Spirits of the Earth

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Thread location: The Northern Lawn


It was the first time in a long time where he would find himself present at the Grand Palace and not directly at the Grand Duke's side. It had been made clear to him that he 'ought to enjoy himself'. The very thought made Zannrick scowl. He knew the Grand Duke was pushing him away, having openly struck the very whore bedding the Grand Duke now. The woman was already pregnant with Calent's second bastard, the other, no one but himself, Calent and that whore knew, and hopefully, would ever know.

Calent brushed it off that, using the excuse that he was as well worn by this war as the Grand Duke was. Probable as that may have been, it wasn't the soul reason for his great hatred towards that woman.

Even so, he'd take the moment to at least check out the Northern Lawns. It was said General Allaen was to set up an array of 'games' for the military and mordecai alike to try and show off to see who 'the best of the best' might be.

Pity he never got a lot of chance to fight in the army directly, but everyone that was anyone knew of Zannrick's reputation. And if he hadn't been so good with a sword and with his 'intuition', then he'd never have come to be known as the Grand duke's hound- a nick name he dispised as much as the damned whore always at Calent's side these days. At least, her being common, and the fact Calent would rather not divulge her child of 'Hope' was actually his, it meant she'd never be allowed to set foot amongst the guest.

That in itself was enough of a reason to celebrate, and after having unsheathed his blade and examined one of the dummies set within the lawn, he figured he'd at least try the sharpness of his blade.
One heavy slash and the dummy split in two, and he kicked the other half over with a grunt.

Oh if only that had been that damn whore. It would have made that single slash of destruction all the better.

"... I am sure they would be quite dead if they were in the path of your blade."

A low gravely voice chides from his direct right. General Hakon Kilandre held a small chalice of blood red wine delicately in one hand- the odd ring and bracelet combination upon her wrist clinging softly against the gilded glass, glittering vaguely. Her eyes focused upon the silver-haired man, tilting her own head slightly to one side- no one would hit a mere sack of hay and leather that hard if they were not imagining some hapless soul in its stead.

She shifted in her midnight black and iridescent blue gown, the ornate sheath upon her hip hissing softly as she shifts the weight from one leg to another, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her skin was decorated in many, obvious and somewhat jarring scars, mainly upon her shoulders where the weight of the heavy armor would chafe the flesh- alas, that all had seemed nthing but an addition to her wardrobe, small glittering stones embedded into the soft tissue akin to comets racing across the sky that was her hide.

The General, alas, seemed anything but feminine- her bery air gave off one of phdyical and emotion power... Perhaps that was why she had wandered here, to these grounds.

Blade still in hand, the mordecai turned. He hadn't thought anyone else would have come to the lawns yet- considering the other General, General Allaen, was still very much preoccupied elsewhere. But time in the palace didn't afford him to be rude. At least not towards ones such as she.

"General Kilandre," he bowed respectfully, if not a bit rigidly, in the gilded up armor he always wore. This time, naturally, he was layered much more heavily, and prettily than he was used to. The robe he wore now was obviously much nicer than a practical one, and it's velvety sheen made the man look all the more like a rose with his thorns.

He inspected the woman. She was perhaps one of the few women he could respect. She had earned her high position, something rare for any woman, but he treated anyone with the negating magical abilities as an equal- for they were, as Ansgar had said and they- once praised, and still praised. The other would be, naturally, Alanna Mercer- the newly sworn in Mordecai Grand Master. And though he himself was a mordecai as well as even General Kilandre, he only swore allegiances to the Grand Duke and took orders exclusively from he and he alone. Grand Master or not, the only sway over him was that of the throne. And his position was for life.

He knew, had this been any other path, the Mordecai Grand Master position would undoubtly been his. But he knew  the sacrifices well before taking his oaths.

For now, he noted the General in a dress. A strange thing to see, for even he was still in his armor, but she... well, she was partially anyway, now wasn't she? He supposed this was an occasion for most to dress up. A lot of the military were still in armor, but the dressier sort. He himself, was obviously no exception. But she? It seemed at least someone was taking the luxury to embrace the occasion and break from the world scarring war that surrounded them all.

