The night would have been stygian if not for the crescent moon hanging above the battered shores. The light was a small comfort, and only served to reflect the glow off of Cyrdic's bestial eyes, one of the main aspects about him that betrayed his otherwise peasant looks, though it was Beaumont's way of ignoring the man's rough handsomeness and striking musculature. The Knight could not get a good read on him, and he found it equally as impossible to ascertain the motives of the voluptuous beauty that had cut down the bandits like a she-witch of the Forest of Loren! Even through the broken shale and ragged rocks, they had fought like daemons and received naught but a scratch. 

"My Marquisse Cariveau! What shall we do with these dogs?" a rakish knight asked, his sword at the throat of one of the Shipwreckers, clearly delighting in the man's fear and unease at the point of a sword being so close to his throat. Beaumont did not take his eyes off of the two newcomers they had come to rescue, shouting something in Bretonnian that clearly disappointed the Knights. A young squire trod out from behind the wall of steel that the Knight's presented, and he began binding every bandits hand with rope, concentrating on his work at the task as if his very future depended on it. Cyrdic imagined it likely did. 

"So, monsieur and mademoiselle. I am Beaumont Cariveau, third son of Armand d'Aquitaine and cousin to Baron D'Epee of Chateau D'Epee. We have many questions for you, but it is not here that they will be asked. If you would accompany us to the Castle, you may be washed and fed." he said, his eyes lingering on Camilla for a moment longer than Cyrdic cared for, before whistling loudly. The Knight performed the trick even with his guantlet on, placing the steel fingers into his mouth and calling for his steed; a beautiful white Destrier that leaped through the brush as effortlessly as Camilla when she danced. 

"Two minutes in Bretonnia and I already wish to leave." Cyrdic whispered, his woflish eyes boring into the Knight that had spoken to them. Despite the bloodied combat and Camilla's state of being covered in sea water and sand, her lush lips curved into a smile. She went about cleaning her Elven sword, though her large lover knew it was just for show. Blood seemed to disappear on her enchanted blade as if it cleansed itself.  

Cyrdic knew very little of Bretonnia provinces. To an Empire man, the entire country was filled with stuck up snobs that jousted rather than fed their common folk, and common folk too cowardly and whipped to fight or even wish for a better life. He could ascertain only as much as one might hear in a tavern after a round of drinks, likely jokes at the foreign land's expense. He had heard informed knowledge of the place as a boy, but he couldn't quite bring the information to bear at the moment.

"Salut mon seigneur," Camilla replied to the Knight, sheathing her blade. "We would be honored to accept the Baron's hospitality." Once again, Cyrdic was amazed at her talent for languages and accents. The best he could do was a rough Kislevite, and even then it was best he not talk or else toss the dice and see if the one he spoke to was stupid enough to fall for it. "There might be more men washed ashore from the crash, Marquisse. Would you search for them?" 

The man seemed very unused to taking requests, displeasure clear on his face at the woman speaking out of turn. "We have little time. The night grows late and we have hours to ride. There's no telling if there are D'Elbiq and Du Maisne fiends hiding in wait even now, or more of these wretches." He replied, mounting his stallion and inclining his head toward the captured bandits. The men looked utterly miserable, being tied to the saddles of the Knight's contingent of draft horses. "Tomorrow, we will send squires back this way to comb the beaches. I assume that is satisfactory to you, mademoiselle...?" 

It was clear he was awaiting an introduction from the two of them.
[@Penny]