Debut

[Taskmienster]

Legs wobbly, the exiled noble took his first stand on foreign soil without a mission on his mind. A Salvaran lord, kicked out of his home lands for not joining the civil war half way through it, Einar Fenrisson was a man without a mission. Instead of fleeing to the South and into the allied lands of Alerar, the man had taken one of the many ships leaving his Hold to Corone. If anything was going to interest his mind and get him back into the swing of life, he assumed it would be on the island nation known for its grand adventures. Time had long passed since his last visit to the country with his father, a diplomatic mission to establish new trades. It had been fun, for a younger and less statuesque Einar. Traveling to Corone without him made him miss the old man. Silently he prayed a half-hearted prayer to the Thayne that they had given Lord Fenrisson a proper place amongst the dead.

“Now what?” Einar’s heavy voice was solemn and a shadow of its former self. The light breeze off the ocean kicked up around him and sent loose debris dancing up the cobblestones. It was a dirty street, which led up to dirty shacks compared to what he was used to in Salvar. However, he was also more used to finer livery to display his family crest and the respect that came voluntarily and involuntarily alike when he arrived.

The massive man pounded his legs and shook them out. He needed to get the blood to flow right, get feeling back in them. Sea legs had been the underlining factor keeping him off of the ships that his family had long owned and used for commerce. It was an odd hatred of the water. The entire Fenrisson name had been built on the successful shipping ventures of the coastal lands they had owned for generations. Every time he was on a ship he felt sick though. Every time he disembarked he tended to walk like a drunk for at least a few blocks before the muscles registered that the ocean was no longer affecting his footing.

“Where you off to Sir?” The snide underlining of the tone was more than enough to make the tired Einar sigh. He did not turn around, did not see a point in doing so. The voice belonged to one of the crew. A lean, muscular man who’s entire life had been spent at sea. Throughout the trip his history had slowly been understood, his face had been put to a name, and he had gotten harassed for it endlessly. It was not often that a noble was stripped of their titles and lands and exiled. It was no often that a common sailor was equal to a man of prestige and note either. “Have some grand business to attend? Or perhaps you are more inclined to wander with the peasants?”

“I’m too old for this child,” he responded in his deep voice. The man was in his mid-twenties, at least five to seven years younger than Einar. Brashness and boldness was spurred on by the stupidity of youth. “Go back to your ship and live with the sea bound rats. At least you and they have something in common.”

Instead of waiting for a reply, or deeming the younger man worth his time, the heavy set noble wandered away from the docks of Radasanth. The town was sprawling with people. It had been years since he had traveled to the country with his father, in that time not much had changed. Petty arguments were the norm between the hawkers selling their shoddy wares and the citizens bartering for a better price. He noted that there were far more people in the city than he had ever remembered, but he was also much larger than they were this time around. “Suppose I’ll find a place to stay for the night, an inn on the upper east side of town. As I recall it was always much better suited for a noble, even if I am little more than a commoner now.”

((Closed))

[Luca]

Luca’s rather pert nose crinkled as she stepped gracefully from her carriage, hazel eyes taking in the rather unimpressive sights of Radasanth’s upper east side. The baroness was sure that to some people of lesser upbringing the shopping district of this portion of the city was something to write home about. To her it was nothing more than a place where merchants wished to swindle her and waste her time.

“Do come along, Merla,” Luca sighed, tucking a single loose curl up into the jeweled pin that had held it back, “I’ve not got all day to wait on you to keep up. “

The maid muttered an apology and followed her mistress out of the carriage and down the street, trying her best to keep up on her short stubby legs. Luca did not even try to slow down, nor did she turn back to make sure the older woman was still behind her. It was not her job to make sure the maid did as she was supposed to; Luca provided a home and food for Merla and her daughters as well as a small salary for her work as maid to the Baroness.

“Good day, Baroness,” the merchant within the milliner’s shop greeted her with a bow as Luca stepped inside his door, “I do hope the gods find you well today, ma’am?”

Luca barely noticed the shopkeeper, nodding briefly to him with a condescending smile and murmuring the usual pleasantry. While she was in the city, the Baroness figured she could at least entertain herself with some shopping. She held up various ribbons and tried on hats until she found one, with peacock feathers and brilliant blue ribbons. It would look lovely with a dress she hadn’t worn in ages and would give her an excuse to buy new shoes as well.