"I was surprised to see you for the occasion. It is rare, during times of war, so many Generals are able to be present for a ball."
Of course it was more than that- but perhaps part of him was bitter it had and never would, go to him.

" It is a good show of unity to have many of the armed force's social juggernauts in one place, especially for such a show as this... A new and shiny Grand Master for the Mordecai," she strides toward him, tilting her head gently, the ornamental pearls hanging from her earlobes clinking quietly as she moved closer to him. Extending the chalice, she quirks an eyebrow," Would you care for a drink? Do not fret, it has yet to touch my lips, wine such as this is far too sweet for my tastes."

Even as she asks this, her eyes drift casually back to the dummy which slumped rather pathetically on its post, causing her lips to curl into the slightest of smiles,"... I wonder who that was-" she hums idly before focusing back upon him, the jewels at her throat glinting coldly, showing much more animation and life then the wearer herself. Her other hand, moved down to adjust the sash which sagged with the weight of the scimitar bound in leather and soft fabric at her side. No matter where she was, she would not be weaponless under any circumstance.

Zannrick shook his head at the offer of drink,a nd looked away with a silent scowl at her inquiry.
"Does it matter if they're dead?" the words were nearly spat from his mouth. He peered down at the remains of the dummy. If only it were that simple. In the palace, he played political games, and sometimes they played with him.

He cut a look back towards General Kilandre.
"I'm sure, as a General, you have enough grievances of our own to warrant such deaths as well." He moved to resheath his blade, hand resting on the hilt.

Retracting her hadn, she tilts her head gently to the side, musing quietly as she raised the clear chalice to the moonlight, swirling the deep red liquid about the belly of the glass, watching the wine bend and flow with the slight manipulations of her wrist upon the neck of the cup," Yes- but I often deal in extremes- court martials, executions and always whoever happens to be trying to kill me on the field," she hesitated, she knew she may be leaping into the snake's nest with her next words, but carefully, the woman focused upon, eyes as sharp and glistening in the dim light.

" I would like very much to have you as an ally, Zannerick, you understand the workings of this political thread far better then I likely ever will," she allows her words to trail off, fade into the shadows," Which is why I offer myself and my resources as a... Conduit for that action-" she looks directly toward the ruined dummy, watching one half of its body rip and slide to the ground,"- if you ever wish to have that dummy ever truly dispatched."

Her eyes flicker back to him, glittering with cold light as she lowers the chalice to the height of her collar, supporting her arm with a hand upon her elbow. Her gaze lingered upon his face, she was in the position to play this country's dangerous game, so she would gain what resources she could... This, being one of her most desireable.

"There are reasons I remain at the palace nearest our Grand Duke while you, among others, have been summoned out into the field."

Perhaps it was rude of him to keep avoiding her questions, or to even make that imply. But it was the truth. Too many others would never understand the delicate political games taking place within the palace, the city, the church and beyond. And even a man such as he was growing weary of it, and he had been established into such a worldly plight since well before Grand Duke Allarrick's rein.

"You should drink your wine. The autumn night is unusually hot." And he turned from him to look out across the lawn, to where the sun had nearly fallen behind the world, casting only it's last remaining burgundy glow, the caught just the western cheek of the world, while the rest hung in long shadows creeping from the east.

" I am not the one swinging a sword in full uniform," she muses quietly, following his gaze to the setting sun. It was one of the few constants in this world she looked forward two. The Stars beginning to appear like droplets of water upon an inky backdrop as the sun dyed the sky first yellow, then peach, then pink, violet, ink blue... And finally black. She noted vaguely she had followed the transcending colors by turning her head- focusing upon Zannerick again," Tell me, what would you wish to be addressed as?" she inquires vaguely, she was almost positive he would dislike being called 'the Hound'. Who would want such a name? A man of worth could be no one's simple pet, and.... She hoped he was a man of worth. She desired allies, now more then ever.

The General idly reaches to the ornate sheathe at her hip, sliding the curved scimitar enough from its silken hold to allow the fading light to catch from the newly shined blade like metallic fire. Her eyes slowly flickered to the dummies, then to Zannerick. She wondered... Would this dress be able to keep up with such movement?

