a statement, just seemed overblown and ridiculous. He could go around in black. He could go around in white or some combination of the two. He could wear some reminder of Rhaena upon him or some reminder of all else that he had lost. He did not. He was a rock in the stream of Myrken, a rock and a boat and a paddle and water of the stream. All of those things. None of them, however, were the sort to say what they meant to say with aesthetic choices.

He had a tongue for that.

His expression was amused and weary, bemused but resigned, and somewhere in the dark, beneath slightly bloodshot eyes was a sparkle of madness or brilliance or both. "No more letters? A shame. Ah well, come in. It's not every day a widower gets a late night visit from a The." He stepped aside, nodding his head to allow her in to a house that was increasingly barren. Treasures and Prizes that had been gathered by Rhaena during her storm upon the province had been sold to refill coffers, a drop in the bucket and one that was unheralded. He could put up appearances, but he chose to do so in the still well-stocked Governor's Office, not here. It was a military dwelling now, save for the papers and maps.

"Though, since we're familiar I'll avoid both the the-ing and all of the exit puns, save for maybe at the very end when it's fitting. No promises for the bird one either, but you have to understand, they're all the more effective with someone who believes in the sanctity of her station. Your letter said you did. Your presence says you don't. The vein right above your eye says you might. We'll see what wins out in the end."

He would whip around and lead her to two fairly uncomfortable chairs and a table between them. One glass, already partially full of something was on the table. Another was procured with a deft darting into a nearby room. If there were servants here (and the cleanliness of the areas without parchment sprawl might suggest as much), they had gone for the night. "My station, as you can see, is armed with uncomfortable chairs and a table. I'm not here often and rarely to seat guests," it was not an apology. "My OTHER station has both a comfortable chair and an uncomfortable one, depending on the caliber of the guest. The higher their station, the less comfortable the chair, so you're frankly not missing out on much by seeing me here."

They had much to talk about, she said? So far, he had said much of nothing and bits of much. He, himself, would sit, leaving any pouring to her. There was being a gentleman and a host and there was being Glenn. "Tell me, old friend," for they were familiar now, no? She said as much. "have you been to the teahouse?" Worded, exactly as a question that wasn't to be answered. "I hate it. I always have. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's well and good that they're able to make a more comfortable living and a safer one as well. Cambree was lovely. Her successor is a clever and fashionable upstart who you just can't help but root for. It's not a matter of rights and all that. They can do what they want. It's the hypocrisy of it all, especially with the patrons. They wrap up something pure and primal in lace and silk. They call it by a different name. They stick their noses up. They impose a dignity upon themselves that actually makes them less dignified than they would be by embracing honesty. It's a sickly-sweet morass.

"I was cursed you know," and did she? He made it seem like she did. How much did she know of him? How much did he know of her? "years back. Drowish rings. One step on the path that lead to all this," his head nodded this way and that, expressing the emptyness of the home. Some gestures one did not grow out of. "How can I put this delicately? I can't. For a time, I was inclined to associate myself with unsavory characters."

Then, he paused, as an aside. "Are we going to end this with an election? I imagine running against me would be terribly enjoyable. I have all sorts of excuses like that. Drowish rings. Severed souls. Mindwitch in the bed. Lost months to blackouts so that I'm years younger than I look. There'd be so much to latch on to that you'd be utterly lost in it.

"But I digress: Simply put. I had a lot of platonic friends who were streetwalkers. No, It's never fevers and boils and gout for me. All my curses have to be esoteric. That wasn't me asking for boils, by the way." It wasn't quite a smile that he offered her. "They were the salt of the earth though, caring and kind, bound together for survival. They'd give you the shirt off their back (hell, it was good for business). The honesty made them worth so much more than the doxies at the teahouse.

"So then, I wonder. Just what are you worth, Egris? Your letter would indicate not much at all, but here you are, a strangely welcome sight."
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Wed Jul 02, 2014 2:17 pm

The man stepped aside and the woman slipped within. The door was carefully closed behind her before she managed to get a word in edgewise. There was little importance to the larger portion of his words, but the lady had always been adept at listening. He mentioned his widower status, which opened a door he might not have anticipated. "And widowers do not often get any late night visits. I pray that people won't talk about this one," she remarked, her eyes widened with nearly-playful scandal. She spoke very close at his back. Should he have stopped suddenly, he would not have waited long at all to find the press of her slim frame against him.

