[b]Tristan and Nin[/b] Mort looks relieved that you're definitely not poachers, and his cheeks rise in a happy smile. They fall again quickly though and he hesitates at Tristan's question, slumping ever so slightly in his saddle. "She's...demanding, sir. I can't say that she's unfair. She expects much, and it has been an honor to ride with her." The both of you have met many a lord and petty noble in your lives working for Lostwithiel. Most are "demanding," but saying that about them isn't exactly what you'd expect of a sworn knight in their service. His hesitation says that something is amiss, but it's hard to say what the problem is. Perhaps he thinks King Pellinore is under too much pressure and wants to excuse her wrongdoings? Perhaps he is just young and unversed in being diplomatic in this way. You could press him fairly easily if you wish, he's an open book of pride, tradition, and youthful puppy enthusiasm. [b]Constance and Robena[/b] The ghosts turn to Constance and her feline companion, and they permit Robena to back up around the courtyard and put Constance in between them and herself. There is a terrible bitterness in the crone's eyes. "Honored?!" She shrieks, and even Robena can make out the words and the form clearly. "You [i]dare[/i] call us honored?! Where then is the good pine box for my son that would keep the maggots from his eyes?! Where then the stones that would mark our passing and tell travelers of our great family? Uther's men left our bodies to [i]rot[/i] child, and you call us honored." The crone moves her head to spit, were she corporeal. "But very well, you offer yourself for this knight's abandonment. Offer then." Constance, you know the old ways. There is only one price to be paid here and it is in blood. Yours, Robenas, innocents, traitors, revenge, it is all blood to the ghosts. You could make an oath to pay it back to their betrayers, but that would indeed be an oath to slay King Uther and his most loyal vassals, and that oath would haunt you. The ghost will hear of nothing else, and your power to inspire has no hold over the chill of the grave. [Constance, the crone denies your right to exhilarate and intoxicate when you win someone over, and they will refuse any boon you beg of them. You may ask your next question, but that is all. Tell us how you respond to this denial.]