"Called?" He made a face. What a question. And why would she ask. "Sir Austengarde." It was the usual name, but he had to wonder if she meant his 'nick name'. His face remained unpleased at the query.

Like her, his eyes went to her blade, light shimmering across it like a dying flame.

"Did you come here for games?"
He wouldn't consider much less of her if she did, but in her dress...
It looked like she had come fully prepared for some dancing.

Gazes upon the sword, angling it carefully so the dying light which reflected so viciously off it was shifted back into metallic shadow again," I only ask because some prefer title, or simple name, or nickname- names have so much more power then we can comprehend," she sighs vaguely, looking up at him once more, smiling faintly.

" Perhaps, I am unsure of this particular gown's ability to move in such stress, yet I am not unwilling to try," she draws the blade further from its sheath, glancing at him," Sir Austengarde, would you be willing to assist me in testing the extent at which this garb can be used?" she chuckles her head vaguely. She wished to dance, yes, but perhaps not in the orthodox way high society liked to think of dancing.

" If you will indulge me, sir? I'm afraid I am rather clumsy when it comes to dance with anything but a sword in hand."

It was a little nerve wracking to be here.

Adalia and Edward had been married only a few short months. They'd gotten along well enough - She found herself down right lucky in this match, there were far worse men she could have been sold to. When they arrived, she'd mostly hid behind Edward, watched the ceremony from her designated spot. It was odd to be here. A mage in such a country. Of course it was all a game of politics and her power hungry father wanted a daughter as a Duchess. A daughter as a Duchess, a nephew as a High Lord. No doubt his business was booming now.

Once the ceremony had ended and everyone was set to mingle, she'd given Edward a peck on the cheek before saying she was going to get some air and... Wandered. If there was something Adalia was, it was foolhardy. So, off she went. It was the sight of someone violently destroying a dummy, and then a woman and Adalia stood out of earshot before she wandered over.

Soldiers, clearly.

There was a longing look at the sword - she missed her own. Still, she was a Duchess now. Duchess's didn't carry swords with them to fancy... Events. Balls? A glance behind her to the Palace. It was opulent, she supposed. Adalia looked down at herself, one of her dresses from Serendipity on. A mermaid gown decorated in beads and gems, her hair done in braids and curls to fall over her shoulder in a wave of Opal. A subtle effort to hide the mark on her gown that told the world just what she was.

A Serenian through, she looked nothing short of show perfect and she watched the woman and the man converse. Though... His hair. A tilt of her head. A little smile. Being around Mordecai wasn't uncomfortable but it felt like something inside her head was covered up. There had even been a tiny attempt to make fire but... Nothing- of course she was glad for that, she didn't want to ruin her gloves.

It was awkward to walk on the grass in high heeled shoes but she glided along it anyway and gave the pair a look and then the dummy. Destroyed. Though, did that woman ask him to indulge her?

A tilt of her head and she studied the woman, "Imagine the rumours the two of you will set off if she returns to the party with rips in her dress," Adalia chirped, moving to examine them. "Are you both mordecai then?" She cast a look to Zannrick, she sort of recognized him from the ceremony? Mostly she just stared at his hair, "You're perhaps one of the first people I've seen since I've come here to not have yellow or brown hair. I've been reading about mordecai," she switched topics again, "We don't have them in Serendipity and I have a few questions that I feel like I should know the answers to but the book never seems to give them."

He had a mouthful for the General. She was fortunate another woman interrupted and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Adalia. Swallowing down a lot of hot air, he turned to regard the Duchess of Highheart.

"Duchess Draven," he started with a bow. A lot of choice words were abandoned in lieu of her status. "I'm sorry your husband must keep you uninformed."

He looked to Hakon
"Forgive me, General. Our spar will have to wait."

Turning back to Adalia, he took in her physique with great displeasure. And who was she to comment about his hair? He scowled, trying to do his best to hide it.

"What questions does the Duchess seek answers for?"

She could sense his hostility rolling off him in waves, this was certainly a man who felt everything get under his skin no matter the intentions, she supposed. Perhaps it was for the better he was cooped up in the Duke's palace, he... Would last only so long upon the open field. At the woman's comment, her visage become that of stone, unmoved and motionless as se turns to face the woman, immediately nothing the slightly poited ears. She turns back to Austengarde, nodding faintly," Another time then, my friend." Before focusing upon the woman.

