If we can get a post from Rae Zar I can post for both Gregar and Joakim, and perhaps Joakim.
Partisan Banned
Vuurvos
Dion
- Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: Vuurvos
- Joined: 12 yrs ago
- Posts: 2152 (0.49 / day)
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Username history
- Partisan 12 yrs ago
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10 yrs ago
I'm still God.
Bio
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
Most Recent Posts
Okay, we arrived a bit late so.. sorry for that. I'll read up what was posted just now and then get onto the next bit. I'll assume those that haven't posted lost interest.
Well good news. I won a medal and the tournament is over, I'll be back tonight to get us back on track.
Alright I'm going to be off for the weekend guys. If you need anything you can PM me, I might have wifi but I'm not bringing my laptop so I'll be on my phone. Catch y'all later.
Gregar smiled and nodded, with a polite bow added onto the end of that social scene. “Ofcourse, miss Rossric, if it humors you I shall attend your feast.” He gave the entire room one final glance, making sure to take a peek at the advisors too. The manservant bowed before Gregar before leading him away to the royal chambers. It was.. an awkward room, after the passing of Amber's father, and it seemed out of place to sleep here. Gregar decided he'd just spend most his time avoiding this room - after all, he'd be attending a feast most of the night. Oh, the headache he'd have in the morrow. The manservant was about to leave when Gregar raised his hand to him, calling him closer. “Good man, help me take off my armour would you? I can hardly attend a feast in battledress.” He grinned slightly, almost appearing as if he was a normal soldier, but at the same time there was a tone of authority and respect in his voice. He certainly seemed to try hard to be kind and noble at the same time.. a combination most noblemen wouldn't even think of.
The manservant seemed happily surprised with the tone Gregar used, and Gregar could read off of the poor mans' face that he'd been mistreated by some noblemen in this area before, as kindness from nobles was often far too seek in any area that wasn't the North. Well, that's not true, as many nobles in the North were cruel as well. The man helped him with his armor, neatly putting it in a nearby chest, and resting the shield with the Weade crest on it against the chest. When he moved to fetch Gregars sword to put it away, Gregar stopped his hand and smiled. “I will carry this. No man should be caught unarmed. No smart man, either way. I am sure you have a knife somewhere. You seem smart enough to realize value in a weapon.” The man responded, again, awestruck. Gregar needed no more information, the reaction was enough to see that this man did indeed carry a knife - somewhere. As did most other men, and some women. Gregar simply changed into more comfortable clothes, smiling at the manservant who had yet to say a single word to Gregar.
When Gregar left the room, the manservant led him back to the grand hall. However before they entered, Gregar stopped the man one final time. “Before we enter, what is your name, peasant? I wish to commend your services to the duchess. Perhaps you will find some fortune in that.” The man nodded and opened his mouth, barely any sound coming out before pushing himself to say it. “I-It's Rowan, s-ser Oakheart.” Gregar tilted his head slightly when he heard his nickname, but smiled and continued the way inside. He opened the large single door, and stepped inside, traversing down the steps with gentle, tough but gracious steps, with a remarkable and characteristical hand placed on the hilt of his sword. He wore a burgundy red tunic with simple decorations on the trims of the shirt, and some fine woolen pants under his tunic. His boots never left his feet.
Gregar stepped closer to the main table, where Amber and Tomas would be seated, and although it was rather strange to see a bastard at the main table, Gregar paid no mind and instead focussed on the environments. In a short period of time, Amber had managed to transform the room into a feasting hall, put together with minstrels, bards and poets. But what caught Gregars eye the most was the table on the left, closest to Amber, where the three advisors were seated. They were the commonly found set of advisors, one being a master at arms, the other a tradesman and finally the spymaster, someone who you couldn't be sure of what he exactly did, except for spying.
The feast continued deep into the night, and Gregar had a few too many wine glasses, when the fattest of advisors stood up and raised his glass. “I wish to propose a greeting to Gregar Weade, the Oakheart!” A grin twisted on his face, but Gregar was far too drunk to pay mind to that. For that reason he'd also not noticed the spymaster slip out of his seat and slip into a passageway, and if anyone noticed, they'd likely think he went to relieve himself. “And a celebration to duchess Rossric! Under your rule we will live in prosperity and wealth, may the gods protect you.” It was then that a scream was heard from the upper balcony, where a set of four archers had appeared, longbow in hand and arrow nocked, ready to fire at the part of three sitting at the main table. Before anyone would be able to react, a group of guardsmen with spears entered the hall through the man door, and another one through the door that led to the quarters. As Gregar got up to defend himself, drunkenly throwing over the chair he had sat upon, the first volley of arrows was loosed, narrowly missing Gregar and Amber, but a single arrow grazing past Tomas' calves. It wouldn't hurt much, but it was sure that the archers knew how to aim.
