Inouv 21, 228: Discussing Corrections

Discussing Corrections
Summary: Ruthgar meets Tyrel for a few words regarding the punishment of the two guards and the handmaiden who let Caillin slip away, which led to a fateful chain of events.
OOC Date: 10/12/2013 (OOC)
Related: Several, will add links when I find the time.
Players:
Tyrel Luna Ruthgar 
Ball Room, Darfield Castle
Huge pillars of golden marble ring this room, silent guardians of the ballroom. Golden light spills over the pillars and onto the floor, shed by the huge chandelier which is suspended from the high ceiling. The floor is cool, pale golden marble, save for the large rose set in the center. Formed of a mosaic of rose marble and crystal, it shimmers gently. On the balconies above, huge arcs of rose silks have been draped expertly, bows tied at their crests. The same sort of drapery hangs above the wall of glass that forms the northern edge of the ballroom. Looking out, you notice that the ballroom is set flush with the ocean, the glass wall giving you an unparalleled view of the landscape across the sea.
21st day of Inouve, in the year 228

Tyrel stands before the wall of glass, looking out over the cold and overcast sea below as he speaks with Luna. His hands are folded behind his back. The suit of padded leather and chain he wears beneath his fine clothes makes him appear broad and heavyset, silouetted as he is against the pale light of morning. No servants attend him and his guards have positioned themselves outside the doorways leaving him alone with his thoughts. They do not forbid entrance to any, save those who might bear weapons, but the household staff has been on eggshells since the recent bout of correctionsTyrel stands before the wall of glass, looking out over the cold and overcast sea below. His hands are folded behind his back. The suit of padded leather and chain he wears beneath his fine clothes makes him appear broad and heavyset, silouetted as he is against the pale light of morning. No servants attend him and his guards have positioned themselves outside the doorways leaving him alone with his thoughts. They do not forbid entrance to any, save those who might bear weapons, but the household staff has been on eggshells since the recent bout of corrections were given and they have been avoiding the crown prince save when duty requires.

In the distance the mast of a ship can be seen bobbing about on the ocean. From the size and shape of it most likely a fishing vessel seeking to capitalize on a break in the storms and gather some fish before the overcast weather turns to storm once more.

<FS3> Luna rolls Stealth: Good Success.

The recent mood about the palace has made locating the Crown Price an exceedingly simple task. One need simply walk into the wide berth given the man by terrified guards, servants, and members of court. After pressing her palms together in greeting to the guards outside the doors to the ballroom, a notable priestess steps over the threshold. Her soft-soled shoes are silent, leaving only the faintest whisper of her golden rope brushing against the white robe as she comes to stand just behind and to the side of the powerful man.

Those tight black curls with a hint of vanilla and tiger lily in their scent have been pulled into a long, thick braid mercilessly, but more than a few rebellious tresses spring out about the crown of her head. She faces the same window as he, hands clasped at her waist, speaking not a word.

<FS3> Tyrel rolls Perception: Good Success.

Tyrel keeps his gaze on the sea, a slight shift of his head as the guards move to admit someone, a change in the grip of his hand on his wrist as that person approaches. "You move with commendable grace." He comments, "Too lightly for my wife or mother at this stage, and with too much patience for my sisters. I've not known many men of my court to smell as you do, and the ambassadors seem to prefer a more pointed fragrence, most others would not approach me in silence so I do grow curious as to who you are and why you have come to stand near me."

A smirk quirks, pushing Luna's left cheek upward as her eyes dance with amusement. Playing along with the game, she retrieves an item from her ever-present pouch tied to the rope resting on her waist. Despite her presence being known, her steps to the side to put herself more directly behind the man is quiet, as though that is simply her natural way of moving.

A moment later, light pressure can be felt on his shoulder. The source is apparently a large, heavy bronze symbol of Umbra that can be turned into a wearable item or used as decoration with equal ease.

<FS3> Opposed Roll — Tyrel=melee+reaction Vs Luna=defense+reaction
< Tyrel: Good Success Luna: Failure
< Net Result: Tyrel wins - Solid Victory

Things changes, rather abruptly, the moment contact is made. Tyrel drops down, spins, his leg kicking out behind him as he takes a step backward into a low crouch. The piece of bronze falling clear of his shoulder. His eyes take in Luna's hands first, then her form, then her face, but by then he is already moving forward again executing a take-down. Pushing off the back leg he lunges towards her. His hand reaches out to gather a handful of her robe, he shoves back against her shoulder then pulls forward to unbalance as he moves past her then puts a shoulder into her back and throws his weight against her. They land with noticeable force on the ground, Tyrel's weight coming down upon Luna though he does not deliver the impact through his elbow or knee.

