Thread: Wolves Hunting Wolves~ Sir Broken && Evette

The crooked cobble stone streets and the tired walkers that traversed upon them were wrought with the seasons first kiss of snow. Laughter and joviality peppered the atmosphere of the warm inns, taverns and shops that lined the main road of the small village. Twas early for such a visit from frosty Grandfather Winter, but it was welcomed. The summer had been hot, humid and bloody, and it was only when Fall swept the lands with golds and yellows did the war between the South and North Kingdoms finally extinguish. Lady Summers danced, this time, for four years the Children of Fall had played for three and now Grandfather Winters time only the prophets knew. The long winter that was to be expected was one of peace and recovery. The Northern Kingdom of Marian was rich with the spoils of the Southern crops, farmlands, silks, cotton and stones- and of course, to mention the castle. What was once the Kingdom of Lavare was now Marian, the two crowns one and now the Pyralis family reigned over all. No more war was ever to come again, as the last great enemy slained. The coming of snow washed away all the death the innocence of the white blanket of cold redeeming the land again. The King was old, loved and dying on his death bed, everyone heralded King Jovwen as a hero and an honorable man Jovwen The Uniter, they called him, and soon his son, Avix was to take his place. Honor replacing honor, the great Prince was seen upon with much optimism his young sister and wife Attika, were the new guardians of the land of peace, their names on the lips of many toasts, and written on the hearts of the land. Long live the fires of Pyralis! To the King and Queen of new! A young gypsy played her song in the corner of the Olde Dragoon Tavern, a curtain of crimson locks shadowed her face as she played the sitar with delicate finger tips. The song dancing through the room like a pleasant wind, hardly noticed by those with warmed bellies of Shindenfer ale and sweet, Lavarian wines. Another round of steins was passed around by the old Tavern Keeper, Lady Denrie, the tavern particularly filled this night with the likes of anybody wanting a taste of the new shipments. The abundance of the men were in good spirits, lifting the old fat womans skirts playfully, tipping fatly, and telling war stories. Not even old strong Lady Denrie could kick out the drunkards to the road, too busy entertaining the habits of Sir Venn and his knights tonight, the men like her long lost children, they demanded her motherly attention on the far side of the room. The tavern keeper too busy to notice anything more, the girl she had hired last week had stopped her sitar playing and instead propped it up to lean upon. She listened with small ears to the feelings of the few that stood out in the crowd, her intelligent eyes lazily pouring over the men in rags and mail alike. The keen girl made note that not everyone in the room was drinking for peace tonight. Her name was Ambrosia, and she had the cleanest hair of any peasant seen on this side of Pyra Road. Her eyes were that of summer green, and she was young and alone, once only with the company of astrayed gypsies down the road, she abandoned them for the shelter of Lady Denrie and her fire. Her hood covered the shock of long, red curls that poured from her shoulders and would have otherwise heralded the attention of any dark-haired Marian that she entangled with. Her heart shaped face was thinned with grim and shadowed in poor lantern light, a cold and lusty ambition lit her green irises as she waited and watched the scene quietly. It had been a month for her to get used to the dirt, another few weeks to get used to the fleas, but within the week, she had learned to count her blessings. Gods be with her if she had to leave this place without help, done with the attention of the Pyra male gypsies and their wagon, done with the followings of cravens and the thirsts of bandits. Licking her pale lips, she let her tongue taste her teeth as she searched for the man that would leave this place as her sword. No, she would not be stupid again. Ladies did not wander alone in Marian, that she knew, but it was harder than she thought to employ good help anymore. Men were animals, and she had been too innocent, too trusting, and all ready within the month she had been penniless and sore. Power was hard to find when one did not have it to begin with. What did the castle kennelmaster always say to her? It took wolves to hunt wolves. And she smiled a wicked smile, one that reminisced of a royals pride. Tilting her small head back lazily, her hood fell to her shoulders, getting a better view of that which she craved eyes cross haired upon the silhouette of something delicious . It was a man in front on the east side of the bar, Ambrosias vision lacing his broad shoulders and mail, the weapon he held and the utter loneliness that impregnated his atmosphere. A knight..? she breathed, raising a delicate brow. But Sir Venn took no notice to the man which was even better, more attention for her radius of empty space surrounding the figure like death, and she wondered if perhaps he was feared? I hope so she thought as she stood with fervor. Her sandals were light upon the aged wooden floors, her skirts dragging behind her silently as she approached the transient walked with the posture of someone that knew exactly what she wanted, and where she was going to get it. Destination the stool beside him she sat her sitar by her feet and touched her chin to a small palm nonchalantly. A curtain of crimson hid all of her profile aside from the tip of her small nose, and the fullness of lips. She could not quite see him, nor did she want to yet, wanting to savor the taste of company first. Perhaps she didnt even want him, after all.. Ambrosia began with a small, sheepish smile to one in particular, though she was obviously talking to him. Her voice was quiet and playful, and she looked longingly at the Lavarian rose wine within arms reach. Busy night.. I am tempted to reach around the bar and favor mself a glass. I love the old hag, but attention is due on cold nights, I think.. leaving girls to their playthings, she said in gesture to the instrument at her ankles,..even they can grow thirsty . The last word like a food she could taste upon her lips, it lingered in the air for moment before she went on. She tilted her head, tucking her hair behind her ears, Ambrosia walked her eyes across the bar counter over the features of his arms resting atop. What do you say, sir? Would you like one?