Her voice sobered, abruptly. "I have heard many tales of your lady wife. I am sorry that you find yourself a widower. It must be difficult to lose the one you love," she mentioned, the tread of her boots measured as he moved through the barren hallways of his home. "It is honestly unreasonable that those in power are not afforded the same advantages as their people. There is no time to grieve, no master greater than one's responsibilities," she lamented, her voice quiet. Soothing. "But such is the price, I suppose."

He spoke of his lack of comfort and she waded through the nothing of his words to find the something contained within. "I have little need for comfort. I have long-served with my men in multiple campaigns. One appreciates, but never expects the softer things in life." She seated herself on the edge of the chair opposite him and pierced the wax seal upon the bottle of fine Razasan wine. She would pull the offered glass closer and inspect it for debris. A quick puff of breath with pursed lips into the glass to free the smidgen of dirt present before the splash of wine filled the glass. His own was filled, and so the bottle was nudged to the center of the plain table and left for him to partake of his own accord.

She gazed at him over the rim of her glass as he spoke of the teahouse. Her head tilted with his question, but she offered no other reply. He gave her little time before speaking again and who was she to interrupt a man so enamored of his own voice?

When he paused for her answer, she took a swallow of her alcohol. She savored the flavor against her tongue for a long moment of silence. They were in stark contrast.

"Am I mistaken, or are you implying that I am a whore?," she finally replied, her eyes filled with mirth, the question meant to unsettle him.

She did not wait for a reply this time, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. "When I first came into town, I saw your weakness. Having little else to do with my life, I must admit that you made an easy target. You were an absent leader and your people were angry."

She shrugged, unapologetic. "Now, you present an amusement. It would be a shame to see your end, Governor Burnie. I think there is an accord in which we might both survive this. In which we might both get a little of what we want. And our beloved King will get what he wants."

She had the eyes of a raptor, sharp and focused. Wholly on him. "And it will only hurt a little."

Her teeth gleamed in the low light.
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Wed Jul 02, 2014 3:03 pm

Glenn Burnie had a unique relationship with women. In the end, two stood out above all else, Rhaena Olwak and Ariane Emory. The former knew his mind and his heart. It was an absolute, complete, hopeless cheat. The second spent every morning of near two years with him but more than that, had a unique spirit, one that yearned for others to come to her. She could absorb what he offered her for what it was. One was romantic and more. One was platonic and more. Everything else, though? Everything else was conflict and tension, even with those he loved like Agnieszka.

To put it simply, Glenn Burnie was not good with women. He tired quickly of the back-and-forth, of the niceties, of the falsehoods. He tended to insult too freely. He pushed and pushed and pushed and something gave, each and every time. It had been a long time since he flirted with anything other than a drow. You tended not to have to do that with your soulmate who knew your every thought.

Granted, in some ways she was a bit drowish. They usually were. It had been a hell of a curse. "They'll talk. They always talk. We'll give them something to talk about, too. The question is what."

He stayed quiet when she talked about his lack of comfort, his weariness, the lack of fairness of it all. Even when she voiced her sympathy about Rhaena. There would be a letter later, perhaps, but for now, too many deviations would lead to a long and fruitless night. There was more served by letting it pass for now. He also did not look shocked when she said that bit about a whore. Maybe he meant it, maybe not. Maybe she was in her own way. Maybe she wanted him to be as well. That's how it usually worked with the crown. These words were not spoken. Maybe in a letter. He did like letters, but not necessarily when they led to house calls.

"You're bored." She was bored. Sometimes they were bored. Usually, they weren't so formidable though. Usually, those who had been on campaigns knew better than to be bored. Usually, they weren't nobles though. It made for an uneven combination, one who was functionally dangerous but that had moved others along the board and had yet to be fully desensitized to the joy of the carnage of it all. Or perhaps she'd seen TOO much. That was a bad combination as well.

