WHO: GwenaΓ«lle Baudin, Nell Voss, Marcoulf Ricart, Lakshmi Bai & possibly another. WHAT: An escort mission in southern Orlais. WHEN: This month. WHERE: Halamshiral, the Dales. NOTES: Sub-headers in the comments.
[ More than, at least the path here hadn't been too fraught.
And maybe it's not, but there was a wonderful thing to being a rifter, she's found, she may ask whatever question she pleases, and it can be put down to general ignorance. ]
Grand Duke Gaspard broke rank, split the army and led a number of men against the Empress in a bid for the throne. He was meant to have it when Emperor Florian died, but Celene snapped the seat out from under him. The Grand Game, you know.
[He tests the edge of the blade. Feels the burr against the pad of his thumb and must be satisfied as a moment later he sheaths the dagger with a soft snap.]
He was for some time known as a chevalier and master tactician. Fought honorably and won against the Nevarran incursion. When some questions about Orlesian security came up, someone thought he might be a better guiding hand through it than the Empress.
[ She doesn't need to guess what happens after, taking a deep sip of her wine to hide the roll of her eyes. ]
Typical.
[ It's a bitter, sharp mutter, but one she has even deep in her cups, to keep to herself. The one she has an even greater sense not to say - if they behave that way, neither of them deserve it. ] Have they reached an accord?
In a sense. A year ago they met for peace talks, only the meeting was disrupted by a contingent of supposedly independent rebels and calling themselves the Freemen of the Dales. The story goes that the Grand Duke helped them gain access to the Winter Palace and in return, the Freeman turned on him and Celene both.
[If there's a note of skepticism in his voice, surely it's for the incongruous details in the story. Gaspard had held a reputation as an honorable fighter with no love for the Game; Marcoulf had seen him once along the border in the company with a half dozen chevaliers and can remembr thinking he looked square in a way few men of title, much less one so high, did. But somehow in the span of a few years that man becomes the kind who helps secret murderers into the the palace. It feels--
Well, whatever it feels like doesn't really matter anymore.
There's a leather loop run through a hole at the end of the whetstone. Marcoulf uses it to secure the whetstone to his belt at his hip.]
Luckily for the Empress, the Inquisition was on hand to reinforce the guard and run off the attack. After, the Grand Duke was taken into custody and the whole thing settled by execution.
[ It's parroted back, and that she could not keep to herself. Dry as a desert wind. Catches her thumb at the bottom of her wipes the taste of wine off of it. Enough there, to never want to come back. Squabbling princes and ambitious daughters. Taking and taking and taking and wondering why nothing ever good came of themselves.
Was it worth? Was it worth it Nana? Rao? When they took your lives? ]
Who are the Freemen of the Dales that they have no love for either?
[He clucks his tongue. There on the veranda as a half dozen servants fold an army of linens between them, it's a mild kind of sound.]
Deserters.
[If he sounds just as unimpressed with them as the rational behind the Duke's betrayal-- well. No one likes a coward, much less one who runs away shouting 'You're wrong,' at everyone left behind. It's a selfish way of doing things.]
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no subject
And maybe it's not, but there was a wonderful thing to being a rifter, she's found, she may ask whatever question she pleases, and it can be put down to general ignorance. ]
I have not. What happened?
no subject
[He tests the edge of the blade. Feels the burr against the pad of his thumb and must be satisfied as a moment later he sheaths the dagger with a soft snap.]
He was for some time known as a chevalier and master tactician. Fought honorably and won against the Nevarran incursion. When some questions about Orlesian security came up, someone thought he might be a better guiding hand through it than the Empress.
no subject
Typical.
[ It's a bitter, sharp mutter, but one she has even deep in her cups, to keep to herself. The one she has an even greater sense not to say - if they behave that way, neither of them deserve it. ] Have they reached an accord?
no subject
[If there's a note of skepticism in his voice, surely it's for the incongruous details in the story. Gaspard had held a reputation as an honorable fighter with no love for the Game; Marcoulf had seen him once along the border in the company with a half dozen chevaliers and can remembr thinking he looked square in a way few men of title, much less one so high, did. But somehow in the span of a few years that man becomes the kind who helps secret murderers into the the palace. It feels--
Well, whatever it feels like doesn't really matter anymore.
There's a leather loop run through a hole at the end of the whetstone. Marcoulf uses it to secure the whetstone to his belt at his hip.]
Luckily for the Empress, the Inquisition was on hand to reinforce the guard and run off the attack. After, the Grand Duke was taken into custody and the whole thing settled by execution.
[You know: typical.]
no subject
[ It's parroted back, and that she could not keep to herself. Dry as a desert wind. Catches her thumb at the bottom of her wipes the taste of wine off of it. Enough there, to never want to come back. Squabbling princes and ambitious daughters. Taking and taking and taking and wondering why nothing ever good came of themselves.
Was it worth? Was it worth it Nana? Rao? When they took your lives? ]
Who are the Freemen of the Dales that they have no love for either?
no subject
Deserters.
[If he sounds just as unimpressed with them as the rational behind the Duke's betrayal-- well. No one likes a coward, much less one who runs away shouting 'You're wrong,' at everyone left behind. It's a selfish way of doing things.]