“See that this is paid for and is delivered to the estate, would you Merla?” Luca ordered her maid as she smiled once more to the shopkeeper. The two commoners looked at each other with a longsuffering smile on their faces as the Baroness flounced out of the shop.

It was nearly lunchtime, and because of this the street was becoming busier. At least half a dozen different nobles greeted her and tried to convince her to join them at one café or another. Luca smiled and nodded and promised to dine with them some other time and made up some story about having to pay a merchant to come and decorate her home. She avoided her fellow aristocrats whenever possible. They drove her to distraction with their politics and matchmaking, always trying to set her up for marriage with one unattractive man or another.

Her appointment with the seamstress was still nearly an hour away, and Luca knew she’d have to find somewhere to eat between now and then. She wondered briefly if Verana, Countess of Belmont, would be at her townhouse this week and if she could dine there. The Baroness preferred eating in someone’s home where she didn’t have to depend on a waitress to get her order right and serve her in a timely manner. Verana was at least tolerable and didn’t try to marry Luca off to some old man at every possible chance.

Luca turned to see if Merla had emerged from the hat shop yet, and as soon as the maid had caught up to her, she paused and smiled graciously to the woman. Merla raised a suspicious eyebrow, but Luca dismissed it as a twitch rather than any form of insubordination. She let the old woman get away with quite a lot these days it seemed.

“Merla, dearest,” the Baroness began in a sweet tone, “Do hurry along to see if Verana is in Radasanth today and would like us to join her for lunch. She’s such a sweet woman and I know how much she loves us to visit when we have to be in town.”

The maid nodded and toddled off down the street toward the Countess’s large townhouse which was only a block away. Luca strolled quietly toward the jeweler’s shop she knew was only a few shops down the way. She never had trouble passing time when trying on the pretty baubles Tremiere imported from all over the world.

[Taskmienster]

The walk through the city streets was quiet, disheartening. Time spent in towns as a noble was time spent being harassed at every point by anyone who recognized you. Merchants would call for you to see the wares they had on display, their greedy eyes wide and open hands always looking for gold. Citizens offered wide berths and sometimes bowed when they were uncultured and did not know the proper way to handle someone of higher status. It was a way that Lord Fenrisson had been used to, a way he enjoyed, though he would never admit as much. Salvar had been his foundation, the firm footing beneath him that never changed. His lineage and ranking in the foreign land translated to how he was perceived anywhere. Without his foundation, the entire feeble house he had built on it was crumbling around him.

Citizens did not care if they jolted him in his stride, or if he was uncomfortably close enough to smell the weeks of built up sweat on their bodies and clothing. Except for the metal pauldron on his right arm, the leather one on his left, and the shield on his back, he was almost constantly reminded physically of the fact that respect was no longer present. The real world was a place where respect was earned, not given by birthright. Einar was nothing more than another piece of meat with a weapon at his side, as far as Coronians were concerned. Packed in the streets as he was, without a single bit of attention resting on his face but reserved for his mace and armor instead, he felt out of place.

Further into Radasanth proper the streets widened and the true depth of the culture was put on display for anyone willing to notice it. Buildings were squat and tightly packed, but the architecture used to create them varied as much as the nationalities of the people. It was why Einar had been taught his entire life that Salvar was superior to Corone. Nobles in the melting-pot of Althanas were high born citizens, destined to rule the rabble. “How do they keep any semblance of order in this type of environment? People come and go as often as they will, and those that come are neither organized nor tracked. Anyone could live here; anyone could thrive here, from soldier to assassin.”

It was a disconcerting notion.

Einar let his eyes scan everything, from buildings to people. He continued traveling aimlessly. His feet were carrying him with little effort, but the mind that told them to continue moving was far too overwhelmed with other thoughts. The Upper Eastside, it was all he could think about. Would the nobles that had known his father and family, been part of their overseas business, would they still welcome him? Was he still a noble in their eyes? Or was the politics of the world more important that the help that he needed to get back on his feet?

As the roads became smoother and the dirty citizens were weeded out like chaff in the wind, the exiled noble was able to finally walk comfortably. His legs were no longer quivering under him with every step. His arms were free to swing at his side, and his stride was picked up. The districts shifted as he continued, from squat buildings to estates and high end shops. Jewelry was given as much promise and importance as silks from Akashima and spice from Fallien. The mediocre shops selling weapons and armor, common clothing, and the numerous street-vendors were all but a distant memory. “I’ll wander a bit and look for something to eat, then see what family connections my father left me to use.”

