Lord Patrick MacNeil stood in front of the large mirror that was being held by two of his servants, and carefully adjusted his peaked cap again. His manservant had assured him that this outfit was well within the current style of travelling clothes for the nobility, but he wasn’t certain. It seemed too… simple.
For one thing, there were only three colors in total, missing the almost garish colors of the current typical styles in Anacsot and Elfor, both of which were cultures that vastly impacted the fashion sense of Whoid Stria. The thin beige surcoat was pulled tight across his chest, silver pins stylized in the shape of a hammerhead shark, the sigil of his house, holding it closed. The surcoat covered over a light blue, long-sleeved tunic with leather cuffs. At the shoulders of the surcoat was a short mantle, cape stretching down to just below his shoulder blades, also blue, with it’s stiffened blue collar capped with silver. Blue slacks stretched downward to his rich, black leather boots, and his peaked beige cap with a black feather sticking out from the back.
Patrick turned sideways, further inspecting himself. It did look rather dashing, he had to admit. Pat knew that he was far from ruggedly handsome. His features could be generously called ‘smooth’, but more accurately referred to as ‘boyish’, in a thin, weaselly sort of way. He had hopes that his features would eventually lean toward one of his parents over the other. If he had his mothers thinly sharp features, he could easily play off of them using dark colors. Likewise, if he was in possession of his father’s smoothly handsome features, bold colors would render him a charismatic figure. Alas, it was not to be, though. Pat was cursed with the odd combination of his mother’s thin, sharp cheekbones, but his father’s slightly wider than average chin and nose. In addition, despite the stubble coloring his cheeks, he was still in possession of his baby fat, making him just look odd. Not ugly perhaps, but odd.
Patrick MacNeil let out a deep sigh, then waved the two sweating servants away. The two young boys stumbled away under the heavy weight of their gemstone encrusted mirror. He ignored them.
“It will have to do.” He grumbled under his breath. At least there wouldn’t be anyone who actually mattered along to observe him. Just that backward Lord Noblis’s children and a couple of guards. No one that really mattered. They were all beneath him.
Patrick turned toward the hallway and started walking towards the front door, which his father had already exited with for debriefing with Lord Noblis. As he walked, one of his families myriad servants ran up behind him, holding his rapier along with the belt that accompanied it. The middle-aged servant opened his mouth, no doubt to grace Patrick with a obligatory compliment. Patrick didn’t care to hear the man’s voice at this time, so he snapped his fingers in the man’s face, then raised his hands to the side, continuing his unhurried stroll for the front door. The servant expertly fastened the belt around Pat’s waist, moving alongside with seeming ease. As soon as the belt was fastened, and rapier secured, Patrick flicked his fingers, shooing the servant away. The man scurried down a side hallway without a word, and Patrick continued toward the double doors that were the entrance to the Stormholme Manor, which were helpfully opened for him by Alfred, his fathers most trusted butler. Patrick deigned to give the man a nod.
Normally Patrick wouldn’t have bothered to acknowledge a servant, but Alfred was something of an exception. The man had been serving in the MacNeil household since before Pat’s father was born, when Pat’s grandfather Bruce had still been a young man. A man in service for that length of time deserved at least some form of acknowledgement from Patrick, if not his respect. Alfred’s face remained as impassive as ever, and he gave a perfect bow in return. Patrick brushed past and out the door, and stopped on the stairway, looking out at his soon to be travelling companions.
The first group that caught his eye were two men who looked to be early in their second decade, laughing and joking with a boy probably 6 or 7 years Patrick’s junior. He recognized the boy, with his burnt face. He was the manservant of Caj Donovan, the son of the last Duke of the Sea. Patrick didn’t know exactly what the Donovan family had done to be stripped of their stations, but it was presumably horrid enough to warrant a fate a thousand times worse. Certainly, the man, Caj Donovan, did not act with nobility. He was a thick-headed brute, incapable of anything but fighting, and lacking any and all grace or decorum. Pat dearly hoped that he would not have to interact with the man overmuch on this journey.