Tyrel draws in a breath and says, "I do not suffer hands to be laid on my person, easily. What were you about and what gave you cause to think that was acceptable behavior?" The guards in the room have move to step forward but are paused as Tyrel does not appear to be struggling with the priestess.

So quick is the Prince that Luna hardly has time to realize what is happening, nevermind react. There is a look of surprise, but only mild, showing on her visage when they lock eyes briefly as she falls due to her legs being kicked out from beneath her. Being spun to her front in mid-air increases the shock and a grunt escapes when he pushes her shoulder. All her instincts manage to do is partially lift her arms so that she hits the ground on her forearms to soften the impact to her torso.

Harsh words are delivered to the priestess, then suddenly, all is still aside from their breathing. The attempt to suck in air with the warrior lying upon her back is labored at first, but becomes easier as her breaths even out. With her arms pinned beneath her, she calmly lets her forehead rest upon the clean ballroom floor.

Her tone is smooth and unperturbed, as though they were sitting about, sipping tea. "I did not lay so much as a finger upon you, technically, Your Highness. And it was your choice to make note of your observations and ask after my identity that made it feel a bit of a game. I wished only to give you a defining clue. Still, point taken, and you have answered one of the questions I had." It does not take long for her back to hitch, then tremble. A heartbeat later, a choked chuckle escapes, then throaty laughter fills the air.

Her next words are kept low, for his ears alone, but they come in spurts as she attempts to speak during this fit of mirth. "Had I no duty of chastity to the Eight and you none to your bride, this might be quite enjoyable. Alas, it is not the case and so I think, perhaps, you might just possibly wish to not be seen splayed atop me for all and sundry to see, Your Highness."

Tyrel maintains his hold for a moment, then looks to see what had been laid on his shoulder. Seeing the emblem gives some credence to the priestess's story he shifts off of her, rises, then offers her his hand to aid her instanding. "Allow me to aid you in rising, Priestess, but I would prefer if you left such japes for another time, far into the future. I have had my fill of such suggestions and my tollerance for such things, even in jest, is exhausted. Do not make the mistake of touching me, directly or indirectly, without clear invitation." He does not look at all amused, if anything he looks pained. "What questions do you have for me, and which of them have you found answer to?"

Buzzkill. Luna's smile disappears instantly at the rebuke, a small nod of acquienscence offered. Once the heavy weight has been lifted from her back, the tanned woman stretches her arms out to the sides to get the blood flowing again. The rest of her body shifts a moment later, pushing to a kneeling position.

Those green eyes are fixed intently upon the young man as she accepts his aid in rising. "I apologize deeply. Neither shall occur again. To be blunt, my questions are not the type to be asked. I wished to learn more about you through conversation and observation, which is why I did not wish to disturb your deep thoughts when first I entered."

As though anticipating another query by the man, she adds after a moment, "The more I understand of the members of the royal family, the better equipped I shall be in my duties to Princess Roslin."

Tyrel runs a hand across his dublet smoothing it then resettles his belts. "Ask the questions you have anyway, priestess, if I am to be observed I should like to know if my opinion of myself matches the opinion others have of me, when you have reached a conclusion through observation you can then inform me whether I have the right of it." He turns to look through the windows back towards the sea. "In regards to my thoughts, I was considering names for children. Thoughts of them help to distract me from the rash of impropriety that seems to be sweeping through my home."

The smirk that cannot be kept away for long returns, if in a more muted version than previously. With a gentle lift of her eyebrows, Luna notes, "Your Highness, surely you are aware you are under observation every moment of your life. In your case, by mortal eyes in addition to the immortal ones."

Her hands smooth over her arms and torso, brushing away what smudges they can from the white attire. They then attempt to do the same to her unruly tresses, but pause and admit defeat after the first handsbreath of hair is felt.

After they settle again at the golden knot on her waist, she asks, "Is it as bad as all that, then? I thought the rumors were exaggerated." Her lips purse, but those eyes never lose focus from the royal's face. "Have you thought of names which carry a strong sense of propriety and holiness within them?"

