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| Fintan_de_Marin
Posts: 1,511 Status: Duke Karma: +250 [+1] [-1]   |
Subject: Festival of the Harvest Part One | |||||
| In times of hardship a festival can take one’s mind off of the troubles. It also serves as a wonderful way to come to know your adversaries without exposing yourself. With time running out before the Festival of the Harvest, Fintan became more preoccupied getting things ready around his manor. It was here that the festival would take place. Of course the last five days of the festival would be open to the public, it was the night before that was of the most value to Fintan. He meant to invite only the most powerful and wealthy in the land. He had already sent personal invitations to the Osiris Family, and to the Ortfox Family. The Eslipmantal Family however, had already stated they would be coming, without an invitation. It seemed to be their thought that the world revolved around them. Fintan agreed with most of that belief of the Eslipmantals, basing it solely on the fact that Hanna Linani was part of that family line. Fintan was in his study cleaning his pistols when Charlotte stepped in. She timidly stepped closer to Fintan. "C...can I g..g..gg...get you any...th...thing?" She asked, her hands wringing together as if she was worried about something. Fintan glanced up with a risen brow as to why she sounded so afraid. "SIR!" she snapped out, realizing she forgot it, now even more afraid because of the look. "I'm fine, Miss Charlotte. Is everything alright? You look terrified." Fintan set his pistols down and stood up. When he walked around the desk, Charlotte backed away. "Miss Charlotte...what..." "I KNOW YOU'RE THE MURDERING SILVER ROSE!" She blurted out, not taking a second thought about it. Fintan blinked, and Charlotte instantly dropped to her knees and started shaking uncontrollably. Her former slave mentality took over once again. She was waiting for a punishment of some sort, but something in her mind said she was not going to walk out of the room alive. "Miss Charlotte..." Fintan walked over and kneeled in front of the cook. "I have killed only two men behind the mask. Both times, they were in self defense." Charlotte said nothing. "I know you are thinking that they were fighting in their defense, and you're right. But I do not take pleasure in stalking the highways." He extended his hand to her. "Please do not cower in front of me. I do not strike my employees. You will not be harmed here for knowing who I am. I only ask that you keep silent about it. I ride for the safety and well being of the people who are oppressed by the less scrupulous nobles." As Charlotte was helped up, Angel poked her head in to the room. "Your Grace, a pair of...armed bards, are here to see you. The young man says you threw down the glove to him, two evenings ago. He is here to regain his honor." "What?" Fintan rose a brow, offering his handkerchief to Charlotte who had begun crying in fear. "Is one an elf?" "Yes, Sir." "Let them in, escort them to the parlor." Losreal and Christine were seated in to the parlor, both looking around at everything on the wall. Losreal's eyes were glued to the pistols and muskets that were decoratively displayed above the mantel. One of the muskets in particular had his attention. It had a cherry stock, with intricate floral carvings on it. The barrel was embossed in silver, and had the same designs. The hammer's head was shaped like a wolf's head with it's jaws clamping down on the flint. Christine's eyes were darting back and forth to paintings of dragons that hung on the walls. She was examining Fintan's personal favorite when he walked in. The painting was of a great silver dragon, soaring over a battlefield. The dragon itself was clutching a man in his claw, the man's horse in it's mouth. Below the dragon, there were two armies, locked in a battle. It was a romantically painted image. The obviously winning side looked pristine and untouched. While the losers were falling back with their tattered colors. "That is the Victory of Stromwall." Fintan said, stepping in to the parlor and breaking silence. "The dragon's name is Lesiren. It was by him that Camdules, the usurper king met his death. A pity in my mind." "Why? The king met his death at the claws of a dragon." Christine rose a brow, and stood up. "Because I wanted to kill the bastard, after mutilating him beyond recognition for what he did to My Queen. It was him who caused the Civil War, beheaded Bouddica, and drove the Royalists in to hiding." "And the musket?" Losreal asked, his eyes still glued to the weapon. Fintan walked over and took it down from it's position. He loosened the jaw and removed the black glass that was used in place of flint. "This was the musket I used during the conquests of Dachrine, where our colonies are. It's claimed more Trow lives than I can count." He handed the musket to Losreal to look at himself. Fintan continued speaking while the musket was examined. "Miss Angel has told me you came to take me up on the duel." "Oh, yes, I have." "Why not save it until tomorrow, during the festival." "Yes, Losreal. Why not save it so the entire population can see you get your ass handed to you." Christine grinned. "I insist, that you both stay here for the evening, so that you may be here when the rest of the guests arrive tomorrow morning." Fintan took the musket back as it was offered to him, and put it up on the mantel where it belonged. He then walked out of the parlor, and called Angel. After instructing her to show the pair to a room they could use, he went back to his study until dinner, not allowing either to protest staying. |
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