[Luca]

The jeweler smiled widely as Luca entered his shop, genuinely happy to see her. The Baroness returned his smile and accepted a light embrace as she kissed his cheek. He had been an old friend of her father’s but was also involved with the Radasanth Crime Syndicate, so Luca knew him well. Tremiere was one of the few people outside of her own estate and her brother that Luca trusted at all.

“How does my brother, Tremiere? I’ve not heard from him in some time,” she asked as she looked through the glass cases over a variety of diamond rings he had displayed. Tremiere unlocked one of the cases and pulled out a lovely ring with a tear-shaped diamond that was at least a carat in size.

“Locrian is well, Baroness. The young man has certainly made a name for himself among his friends,” the jeweler winked at her as another of his noble customers listened rather obviously to their conversation. Luca allowed him to slide the ring onto her finger as she turned a cold eye on the woman who she recognized as the wife of the Lord Redgrave, a minor noble. The woman was older, had been widowed by her late husband who was an Earl, and had been fortunate enough to remarry rather than having to live under her son’s roof when he inherited the estate. Luca raised an eyebrow to Lady Redgrave who quickly looked away as though she’d not been listening at all.

The Baroness’ attention was drawn outside the window of the shop, where a familiar face stood atop a rather impressive frame. She couldn’t think where she knew the man from, and his armor made her reconsider if she really recognized him at all or was mistaken. Turning to Tremiere, she smiled but pulled the ring from her finger and laid it in his palm.

“It’s lovely, darling Tremiere, but it will have to wait until another day,” she told him before turning and stepping out of the shop into the street. The man she’d seen had disappeared further down the street and she stomped her foot petulantly as she looked for him.

“Mistress Luca,” Merla had returned from Verana’s and Luca looked impatiently to her maid, “Lady Verana is not in residence in Radasanth this month, she has traveled to visit friends in the south of Corone. Shall I find you a table at the Bistro?”

The Baroness had just caught sight once more of the familiar face, and she waved Merla off as she lifted her skirts and hurried once more down the street, her maid struggling to keep up. The man was significantly taller than Luca and she had a time trying to catch up to him to get a closer look, but she was almost certain she knew him and just couldn’t put a name with the face. When he finally paused long enough for her to draw near to him, she put on her best face and smile as she approached him.

“M’lord?” she extended a gloved hand toward him, her mind working hard to remember who he was, “Luca Terlios, Baroness of Snowdale. How do you do?”

She hoped he’d recognize her, or at least her name, and give her time to come up with his name. Luca knew every noble in Corone, and abhorred the majority of them. She was fairly certain this gentleman, although not dressed like a noble, was of the Salvic aristocracy, at least by birth. Who knew what might have happened since that dreadful civil war had begun in the frozen reaches of that barbaric country.

“I do believe we’ve met sometime before,” she continued, lowering her lashes demurely, “Tell me I’m not mistaken, sir?”

[Taskmienster]

Einar listened to the rattling of his armor and shook his head. The steel-wrapped right arm was clattering with every step, the racket bounded off the walls of the shops. Sensitive ears of noble and noble’s retinue alike were given reason to look to the streets. A large man, bound in haphazard pieces of armor and carrying weapons wandered their streets, walked the cobblestone roads that the peasants deigned to keep away from. The eyes of the large man looked back. He could hear their concerns and their words as if he was close enough, he could hear the disgust in their voice. They would be questioning why someone who appeared as nothing more than a lost effigy of a pit fighter from Salvar would be in Radasanth. Fascination of that which they did not understand always forced noble’s interest to follow the fickle thoughts that danced behind their accusing eyes.

The clinking of the armor kept the mind of the newest warrior addition to Althanas from turning on one of the nobles and lashing out on them. He stopped and fingered the heavy mace at his side, wondering what it would take to get them to turn their eyes. Einar was turning to confront one of the overweight men in fur when a pretty, young woman raced up to him. Her face was covered by a demure smile and the light in her eyes said it was not a fake smile at the very least.