As Gregar got up from the chair he drew his sword, preparing to meet the guard that came from behind them through the door first. As the guardsmen closed the distance, Gregar stepped forward too, sending his sword for the mans arm. Ofcourse, the man saw it coming from miles away and parried it with ease, but Gregar had something else up his sleeve. His sword having been blocked, he swung his left fist for the mans head and “OW!” The man stammered back, one hand on his eye as he stumbled around. It was enough time for Gregar to send another strike at the mans shoulder, hitting it and giving him a deep cut. The man dropped his sword and was now grasping for his shoulder when he felt a foot hit his knee sending him face first into the ground.
When he turned to face towards the small stairs leading up to the heightened platform with the main table, he noticed one of the soldiers from the larger door had come to him, where as the other two had gone for the other side to get to Amber and Tomas. Everyone in the hall was busy trying to get out, causing a ruckus as they pressed for the door. At the very least the three of them had some moments time before the archers could get a better aim at them, the peasantry and nobles that attended the feast busy blocking their shots to get away. Gregar was too drunk to notice the soldier approaching him had already cocked his arm back to strike him with the spear, but was saved by a peasant with a knife. “Oakheart! RUN!” the voice was familiar, as was the face, but Gregar couldn't remember the name that went along with the face; perhaps it was because the face was bloodied from the blood squirting from a soldiers neck. Before Gregar had a chance to react another arrow flew past him, notching itself into a wooden beam behind him.
With no time to react to anything other than the 'Run!' command, from a peasant no less, Gregar moved swiftly towards Amber in an attempt to grab her arm, after which he would quickly run back towards the stairs he came from before heading towards the door. He was sure Tomas could fend for himself, given that Amber had had plenty of time to deal with an attacker of her own herself. As he ran outside, with or without Amber, he headed for the peasant that had helped him earlier, who appeared to be waiting with his horse. “W-wait, I can.. cannot leave without my battledr..” Ah, yes. The wine was certainly delicious at these events. “Ser Oakheart, I.. I had known of their plot to kill duchess Rossric for some time, and I was even involved at one point.. but you made me realize my error. Not all noblemen are cruel. In fact, it is these imposters that are cruel, taking my taxes and raising them every week. I fear they have too many in this complot of theirs, as you could see they have even bribed the guards with their wealth. I took the chance after you would commend my name to gather your equipment and prepare your horse. I just fear I wasn't quick enough. Please, hurry before it is too late.” The entire idea of a plot to kill Amber was ridiculous, but then again they just got shot at with arrows, and stabbed at with spears. Perhaps it was true, and perhaps the peasant saved Gregars drunk life. Without asking any more questions Gregar mounted the horse, looked over to see if Amber and Tomas were there and then rode off, sure that they would follow. If they'd ride through the night, they'd arrive at the Wintershouse by the next afternoon.
As Gidja was standing guard, a scrawny and pale skinned man entered the palisades of the village, one who she hadn't seen before. He certainly wasn't from around the village, that was sure. Leaving her post was dangerous.. but then again, a stranger in the village that she didn't know was probably just as dangerous. She shrugged and approached the man, hailing him with her left hand while gripping her spear tightly with the right. “Hail and welcome to the Wintershouse. Might I ask what your bussiness here is, traveler?” she said with her most guardly voice, one that seemed just and respectful, rather than oppressive and mean. “It's- it's the wagons, m'lady. We were travelin' to Wintershouse, ye' see? And our wagons, we got them travelin' here ye' see? But there be a blizzard comin' and they don' know if they'll be makin' it 'ere. Might freeze to death, hear me?” Well, the man certainly had a thick lower class Ironhills accent. “I hear you. I'll get the captain of the guard, and we can decide if we'll send someone out.” Knowing the captain of the guard, most likely Gidja would get sent out. For some reason she always got the annoying and hard jobs, and she never got to stand around doing nothing for more than an hour before he had some task for her that needed special attention.