Tyrel says, "I am aware of the observation, and I give the same suggestion to the devine as I gave instruction to you. Ask the question you seek an answer to directly and allow me to answer it in a similarly direct fashion." He turns back towards her and offers the reminder, "I still await your giving voice to the questions that brought you here, and would prefer you not attempt to open other avenues of conversation until you have found way to phrase them." He looks away from her then, his eyes moving across the floor till he spots the emblem. He moves over to it, drops to one knee and retrieves it, then rises and turns to offer the piece of bronze back to Luna.

Luna positively beams a smile when the man proves he will be neither swayed, nor distracted from his course. Approval is evident in her voice as she finally answers, the questions sounding well-rehearsed.

"Each of these is a separate query, although one tends to feed of another. How do you respond to stress? To surprise? Do you react first or assess first? Are you prone to perceive threats to your person where none exist? To your family? Are you equally sensitive to non-physical threats? Which do you address first when both are present? How far ahead do you plan in matters of social warfare? In which areas do you feel more competent than Princess Roslin? Less?"

After that constant, evenly paced flow of words, she glances to the emblem. Her brow lifts and the smile softens. A shake of her head has more black curls sprouting from the crown of her head. "No, Your Highness. That was meant to be a gift."

Tyrel closes his hand over the coin, then nods his head slightly. "The gift is appreciated, priestess." He tucks the medallion away. Some time later the medallion will be worked into the inside of his armor's forearm guard as most signs of the gods' favor tend to be. "In regards to your questions." He folds his hands behind his back taking up a position of recital as children do at lessons, save his a more martial stance tempered his years as a squire and later a knight. "Stress I look to evaluate and determine whether it is beneficial or baneful. Stresses that will strengthen me I endure, stresses that weaken me I work to eliminate. I react to surprise as quickly as I am able, though I do what I might to control my environment so that surprises will come from a number of expected directions with anticipated reactions. Such as the situation with you. You would not have been allowed into my presence obviously armed and outcry would have been raised had you attempted to harm me while I was not looking, so a correction for your presumption not your intention was required."

He shifts his stance his arms coming forward to allow his fingers to press together as he begins walking. "I react as I assess, as most actions take time to execute they can be begun early and adjusted as needed. Had I percieved you as being of ill intent then I would have driven your face into the floor with my arm and my knee into your back, followed by the drawing of my blade to finish you. Hesitation can lead to my death, while my actions will rarely create irrevocable harm. Since my birth, there have been threats to my person so I cannot answer your question as there has never been a time when one did not exist for me to know, the same to my family." He reaches the end of the line he has elected to pace and pivots reversing direction with enviable poise.

"In a position such as my family enjoys non-physical threats and physical threats are equally dire. I would move to address that which I believe would first impact us. If there were an army amassing against us while at the same time a duchy was at a state of unrest then I must way their ability to provide men against the length of time the army must march. If the army would arrive first, then the physical threat takes precendence over the good will of the duke, if the duke was to deny troops before the army arrived then I would need salve relations with him first." He crosses past her measuring the same distance away before returning and resuming his pose of arms behind his back.

"In regards to planning, I know the end game, so my plans stretch from here to there. The distance those plans cover changes constantly as paths to it are discovered and closed." He turns his attention back towards Luna, "I am the crown prince, and will be King, Roslin is a princess and may someday be a Queen. We share few duties that are comparable so that question is not one I could answer as asked with any confidence that I was answering correctly. If you wish to narrow the scope of your question I would indulge it, but as it could currently range from our ability to bear children to our skill with a sword it is a bit too vague as it stands."

The priestess remains perfectly still, head slightly cocked as she watches and listens. The information, given both in word and subtle action, is absorbed as avidly as a historical scholar would a journal written personally by the hand of a great legend. A silence falls once he has finished speaking, Luna being in no rush to voice further questions until the man's words have been turned about her mind thoroughly. There is a pensive tilt to her brow, although it does not truly furrow, and an almost imperceptible purse to her lips.

At great length, she speaks. "For your sister's sake, I sincerely hope her ability to bear children outmatches yours." Sterility would be a horrendous fate for a Princess whose womb needs to be bartered for and sold. A hand lifts to gently tap a finger at her mouth while she thinks a bit longer. The index finger suddenly stops, nestling in the indent on her upper lip. "Considering the observations you made presumably led you to the conclusion that the person near you was a woman of gentle breeding or training and posed no obvious threat, why did you choose a physical method of correction, rather than a verbal rebuke? And why so forceful a delivery, restrained though it was?"

