"You're sad you killed him. That's sweet." Jaleh told A'kos while idly playing with his hair. "I think he was stupid for putting that much faith in a god. Especially when that god probably didn't care what happened to him. If it was clear you were going to win, it was silly for the old guy to continue fighting. It's nice of you to carry his sword though, I guess."

A'kos frowns a moment, then shrugs.

"Not silly...it was courage," he sighs.  "He knew I would win, but stood by his faith and by his honor and fought anyway.  To do less would have been craven, and a smirch upon the honor of his vows and the strength of his faith.  He was a strong man, and honorable."

Settling down he lay back and enjoyed the warmth of Jaleh's nearness as they sat near the fire.

"It sounds lovely, I'm sure," smiles Dyanna.  "And do you have a rabbit at hand to cook?"

"It was courage to throw his life away meaninglessly? What did it accomplish for his faith? Nothing. That's why I said it was silly. Dying for honor is fine if it really accomplishes something or matters in some way. But his death really meant nothing. What you do with his sword these days are the only things that give his life or death any kind of meaning. I think he was silly. I'm sure if he had a woman somewhere, she would too."

"Why yes, our good hosts did a bit of hunting today."  He offers up the choice of 3 rabbits.

As he cooks, he is about to put a little wine into the stew, then stops himself and asks Zmija if that would be okay.  "I'm not sure if you drink at all."

A'kos mulls over Jaleh's perspective, then answers, "If a man falls alone doing the right thing where no one but his enemies see, is it silly?  I think not.  Somehow the winds will tell the tale of that lone warrior."

"I have given it no little thought, but I believe there is power in such a death...why else would the reach of the Christian Church have become so long?"

He pauses a moment and finishes, "No, Jaleh, the death, any such death holds a power all it's own, and is not silly, whether a woman awaits at the end of a journey or no."

"The winds tell many things, A'kos. Almost none of them true. One cannot rely on the wind to tell his story, all he count on it to tell is that he's a corpse. And if left in the hands of his enemies, a man's story can become nothing but lies. That is one thing among many a good woman can do for a man, keep his story safe."

Jaleh was quiet for a moment then laughed. "The Christian Church is powerful because lonely old men learned how to feed people bullshit and play power games. That's all. Their new god is no better than the old ones. Its just as capricious and just as uncaring. You're not starting to believe in their crap are you?"

"Heh," chuckled A'kos.  "No, I shall kneel to no one and nothing ever again.  Still, a man's bravery counts even if he falls alone, and truth has it's own sort of power.  Were I to die tomorrow, alone, I believe I would face my fate with courage regardless of whether my memory was sung of by the bards or no..."

"That's because you have people to carry on your memory. Even if you were to vanish tomorrow we would still remenber that you lived and what you were like, who you were. If you died tomorrow and everybody that ever knew you also died, then what would it matter how you died? It wouldn't. Because if no one ever knew you or heard of you, then you might as well have never existed."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:11, Sun 07 Mar 2010.

Zmija perks up at the mention of wine..."I am Rus! Pour some wine in the pot and when you think you have enough, pour more in!"
Holding off on Pyotr's trial thread...seeing how things play out this weekend before pushing the action ahead.

Loukas laughs, "The monks of Zmija's order are rather different than those of Mt. Athos or Epephanius in Egypt. You are in for quite a treat Dyanna. Balthazar's cooking would justify us calling him a Hedonist even if he did not call himself such. Combined with his magick it makes him an even more valuable comrade."

"Even if all of us died tomorrow, our conquerors would remember our deaths," answered A'kos.  "If we fought well, struggled to the end, then we would be told of in their stories as worthy foes.  History is replete with tales of such...which goes back to my original point, I suppose - it's not how one dies, 'tis how one lives that leaves the mark of that person as a man."

Finally A'kos finishes, "I am no philosopher, but I hold that knight in high esteem.  He is one I would emulate, and his death was not in vain because I remember and will continue to do so for the rest of my life - and I will tell of his bravery to any who will listen."

After a thoughtful pause he says, "I hope I have answered your questions, Little Jaleh."

A kiss on the top of her head punctuates the conversation.

"As long as his eyes don't light up while looking at me the way they do when talking about food, I have no issue with that," laughs Dyanna.  "I am starving!"

Smiling as A'kos kissed her head, Jaleh craned her neck to catch his mouth in a full kiss as he was pulling back. "You did. But I still think he was silly for dying defending some god. I give you he died honorably, but the reason he did so was stupid. Gods always get people killed. It just makes it worse because he was so honorable."

As Balthazar pours wine into the stew with Zmija's approval, he says, "Oh no, Dyanna, I wouldn't do that to you.  Women like Alyna, they want men to leer at them.  Being a magician, I surmised that you much prefer the furtive glance and the seemingly innocuous occasional touch."  He ladles out some soup to each of you, putting his hand on your shoulder in a friendly way as he does so.  "Enjoy!"  Then he winks.

Pyotr nods his head at the Frankish knight.

When the gag is removed he says..."What do you have in mind?"

When Jean speaks his voice is level and direct. He speaks as if he were speaking to another man rather than the boy-child that pyotr appears to be.

