[hider=Collaboration: The Mule and The Snake]
The two girls sat across from each other in their simple livings. Rather than requesting any formal or high-up place to stay, such as in the keep, the girls opted to stick to their roots and stay in an inn. The noise resounding around them from the other common folk was both reassuring and thick; if one were claustrophobic, this environ might prove to be one to cause that fear. But for the Blackwell girls, this was close to home; back in Mercy, the great hall was like this...'cept with the Old Man was speaking, that is.

"I'll be off soon, N." Beatrice said evenly, ever the stoic- much like their father. "Remember what I told you?"

"Aye, sis; stick 'em with the pointy end if someone makes a grab at me, and if they seem like the type to stick their nose up then toss daddy's name around like dragon's fire." Naomi chimed happily, giggling as she drank heavily from a mug of milk. The girl was strange in that she adopted the various habits of her siblings from time to time; from Beatrice, the girl established a strong and healthy love of milk. Beatrice offered the semblance of a smile- more a tilt of the lips than a smile, in truth- and rose up.

"Good girl. You should have more than enough coin to get you through the day without me- but I doubt I'll be gone that long. You know how I am when it comes to these...formalities." Beatrice sighed as if the task she was doing were one of great contempt. Naomi, however, giggled again- but opted not to quip the silliness she dreamed up in response.

"I might step out to the market, or to wander around and try to meet a few people here or there- this city is so much more...alive than Mercy, but it's...chaos to me. I'm so curious about it all."..Even Beatrice couldn't begrudge the girl that, and she'd been to Nyhem a half dozen times or more in the past years to settle duels and to issue challenges. It really was a whole 'nother level in comparison to home.

"...Well, be safe, and keep that sword of yours on your hip. I'll be damned if father has to wage a war just to get you back from some kidnap attempt."

And with that, Beatrice pushed away from the table and made her way out of the tavern. Her destination was none other than the main keep of Nyhem, to make her presence as Ambassador of Blackwell known to the acting council.

----

Beatrice, upon arriving at the gate of the keep, struck a very singular figure; not many women wore heavy armor out for a formal, or even casual, visit- and even less wore plate mail covered in dragon's scales, making the woman stand out as an iridescent figure of color and power as she approached the keep.

Needless to say, but a great wooden greatsword- battered, beaten, and worn down to its iron core in a few places- was strapped to her back...This was the usual apparel of Beatrice on her most formal of occasions; her duels. Considering the circumstances, the woman deemed it appropriate to wear her finest attire...her armor, and to bear her customary weapon with her all the while.

In the queer Blackwell style, she carried no shield- but the Blackwell Emblem was present on a thick cloth which she carried in her hand, should people fail to recognize the dragon-scale-armor wearing woman for who she was.

That being said, she seemed awkwardly out of place in this less-than-combatant situation, and had absolutely no clue what to do here, and thus she ended up waiting in the main entrance of the keep and awaiting a formal greeting.

The main hallway of Nyhem was busier than Duncan had seen in a long time. The hallway was packed with nobles and Duncan was finding it difficult to move through the crowded room. He had narrowly escaped having to to mingle with Jullon Greensworth and was making his way to the front entrance to put as much distance between him and Jullon as possible. As Duncan got closer to the entrance he noticed an unusual sight; a imposing woman wearing heavy armour with a large greatsword strapped to her back. Duncan knew instantly who it was. As if the dragon-scale-armour wasn't evident enough the Blackwell crest made it clear that this was Beatrice Blackwell, daughter of Giles Blackwell and one of the most skilled warriors in Formaroth. Duncan decided to approach her, after the various letters Duncan had received from Giles he was curious about whether his children could give him any further insight to a house he knew very little about. Besides, she would likely prove to be far more interesting company than any of the other nobles gathered here in the hallway.
"Do you plan to enter the keep my'lady" Duncan said jokingly "or do you wish to wait here at the entrance for a bit longer?"

The woman seemed a bit stunned at the greeting initially, but her stoic demeanor soon overcame the brief surprise. The woman pivoted on her heel and turned her whole body to face Duncan. She studied him for a moment, then bowed deeply.

"Do not refer to me as 'M'lady', I am as much a knight as you'll ever dream of being." She said in a swift, automatic, response. "But I will enter, and thank you for the invitation of entrance." She said this, but it was clear she was struggling to find the right words and more or less didn't have a clue what she was actually saying.

