Just what they hoped to accomplish here, he didn't know. The posh and glamour of bright light and music and partying in the center of the largest city in all of Connlaoth. The nobles that came here to flaunt what little gold they had left in the pomp and jewelry, to sell their kin off for what little power there was left to grab. But who was it a show for? The peasants that had nothing? Or the lesser nobles that had just as much?
Just what he was doing here, though, he didn't know either. Mercuxio was not quite in his father's good graces - and likely wouldn't be for some time to come. Jaimie was his heir now, his right hand, and was in the sheltered harbor of his trust and patience. But Jaimes Rastognlir was at home in Bellkrath keeping the fires warm, helping attend to the matters Dardanus could not in his illness.
So Mercuxio found himself here in Reajh to look, learn, listen what he could, to see what the lesser nobles were up to that might stir up trouble. Merric found himself in a particularly lively party, a town house with music and dancing and others play fencing in the courtyard. He was dressed simply - so accustomed to having so little as a priest might - at least one of his order anyway - in a dark tunic, blue and embroidered in black. The occasion didn't call for the white robes of a Confessor, or being armed with more than a stiletto. Not exactly his weapon of choice, but for the battle of wits and tongue, the would do just fine.
It was curious for a time, watching the sword play from the side. Their swords weren't real, but they would do to test the reflex and skill of their respective opponent. Mercuxio looked over the crowd in the fire light, a fairly pale and uninteresting set of folks that were rather forgettable. He sniffed and looked at the glass of wine in hand, it had a bitter taste in his mouth, but he preferred not to set it aside for the time being. It would at least stave off the boredom that was starting to brew.
He could afford to take a vacation from Church business, and whatever happened here likely might end up in a confession booth or two. So Merric tried to force himself to loosen up. It wasn't really working....
Until a new challenger stepped in on the sparring. He furrowed his brows, admittedly curious to see a woman clearly making her intention known. He was no stranger to women on the battlefield, but in clear public view like this...it was sure to cause scandal... If one cared about their so called reputation that was.
This woman clearly didn't, and knew how to handle her blade well... Mercuxio watched her movements, they were well practiced, and he could tell from her hands that they were not the soft delicate mitts of a high-born lady. They were practiced, calloused and the tick of movement precise.
Someone behind him nudged him forward in their excitement. Mercuxio stumbled a bit, losing his glass of wine which dropped to the ground and crashed. He looked up as several others around them started to shout and clap. "A new challenger approaches!" "Is that the son of Duke Dardanus Rastognlir...what's he doing here?" "I thought he was dead." "If anyone can beat her back, he can." "She'll run him through."
The various comments from the crowd were distracting enough when Merric straightened and the crowd reveled even more in the certain that he'd come to challenge her. He didn't say a word, just looked at her and the blade, and felt the weight of the stiletto on his belt, rather useless alone against that savage saber in her hand. There was no use in trying to hide back in with the guests now, everyone already would be talking about him. He couldn't disappear like he'd wanted...
The opponent she'd been facing before turned around toward him, no longer eager for the fight, dropping the sword in his hand as he did so. Merric bent to pick it up and held it firmly in hand, testing the weight of it and turned so that he was keeping the point of it toward the ground.
What the hell just happened? Was he really going to do this?