“Snowdale?” Einar responded, incredulity on his voice. He looked at her hand as if to shake it by the forearm with his own, but abandoned the thought. Whatever custom there was in Corone, he was unaware and could barely remember what he had been taught in regards to it. Instead he bowed. His father had long spoken about the Snowdale nobles, about their hold in Corone, and how they were great people he could always rely on. The young woman’s father and mother had been close friends of the family. It had been years since the monster of a man had come to Corone, but the last time he had come she had been so much younger. The bright woman looking at him could not have been much younger than Einar’s own wife, as young and bright as she was when they had first met.

“Well met, m’lady. I am Lord Einar Fenrisson, son of Reichart Fenrisson. Former lord of the Fenrisson lands of Southern Salvar.” His voice was gritty, deep, and his tongue betrayed him as his accent with common was tinged with that of Salvic. It was painful to admit the loss of his house, and his exile in the open. The words were as easy to say as it was to leave his wife and child behind without any words at all. “I believe our families were on good terms, your father and my father have done business in the past many times. You were much younger the last time we had chance to meet, though. How fares your father?”

It was almost comforting being able to talk to another noble. The words slipped out as quickly as he thought them, and despite his trouble with the common tongue he was happy to have another like him show compassion. It did not keep the eyes of the nobles from peering at him and his appearance however. Without trying to be rude, he searched the shops and met eyes with only a few who did not turn away from his gaze before he came to them. Those who did forget their false disinterest and met his hazel gaze turned away quickly as if he carried the plague.

[Luca]

Luca tilted her head in confusion as Einar bowed over her hand instead of kissing it as she was used to, but put it off to his Salvic customs which she never would understand. He seemed at least to recognize the name for which she was grateful, and when he gave his own, her face lit with recognition in return. She’d thought he was a bit oafish and barbaric, but still rather attractive in the way any teenage girl finds an older young man to be. He’d visited Snowdale with his father on some business or other and mostly ignored her the whole time except for when he was required to by etiquette.

“Such a pleasure to see you again, Lord Fenrisson,” the Baroness nodded, “Your father and mine were quite good friends I believe. The elder Lord Fenrisson brought you with him at least once or twice when he came to do business with my father, if I recall correctly.”

He referred to himself as the former lord of his lands, which made little sense. Luca had never heard of a noble who ceased to be a noble. The name was a birthright, as were the lands, and unless there had been a battle or debt between Lord Fenrisson and another noble who wanted his lands, there was no possible way she could think of that he would cease to be a landed member of the aristocracy.

“My father has left us, my mother with him,” she finally continued, not sure how to speak to the matter of his lost title, “There was an unfortunate accident on the road to Snowdale, an incident with some disreputable men who sought to harm them.”

Luca looked away from Einar, lifting a hand to her face as if to push aside a stray curl. She refused to admit that she sometimes missed her parents. It was nearly four years since they had been killed. One of the many nobles who walked the streets caught Luca’s eye and raised an eyebrow in disgust at her choice of companions. The Baroness smiled sweetly and turned back to Lord Fenrisson, glad of another way to raise the ire of her fellow aristocrats. They were all a bunch of animated corpses and backstabbing thieves as far as she was concerned.

“Tell me m’lord, have you taken your midday meal yet?” Luca asked, laying a gloved hand on his forearm as lightly as a butterfly’s wings, “I’m quite famished and was thinking of a fantastic little bistro around the corner. They serve the most delightful seafood, and have an excellent wine cellar. I could send Merla on to reserve a table on our behalf. I’d be most pleased if you’d join me for luncheon.”

[Taskmienster]

Disreputable men; two words that Einar did not in the least expect to hear. Word of the civil collapse of the governmental structure, and the upheaval of general Corone life had reached the shores of Salvar slightly. Thoughts as to truth behind what exactly was occurring were nowhere near the top of the former lord’s thoughts when civil war and the rise of the Church of the Sway were decimating his own lands. However, with thoughts of his lost lands no longer a concern he could reasonably dwell on forever, Einar turned his attention and consideration to the loss of Lord and Lady Snowdale. If two nobles were no longer safe on their way to and from their lands and the capital of Corone, what had become of the nation?

He wanted to say something, anything, but words were absent his tongue. Lips pursed tightly, he closed his eyes and mutely offered a question to whatever gods may have been listening. The young lady placed her hand on his elbow, which he bent immediately and pulled close to his chest. Her gloved hands were soft, light as a flake of snow. He smiled and put his other hand on hers with a nod of his head.