She then awkwardly stepped forward and looked around. 

Duncan couldn't help but smile. It was clear that Beatrice was out of place here, a fact that he could perhaps take advantage of.
"Forgive me then, though I will say that no invitation was needed to enter, after all I can't imagine anyone trying to stop Beatrice Blackwell from entering Miserth Keep. Was there someone in particular that you were looking for" Duncan said slyly

Beatrice took another lilted step forth, as if steadily pressing forth on Duncan's personal space unless the man backed away from her. Another step, the light behind her eyes moving slowly as she thought over the words.

"I came to see you. Respect is not something a Blackwell will deny another one of their...Equals." She said 'equals' as if the word barely applied to Duncan from her perspective, but she had enough tact to refrain from outright holding herself higher than him.

"I will be acting as ambassador for house Blackwell, along with my sister Naomi who is here in the city under my protection. We carry the weight of my father's authority in all decisions, and are under frequent correspondence with him so as to not misconstrue his wishes in the upcoming negotiations." She delivered this in a very...constructed manner, as if it were something she rehearsed.

The girl then nodded as if affirming she had said it correctly...

...One more step forward.

As Beatrice drew closer, Duncan remained where he was. The look on his face remained as calm and as smug as it had previously. Beatrice may be one of the greatest fighters in Formaroth, but this was a battle of words, of which Duncan was the master.
"Under your protection? and yet I don't see her here with you, interesting. So what does my fellow 'equal' have to say on behalf of her father"? Duncan said. Though his words sounded pleasant enough, it was clear that he was mocking Beatrice's attempt to intimidate him.

Beatrice halts, and seems to be more uncomfortable with how near the two have ended up than Duncan was. This realization gives her a slight pause, and she hesitates and thinks on the man's words. After a few seconds of prolonged silence, the woman clears her throat and steps back.

"Yes, under my protection. She is not here, therefor she is safe- She shall only be present during the negotiations itself." She paused again, her stoicism shifting into a mild annoyance- she seemed to be working through the conversation just a step behind what was actually being said. She wasn't dull, nor was she an idiot, she just had to think for a few moments about what things meant. She didn't have the heart or real education to deal with this sort of sly political talk- she was trained to crush steel and rend dragons.

"Ah... Nothing to you." She said at last, light now flashing in her eyes as she felt somewhat smug for whatever reason- as if somehow finding some sort of internal highground from which to delegate. "Anything my father wants done was to be saved until before the full noble court, that's a fact. I'm only here to do a formal introduction and get this courtesy out of the way." She shrugged, an ambiguous open-ended gesture with no really easy to decipher meaning.

"Is that so? then I look forward to hearing house Blackwell's input for the negotiations. I am sure your father will choose wisely on who to support" Duncan said. He was somewhat impressed, though it was clear that Beatrice was inexperienced with political talk she was still handling her words better than he had expected. "But of course am sure that wasn't what you wanted to talk about anyway. The last time you were here was when you were attending the grand tournament here in Nyhem" as Duncan spoke he signalled over to a servant who was serving glass goblets of wine to the other nobles from s silver platter. The servant walked quickly over to Duncan and Beatrice before offering them both the platter, Duncan took on of the goblets before continuing "I must say your performance in the arena was certainly something to behold".


Beatrice looked to the goblet and leaned over to peer into it, before leaning down and sniffing at the drink deeply. She then grimaced and shook her head a bit, before rising back up.

"The tournament was a very good bit of fun.." She said, a mild bitterness in her voice- it seemed the girl held a bit of reservations about the whole ordeal- a grudge, almost. There were very few people who could best Beatrice Blackwell- whether it be due to her strength and skill, or sheer determination to not fall back. She licked her lips once, her expression shifting into a slightly warmer one as she retraced the tournament's proceedings in her mind. "I haven't had to work like that since the Dragon War- that bodyguard put up a damn fine fight in the end, though I dare say had my father attended we'd be singing a different tune."

"Indeed, I have heard of your father's fighting prowess. I imagine that even Evennis would struggle to win in a fight against him. But of course you would be the better judge, after all you have fought both of them" Duncan said as he took a sip from his goblet. By the sound of Beatrice's voice she held some sort of bitterness towards event, not that Duncan could blame her; Beatrice was considered to be one of the strongest fighters in Formaroth, and yet she was beaten by an underdog with who came from the slums of Nyhem, it would have had to of been a humbling experience to say the least. Duncan decided that it would be best to change the conversation. "I notice that you and your sister have chosen not to stay here at the keep for the proceedings"?


