A Nest of Ravens
Heavy the wind blew west, sending gales of sharpest icy touch down Hinderlandish valleys, like the stampeding of a thousand ironclad hooves. Farmers held their children close to them, ushering them to take shelter within stonewalled huts and cottages. Priests tapped their silken shoes against marble floor, waiting for a flock which seemed to be blocked from sermon, by this vengeful shroud of nature. In a small and remote keep, due south of the old borders of Ettrenach, a young man stirred in rage, much alike the coming storm.
"That curly haired wretch!" the boy would yell out in fury, his tone matching that of his sickened father. "The people know my cause! They know it is lawful, they know it is just!" the young redhead would continue. Across from him sat three greyed and weathered Ravens, all bearing his trademark ginger locks though streaked with dull white. Of the three sat two women, packed tightly into Hinterlandish wear, conservative and modest, their wrinkled necks peaked from almost chokling tight collars. "Yes Richarr, yes… My sweet, sweet boy. With an Anglian guided hand, Percival took what was yours." the oldest of the women would utter, as the young Richarr's face turned a bright shade of red. "Took what was /ours/." the second woman would add, her posture straight and proper. "Aunt constance, Aunt Violette. You have served us for many years. You gave good counsel to my father, and I expect nothing less than… /Good/ counsel." Richarr would pause, taking a deep breath of air into his Lordly Lungs. "This... is not good counsel. Half my kin support him! The usurper! The Fool! His name will be struck from the chronicles!" the young boy rambled, slamming his fists into his oaken framed desk. "Erhm… My Lord. My true Lord… And.. Ah! Of course. My Wife…" the third elder would interject, his features aged yet plump and full of life "Well.. Erhm… Legally speaking. Hinterlandish law does not override Imperial succession laws… and-" at this the old gentlemen would be cut off. "Cheldric, you make matters only more troublesome for us…" Violette would snap, an expression of bitter disappointment plastered onto her sagging face. The hardened Paladin would lower his head at this, his name was well known on the battlefield and beyond, but his wife was not a foe he'd wish to cross, that or public speaking…
Richarr made slow paces over to the curtained window of the room, opening it wide with a thrash of cloth. The wind whistled through the creaking frame of the glass, sending a chill towards the elder Ravenstads. "We'll find a way… Alexander has abdicated.. We may yet have the means…" constance would plead to the angered boy, speaking gently to his turned back. "Alexander's sons are cut from succession… This leaves only his brothers… That traitorous buggerer could sit beside our Imperial throne yet! Richarr would grumble, his pink fleshy hands pressed against the glass of the window. "We shall see who survives this storm… Whose feathers fall to the ground.."
@Muffins_ @Tiber_
Heavy the wind blew west, sending gales of sharpest icy touch down Hinderlandish valleys, like the stampeding of a thousand ironclad hooves. Farmers held their children close to them, ushering them to take shelter within stonewalled huts and cottages. Priests tapped their silken shoes against marble floor, waiting for a flock which seemed to be blocked from sermon, by this vengeful shroud of nature. In a small and remote keep, due south of the old borders of Ettrenach, a young man stirred in rage, much alike the coming storm.
"That curly haired wretch!" the boy would yell out in fury, his tone matching that of his sickened father. "The people know my cause! They know it is lawful, they know it is just!" the young redhead would continue. Across from him sat three greyed and weathered Ravens, all bearing his trademark ginger locks though streaked with dull white. Of the three sat two women, packed tightly into Hinterlandish wear, conservative and modest, their wrinkled necks peaked from almost chokling tight collars. "Yes Richarr, yes… My sweet, sweet boy. With an Anglian guided hand, Percival took what was yours." the oldest of the women would utter, as the young Richarr's face turned a bright shade of red. "Took what was /ours/." the second woman would add, her posture straight and proper. "Aunt constance, Aunt Violette. You have served us for many years. You gave good counsel to my father, and I expect nothing less than… /Good/ counsel." Richarr would pause, taking a deep breath of air into his Lordly Lungs. "This... is not good counsel. Half my kin support him! The usurper! The Fool! His name will be struck from the chronicles!" the young boy rambled, slamming his fists into his oaken framed desk. "Erhm… My Lord. My true Lord… And.. Ah! Of course. My Wife…" the third elder would interject, his features aged yet plump and full of life "Well.. Erhm… Legally speaking. Hinterlandish law does not override Imperial succession laws… and-" at this the old gentlemen would be cut off. "Cheldric, you make matters only more troublesome for us…" Violette would snap, an expression of bitter disappointment plastered onto her sagging face. The hardened Paladin would lower his head at this, his name was well known on the battlefield and beyond, but his wife was not a foe he'd wish to cross, that or public speaking…
Richarr made slow paces over to the curtained window of the room, opening it wide with a thrash of cloth. The wind whistled through the creaking frame of the glass, sending a chill towards the elder Ravenstads. "We'll find a way… Alexander has abdicated.. We may yet have the means…" constance would plead to the angered boy, speaking gently to his turned back. "Alexander's sons are cut from succession… This leaves only his brothers… That traitorous buggerer could sit beside our Imperial throne yet! Richarr would grumble, his pink fleshy hands pressed against the glass of the window. "We shall see who survives this storm… Whose feathers fall to the ground.."
@Muffins_ @Tiber_