“I have only just arrived, to be honest. Transport from Salvar to Corone was… how do you say… uncomfortable? The food scarce and meager, hardly worth eating. I would be honored to accompany you.” Merla curtsied without a word and quickly hurried off, as fast as she could reasonably go and still hold her bearing as regally as she could. A servant, as far as Einar could tell, she was an older woman who could have been Luca’s mother’s maid when she was a child. The lord and baroness waited for the maid to create some distance between them before they began to walk. Fenrisson knew it was bad form to watch a servant leave, and kept his eyes slowly shifting instead; until out of the corner of his eye he could see Merla at some distance.

“Shall we?” Politely and with the grace of a noble heritage that was as much pass through lineage as taught since birth, the two began to slowly sashay their way down the street. With the arm of the younger, dashing Luca touching his, Einar felt strange. No woman had been so close to him in years, other than his wife. Jealous as she had always been, even giving the customary peck on the cheek of another noble upon parting was something that she saw as scandalous. It had changed small customs now and then. In Corone, without his wife, with Luca on his arm, and a strew of haphazard armor and weapons about him, he was out of his element.

[Luca]

Luca had never traveled much. Ideally, her parents would have lived and she would have had the opportunity to travel wherever she pleased as a lady of leisure. They would have eventually insisted she marry, but she was quite certain she’d have had at least two or three years in which she could have visited Eluriand or Knife’s Edge or Irrakam. Instead she spent hours listening to the land manager drone on and on about this or that piece of the property and how they could make more money from it. All she could do was trust that he was right.

“I’m sure it must be a terribly long voyage,” she tried to make conversation as they strolled down the street arm in arm, “But I don’t understand why you would have such terrible conditions. Surely you could have them hung for not providing an aristocrat with proper lodging and meals.”

The maitre d’ at the bistro was waiting for them when Luca arrived with her rather large guest, and the elderly man curled his nose and raised an eyebrow as he looked the Salvarian noble up and down before snorting in disapproval and silently leading them toward a table in the corner by a large bay window. Luca barely acknowledged the rude gentleman as he left them at their table waiting for the server to take their order.

“Don’t mind the stares,” Luca told Einar with a rather arrogant smile, “They have such odd ideas of what the word noble entails, and obviously I couldn’t care less.”

A young man with rather striking amber eyes in a dark skinned face sauntered over to their table with a pair of menus and a smile that lit his eyes to sparks.

“A drink for you m’lord and lady?” he purred, his voice slightly accented but not clearly enough that she could tell where he hailed from originally, “We’ve a – “

“We’ll have the peach brandy,” Luca interrupted, to which the waiter shrugged and glided away to fulfill her rather pointed request

“Have you already booked lodging here in the city, Lord Fenrisson?” she asked after the waiter delivered their brandy, pouring the golden liquid into glasses and leaving the bottle on the table, “I recommend Hotel Serendipity, it’s quite plush.”

[Taskmienster]

Years had passed since Einar had been in Corone last, years that had been spent with far more concerns and thoughts put into the lands of his father and none to travel. Overseas was a completely different world. In Salvar, the harsh winters and lazy summers created a culture built around the necessity of perfection. The winters offered a time of rest for the minds of the nobles, a time when none would attempt skirmishes without knowing full well that the warring would bring more casualties to the offensive than the defensive. The summers were a time for war, and one that brought about the necessity of nobles every day spent on the defenses and economic growth of Althanas’ shortest agricultural window.

Before he started responding, the man put his meaty hands around the delicate cup and sipped at the peach brandy. Strong, sweet, and yet still had the warmth of liquor that had was accustomed to from Salvar. He let the liquid swirl in his mouth before swallowing, his hardened palette barely able to take notice of the strength of so timid an alcohol. Einar placed the cup on the table and tapped his thick fingers against the smooth wood. The answers and responses that were required were, by far, much harder to speak of than it was to deal with the wayward eyes of the nobility. “When you have lost your lands, and have forced exile thrust upon you, no matter what station a person is they tend to show no respect. My ride to Corone from Salvar as a mix of isolation and belittlement; it was a new experience to say the least.”

Einar finished his glass quickly, letting the pulsing alcohol fill his stomach where good food had been absent for some time. He plucked the glass from the table and poured himself another glass. “I have not yet thought about lodging, to be honest. I have only just arrived, and as such have not had the chance to find a place to stay. With what little gold I have, I was going to try and find work in the city that fitted my abilities as well as stay in a place that I can afford. At present, my fiscal situation requires me to stay in an inn on the other side of town. Less plush, but it is all I could realistically afford without a steady income.”