Focusing upon the woman, noting platinum blonde hair akin to her own, she chides vaguely," My lady seems rather apt to judging my skill without the slightest idea of my skill. If only I could show her-" she trails off idly, gazing at the woman as she falls into a relaxed parade rest, one hand idly holding the chalice whilst the other folded in the small of her back- the scimitar hissing into the sheath with a soft hiss,"- it's a shame my sparring partner has decided to hold off our match," she muses gently.

A duchess- perhaps she should have known, though she was surprised anyone would except a half-elf as a duchess. Who was she to judge alas? Women could only go so far in this society. And by only two paths: Marriage or Military. In both cases it seemed you had to sell your soul to some extent or another.

" Adhara, my Lady," she corrects gently, though she knew it was more ten likely that if the woman held any bit of magic, she would feel it immediately crushed upon coming within 10 feet of the General. All but the divine were effected by the aura, so powerful as it was. Glancing briefly at Sir Austengarde, she tilts her head gently, he could handle his own... Hopefully. In turn, she offers a small smile to the woman.

Adalia simply rose her eyebrows.

"Well, it's good to finally get some of the hospitality Connlaoth is so known," She grinned widely to the stony cold faces, looking between the pair. Perhaps she'd chosen the wrong couple? Though the man seemed eager enough to change the topic, Adalia couldn't keep the faint look of surprise off her face when she was addressed directly but... If this man was the Grand Duke's right hand, it made sense he knew of her. How many Serenians had been sold to the crown to bolster the Grand Duke's coffers?

Probably not many.

Adalia passingly wondered how large her dowry had been. A glance towards the scarred woman before she spoke and then she blinked at her.  "Adhara?" What in Kia's name was that? Maybe... Ah yes. "I've been around so any mordecai, being around an adhara is no different." She lifted her hands and wiggled her gloved fingers, "I promise, even if I wasn't around you they still wouldn't be enchanted though perhaps my dress lost a bit of it's sparkle." She teased, looking down at her gown. It hadn't because it was a very expensive dress.

Green eyes turned to Zannrick again and she crossed her arms under her breasts, holding her elbows. "No. I'm simply curious, your... Abilities... Are they just... As they are? I understand that all mordecai and adhara have the same... Muting ability. But the diameter," she tilted her head, "Are they different? It's positively fascinating. Can you control it? Is it hereditary? and..." She smiled to Hakon, holding a hand up, palm out, "Don't take offense, My Dear, but I have no interest in seeing your skill - though I'm sure it's lovely - The comment about the ripped dress wasn't about your skill but about a man and a woman alone anywhere. No one would believe you were simply sparring." Adalia leaned in slightly, " I mean everyone will think you were having rough sex." She said in a stage whisper.

" My Lady," her voice came out more roughly then she meant it to, but no longer could she stand such indignity," I admit I am unaware of the social rules you may personally follow but within the High Military, within High Society of Connlaoth, there is a certain amount of respect and mannerisms which should be expected when greeting strangers. Do not expect all of those within the halls nor in present company to look on all others as though they are mere pieces of meat, despite the viciousness at which most politics is perceived," Her hand upon the chalice tightened slightly around the slender glass neck, but she managed to control her temper enough to continue cooly," Though you may mean well, keep in mind that we are here to celebrate the ascension of a fellow women into the higher ranks of society without spreading her legs for a man-" though, this may not have been entirely true, due to this new Grand Master having been a widowed Duchess,"- and for that, we should be proud, as well as note the many similar examples of that within our nation's history. As a result, we should focus upon the progressive aspects of our society, as slow moving as it may be, and nurture that growth as much as possible - we can have a little hope and a little faith if nothing at all,"

She falls into stony silence before she says anything more, hazel-grey eyes akin to chips of frosted over pebbles in a stream before she focuses back on Zannerick, her lips a thin line," Please continue, Sir Austengarde, I am sure you could answer her questions with ease." This time taking a quick sip of the sweet wine, now she knew she definitely wanted a little buzz after that nonsense. It was always too much to hope for that everyone would support one another...

