OOC: Tags to
@ByAnyOtherName !
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Connlaoth-a kingdom known for it's wealth, industry and trade, and despite the known war going on among it's own people (which Connlaoth was no stranger to anyway, as duchies often fought one another over petty ordeals, or so was registered in some of it's history)- but this war was somehow
different, and though Connlaoth fought it's own people, it, for once in it's history, united it's duchies for the cause.
And because of the war efforts, it helped boost the economy as demands were at an all time high for certain minerals, crops and supplies. The West family had many connections with this Northern country, and Lord West had been working on a bid proposal for some time with a prominent family that had once lived in the capital, but since moved to Matron's Hallow to the south. It made business dealings much easier, as Matron's Hallow was far less restrictive in it's new laws and curfews as compared to the capital, and so that was where the West family now headed.
Clint, their only son, was restless as he stared out from the carriage window at the windy world around him. It was autumn time and this area was far colder than his home in Serendipity, and the leaves were already changing, some trees already completely devoid of their leaves, as he just watched the country side in unusual silence.
He knew better than to be happy coming here. Connlaoth was the home to his one most unsavory of cousins, whom he loathed more than anyone else in the world. Though his family mentioned he sent regrets he could not meet with them on this visit, Clint was still unhappy about it- until it was announced there would be a party, in which the family had been invited to attend.
This was enough to perk up his spirits as Clint dawned his usual dimpled smile as he joined his family for an evening's celebration. Since his parents were busy, and it seemed no Connlaothian girls were willing to flirt, he went about finding his own means of entertainment, and by doing so- he found himself giddy and drunk. An older gentlemen who was outside when Clint came out for a breath of fresh air, watched the young lad and shook his head. And somehow the two ended up conversing and Clint ended up with a cigarette, which he tried to look as cool as he could while he puffed on it.
The man's wife had recently passed, and he was reflecting on her memory. She was, but to her, it seemed to early for her to have passed, not even being forty five years of age.
"Love can be a wonderful thing," he lamented. "But it can also be hard to find. I saw you in there trying to gain the attention of some ladies. Perhaps you ought to change your technique?"
Clint waved it off.
"Naw, these Connlaothian women ain't for me. They're pretty, sure, but you should see the ones back in Serendipity."
And that's when the man smiled.
"That I have. My wife had been from there."
As their conversation came to a close, Clint found himself wondering through the gardens. Any groups of ladies he found here were quick to turn away from the drunken boy as he continued to stumble around and found himself lost int he garden maze. It wasn't until he made it to the outter most hedging that he found himself saying,
"Fuck this!" ANd charged through the hedges fist first, and came to a surprising halt when he noticed something at the top of a hill.
A grave yard.
With a smirk, he tossed his dying cigarette aside and began to climb the muddy hillside, and as he crested the hill, a massive iron gate welcomed him- and the long, stretching shadows of tombs.
"Holy shit!" Now this was the sort of fun he was seeking! And without thinking much about it, he moved to climb onto the gate, but the second he made it to the top of it, he noticed a woman walking just over the hill side nearby- and having believed he was alone, it gave him a start as he let out a swear and found himself slipping off the edge of the gate-
though he didn't crash into the ground below, rather- the collar of his shirt got hooked on the top spikes of the fence and there he dangled, finding himself becoming strangled by his own clothes.