She told the man to wait in the courtyard, stay in the inn and stay warm. She wouldn't have him freezing to death, the man seemed fair despite being from the Ironhills. She headed back inside towards the armory, where she'd likely find captain Rolland. On her way she passed young lord regent Joakim, who seemed to be retiring to his quarters. She bowed shortly before continueing on her way past the large hall designated for meeting the earls for strategic discussions or anything of the sorts. She took a peak inside and spotted Rolland, who for some reason wasn't in the armory. “Captain Rolland! Urgent news!” she almost yelled when she entered the hall, “A wagon group is caught in the weather. They say there's a blizzard coming. I'm not sure about that, but it might be best if we send someone out.” She smirked at him before continueing. “Perhaps you want to get some real experience again? I can take you with me to go fetch these wagons, give you something to do other than standing around here picking your noooooos..” She didn't even see ser Cregan until she spoke her last word, slowly letting it fall out of her mouth while staring at Cregan. “I mean.. maybe you would like to accompany me, sir captain, to show me how to best fulfil this task?”
That was stupid of her, making the captain look like an idiot in front of Cregan.. I hope I don't get watchtower duty for this.. she thought to herself, a light blush coming onto her face.
The manservant seemed happily surprised with the tone Gregar used, and Gregar could read off of the poor mans' face that he'd been mistreated by some noblemen in this area before, as kindness from nobles was often far too seek in any area that wasn't the North. Well, that's not true, as many nobles in the North were cruel as well. The man helped him with his armor, neatly putting it in a nearby chest, and resting the shield with the Weade crest on it against the chest. When he moved to fetch Gregars sword to put it away, Gregar stopped his hand and smiled. “I will carry this. No man should be caught unarmed. No smart man, either way. I am sure you have a knife somewhere. You seem smart enough to realize value in a weapon.” The man responded, again, awestruck. Gregar needed no more information, the reaction was enough to see that this man did indeed carry a knife - somewhere. As did most other men, and some women. Gregar simply changed into more comfortable clothes, smiling at the manservant who had yet to say a single word to Gregar.
When Gregar left the room, the manservant led him back to the grand hall. However before they entered, Gregar stopped the man one final time. “Before we enter, what is your name, peasant? I wish to commend your services to the duchess. Perhaps you will find some fortune in that.” The man nodded and opened his mouth, barely any sound coming out before pushing himself to say it. “I-It's Rowan, s-ser Oakheart.” Gregar tilted his head slightly when he heard his nickname, but smiled and continued the way inside. He opened the large single door, and stepped inside, traversing down the steps with gentle, tough but gracious steps, with a remarkable and characteristical hand placed on the hilt of his sword. He wore a burgundy red tunic with simple decorations on the trims of the shirt, and some fine woolen pants under his tunic. His boots never left his feet.
Gregar stepped closer to the main table, where Amber and Tomas would be seated, and although it was rather strange to see a bastard at the main table, Gregar paid no mind and instead focussed on the environments. In a short period of time, Amber had managed to transform the room into a feasting hall, put together with minstrels, bards and poets. But what caught Gregars eye the most was the table on the left, closest to Amber, where the three advisors were seated. They were the commonly found set of advisors, one being a master at arms, the other a tradesman and finally the spymaster, someone who you couldn't be sure of what he exactly did, except for spying.
The feast continued deep into the night, and Gregar had a few too many wine glasses, when the fattest of advisors stood up and raised his glass. “I wish to propose a greeting to Gregar Weade, the Oakheart!” A grin twisted on his face, but Gregar was far too drunk to pay mind to that. For that reason he'd also not noticed the spymaster slip out of his seat and slip into a passageway, and if anyone noticed, they'd likely think he went to relieve himself. “And a celebration to duchess Rossric! Under your rule we will live in prosperity and wealth, may the gods protect you.” It was then that a scream was heard from the upper balcony, where a set of four archers had appeared, longbow in hand and arrow nocked, ready to fire at the part of three sitting at the main table. Before anyone would be able to react, a group of guardsmen with spears entered the hall through the man door, and another one through the door that led to the quarters. As Gregar got up to defend himself, drunkenly throwing over the chair he had sat upon, the first volley of arrows was loosed, narrowly missing Gregar and Amber, but a single arrow grazing past Tomas' calves. It wouldn't hurt much, but it was sure that the archers knew how to aim.