Such a tongue lashing!

A slight tilt of her head and Adalia blinked at the soldier - for the scars gave her away as such. "I see," Adalia nodded, having tuned out most of the little speech. Was she trying to impress the man with the white hair? Sir Austengarde? A quick glance to him before she turned towards the angry woman again.

Angry? Passionate?

There wasn't really a difference. Still, a smile and she decided... "What woman was that again?" She smiled to Hakon, her earlier questions and attention turning from the handsome gentleman to the seemingly passionate woman. "I'm afraid where I'm from such an event - while always worthy of celebration - just... Isn't that ... Noteworthy?" Adalia shrugged, hands turned up in the air, "Though, I suppose for a country like Connlaoth a woman in any position that isn't on her back or full of child is noteworthy - Though you mordecai and adhara aren't regular women, are you? I'm surprised this country doesn't just have two Grand Duke's. That way if one Grand Duke is dead he can just be replaced by his ... Man." A glance to Zannrick. Was he the Grand Duke's man?

Maybe not in a sexy way. Maybe.

If anyone ever wondered why the dummy had been lashed in half with one clean swoop of his blade, they would have easily understood had they been listening into their conversation. Perhaps he was wrong to assume women were fit for their positions. Surely, they could not all be vipers, but from what he had seen being so immersed with the upper class...
Vipers they were all in truth.

It was hard for Zannrick to hide his scowl, creases were already set upon his face in that manner. But both these women were already trying his patience. Maybe he should have ignored propriety and just let himself have some sword play with General Kilandre. But the whispers, that even he could hear from the Duchess, would not be entirely inaccurate a claim. Were he a man with a more terrible reputation, he might have indulged something of that nature to simply take himself out of the moment (but only if a woman asked, would oblige).

He hated to admit it, but when he had been reprimanded by Grand Duke Allarrick in regards to that damn bitch Calent was bedding, he knew it was partially due to his stressful position. Battle fields were one form of scarring, but he dealt with a whole other batch of secrets and motives when playing the card games in this war.

He had considered a whore, but those were of course, short term solutions and sometimes sloppy.  But when a wife was suggested, he scoffed at the idea. But if his Grand Duke was so determined....
Thankfully, the conversation over that had been dropped. Of course, it might have been implied Calent hadn't pressed the topic since... A lot of gossip was going around in regards to Sir Austengarde's sexual orientation. Most men, due to the war, were eager to marry and Sir Austengarde had too many potential women to choose from that it was strange he chose to abstain from it. Then again, perhaps he was not the type to consider a wife, nor the idea of children and any obligations it brought. Or perhaps he wasn't sure if he enjoyed men's company better than a woman's. Maybe it was both, but he never fully indulged either party for long-


Again, this evening might be an exception. He'd need a drink before even going down that road, but he had too much pent up frustrations. And why was he even thinking about the horrid words suggested of this foul, magic casting Duchess?

He was thinking too much. And felt like he could split another dummy in half.

Swallowing it all back, for he was too good at all of that, he flattened his lips from his scowl and addressed the Duchess as respectfully as was expected.


"My duchess, please realize Mordecai and Adhara are not mages. We do not cast our abilities. They just are. Ansgar blessed our blood at random, for none of my family bore any mordecai until I had been born. It is not something you can breed from any man or woman." It was why they were so highly regarded, after all. Or was she implying breeding because of her statement? At the idea, his scowl was seeming to return.

Zannrick remained stiff as he continued to address, "And how the ability is effective varies from one mordecai and adhara to the next. A range for one may be small, just a few feet from a person, while others can range to nearly half a city wide. And each ability can house it's own strength itself, but generally the mordecai are as they are- In their presence you'll never be able to cast magic. Ever."

He sighed after all of that, and it was a hot sigh. He had come out here to the lawns for a lot better conversations than this.

The General calmed as Sir Austengarde spoke, though still bristled to a certain degree. Tucking herself into the far-too-sweet wine as she listened to his explaination. The idea of a foreign woman simply attending such an affair was both appaling and unsurprising, but if she truly wished to be accepted - which at this rate, the young General guessed she did not give a rat's arse - she would have to calm her prejudice. Still, she paused as she suddenly reliazed the Chalice was empty, moving away from the pair to place it upon a stone bench.

