Re: Chapter 2: The Border Principalities
A steadily growing clamour approaches the Mayor's Manse as The Count winds toward the building followed a small parade of well-wishers, victorious defenders and their elated families. He is a picture of civil dignity, waving and smiling his ragged smile, but there is an air of uncertainty about him that the companions could pick out; it was obvious by now that he was more comfortable facing a horde of rampaging orcs than a crowd of cheerful revelers. His standard, taken by the musketeers, bobs along in the middle of the horde to rally celebrants as it once did soldiers, and Pip the Drummer boy - secretly drunk thanks to the efforts of celebrating warriors - adds a lively rhythm to the din.
He slows as he approaches the mansion, watching Bjorn and his followers shout their demands at the building's stone face, and grinned to himself; it had been so long since he was on the right side of a priest's wrath that he had forgotten what it looked like. With a cocky stride he comes up to the building, plunges his hand into the water barrel, and fishes out the Mayor's sword which he holds up to the contemptuous crowd. Saying nothing yet he tests the edge against his thumbnail and gives the blade a few test-swings, giving the weapon an appreciative nod. When he speaks, it is to the soldiers and men that fought.
"This is a fine sword, and fresh cleaned; how dearly we would have liked to have it with us, eh?"
Lowering the sword he smiles again, turning to face the building and sidling up to stand next to Bjorn, where his expression collapses into it's familiar dour cast as he listens to the mayor's explanations.
"Did she indeed, m'lord? Did she lead men against the threat, and stand among the shooters? Did she dash forth with spear and sword to save us all from a green tide? She must have done, for here we stand - here your people stand - alive, unspoiled, unconquered! Surely, we must owe this salvation to your bold leadership and the martial prowess of your favoured guardians, do we not? Come! Come down here, and tell us of the battle. You must have seen it much more clearly than any of us."
The Count was mocking the mayor, and in his mind he could hear the chiding scolds that Renate would be hissing into his ear; he had no skill at court, and no business addressing a man of status, coward though he is, with such baited disrespect. With a sense of guilt he ceased his tirade, swallowed hard, and changed his tone. Gone was the sarcasm, replaced with a dire stubbornness.
"Come down, m'lord. We have words."