As Gregar got up from the chair he drew his sword, preparing to meet the guard that came from behind them through the door first. As the guardsmen closed the distance, Gregar stepped forward too, sending his sword for the mans arm. Ofcourse, the man saw it coming from miles away and parried it with ease, but Gregar had something else up his sleeve. His sword having been blocked, he swung his left fist for the mans head and “OW!” The man stammered back, one hand on his eye as he stumbled around. It was enough time for Gregar to send another strike at the mans shoulder, hitting it and giving him a deep cut. The man dropped his sword and was now grasping for his shoulder when he felt a foot hit his knee sending him face first into the ground.
When he turned to face towards the small stairs leading up to the heightened platform with the main table, he noticed one of the soldiers from the larger door had come to him, where as the other two had gone for the other side to get to Amber and Tomas. Everyone in the hall was busy trying to get out, causing a ruckus as they pressed for the door. At the very least the three of them had some moments time before the archers could get a better aim at them, the peasantry and nobles that attended the feast busy blocking their shots to get away. Gregar was too drunk to notice the soldier approaching him had already cocked his arm back to strike him with the spear, but was saved by a peasant with a knife. “Oakheart! RUN!” the voice was familiar, as was the face, but Gregar couldn't remember the name that went along with the face; perhaps it was because the face was bloodied from the blood squirting from a soldiers neck. Before Gregar had a chance to react another arrow flew past him, notching itself into a wooden beam behind him.
With no time to react to anything other than the 'Run!' command, from a peasant no less, Gregar moved swiftly towards Amber in an attempt to grab her arm, after which he would quickly run back towards the stairs he came from before heading towards the door. He was sure Tomas could fend for himself, given that Amber had had plenty of time to deal with an attacker of her own herself. As he ran outside, with or without Amber, he headed for the peasant that had helped him earlier, who appeared to be waiting with his horse. “W-wait, I can.. cannot leave without my battledr..” Ah, yes. The wine was certainly delicious at these events. “Ser Oakheart, I.. I had known of their plot to kill duchess Rossric for some time, and I was even involved at one point.. but you made me realize my error. Not all noblemen are cruel. In fact, it is these imposters that are cruel, taking my taxes and raising them every week. I fear they have too many in this complot of theirs, as you could see they have even bribed the guards with their wealth. I took the chance after you would commend my name to gather your equipment and prepare your horse. I just fear I wasn't quick enough. Please, hurry before it is too late.” The entire idea of a plot to kill Amber was ridiculous, but then again they just got shot at with arrows, and stabbed at with spears. Perhaps it was true, and perhaps the peasant saved Gregars drunk life. Without asking any more questions Gregar mounted the horse, looked over to see if Amber and Tomas were there and then rode off, sure that they would follow. If they'd ride through the night, they'd arrive at the Wintershouse by the next afternoon.
As Gidja was standing guard, a scrawny and pale skinned man entered the palisades of the village, one who she hadn't seen before. He certainly wasn't from around the village, that was sure. Leaving her post was dangerous.. but then again, a stranger in the village that she didn't know was probably just as dangerous. She shrugged and approached the man, hailing him with her left hand while gripping her spear tightly with the right. “Hail and welcome to the Wintershouse. Might I ask what your bussiness here is, traveler?” she said with her most guardly voice, one that seemed just and respectful, rather than oppressive and mean. “It's- it's the wagons, m'lady. We were travelin' to Wintershouse, ye' see? And our wagons, we got them travelin' here ye' see? But there be a blizzard comin' and they don' know if they'll be makin' it 'ere. Might freeze to death, hear me?” Well, the man certainly had a thick lower class Ironhills accent. “I hear you. I'll get the captain of the guard, and we can decide if we'll send someone out.” Knowing the captain of the guard, most likely Gidja would get sent out. For some reason she always got the annoying and hard jobs, and she never got to stand around doing nothing for more than an hour before he had some task for her that needed special attention.