"There is one thing you need know before we go forward." He sipped the wine. Would she poison him? Perhaps it would be a mercy. He'd been poisoned before, in many, many ways, truly. "I am weakened. Many parts of me, but my resolve and pride more than most. You're not acting like a The. You are acting like someone with the cards though. I don't want scraps, not for me or my people. Perhaps you can sweep me off the board, but it'll be messy and you can't afford messy. I can't be bought. I can't be placated. I can't even be fully reasoned with. You need me in my seat. You can't afford to have me in my seat either. Yes, it's a contradiction and an impossible situation. Welcome to Myrken. If you're bored, though, then you've come to the right place, the right door specifically."

There was a way to do this. There was only one way to do this, and maybe it would further damn them both. "Three games. I decide two. You decide one. The first will be questions. The second blades. The first doesn't count. Therefore, to win, one has to win both the second and the third. It has to be decisive. The first is a gift, you see, from you to me and from me to you. You decide the third and the terms. I can object to the terms but not the third game." He raised the glass. "To amusement, then? Or do you still want to toast to just a little pain instead?"
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Thu Jul 03, 2014 10:53 am

This relationship would be unlikely to deviate from that pattern. The woman, herself, was unique. It only served that she would share in the complication of his affiliations. Her eyes danced at him over her glass as she swirled the rich liquid in a slow circle. Long fingers wrapped around the cooled glass. She swallowed the mouthful she had been holding. "They will wag their tongues about my late-night visit. They will tsk at how rapidly you moved on. They will call me a harlot, as you have already done," she surmised, a bubble of laughter sounding from her parted coral lips. "And meanwhile, we will be friends or enemies. We will be nothing at all."

She rustled in her pocket for a moment, shifting to one side of her chair. She tugged free a peach and a gleaming knife from her boot. She began to slice pieces from its ruby hide, holding the section between thumb and blade. She held the scrap of sweetness out to him, but she would snag it between her own teeth and chew thoughtfully if he declined. If not, she would get the next. "Maybe we'll be a bit of all three, because all the best relationships are, I've found."

Her shoulders lifted in careless shrug when he mentioned her boredom. "Women often are, when they find themselves uninterested in children, keeping house, or becoming wives." Women were relegated to such duties without choice. Men had choice and that was entirely enviable. "Combat was much preferable to mediocrity. But surely you understand." She waved towards him, offering him another piece of fruit.

He mentioned games and she lofted a brow at him in question. "Games, you say. Words, swords, then it is mine to decide?," she asked, a grin alighting upon her face. "Shall I choose something that you would shrink from? Entrance into your marriage bed?" She waggled her brows at him. "Or something else entirely, like horsemanship, that we may both excel at, all the better for she - or he - who wins?," she mused, finishing off her wine and pouring another, smaller, glass. "Perhaps a bit of chess?"

She winked. "Amusement and pain both, then." Her glass raised, clinking merrily against his own.

That matter was pushed aside for the moment. "I may have wanted you off the board entirely, that is true, but that is no longer necessary," she remarked. "There are ways in which we both might gain something of what we want. The King does not trust you, but he gives weight to his kin. I might act in his favor. An advisory to your governorship. Shared power."

There was always marriage of convenience, should that fail. She was an attractive match, despite the lack of love and trust between them. Royalty often used marriage to benefit an alliance and she was a product of her upbringing, for all she dismissed it. One had to weigh all the options.
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Thu Jul 03, 2014 12:15 pm

"I like harridan, personally." He had explained his flippancy but she was inviting it, encouraging it. They could bounce it back an for time. People would talk. They always did, but very few would think Burnie unfaithful to his dead wife, though then there was the way that he spoke about her in the speech. It had been ill-timed due to his physical state, but he had said such things. Maybe he was ready to move on. "There are so many words for it though. That's telling, though frankly, I'm not sure for what."