Beatrice nods, but seems to mull over a few things. "Yes, we chose to stay in a tavern. It feels more at home to us than...this." she gestured around. She then seemed to size up Duncan for a moment, a hard smile forming- not one of disdain, but one of nostalgia. "Tell me, do you know how a Blackwell is raised?"

She asked this question full well knowing the answer was 'no', but it was posed in this manner nonetheless. It was a deflection, and an easy one at that.

"No, but I imagine I am soon going to find out" Duncan responded with a slight smirk

"When I grew old enough to survive without father breathing down my neck, he does something very...strange. At least, it's strange in comparison to the stories others have told me of their youths." Beatrice looked upwards and reverted back to stoicism, not really acknowledging anything around her as she talked. "To me, it was a part of life; he stripped me of my Blackwell name and told me to 'Go, leave and grow up on your own, come back to me when you understand life'. Now, at first, I was dearly confused and quite agitated by this- but unlike my brother who left on his own, I turned my ass right around and marched up to Father and said 'Fine, I'm not your daughter now, but I want to be a mercenary' and he laughed at me and signed me on as a 'mule'- and that's what I was called for a very long time...Mule."

She grimaced, as if speaking of this personal experience was somewhat embarrassing.

"So I was raised as a mercenary. That was my childhood. Eventually father came to me and said 'Mule, you can have your name back if you hit me'. So I trained, and fought, and fought, and fought, and fought, and fought..." she chuckled a bit. "...And could never hit the bastard. It took me years to even make advances on him- Three years of nonstop training and working, to be exact, before I landed my first hit on him. It was lackluster, not even a lethal or damaging blow, but one out of stubbornness and desperation. He was beating me- once again I was too slow, too weak, too hurt to keep up with him. He was playing with me. I'd tried everything from tricks to traps to sneak attacks to brute forcing him- I could never land a hit on him. Even when I crawled into his sleeping quarters at night and watched him sleep, whenever I built up the courage to slap or punch him he'd always open his eyes and stare at me with that damnably knowing smile of his and I'd simply cow away."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"So I stopped thinking like scum, and started thinking like a soldier. My task was to hit him- that was it, just land a hit on him at all and I would once again be his daughter. I cleared away all thoughts of stabbing him in the back and of slapping him in his sleep and focused on the direct assault. I was young, hot-headed, and full of piss-and-vinegar...But I wasn't going to be a nameless mercenary my whole life, so I needed to get this done. So here's the long and short of it; We fought, he deflected my sword and went to punch me in the head, so I pushed forward and slammed my skull into his fist."

She pauses.

"As I said; not spectacular, but a headbutt is a hit. I knocked myself out, but bruised his hand up something fierce- and when I woke up he was laughing at me! Can you imagine that? Said to me 'You definitely hit me, though I think you came out the worse of it" and moved on as if nothing had changed- and to be frank, I was fine with that. Having my name back didn't change the life I had chosen- and I understood why my father sent us out like he did after that." She concluded with a nod. "I forged myself rather than bent to some ideal like some noble-born jackass would." She concluded with a mild-mannered jab, but her face was a wolfish grin rather than a bitter grimace.

Duncan listened intently as Beatrice spoke, he knew little about the Blackwell family and was intrigued to find out more. It certainly wasn't what he expected; he had never heard of a noble house that made it's members earn their family name. However Duncan's intrigue quickly changed to anger at Beatrice's last comment. Though she didn't say it directly, it was clear she was referring to the De Reimer family, and they both knew it.
"Well that certainly is a story, and I am grateful that you were willing to share it with me" Though Duncan's face and voice remained as calm as it had before, there was now a fearsome anger in his eyes. It wasn't the insult towards him that caused this sudden anger, but rather the disrespect she showed towards his family. Duncan, like his siblings, did not take insult towards the De Reimer family lightly. "Given that you were willing to share your story with me, it only seems fair that I do that same in return".

Beatrice studied Duncan and, with the speed and intuition of a trained fighter, instantly recognized the anger Duncan carried behind his eyes- while Beatrice would ordinarily be slow on the uptake for things this subtle, anger and hostility are things a soldier learns to read... which is why Beatrice herself hides behind the impassable wall of stoicism, where only a few of her father's tendencies leak through; the grins, the lack of direct acknowledgement...