Pat allowed his eyes to pass the grouping of three men over, and looked on to see his father engaged in what appeared to be a heated conversation with Lord Bietre Noblis and Knight Captain Robert O’Donnell. Well, Lord Bietre and Duke MacNeil seemed to be engaged in a heated debate; the Knight Captain seemed rather engaged in staring of into the distance over Father’s left shoulder. Patrick couldn’t blame the man, he supposed. Robert O’Donnell’s last visit had been… volatile, at best.
Patrick had spent quite a lot of time thinking about that meeting, and what he had learned from it. Aside from what blood-curdling human screams sounded like, he had come to an interesting conclusion regarding responsibility. It seemed to Patrick that the responsibility of his father was to maintain the status quo. Respect for the institution of the government and nobility was integral to the continued operation of the current economic system, and the development of the future of the nation. Naturally, the nature of this would change throughout time, meaning that ultimately, the responsibility of the nobility was to protect themselves and their livelihoods so that they could continue to have the effect needed for the future of the nation. It would follow then, that the responsibility of a Knight Captain was to be the arm used by the nobility to help maintain said status quo, remembering their place in it, and reenforcing the place of other lower citizens. This fit nicely into the worldview that he had already formed for himself, and Patrick was confident that he had learned the lesson that his father was trying to teach him. The nobility was superior.
The man who was next subject to Patrick’s gaze was a grizzled looking soldier with an axe strapped across his back, and a falchion at his hip. He recognized him as the man that his father had told him about. Command Sergeant Major Braxton Bolindear. CSM Bolindear carried a lot of influence in the intelligence sector of the Kings Army, and was to be treated with the same respect due to the children of Lord Noblis, and the Knight Captain O’Donnell. Despite saying that, Patrick’s father didn’t seem to much like the man. When Patrick had noted that, his father had grumbled that liking someone had very little to do with respecting them. Patrick didn’t understand why his father was so concerned with someone whose status relative to the Duke of the Sea was rather unimportant. He had come to the conclusion that the CSM must have some sort of sway, either in the form of blackmail or personnel. Regardless, Patrick wasn’t foolish enough to doubt his fathers’ words. So long as CSM Bolindear treated him with the respect due to him, the old-timer would have nothing to worry about from Patrick.
Patrick’s eyes flicked over towards the two carriages next, seeing the usual gaggle of servants strapping luggage to the tops of the carriage, and the drivers and coachmen gearing up for their roles in the upcoming journey. Standing in relative proximity to each other were the two Noblis sisters, Lady Valerna and Lady Natalia. Patrick hesitated to refer to Valerna as a Lady, in the noble sense. Lady of the night perhaps, but she was about the furthest thing he had ever seen from a proper lady since… well since his last visit to the brothel on Bent-Tail. She was beautiful though, in a biting, terrifying sort of way. He could still remember the occasion that she drew that short-sword of hers on him for nothing more than a pinch to the backside, and beat him so black and blue that he had trouble moving for the next week. It was utterly unladylike of her, and only possible due to the fact that he had been too gentlemanly to hit her back, he was certain. Regardless, he didn’t let his eyes linger too long upon any of her attributes, rightly reckoning that it might not be the best for his health, moving his eyes on to the other woman standing next to her, who was apparently doing her best to ignore her sister. Not that he could blame her, Patrick supposed, who wouldn’t want to ignore the presence of Valerna Noblis. He eyed up the second woman with care, and had to admit, he was pleased with what he saw.
If Valerna was beautiful, in a biting, terrifying sort of way, Lady Natalia was absolutely gorgeous. She was perfectly proportioned, slim with enticing curves, and wondrous, flowing blonde hair. His eyes roved, then roved some more. Patrick decided that he and Lady Natalia would have to get more… intimately acquainted on this journey. He smiled with pleasure as he ran his eyes over her hips. He would enjoy this journey more than he thought, if he was going to have access to this particular woman. Abruptly, his line of sight was cut off as a much larger, much less feminine figure stepped out in front of her. Patrick’s gaze floated upwards as he fought to keep the flush from his cheeks. Up and up it went, until the soft, pampered brown of his eyes met with the flinty topaz of those possessed by his final travelling companion… ah yes, Caj Donovan. The Brute. From the glare said brute was directing at him, the guard obviously didn’t much care for the look he was giving the woman. Patrick sneered.