She told the man to wait in the courtyard, stay in the inn and stay warm. She wouldn't have him freezing to death, the man seemed fair despite being from the Ironhills. She headed back inside towards the armory, where she'd likely find captain Rolland. On her way she passed young lord regent Joakim, who seemed to be retiring to his quarters. She bowed shortly before continueing on her way past the large hall designated for meeting the earls for strategic discussions or anything of the sorts. She took a peak inside and spotted Rolland, who for some reason wasn't in the armory. “Captain Rolland! Urgent news!” she almost yelled when she entered the hall, “A wagon group is caught in the weather. They say there's a blizzard coming. I'm not sure about that, but it might be best if we send someone out.” She smirked at him before continueing. “Perhaps you want to get some real experience again? I can take you with me to go fetch these wagons, give you something to do other than standing around here picking your noooooos..” She didn't even see ser Cregan until she spoke her last word, slowly letting it fall out of her mouth while staring at Cregan. “I mean.. maybe you would like to accompany me, sir captain, to show me how to best fulfil this task?”
That was stupid of her, making the captain look like an idiot in front of Cregan.. I hope I don't get watchtower duty for this.. she thought to herself, a light blush coming onto her face.
Looks fine to me, it's interesting to see some children too. :p
Hmmm.. so I'm noticing a lack of posts or at the very least a very slow pace. Is there anything I can do for anyone to get them along? I'd like to get moving pretty soon, considering I won't be here from friday :9 and I am not sure if I can be on RPG while I'm gone.
I can make one real quick, I've done 'em before.
You can just repeat the hiders for every character as much as you'd need. Then again, this is optional so you can add/leave out as you please.
You can just repeat the hiders for every character as much as you'd need. Then again, this is optional so you can add/leave out as you please.
I don't want to put you through more work, for something that's not really neccesary. :D
Also Inertia said we could do relationship sheets. I was thinking this could be a good idea, especially if it gets us thinking to which character would know which character, how they know eachother and what their opinion on the others are?
Also Inertia said we could do relationship sheets. I was thinking this could be a good idea, especially if it gets us thinking to which character would know which character, how they know eachother and what their opinion on the others are?
Joakim sat upon the throne for several more minutes, as some of the earls had not yet left and he didn't want to seem rude by leaving before them. They were talking to eachother while overlooking the strategic map on the large table in front of the throne, pointing at several holdings of their own, to the north where recent reports of barbaric woodspeople have surfaced, an old annoyance to the Weade that Joakims' father had thought dealt with. Apparently they hadn't been dealt with.
After pointing at the north, their hands shifted south to the border of the Forklands and the Whitelands. The few things Joakim heard from them related to the trade resuming there after a road had become unaccesible due to a heavy storm. It's good that trade resumed, whatever small amount of trade passed through. After discussing all that they bowed for Joakim, whom nodded in return and made a small gesture with his hand, before they left. Joakim was about to follow suit and retire for the night, but it seemed ser Rolland had urgent news of some sorts. He walked towards Joakim with a Northerners stride, it seemed, and handed him the daily raven messages.
An annoyed look becrept Joakims face, more so for the messages than ser Rolland, for he had already gotten plenty of messages. No doubt these were more letters of support in this time of mourning. Joakim shook his head, they were merely trying to rub the Weades' the right way for the most part as most of them paid no mind to Rikard unless they needed something. However a certain letter caught his eye, being sealed with the seal of an Athos man. Quickly he opened it, and read it carefully. It seemed Jovan Athos was on his way to the north, a dangerous escapade for anyone, and more so this plagued man. But he was welcome none the less.
Joakim turned back to Rolland, throwing the other letters onto the table without paying them more mind. From his jackets' pocket he revealed a letter, marked with the sign of Harrighfield, meaning it must've been written by lord Perris himself. “A message from the Harrighfields,” he spoke softly, to not allow anyone other than Rolland to hear. “he claims the right to sit on our throne, as according to him Gregar is not fit to rule. And more so, he claims that right by force. We are going to war, it seems. I want you to raise the guards, and double the patrols. There will be no tresspassers here tonight.” Joakim gave him a serious, stern and strict look before rolling the letter back to a mere roll of paper, and stuffed it back in his jacket. What he didn't mention to Rolland was the chance for a peaceful solution, though Gregar would not like it, most likely. His hands went over to the table again, grabbing the pile of letters, before greeting Rolland with a nod and walking away to his chambers. He would probably have to spend a night writing the 'thank you' letters to everyone, and then the entire tomorrow to rewrite them, as his handwriting was rather sloppy.
Gregar smiled at Amber, who seemed intent on mocking him as he did her. “Aye, that horse was a tough one.” His head turned around the room once again, spotting amidst the crowd that had gathered a man he knew as Tomas, the bastard. The man had somewhat short hair and a small beard, with a pair of blue eyes that would make any woman swoon as soon as the next. Gregar had never really been interested in him, and usually talked to him only when he had to, but he was sure the boy was a fine man. A bastard, but a fine man. A hand went up as he waved at Tomas slightly, almost as if he was trying to be funny doing it.