"First Pyotr let me say that it is quite obvious there is more to you than is apparent to the eye. Your decisions of late have placed you in bad stead with Miroslav and Dobrynya but I suspect you are not the villain they believe you to be."

"That is neither here nor there as it is their perceptions which will likely decide your fate. The order has already been given once to kill you and the law of the Rus will almost surely see you maimed at the least."

He pauses for a moment and contnues.

"I would not wish to see that."

"I have come to offer you terms by which I will stand in your defense if you agree to them."

"I will address Dobrynya's court tomorrow and explain that you were given into my custody and that therefore your fate should be mine to decide."

"If they will not accept that the task I have set for you is enough to balance your crimes then I will see you safely to the limits of the city and release you. Failing that I will demand to represent you as your champion in a trial by combat according to their own laws."

"Do you wish to hear my terms?"

"As long as 'tis me who is dolling out the 'occasional furtive touch'," answers Dyanna blandly to the Hedonite, then offers a small moan of appreciation as she samples the stew (her eyes mischievous).

"The stew is delicious!" she says after the first taste, then she sets to with a will.

Wiggling in the unpleasant feel (and stench) of urine, Pyotr works his jaw back and forth, to massage the muscles.

"I would put my trust in mama's family and name, but these nasty, fur-brained Russ wouldn't know they were making a mistake, and then Grandpa and the Uncles would ram pointed sticks of their aft portholes. That would be fun, it's just the dying that goes with it that irks me."

Twisting his neck to stretch out an ache, he gives the knight an appraising eye.

"I guess I should return the nice words, by the way. I heard about how you dealt with  Basrakan. You big folk usually think like ya look, but you've got more twixt your ears then most blade-swinging thugs."

He sighs deeply, and shakes his head in despair for the world.

"To be honest, I would rather trust myself in a battle against any of the champions they would offer, but they would make be defend myself without my own particular set of skills, and call it fair. If it's a test of brawn, then I guess I should at least listen to what you suggest, sir knight, though a mouthful of water first would not be frowned upon."

Pyotr peers out at the knight through the unkempt hair, and awaits his words...

Jean sniffs at a cup left behind by Oleg or Radvila and then offers Pyotr a drink.

"Ale not water. Though I suspect it is welcome none the less."

Jean remains standing close enough to offer another drink.

"My offer is simple. Become my Squire."

"Swear an oath to serve me before God and in your Mother's name. None here would question such an oath be they Christian or Heathen."

"Your primary task will be to teach me the language of the Rus though I would expect you to maintain the other duties of the job as well. You will be treated with the respect due your position and when some time has passed and you have proven yourself to the others I will release you from your oath."

"What say you?"

"Put the rag back in, before I use words my mommy doesn't like. I am servant to no grown-up, not ever again, nor a squire, whose main job consists of cleaning up horsey poop, and polishing the metal items that you big folk use to kill each other with. Metal gives me the heebeegeebees. Ick.

"If you wish to hire a tutor though, that is another thing, and a contract for a service provided, which includes the understanding that as your tutor, you listen to me, when whatever you wish me to teach you is at issue, however, is something that we might be able to agree on."

Jean stuffs the rag back in and re-ties the gag very tightly. He then replaces Pyotr on the floor where he found him.

"No. Without the oath I do not believe they would allow you to go unpunished."

"I wish you luck tomorrow."

Crossing to the door the Knight knocks to let Oleg and Radvila know to return and waits, watching Pyotr, for them to enter.

Once they enter he will take his leave and go in search of a place to rest.

Pyotr lies back on the floor, and allows his body to return to shivering. He had hidden his weakness from the big manly knight, but the only warmth he had was when he peed, and except for the mouthful of backwashed ale, he had had precious little to drink.

Rolling onto his stomach, he attempted to arch his back, and stretch a bit. He had last felt his fingers over six hours ago, and he wasn't one hundred percent sure they would still work, if the ropes were ever removed.

He was glad for the rag, he was certain without it, his teeth would chatter so hard, he would chip a tooth.

Still, it was reasonable that these people would fear a child, he realized. Clearly his modicum of knowledge scared them senseless; though for the bulk of the Russ, he suspected being able to spell your own name was cause for a stoning.

He strained to urinate, or even defecate, to generate some body heat. Even the few grown-ups who understood that he risked his life to save then were too busy 'rolling in the sheets' (whatever that meant). Why care about the child in their care, when they can create new ones to mistreat so easily?

And the Romans? Their history is full of tales of proud pater familias, leaving infants to die on barren hills. History books suggested they invented the very concept of abortion. Slaughtering children was apparently a human trait. The Byzantines were but poor simple-minded cousins to the real Romans, the Empire builder, but they specialized in keeping the basest, and most self indulgent portions of the Roman culture flourishing.

To your surprise, Balthazar turns bright red with a goofy smile on his face, then busies himself with baking the chocolate cake.  "A secret Hedonite recipe," he adds, "found from plants on an exotic continent."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Thu 11 Mar 2010.

"I can only imagine the ingrediants," she replies with a wry grin.  "I will pass, thank you much...though the rabbit stew is phenomenal."

Grinning, she continues eating the rich stew.