Now she paused, pondered her escape, though she was woe to leave Sir Austengarde- he would be a valuable ally in the future, even if his friendship only came in the form of subtle support. Ugh, Ansgar's - thank you for blessing me with the strength and skill to reach these heights but dammit if those already here were insufferable. With the soft tinkling sound of the tiny jewels, the young woman turned and offered a half-smile," Perhaps it would be best to replace wordplay with swordplay, my companions?" She suggests lightly, forcing herself to be far more merry then she felt. Truth be told, she simply wanted to feel the vibration of sword clashing sword running through her arms, to remind her why shad had come from the South for this charade in the first place.

" After all, these grounds were meant for competition, no?"

So formal.

Adalia looked away after a moment. Coming out here hadn't been a good idea. What could she expect from soldiers? While it seemed the man, Sir Austengarde was good at faking polite the girl - woman - had not gained that ability. Then again, Adalia had spent so much tine away from the game that, clearly, she'd lost her charm

Once upon a time she'd been above catty remarks and attempted hidden sneers. At least the man was good at pretending. "Well, thank you for the lesson," a quick green eyed to the blonde woman and Adalia looked at the dress she was wearing. "I'm afraid I'm not dressed for sword play, though. Should you ever find yourself in Highheart maybe i could oblige that offer." Not that she wanted to. She'd been a mageknight and she'd killed before but she'd never been to war.

Giving a slight nod of her head to the pair she smiled, "Be sure not to rip her dress," she said simply, "I'm afraid I should go find my Husband and earn my place in your society by being on my back. Seeing as how I'm neither mordecai nor adhara. Have a lovely evening, you two!" She gave a bright smile and a flick of her fingers in a wave before she turned around and left. Stupid. Did Edward hate her?

No use asking. That would get her an answer. Might as well eat food and get drunk.

[Exit adalia! ((I dunno where to yet ))]

Zannrick found himself swallowing back an acceptance to Adalia's challenge. Not that the Duchess had offered a challenge herself, but she had definitely implied she had the ability to accept, were she more properly dressed. It was probably for the best he hadn't taken anything to drink. He didn't need to make any foolish, pompous mistakes.

Chest a bit puffed from all the affair, he turned to regard the General.
"I wouldn't dare rip the dress of a lady on purpose," he went on, bowing to her rigidly, but astute. He drew out his blade, the metal hissing off the hilt and shining purple with the final glow of the setting sun. "But I do not carry a dull blade."

He kept his sword pointed towards the lawn and stiff, at his side.

"Shall we do a round of three? A point for each blade touching to a lethal point on the body."

Hakon watches the woman leave, and though she felt some regret in acting with such hostility, her pride in clawing herself into this position - for the many battles she had fought and many times her life had been hanging on nothing but a spider's thread... She felt justified despite the disappointment that burned in her chest. She was a General, and she would not allow herself or others of women of her station to be downgraded to mere prositutes on a whim. Perhaps that was too harsh- yes being a warrior in constant situations of hostility often ingrained an instinctively harsh response. She needed to remember where she was, the Grand Duke's Palace and not some wartorn field a thousand legues away.

Her gaze shifts toward the Hound, then to her dress- she tested its movement briefly; much lighter then the armor she was used to but with a similiar amount of movement... She could work with this. Drawing her saber free of its sheathe, she briefly cuts it through the air," Nor I, sir-" she answers gravely, observing the odd hue of his blade with interest,"- do not fret, Sir Austengarde, should I tear your uniform in turn, we may call it even," flashigg a wry smile, she began to relax, muscles slowly uncoiling in preparation for a swift bout. Slowly politics drifted to the back of her mind as war drifted forgh in all its divine glory. A tiny smile curls her lips- returning a curtsey fo him.

" Agreed," she answers, shifting the blade into a powerful hammergeip. She knew she would have to grow used to the swift movement without the weight of her armor and shield, but she had faith in herself, in Ansgar perhaps musing with them," Let us, for the sake of proprioty, say if too much blood is accidently drawn- to cease."