He was glad she was enjoying herself, at least. The last royal emissary he spoke to rarely did and then never for long. Maybe this wouldn't last either. "You don't want to be my friend right now. You want to be my wife even less. You'd end up targeted, cursed, and very likely in a poofy dress. You don't quite have the body type to manage it. Honestly, neither did Rhaena, which was always a bit embarrassing. The least of things that were, I suppose." She had been tall and lanky.

The first fruit was taken but not the second. Shortly thereafter they clinked drinks. "It's not so true here, that boredom. There are opportunities to those who are bored. I think you mean to end those. In fact, you almost have to. They're the opposite of order. It's a horse too wild to ride. In some ways, I appreciate your position, Egris," and there was her name and familiarity. He rather needed it for the brazen words to follow. "No one just ends up as you do. You're an embarrassment to someone, not the king. I don't think he pays you much heed, let alone trust, but someone. Someone who cared very much about how you reflected who they were. You ended up ostracized for who you were not, and thus, sent to the fringes where you truly developed into who you are. Now you're back here and you finally have the chance to prove that you really are who you were supposed to be, and though you don't know it yet, it'll only cost you betraying everything that you are."

He would grin, a cool, melancholy thing, but one far too certain for either of their good. "No one cares how I reflect upon them. That includes your king and kin too, so at least we're in the same company once again," and he'd raise his glass again to that. "There's not point in being governor here if you're just going to compromise, Egris. You can do anything but never that. That's opening the door to let the night in. Everyone else is going to do that anyway. You have to do anything else." He shook his head again and maybe a hint of something affected entered his voice. "You'd make a terrible Giuseppe anyway. Your accent isn't nearly strong enough."
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Thu Jul 03, 2014 1:05 pm

He called her on her offer and she smiled wanly. "I've no interest in being someone's wife at all, to be frank with you. But marriage is a means to an end and sacrifice is not something I'm unfamiliar with." Apparently, marriage to him was something that she would have to bear with gritted teeth. Not all that flattering, given the circumstances. "Being cursed might be interesting, but I do not fancy the dress," she mused. "I've refused them since before my woman's blood. My mother was so cross with me," she was lost, for a moment, in her memory and it lightened her features enough to show her youth.

The peach was settled in the middle of the table between them as their glasses joined together, however briefly. Her elegant throat worked as she swallowed the liquid down. A soldier's gesture followed as she smeared the back of a gloved hand across her mouth to dab up any droplets of wine that escaped her lips. "Order is only worthwhile when you keep such dangerous things around. Otherwise, all of the work would be done and what would be the point?," she questioned. "Your catch is a treasure, for all the trouble he might cause. My Peropis is a demon with four hooves. Order requires chaos to survive."

Her grin was vicious as he called her an embarrassment. "You are being polite. I was agony for my parents. A woman who wishes to fight, to ride like a man, who wears pants and spits curses? That might be tolerated in any other family, but surely not in one with ties to the King's. I suspect they hoped I would perish in battle, but I managed to become useful. My mind was keen for battle and I flourished."

"The King cares only for himself" she agreed, magnanimous. Her head bobbed with acceptance. "He does not trust you and he hopes I am more easily controlled. I have always used been underestimated and I will continue to use that to my advantage." Her gaze gleamed like molten steel. "I wish to rule your little town, in whatever capacity possible. I think I would thrive in it and help many of your people. My wealth matters little to me and it can be well-used in Myrken."

She went silent, considering him quietly. "You are letting fortuitous opportunity pass you by, Glenn. Having a woman around to argue with and challenge you is not a bad thing. Marriage or not."
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Glenn » Fri Jul 04, 2014 12:33 am

"To be honest," and there was bemusement in his voice again. He was getting old, now that he was in the middle of his twenties, and hadn't he told her something back there that almost no one else knew. Time for another, perhaps. "I don't entirely believe in the sanctity of my last marriage. Oh, we had all the tenets of it but the legal proof, but I went to stop her and was betrayed and when I woke up, I was in a prison and we were 'married.' You can see why I find it a little suspect. It's easier not to fight it though. It's very moot at this point, you see. I feel like a widower."