Tyrel stands before the wall of glass, looking out over the cold and overcast sea below as he speaks with Luna. His hands are folded behind his back. The suit of padded leather and chain he wears beneath his fine clothes makes him appear broad and heavyset, silouetted as he is against the pale light of morning. No servants attend him and his guards have positioned themselves outside the doorways leaving him alone with his thoughts. They do not forbid entrance to any, save those who might bear weapons, but the household staff has been on eggshells since the recent bout of corrections were given and they have been avoiding the crown prince save when duty requires. The guards can he heard whispering of something odd occurring but clam up as soon as Ruthgar approaches.

Tyrel nods towards Luna as she speaks of his sisters ability to bear child, when she inquires regarding the correction he says, "A woman of gentle breeding who poses no obvious threat makes for an ideal assassin, priestess. A verbal rebuke would not have taken me out of harm's way. I reacted in the most prudent manner then adjusted based on the severity of the situation. A simple object can conceal a small blade which might do little against my maile." He taps his chest, "But on nearing my throat, the situation becomes quite different."

The Baron of Dellhaven enters, unarmed, but clad in a better attire than usual, a doublet of red and black, breeches of dark red sammit and black leather boots. His face is pale, framed by his dark brown locks, his mien composed and grey eyes flitting downwards as he offers the deep bow to the Crown Prince as required. "Your highness." Straightening, his gaze will brush the priestess, looking perhaps a touch surprised at her presence, and he will bow to her as well. "Blessed."

Amusement again softens Luna's features and quirks her lips and brow. "And a disarming move that would not end up with said woman of gentle breeding pinned to the floor would have been out of the question? Would there have been danger in grabbing her arm and spinning her about with your forearm against the back of her throat to restrain her from using her head as a weapon?" Why a priestess would know of such things is really anybody's guess. Still, her tone is like and shows no annoyance, only curiosity.

Although fully aware another has entered, she waits until she has finished her question before turning toward the newcomer. The tall priestess presses her palm together in the traditional greeting given by and to clergy. "Light shine upon you, my lord."

Tyrel nods towards the Baron, "Baron, good morning." He looks back towards Luna, "If you wish, priestess, I will have one of my instructors put aside a morning to give you instruction on such matters. I would suggest waiting until your leg is fully recovered, they do not pull their punches during such instruction." He turns then to the Baron, "Ruthgar, I've an interest in speaking with you when you have the time. This is Priestess Luna, if you have not previously met, she acts as confessor to my sister Roslin and several other ladies of the household." He brings his hands together pressing his fingertips against eachother, "I'm uncertain if your wife goes to her for advice as well."

Ruthgar lowers his gaze momentarily with the hint of a smile. "I heard as much, your highness. That you wished to see me." He turns to the blessed, the hint of a smile turning into a polite one. "Priestess Luna, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My wife has been indisposed of late. I am sure you are aware of the hardships she has gone through. But I am happy to say she is on her way of recovery. And the soon she will be able to attend to the sermons at the temple again." This is all offered in a soft and polite tone. Pale grey eyes flit from Luna to Tyrel.

Those forest green eyes alight with unabashed pleasure at the Prince's offer. "I do wish it, Your Highness, and am grateful for the opportunity." Looking between the two men, she adds, "When we both have the time, I would like to readdress the questions I posed to you earlier, if you are amenable to it." The priestess presses her palms together and dips her head toward the pair before stepping back. "Light shine upon you and your families."

As she takes a step to leave, Luna's expression changes, her head tilting and smile gentling when she looks back to Ruthgar. Soft words, simple and empathetic, are quietly spoken before she again turns to leave the men to their business.

Luna mutters to Ruthgar, "… tell… lady… house…"

Tyrel presses his palms together as Luna moves to leave, "Be well, priestess." He then turns his attention to Ruthgar though when Luna speaks to the Baron he tucks his hands behind his back to allow him to reply if one is needed for the whispered conversation.

Ruthgar inclines his head towards the priestess, and a warm smile brushes over his usually so composed mien. "I will tell her, blessed one. May the Light guide your ways."

Tyrel watches Luna leave then looks to Ruthgar, "Ruthgar, would you indulge me for a moment to give voice to a great deal of frustration and anger that will come out in an untoward, undignified and inappropriate fashion?"

Pale grey eyes follow the priestess as she leaves, then turn to the crown prince again, a shadow falling over them as the brows above them rise a touch. "You are the Crown Prince, your highness. Who am I to decline your wish to vent any of these sentiments.", he inquires, studying Tyrel with cautious interest.