[Luca]

Luca took a demure sip of the deceptively strong liquor, letting the warmth slowly slip down her throat and nestle in her stomach with a happy little glow. The brandy they served here was what made the bistro her favorite. The staff was lackluster, and sometimes even rude; the décor left much to be desired and as far as the Baroness was concerned, was quite ostentatious even for her. She plucked at the varicolored jacquard tablecloth with disdain as Einar explained his dilemma.

She couldn’t imagine how a noble would lose his lands, but it occurred to her that asking might be just as insulting as the actual loss. Luca wouldn’t have cared a shred about how her words would affect Lord Fennrisson had he been any other noble. But for some reason, one she couldn’t quite explain to herself, she didn’t feel it necessary to add insult to injury.

“Well, I believe that such behavior is completely unacceptable,” Luca replied indignantly, “Your lands are most certainly not what made you noble. It is in the blood, and cannot be taken away by any.”

The waiter had returned to the table and stood there sneering at them – he had obviously heard the Salvarian exile’s story and thought it amusing. The baroness turned her perfect face toward the server, untied the ribbon that held her hat to her head, and laid the hat on the seat beside her, straightening her hair – her eyes never left the man’s face.

“We’ll have the watercress salad with the Raiaeran dressing,” she glanced briefly to Einar, hoping he wouldn’t take offense at her ordering for him but decided that a juicy steak would likely erase any ill feeling, “Lord Fennrisson should try the Filet Mignon with chef’s particular sauce that he makes, and I’ll have the Coq au Vin.”

The waiter nodded and stalked off toward the kitchen to see that their order was placed and cooked. Luca turned back to Einar as he revealed he had no plans for lodging, nor any means to stay in a reputable establishment. It was quite unheard of for a noble to ask for work, especially not hard labor on the docks of Radasanth or in the business district. No matter how capable he was, if they heard he was exiled nobility, they’d make short work of him.

“I’ll hear nothing of you staying anywhere but at Snowdale. It’s not had guests since my parents passed, and could stand to have someone besides myself bouncing around it’s halls,” she smiled as though she already knew he’d argue and then accept anyway, “Let’s skip the necessary discussions about how it would seem improper or you couldn’t possibly, and just move right on to the moment you accept. I’ll not take no for an answer. Your family has always been friends with mine, and I wouldn’t change that. You’re one of the few nobles I can stand!”

[Taskmienster]

Laughing seemed inappropriate, but Einar couldn’t keep the smile from his face. There was very little he remembered about the Snowdale estate, or the family that he had long since met there, but Luca’s fierce – and often times blunt – nature was something no one would forget. Instead of complaining, offering to opt for the hard life in Radasanth for a while or any other such insulting notion he simply nodded and took another sip of his brandy. “I would be remiss if I denied a lady her request,” he responded with his beaming smile, “I would also find it simply… difficult not to accept the offer, to be honest. Snowdale was a welcoming place to my father on his trips, and the hospitality extended is to me is both welcomed and relieving. Finding any lodgings here, especially if knowledge of my past preceded me, would be like trying to hunt a pack of wolves with a dagger.”

The Salvaran lord looked away from the woman, trying to absorb what it would be like to live in Corone after spending his entire life in Salvar. The lavish nature of the world around him was a shock, even to one inherently raised with a silver spoon on his lips. The precious accoutrements of upper-society on the small island put anything the icy realm he had called home to shame. Rugs of the finest weave, decorated with elaborate pictures covered floors of more precious wood. Simple fork and knife were replaced by a myriad of silverware that had more meaning and uses then he could possibly remember. He was in a world completely unlike his own, and Luca had become the passing ship to rescue him from the harsh sea of confusion.

“I am sure there is something in Snowdale I can assist with. Be it common chores, general book keeping, or even basic security measures. I would be unable to accept your offer unless I worked to gain both trust and station. My father and yours were friends, close when situation permitted, and I would rekindle both friendship and mutual respect as their next generations.” He sipped more brandy, unsure of what to either say or do further. Political respect and personal respect were two completely different functions on Corone, the latter being almost ignored from what he could remember. However, if there was going to be a former lord of Salvar roaming through the ebb and flow of island politics, he would bring his own brand of politics along as well.