She would speak philosophically, and even bring Catch into it. There was an order to catch, an inevitability. There was no need to raise that point, though. "No darkness without light, no evil without good. You cannot define something without its opposite. All that?" He sighed and took another sip. "In whatever comes next, do promise not to be overdramatic about it and try to take my eyes. I'd like to see the results of yet another attempt of order being imposed here. It's only fair considering you've seen mine."

It wasn't hard to read her past in that way. It was her present that was a little trickier. "We already have an agony, Egris. She's not too different either. Similar backgrounds. Very different blood. The other side of the same coin. I could see one of you killing the other, which might be a shame for you, since I can't see much killing her."

And there was the end of it. She was here to HELP. She was here to make things better, to use her wealth for Myrken's sake. She was telling him this, Glenn. Two fingers went to her cheek if she wouldn't fight it. They would linger. "Many of us have been in your spot. We arrive. We want to help. We want to make something of ourselves with the freedom Myrken offers. We mean well. It ends in blood and fire. It changes us. They've seen it dozens of time. You arrived at a time of need, but you're not one of them. You're a Helstone, someone who comes here with power already, before you've lost everything. It makes a difference, Egris. If you wish to help, then turn away from the throne and work with us to keep our freedom. There's room for you here if that's what you really want, room for you to truly be yourself and to be accepted for it. If you want to rule, I'm afraid you're going to have to do it alone, though."
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Re: For Whom the Bell Tolls

Postby Kestrel » Fri Jul 04, 2014 1:02 am

She was younger than he, full of fire and dreams that had, perhaps, begun to fade from his own mind. He had plenty of time remaining on this plane, but his experiences had aged him far beyond his years. That youthful gaze considered him, the surprise of his words not quite masked beneath the practiced curiosity she held on her features. "I can not quite be certain how that feels. I've had little use for relationships with men, other than passing fancies. Does it feel as if a piece of your heart has been torn from you or is it a certain numbness that you can't escape?," she asked, sounding more interested than malicious.

A smile alighted upon her face as he asked her not to take his eyes. "So you've given up then, is that it?," brow lofted with question. "Your time is at an end with but a whimper of defeat?" Her gaze searched the nearly empty room. His own wealth fettered away for his ungrateful people. "How disappointing of you, Glenn. I expected more. Perhaps relished the upcoming fight, assuming playing nice gets me nowhere at all." Is that what this was? An olive branch?

She made, perhaps to rise. A gathering of herself, a shifting of weight. He stilled her - and now the startled, wide-eyed surprise was all too clear - with two warm fingers upon her cheek. People did not touch her often. Perhaps an elbow to the ribs from her men, a hand on an arm from a loyal dwarf. But nothing like this. She paused, halfway to her feet, and she stared at him with pupils keen to widen. Seeking to swallow him up. Finally, with only a little uncomfortable hesitation, her rear end found its seat again. She leaned forward, arms coming to fold upon the table before her as she composed herself.

"The crown watches you, Glenn Burnie. The Baron's men are chess pieces, waiting for you to move into a compromising position so that they might take you from the board entirely." Her voice hardly trembled at all, but if he neglected to remove his hand from her flesh, she would seek to steal it away. To tuck it safely in her clasped gloved hands, where his disturbing warmth could not reach her. "The King wishes to have all of his houses in order and Myrken will burn if you do not give him appearances, at least, of that. There will not be time for me to love Myrken as you do, to find myself as you promise."

"There is a convenient Queen waiting to give you aid, should you want it. It would be the opportune moment to use her to further your own goals, despite the lack of trust between you." Further her chess analogy. "Soon, his gaze will move on and his attentions will focus on others and you will be left to your freedom." He could comfort himself with that. Her shoulders abruptly shrugged. "Should you not be clever enough, she may take your head - but not your eyes," she promised with a sly grin, as if they shared some jest. "Or move on to more interesting things, given her penchant for boredom."

Then, she was certainly climbing to her feet and crossing towards him. She stood there, a hand on her sword pommel, gazing down at him.

"Enough words, time for our blades to sing," she demanded, impatiently, with a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. She was enjoying this.
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