I Was Born On The List Field

War, however, was not ideal. The fights of men with titles who thought the lives of lesser-born were worth sacrificing for their pride and greed. It was a waste of life...

"Bah! Not that old. Geoffrey is much, much older. I'm certain he's older than Father Time. You have many years left in you," she teased.

Her face warmed and she dipped her head, "I am the youngest. Most are in their forties and older, another reason I travel the most. I'm still spry. But um, thank you. I appreciate the compliment, sir."

He laughed.

“Indeed, calling yourself ‘spry,’ makes me feel…well preserved.”

He raised the cup in a toast, “Jalon, I owe you my life, and…” he looked to the foot of the bed. A set of clean bedclothes. I fear I soiled these with my boots. I suppose I owe the fact I didn’t do worse to them by your quick work.”

He tried to sit up and undo the buckles and failed miserably.

"Oh! You asked about guards. I'm sure that would be received well by the others."

Jalon waved away the concern. "And I've had much worse on those sheets in the past; a bit of dirt or sweat is preferable to blood and bile. Do you need help in changing into something more comfortable? We have spare clothes you can borrow that might be better for you while you recover."

He considered. Working to guard a cult of healers wasn’t a grand emprise, but he had little left to prove now, and Urbino would never guess Capitano Monteacudo would do such a thing. And knights should protect the weak. Though calling this woman weak was a fool’s errand. Food for thought.

War, however, was not ideal. The fights of men with titles who thought the lives of lesser-born were worth sacrificing for their pride and greed. It was a waste of life...

"Bah! Not that old. Geoffrey is much, much older. I'm certain he's older than Father Time. You have many years left in you," she teased.

Her face warmed and she dipped her head, "I am the youngest. Most are in their forties and older, another reason I travel the most. I'm still spry. But um, thank you. I appreciate the compliment, sir."

He laughed.

“Indeed, calling yourself ‘spry,’ makes me feel…well preserved.”

He raised the cup in a toast, “Jalon, I owe you my life, and…” he looked to the foot of the bed. A set of clean bedclothes. I fear I soiled these with my boots. I suppose I owe the fact I didn’t do worse to them by your quick work.”

He tried to sit up and undo the buckles and failed miserably.

A saint was...not quite correct. An aspect of Hazlia, not a saint; they were more of a lesser god, but she didn't correct him. Perhaps later, if he showed enough interest.

"Not a bore or disturbing at all, I've had my share of skirmishes on the road." It didn't bother her much now that she'd had to defend herself a few times. She did wonder what happened to create such an enemy that he'd be put on a list like this, but given how he tried to push past it, she let it go for now.

"We go where the Victim tells us that we are needed. They really enjoy sending me southward, however..." It was a curious pattern. Everyone else was sent everywhere else, but it felt like she was always going in the same direction.

"And we can all defend ourselves. We have to if we're to travel and provide aid...the roads are dangerous, especially if we're alone." She shrugged, "I can use my quarterstaff and a hand crossbow when needed."

Then there were spells, but they rarely advertised their magic to outsiders. It was an open secret in town, but not elsewhere.

I am, as you can see, an old man who succeeds in a job that sadly kills young men. If you serve one called the Victim, then you are no stranger to the hardships of a man-at-arms. Normally, at this point in my life, I would travel only in the company of my armed banda. But my lord send me here alone last week. I think it was to get me to safety. Now, I know not my road. Tell me, does your temple hire guards for these expeditions? I do know something of the lands south of here."

This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.

He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.

On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.

Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.

He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.

He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.

He waited. For now.

She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.

"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.

"You were correct, my dear handsome knight." with her face hidden she feels emboldened to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I needed rest. I am not used to being around so many people. In the silver castle, my home, we rarely have guests."

His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.

"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.

I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.

Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."

"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.

The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.

A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."

He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"

"Our courts physician once said to me `with every loss and hardship, we are growing more into the person the gods intend for us to be´. I hope it brings you some condolance."

Let them jape.

"Your physician is indeed wise. I fear I am, perhaps, too grown, but I have not come this far without being open to new things. Perhaps my road will lead to your court some day and I can provide a spot of color."

The dance ends.

-plain and uninteresting- she judges them quietly.

"My court is always open for you, Sir Etienne. But beware. The silver castle is a rather dark and eerie place. A lot of brave knights came and fled, without ever looking back." She explains in a serious tone.

More people have entered the hall and the music is getting louder and faster.

A saint was...not quite correct. An aspect of Hazlia, not a saint; they were more of a lesser god, but she didn't correct him. Perhaps later, if he showed enough interest.

"Not a bore or disturbing at all, I've had my share of skirmishes on the road." It didn't bother her much now that she'd had to defend herself a few times. She did wonder what happened to create such an enemy that he'd be put on a list like this, but given how he tried to push past it, she let it go for now.

"We go where the Victim tells us that we are needed. They really enjoy sending me southward, however..." It was a curious pattern. Everyone else was sent everywhere else, but it felt like she was always going in the same direction.

This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.

He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.

On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.

Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.

He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.

He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.

He waited. For now.

She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.

"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.

"You were correct, my dear handsome knight." with her face hidden she feels emboldened to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I needed rest. I am not used to being around so many people. In the silver castle, my home, we rarely have guests."

His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.

"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.

I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.

Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."

"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.

The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.

A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."

He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"

"Our courts physician once said to me `with every loss and hardship, we are growing more into the person the gods intend for us to be´. I hope it brings you some condolance."