Was it possible there was a hint of a smile? If so, it might not have ever touched his lips, but there was a new sheen to his eyes.
"I'd never spill the blood of a lady." And he wasn't about to simply let himself get skewered. Was the General being cocky? He bowed again, raising his eyes to meet hers and shifted, body ready and blade raised, blow still low at his side. He hadn't a shield, then again, he never needed one, and his blade worked best as both. But the General was on the same playing field as he, and even if she had a shield, he wouldn't have wanted one.
"Best of three."

Let's play.
And his sword swept up with his rest, aiming to  smack upwards against her blade to test it's weight, and the strength of her hold.

Hakon's own gaze seemed to darken though slight crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes, a vague smile. She humoured him, bringing her saber slightly into his- the metal clanged surprisingly loudly in the stillness of the lawns. He would be met with a grip completely unmoved other then the vague forward momentum. This was a woman who constantly was squeezed into armor nearly twice her bodyweight suddenly freed to the world, what was left was pure strength utterly unimpeded by the need for simply carrying what she wore. Pure, brutal muscle remained, squeezed into a rather feminine dress. Sexy? Scary? Maybe both- but perhaps now was not the time to think of such things.

" Then I will never spill the blood of a gentleman, I suppose," she answers, voice light, humorous as she stepped forward, slightly pushing against his blade to push it wide before moviing her own backwards, aiming a swift yet controlled jab at his stomach. She was cautious, it would be an utter nightmare if she was to skewer him, so the General toned down ferocity as much as possible, attempted to concentrace on swift, light strokes of the blade. This would be slightly more difficult then she imagined, it had been awhile since she had to aim so lightly.

She allowed her mind to relax, without the pressure of airs, she immediately felt at home. Perhaps it was regrettable the only time she felt truly unwound was in the throughs of battle - but she did jot mind. There was a peace in the simlicity in which cimbat was conducted. It had given her such an appreciation of life, courting Death so brazenly time and time again. Alas, she focuses on her comrades movements, eyes flickering - was he too, relaxing? There seemed to be less tension to his features from what she could tell, then again, she was not a General for having the ability to read individuals!

He easily deflected her attempted strikes, their swords ringing from each sharp strike.
"You're too gentle, General." He moved to twirl his blade, it's metal hissing down the end of her's like the dancing motion of a wand, before shoving back and taking himself two steps away. He smacked heavily at her blade again.
"You don't need to go easy one me. Or.." he could have smirked. "Fret I might ruin your dress."
Still, an odd, but beautiful choice of attire on her part. Perhaps she wanted to feel more feminine at this celebration. Yet here she was, dancing with him and their blades.

She arches her eyebrows, releasing her two handed grip upon the scimitar to bring it to her side- arm slightly extended outward. Feeling the vibrations of his blow continuing to travel up and down the curved blade. Was that... No- a smirk? She returns with a sly smile of her own," I wouldn't want the Regent or Grand Duke pestering you about being too disheveled, would I?" She sings in return, her voice utterly free of all prior tension. As she moved backwards, the skirts twisted briefly about her form before rreturning back with a soft hissing rustle.

Tilting her head, she extends her free hand, beckoning him forth teachingly," Come, come now Sir Austengarde, I'm sure you won't do as much damage as the Duchess feared you would," she teases idly, shooting him a challenging look. This was surprisingly more fun then she had expected to have. At last, a worthy opponent who found joy in the dance of blades! What a pleasant surprise to say the least.

He didn't bother to reply with talk, and came out her like a bull, throwing all his weight behind a heavy swing in hopes she'd catch the strength of her blade against his- to see just what kind of guard she could keep with her delicate, dressy steps.

Hakon was taken by surprise at first by his explosively aggressive movements, but instincts kick in long before her mind. Bringing her sword about in a powerful hammer grip, she steps heavily into theblow, raising her sword defensively as her muscles snap like whips, planting herself into the ground firmly. The swords singing their metallic chord as his blow lands squarely in response to her sabers. Her arms bucked slightly in order to cushion the heavy strike. Eventually pushing back with all her might, body awakening with all that unbridled strength to crush his blade further into his guard- alas, her legs tense, prepare for him to spring away and use her own strength against her. In the dim light, now the lawns being lit by braziers, her hazel-grey gaze seemed nearly black sith concentration, watching her opponent with unwavering focus. She did not plan to be particularly agile in this outfit, but she was used to lack of movement at this point in her career- heavy armor be damned and blessed.