"Naturally. I won't deny a man his story- and you were willing to listen to mine." She extended a hand out and clasped Duncan on his shoulder, nodding at him- and holding him very firmly at this 'arm's length' position. She wasn't aggressing him- far from it- but she was trying to metaphysically stabilize and hold him up. After a few seconds, she let her arm fall and flexed her hand reflexively, curling it into a fist then letting her hand fall limp. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then settled in a balanced stance all the while. "I'm all ears."

Duncan gave Beatrice a questioning glance as she placed her hand on his shoulder; any physical contact other than a handshake was seen as improper by the nobles of Nyhem. Out of the corner of Duncan's eye he could see several of the nobles looking over at him and Beatrice, before turning back to mutter among themselves. 

"Very good. As you may already know, House De Reimer became the rulers of Cawanor after we over threw it's original rulers, House Hieze. Before we became the leaders of Cawanor, the people weren't exactly on best terms with it's rulers; they were cruel, greedy and incompetent. Thanks to them the nobles were near bankrupt and the commoners were on the brink of starvation. At that time, my family were the only people who seemed to be prospering. Soon house Hieze saw our house as a threat, due it's immense wealth and growing popularity. One day house Hieze detained my parents and executed them without trial" Duncan paused for a moment, recalling the memory of his parents execution was a painful one, and he had no intention of going into further detail. "After that house Hieze foolishly believed that the threat to their kingdom was gone. Though me and my siblings soon proved them wrong" Duncan said with a smile "For many, the execution of my parents was the final push and it was quite easy for me to convince them to rally behind the De Reimer banner. My sister was able to find the funds to equip our troops and bribe the local mercenaries and of course my brother was able to lead them into battle and eventually won the war against House Hieze. After that we executed the remaining members of house Hieze" a small smirk crossed over Duncan's face, after the amount pain that house Hieze had put him and his siblings through, it was always satisfying to know that they got what they deserved. "When we took charge of Cawanor we learnt why it was we had prevailed over House Hieze. Can you guess what it was?"

Beatrice listened with a dutiful attention, seemingly oblivious to the taboo on physical contact- which could perhaps lend insight onto the common birth of the Blackwell house, which was far from secret, and also to the simple nature of the Blackwell Kingdom's society. It didn't seem queer to the woman at all to have done this act of physical contact.

"Can I guess? I don't think so. I'd personally say it's because you were with your family and retribution is a damn fine coal to stoke the fires with. Always, from what you say of the Hieze, they were pretty shitty and nobody liked them." Beatrice said stoically. "People don't fight for people they don't like unless they pay well, and you say the were bankrupt. So..." She shrugs. "But anyway, go on. I don't mean to interrupt."

"Family" Duncan answered "The house that puts family first will always defeat the house that puts it's individual desirers first. Through our leadership Cawanor has gone from being bankrupt into the richest kingdom in Formaroth, and it is because we did what was best for our house and kingdom, not because we did what we wanted. We did not limit ourselves to petty honour or pride and as a result the kingdom has thrived" Duncan paused for a moment as he thought over his words "It is that reason that we based our family motto around that truth; to remind the future generations how to maintain our family legacy, for in the end that is all that matters as it is the only that lives on".

Beatrice listened to the man and nodded when he finished. "I see. Well, thank you for your time and for listening to a simple girl's story. I've stayed far longer than I intended to, and I must be getting back to my sister. I'll return with her once the ..." she paused and looked a bit miffed. "...The thing we came here to do is ready to be done. The negotiations, yes, the discussions."

She seemed incredibly irritated that she let herself get wrapped up in the story and lost focus on trying to think ahead at what she needed to say. Seems she really didn't plan on staying this long and was running out of planned dialogue options. She cleared her throat for a few seconds, grunting low in her throat in a very base manner, before backing up a step and allowing Duncan his space once more.

"Death's no stranger, Snake." she saluted Duncan, before turning on her heel and walking away in the crisp march of a soldier- without leaving much more room after her farewell to let Duncan get anymore else in the conversation.

As Beatrice walked away Duncan simply smiled "Tread carefully 'Mule'" He muttered to himself, as he turned round to continue the formalities with the other guests "Else that motto of yours may soon become a reality for your family".

((Collaboration by;TheDuncanMorgan and Phoenix))
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