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It was men like Caj Donovan who would undermine the stability of the nation, due to their disrespect and inability to accept the way things worked. The ‘glare’ the man was giving him had softened to a completely and utterly blank expression, but he still was not showing respect. As soon as he noticed Patrick, the man should’ve bowed, in recognition of the superiority of Patrick’s Noble blood. Instead, the grave-digger turned knight did not bow, instead standing very carefully straight. Patrick felt his fury and indignation rising. He couldn’t believe this. The man thought that just because he had a lucky break in disarming Patrick on their last meeting, that he could now show such disrespect. It could not stand. A precedent must be set. With that thought, Lord Patrick MacNeil began marching purposefully towards the guard, to give the peasant a piece of his mind.
***
Caj had spent some time thinking about this strange weight upon his shoulders, the weight of the Zashchin, which his muscles were still adjusting to carrying. It was odd really. Caj had heard of ‘the weight of responsibility’ before, but he’d always taken it as a more metaphorical thing than anything, but this quite literally felt like his body had gained five to ten pounds, located centrally around his chest and shoulders. Every culture had stories about magic or divine power, but for the most part, that was what they were; stories. People could talk about walking upon the back of the wind, healing someone with a single touch, or divining the will of the Reaper, but in reality, life progressed day to day without the help of any external power as far as Caj could see. But this weight of the Zashchin was just so inexplicable, so impossible to contemplate. Eventually he realized that he would just have to let it go, rather than develop and unhealthy fascination with the subject. It was about this time that he noticed that someone wasn’t keeping their eyes to themselves.
Caj marched across the courtyard and into the space directly behind Nat, cutting off the vision of the young man he recognized as Lord Patrick MacNeil. As the young man slowly raised his formerly lecherous eyes to meet Caj’s, Caj realized that he was glaring. That wouldn’t do. He was currently presenting a weakness, which was poor tactics.
Not that the man could do a damn thing with the information. Caj thought wryly, He’s about as capable as a dead man.
Regardless of his opinion of Patrick’s capabilities, Caj decided that schooling his features was for the best. He carefully blanked his expression as the son of the duke marched towards him angrily. Caj let out a sigh. It would be too much to hope for that the young lord would use some tact and just let the silent interaction go. No, life could never be that easy, could it? Caj decided that it would be for the best to play peacemaker, as he didn’t particularly feel like dealing with an angry young noble for the next month of travel. As the young man reached him, Caj bowed deeply and spoke before the lord could.
“Good day, Lord MacNeil, I am honored to make your acquaintance at this time.” The young lordling froze, obviously not receiving the greeting he expected from the rough, uncouth barbarian he viewed Caj as being. Caj continued in the silence, “I must apologize for our previous meeting, I was rather out of sorts, and fear that perhaps I may have cause offense. However, I know that a man as filled with wisdom and grace as yourself will surely recognize that being new to my position, I was foolish in my actions towards you.” Caj was unable to keep a slightly mocking tone out of his voice as he spoke, but he did his best. Really, he had seen headless chickens filled with more ‘wisdom’ than Lord Patrick, and borne witness to three-legged dog’s with more ‘grace’ than the man in front of him.
For his part, Lord Patrick seemed rather nonplussed by Caj’s little performance. He straightened slightly, adjusting his surcoat with pride. Caj stopped himself from laughing at the entirety of the preening performance. Behind him, Duff summed up Caj’s feelings regarding the young lord with a snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and a dismissive toss of his large grey-white head. Patrick seemed not to notice the large horse, caught up in his preening as he was. He looked down his nose at Caj, the effect of which was rather ruined, due to the fact that Caj was well above average height, while Patrick was slightly below. The nobleman sniffed disdainfully.