Tyrel looks over at Ruthgar, "You are a respected member of the nobility and a brother through marriage, a man with a great deal of responsibility and duty who should not be burdened without need." He swings his arms foward pressing his fingertips together, "However, I am becoming increasingly displeased with the behavior of the servants and it gnaws at me that I have not heard of correction being given to those who failed you and my sister. I am not alone in my frustration and while I have faith in your ability to handle this matter I believe it is coming time that resolution occur so that we might all set it behind us."

Ruthgar's gaze stays on Tyrel, seemingly unmoved by his words, only a tiny twitch of his brows here and a corner of his mouth there indicating that this composed mien may be just a facade after all. "Behaviour if the servants?", he inquires finally, his tone calm, yet a few degrees colder than before. "Is there a decrease in discipline? If so, I haven't noticed." He lowers his gaze with a mirthless chuckle, but then his pale grey eyes seek Tyrel's gaze agin. "Indeed, I have not seen to any 'correction' of sorts as you like to call it. My wife… Caillin, your sister. You know her well, you have seen her distress after she lost our child, haven't you? Or were you preferring to stay away like your sister, the other princess." He may be aware that his words border on the impertinent here, but who will stop a young baron when he sees his authority being put in question. "In case you didn't see her. Caillin was in a bad state. I would have made things worse for her, even pushed her beyond what she could bear, had I insisted on a punishment, that I felt pretty much tempted to declare at first. Her most beloved handmaiden. And those two guards."

The Baron pauses, taking a step towards that glass pane to stare out for a moment, as he comes to stand beside Tyrel. "I spoke with her after she was brought in," he confesses, his gaze lowered, and the harshness fading already, as some cracks start to show in his composure. "I was deeply disturbed by her explanations. They couldn't possibly have been prepared for her to… run off like that, your highness. They were seeking to protect her from dangers from outside, not from… herself."

Tyrel maintains a fairly level tone as well, "Baron, while I would certainly doubt such a thing ever crossed my sister's mind I assure you that history and legend are full of stories of princesses and ladies running off in the night on magical adventure or torrid affairs with lovers. Her maids and guards are employed as much to protect her from herself as they are to protect her from the rest of the world. The impetus for her escapades may have been unusual but a lady attempting to slip her guards is certainly not unkown." His arms move to clasp behind himself again, "I visited my sister, I expressed my disappointment in her, and I made her aware that if you two were not wed then I'd already have seen to the correction of the guards as I've had to see to the correction of several other servants recently. I do not wish it to appear that all a servant need do to avoid punishment for gross stuipidity and negligence is make it seem that their correction will upset my sister so I should like to know when you expect to make such corrections as you feel are appropriate."

"You mistake me, your highness. Neither of them tried to persuade me. It was your sister and what she told me." Ruthgar's head turns and he shoots Tyrel a glance, studying him for a moment. Then a faint smile slowly conquers his mien and he nods. "I understand, your highness. It is corrections you want, and I will concede to make them. But… will my judgement suffice, or will you, like Princess Roslin, insist on the degree of severeness that is to be applied?" He lets that question linger in the air for a moment, as his gaze turns a shade darker than usual.

Tyrel says, "My sister is, despite all her worthy accomplishments, a woman and allows her emotions to rule her far too often. You and I are holding this conversation with our blades sheathed because we have mastered our emotions. I will abide by what correction you choose to make." He looks upwards towards the ceiling for a moment, "When this is all past, though, I should like to have some strong wine and stout staves with you and lay about at eachother until we've had too much of one or the other to remember why we should have needed both."

Tyrel considers, "I should have said sisters, because you are confronted with both Roslin and Caillin asking for emotional influence on your decision in differing ways."

Ruthgar's mien is a mask of composure indeed, but when he hears Tyrel's reply a bit of air leaves his nose and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in relief. "I am glad you see it that way, your highness. I thank you, for leaving the decision in this to me. I will take you gladly up on that offer." Still, his enthusiasm is dimmed, as that decision will still weigh heavy upon his shoulders - and displease possibly both of the sisters, the princess and the baroness. "If that will be all, your highness… I will retreat to my quarters, to make the necessary arrangements." The Baron of Dellhaven bows to the Prince, and will retreat if Tyrel should agree to dismiss him for now.

Tyrel nods, "It was the concern weighing on my mind that could be quickly addressed, other matters must wait for the war season to be settled. Once you have seen to what you must, I've an urge to practice at staves with a quantity of wine, I invite you to join me and we can compare troubles until we've had too much of the wine or too much of the staves and cannot remember why why started with both."

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