He noticed some others, amongst others a tradesman he knew to be.. less than trustworthy, but very rich. He hadn't understood why Amber had kept the tradesman turned noble around, but then again Gregar didn't understand the concept of wealth either. Some armed man stood around the tradesman, but Gregar paid him no mind, since he blent in with the environment rather easily.
Besides Amber were the advisors, all looking the part with their fancy robes and clothes, and a devilous grin on their face, as if they were so happy to spend their days listening to commoners' pleas. Or perhaps they were happy because they could rub their grubby little hands all over the Rossrics' wealth. “However if you'd excuse me, I wish to rest and the road to my home is yet long. Perhaps you have a quarters for me, after which I can stay the rest of tomorrow, leaving in the evening? I'd reach the border before midnight, and after that it would be not much longer.”
After pointing at the north, their hands shifted south to the border of the Forklands and the Whitelands. The few things Joakim heard from them related to the trade resuming there after a road had become unaccesible due to a heavy storm. It's good that trade resumed, whatever small amount of trade passed through. After discussing all that they bowed for Joakim, whom nodded in return and made a small gesture with his hand, before they left. Joakim was about to follow suit and retire for the night, but it seemed ser Rolland had urgent news of some sorts. He walked towards Joakim with a Northerners stride, it seemed, and handed him the daily raven messages.
An annoyed look becrept Joakims face, more so for the messages than ser Rolland, for he had already gotten plenty of messages. No doubt these were more letters of support in this time of mourning. Joakim shook his head, they were merely trying to rub the Weades' the right way for the most part as most of them paid no mind to Rikard unless they needed something. However a certain letter caught his eye, being sealed with the seal of an Athos man. Quickly he opened it, and read it carefully. It seemed Jovan Athos was on his way to the north, a dangerous escapade for anyone, and more so this plagued man. But he was welcome none the less.
Joakim turned back to Rolland, throwing the other letters onto the table without paying them more mind. From his jackets' pocket he revealed a letter, marked with the sign of Harrighfield, meaning it must've been written by lord Perris himself. “A message from the Harrighfields,” he spoke softly, to not allow anyone other than Rolland to hear. “he claims the right to sit on our throne, as according to him Gregar is not fit to rule. And more so, he claims that right by force. We are going to war, it seems. I want you to raise the guards, and double the patrols. There will be no tresspassers here tonight.” Joakim gave him a serious, stern and strict look before rolling the letter back to a mere roll of paper, and stuffed it back in his jacket. What he didn't mention to Rolland was the chance for a peaceful solution, though Gregar would not like it, most likely. His hands went over to the table again, grabbing the pile of letters, before greeting Rolland with a nod and walking away to his chambers. He would probably have to spend a night writing the 'thank you' letters to everyone, and then the entire tomorrow to rewrite them, as his handwriting was rather sloppy.
Gregar smiled at Amber, who seemed intent on mocking him as he did her. “Aye, that horse was a tough one.” His head turned around the room once again, spotting amidst the crowd that had gathered a man he knew as Tomas, the bastard. The man had somewhat short hair and a small beard, with a pair of blue eyes that would make any woman swoon as soon as the next. Gregar had never really been interested in him, and usually talked to him only when he had to, but he was sure the boy was a fine man. A bastard, but a fine man. A hand went up as he waved at Tomas slightly, almost as if he was trying to be funny doing it.
He noticed some others, amongst others a tradesman he knew to be.. less than trustworthy, but very rich. He hadn't understood why Amber had kept the tradesman turned noble around, but then again Gregar didn't understand the concept of wealth either. Some armed man stood around the tradesman, but Gregar paid him no mind, since he blent in with the environment rather easily.
Besides Amber were the advisors, all looking the part with their fancy robes and clothes, and a devilous grin on their face, as if they were so happy to spend their days listening to commoners' pleas. Or perhaps they were happy because they could rub their grubby little hands all over the Rossrics' wealth. “However if you'd excuse me, I wish to rest and the road to my home is yet long. Perhaps you have a quarters for me, after which I can stay the rest of tomorrow, leaving in the evening? I'd reach the border before midnight, and after that it would be not much longer.”
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