Let them jape.

"Your physician is indeed wise. I fear I am, perhaps, too grown, but I have not come this far without being open to new things. Perhaps my road will lead to your court some day and I can provide a spot of color."

The dance ends.

She felt some of the tension leave her as she gently laid him back down on the bed and set the bottle down on the night stand. Jalon pulled out a blanket and covered him with it to ease some of the chills. The young woman breathed easier and silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Victim.

Did she have enough potions for that? She really hoped there were not more victims...

"I took food in the taverna down near the knight's camp," he said. I took the friendly voice of the Italian cook as a bright spot on a difficult week...", he trailed off. I should have been more vigilant. I'm sure if you go there now, you won't find him. It appears my late lamented lord was correct, and Urbino has long arms and no scruples, damn the man."

She pulled up a chair to sit beside him, watching him for any sign of distress if the illness returned. Jalon was not usually a worrier but it was always a little stressful to have another's life relying on you. The danger had passed, but the concern remained.

Urbino is an enemy from far away. Not mine directly, I'm no one. He probably sought to clean up a loose end. His poisoner will be miles away by now and after the Masquerade, well my lord did say Italia was no longer safe for me.

She felt some of the tension leave her as she gently laid him back down on the bed and set the bottle down on the night stand. Jalon pulled out a blanket and covered him with it to ease some of the chills. The young woman breathed easier and silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Victim.

Did she have enough potions for that? She really hoped there were not more victims...

"I took food in the taverna down near the knight's camp," he said. I took the friendly voice of the Italian cook as a bright spot on a difficult week...", he trailed off. I should have been more vigilant. I'm sure if you go there now, you won't find him. It appears my late lamented lord was correct, and Urbino has long arms and no scruples, damn the man."

This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.

He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.

On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.

Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.

He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.

He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.

He waited. For now.

She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.

"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.

"You were correct, my dear handsome knight." with her face hidden she feels emboldened to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I needed rest. I am not used to being around so many people. In the silver castle, my home, we rarely have guests."

His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.

"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.

I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.

Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."

"We shall dance. At least for a short time. Rise." she motions for him to stand up.

The princess isn´t a well versed dancer as well but the music is still slow enough for her to manage. All kinds of odd pairings are occupying the dance floor and the princess enjoys seeing all the guests having such a good time.

A shadow then crossed his face. "And then I learned some truly awful news, that my lord of Rimini is gone. A brief illness. He sent word with two orphans I look after with instructions that Italia is no longer safe for me. And, God be good, a considerable amount of coin on deposit with his bankers. But, honestly, Your Highness, I've spent my days feeling cast adrift. He wished me to enjoy myself, and I have tried. But I do not know where life will lead me now."

He pause, then led her the rest of the way to the floor as the previous dance end. He took his place across from her, and waited for the dance-master to cry, "Dancers, are we met?"

She felt some of the tension leave her as she gently laid him back down on the bed and set the bottle down on the night stand. Jalon pulled out a blanket and covered him with it to ease some of the chills. The young woman breathed easier and silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Victim.

She felt some of the tension leave her as she gently laid him back down on the bed and set the bottle down on the night stand. Jalon pulled out a blanket and covered him with it to ease some of the chills. The young woman breathed easier and silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Victim.

This had more of a hint of madness to it, in keeping with this odd bastion.

He’d considered wearing the same austere black as he’d done for the feast, but reconsidered at the last moment, opting for a scandalously short, snow-white houppeland with hanging sleeves, beaded to look as if they’d been spattered with blood. His hose were of crimson Florentine wool, tightly tailored, revealing the tightly muscled legs below, a second skin. His low boots were died to match.

On his head, as at the feast, he wore a bicocket hat with a sculpted and feathered swan rising from the crown. Unlike Monday’s, this one’s wings were tipped in blood red feathers, the chest speckled with matching beads. A bloody swan, the beads dripping down to cover his emerald eyes.

Upon his hands, fine red leather gloves, at his waist, a scarlet belt.

He wondered what he’d find tonight. The feast had ended in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and he craved more. More of her, more of another. More.

He recognized at least half the people in the room now. Or he would, if not for the masks. That wasn’t done. Not in Venezia, not here.

He waited. For now.

She is wearing an almost identical dress to the one she wore for the feast but with inverted colors. The fabric is heavy and almost blindingly white with the black accents matching the princesses hair. The chainmaile mask is hiding her whole face but it matches the silver corset and the other silver jewelery that is decorating the princess.

"Your Highness," he drops to one knee, ready to take a hand if offered. "I know your fondness for swans and thought the red would compliment you . I hope I was correct.

"You were correct, my dear handsome knight." with her face hidden she feels emboldened to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I needed rest. I am not used to being around so many people. In the silver castle, my home, we rarely have guests."

His mind whirls. She is truly a vision, every inch the pen to his cob. He pushes his memories down, knowing what lies within this confection of fabric and silver. He keeps his knee and gazes upward, a look of honest devotion on his face.

"One must make the necessary social appearances, I understand. If the atmosphere becomes too close this evening and you tire of your obligations, you need only say the word and I'll be happy to find you a quieter diversion. After all, you will soon be heading home, and we can't have you ill on the road.

I am, in truth, a poor dancer. But if you wish to do so, I am at your service.

Or," he grinned conspiratorially, "we can simply take in the proceedings until you bore of them."