Smile and be kind as much as possible, become icy stone when necessary only.

[Luca]

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do,” Luca agreed, glancing up at the waiter with a longsuffering smile as he brought their meal to them, “But I will hear nothing of business over our luncheon. First and foremost shall be our friendship, whether that is how it was between our fathers or not. I’m quite weary of all the politics and maneuvering of Corone and will be quite happy to entertain someone who isn’t knee deep in the manure known as Coronian aristocratic duty.”

Ever so delicately Luca helped herself to her lunch, lifting each bite to her mouth as gingerly as a cat. As far as she was concerned, it would be a welcome refreshment to set aside all the tiresome parties and dinners, leave off the shopping trips with her fellow ladies, and to completely forget to answer the invitations to accompany the wives of important men on their husbands’ hunting trips. Einar would give her a lovely excuse to be remiss in her attentions to the rest of the nobility.

Of course there would be no end to the rumors. A young woman of noble blood inviting a Salvarian lord to not only visit but spend an extended amount of time in her home was a shocking development. She was quite certain the rumors had already begun to spread; the whispers and stifled laughter at the audacity of a baroness to invite a young man to her home without as much as a chaperone. They could only imagine what sort of lewd behavior would be taking place behind closed doors. Luca hid a smile behind her hand as she pictured the horrified face of Lady Moody and her fellow busy bodies.

The baroness waved her hand at Merla who was sitting a respectable distance from her mistress and ate a much more simple lunch. The older woman nodded and crossed to the nobles’ table and quickly joined them, kneeling beside Luca so as to hear her better.

“Merla, would you let Jeral know to have the carriage ready for us as soon as we finish eating? It shouldn’t be too very much longer. He can bring it here so we don’t have to walk through the streets and speak with any of the fluffed up peacocks wandering downtown this time of day.”
“Yes ma’am,” Merla rushed off, disappearing out the door, her lunch forgotten on the table.

“I didn’t mean for her to go now, I meant for her to finish eating and then go,” Luca sighed, taking another bite before continuing, “I suppose I’ll have to have the waiter pack a lunch for her to eat on the way back.”

Half an hour and an entire bottle of brandy later the pair had finished their meal and were comfortably ensconced in Luca’s carriage which gently bounced along on the road to Snowdale.

[Taskmienster]

Einar, with a stomach almost as full of brandy as it was filet mignon, retained his proper posture as the carriage jostled its way across cobblestone and eventually onto the dirt road. The meal had been beyond anything he had hoped for stepping off of the boat at the docks. The outcast noble’s trip to Corone was behind him, but seemed to have been the worst part of his exile. Luck followed him, and by whatever looked down to show its favor, he had stumbled upon the best part of the island nation. The Snowdale estate was forgotten initially, and the old allies of the family had never crossed his mind. A pleasure though it was, he felt out of place all the more relying on someone else to do for him what his own people would not.

“Luca,” he thought as he casually glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. His head was turned towards the almost fully drawn curtains on the doors, but his thoughts and attention were on his hostess. “The cursed Sway and the power-hungry nobility of Salvar cast me out, my fate to be left to myself. My wife watched me depart the lands that my ancestors had carved out of the coast. These times are difficult, no deity watches my steps, my faith is in myself alone, yet you have given me more hope than I could ask for…”

A particularly rough jolt from the less traversed thoroughfare and Einar was unsteadily attempting to regain his seating and composure. As if pushed from mind to mouth his thoughts became words, and he was looking directly at the younger woman. “Luca, if I may be so informal as to call you that, thank you. You have done more for me in the past two hours than anyone in the past month has. I am unsure of what compensation I will be able to offer, but my services are yours.”

The former Salvaran lord turned his eyes towards the soft carpeting of the carriage. Embarrassed, slightly uncomfortable, and yet had a sense of peace deep down. With a sharp mind for running an estate, a strong body for manual labor, and an ability to defend himself and others he was certain there would be something he could find to assist her. He opened his mouth to continue, but closed it just as quickly. Gaping like a freshly hooked cod was hardly becoming, but he ignored it as quickly as it had happened. “Please, if you would, tell me more about your estates? It has been years since I last had the honor of being company as part of my father’s retinue. Both of our families have become lost to time and tragedy, and my own path has changed so drastically. It would be nice to discuss your situation instead of dwell on my own.”