“Well, it is good that you recognize your inferiority, Ser Caj.” Patrick’s lips twisted, as though the taste of Caj’s title of knight in his mouth was like vomit. “Fortunately for you, I am known for my mercy and grace, and for my ability to spot the signs of a truly repentant man, and I…”
Patrick continued to wax poetical about his own greatness, that of his family, and nobility as a whole. Caj mostly tuned the young man out, waiting for him to finish up. Finally, after an unbearably long time, the nobleman pointed a bony finger at him.
“… thusly, I recognize your humility and recognition of your station as sufficient recompence. However, I should warn you, should you dare overstep your bounds again, I will be forced to duel you. You would not like it, I promise you. Pure savagery is no match for true mastery of a blade.”
Caj forced himself not to laugh. He had it on good authority that Patrick was at best, of average skill with his Rapier, but never lost due to the fact that his sparring partners were unwilling to accept the political consequences of losing. He decided, however, that his knowledge that he was assured in victory was sufficient for the sake of his pride, and nodded his head evenly.
“Of course, your Lordship, I have no desire to duel you.” Caj said with measured politeness.
It would be an utterly inefficient and wasteful investment of my time and energy. He added internally, but kept his placid demeanor firmly in place. It wouldn’t do to be impolite after all.
Patrick was apparently satisfied with Caj’s performance, lackluster though it might be, and turned to Natalia, and bowing slightly, kissing her hand. She appeared distinctly uncomfortable with the entire circumstance, to Caj’s eyes, but if you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t notice the slight tightening around her eyes, or the slightly too wide smile. Patrick obviously didn’t notice, but then, that wasn’t saying much, was it? The fool was about as discerning with people as a senile old goat was with what it ate.
“Lady Natalia, you are enchantingly beautiful as I remember.” He said, his tone somehow making the innocent compliment sound disturbingly lewd. “I look forward to getting to know you more… intimately, on this journey.” He said with a smirk, and this time, the lecherous intent could not be missed. Natalia’s eyes widened momentarily in panic, an instinctive reaction most likely, since as long as Caj was around she had nothing to worry about from this nobleman. She replied with coldness, all semblance of a smile gone, and any good humor having fled before her icy visage.
“I do not believe there is any need for us to interact overmuch, Lord Patrick. I do not believe Either of us would find the presence of the other agreeable.”
Caj was furious, although he kept his anger carefully contained. He was about to intervene and put this noble prick on his arse, if not give him a second smile, a few inches below the one he already wore, but Nat looked at him and shook her head as she was turning away, telling him not to bother. When Patrick latched onto her wrist, Caj nearly did so anyways, when a cold, female voice spoke before he could.
“I wouldn’t.”
Valerna now stood between Nat and Patrick, her hand on her dagger and a scowl on her face. Patrick sneered.
“You have no right, you are of a lower station.” He grated. Valerna leaned a bit forward.
“Touch my blood, and my dagger touches yours. We’ll see how much your station matters then.” Patrick seemed about to speak again, when a new voice spoke.
“What is going on here?” The voice of Adarian MacNeil was cool and soft, but not in a comforting way. More like cool and soft in the same way that a pillow smothering you was. Patrick straightened with an ingratiating smile.
“A simple misunderstanding Father.” He said easily.
“Misunderstanding, my-” Valerna was cut off by Caj’s hand on her arm.
“Leave it.” He said smoothly. She looked ready to protest, but he squeezed her arm slightly harder, and she scowled at him, before stomping away. Silence hung heavy in the air then, for a few long moments, the entire courtyard obviously aware of the tension, if not the cause. It was Adarian who broke the silence.
“Patrick. Go get in your carriage.” Patrick looked ready to protest, but the Duke looked at him sharply. “Now.” He said. Patrick’s mouth snapped shut, and he scurried away. Adarian looked at Caj, nodded once, then walked away. For a few moments there was no movement, until Braxton Bolindear’s voice split the air.
“What in the name of the Chaff and the Threshing floor are you waiting for? Get moving! We’ve got places to go! My Paraplegic grandmother could load up faster than you!”
And just like that, the courtyard snapped back into motion. Caj sighed. Somehow, he had the feeling that this trip was going to be… interesting, to say the least.