Unfortunately for her, he still held the advantage with strength, and he knew it. So despite her rebuff, he came at her, again and again, to force her back. His face was stern, stoic like a warrior, but his eyes seemed to be dancing like all the noble jewels partaking in the ball.

They were nearing a dummy, and he knew if he kept at her at this rate, she'd run into it. But rather than force her into that dilemma, he shoved his blade forward again and scrape-kissed their blades as he turned to his side, cutting away from her and towards the dummy and hefting his blade clean across it before kicking the damn thing over.

That was two kills in one day. But perhaps this time he was doing it on purpose. This time he had an audience to impress. He raised his blade again to Hakon, a silent taunt in her direction.

With each strike, each blow, she responded in kind with a direct block or tight parry. This was relaxing despite the aggression that filled the air, the cracking ring of the blades connecting. As they neared the dummy, she side stepped the  manikin and observed his vicious decaptitation of it, allowing him to reconcile himself before preparing an offensive. She wondered to whom his rage was centered, but felt no sympathy for whoever that must have been - to incur the wrath of those of such power was foolish enough without them being skilled in combat as well.

At his challenging gesture, she quirked an eyebrow, flashing a wry half-smile. He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, thats what she often felt when she felt cocky enough to throw a silent or verbal jab at an opponent. Alas, she obliged, he may have been a man, but the difference between them was she had never forgotten the taste of true warfare, while perhaps he - cooped up for many months on end within a grand castle-  would have forgotten the true savagery that came with even the most chivalrous of individuals.

So she allowed herself to fall into that mindset, akin to drawing a helm over her head. With a swift exhale, she began to press the offensive. Her movement seeming utterly chaotic through cutting-slashes at his extremities and the occasional feign or swift forward thrust. Without sleeves nor heavy pauldrons and vambraces to impede her movement, her strokes were astonishingly swift, akin to a viper's strike and weave. The General kept her blade close, never over reaching nor overbalancing herself- clearly putting on a balanced dance of defensive capability and offensive skill. She enjoyed this freedom, but without the security of the heavy armor, she felt as if she was without skin, utterly naked.... Which, thankfully, she was not- but still... the swift movements idly tossed some of the decorative stones embedded upon her skin- akin to water spraying from surf- not that it truly mattered to her, of course.

Whatever music echoed as a muffle across the lawn from the ballroom was lost upon their dance, but he certainly enjoyed this dance of another kind. He was indeed, almost smiling at the way she handled herself, truly impressed as he found himself just barely able to catch up to each strike on her eradicate movements. This woman was surely another beast in her own right, one bred for war, and a few tasteful strikes of his blade to her's assured him of that. At least he could rest a little easier after this day, knowing this female General had some semblance of skill he could see.

He had to wonder what a woman like her did all day out on the battlefield, surrounded by so much blood and death.... and men. Being cooped up in the palace certainly might seem like his skills could be lamed, but Zannrick practices rigorously day in and day out, and wasn't without his own excursions in which lead to a kill. No, this woman had probably killed far more people than he- but hardly anywhere near the former General Krah Mordeth, no doubt.

Part of him was pleased she had been ranked in and never gotten the full chance to meet with that cad. He had been a brute of a man, more like an ox and all balls but no brains. His tactics were transparent, but his power and ability to lead, strong. It was strange to see the appeal men had behind him- most so thirsty for blood it was almost a sin. It was why the city of Havanlaar and Thaedes had been completely decimated, and were one of the most famous battles the land had ever seen in these trying times.

But as a woman, she had much to prove. And though the duchess who so rudely put forth about Hakon's position to be merely a body for sex, he did have to wonder how many times she obliged men on the field. They all knew General Krah took countless women to his bed- but...

What about General Kilandre? Was she upset the duchess called her out on truth? Or that it was a petty attempt at a lie? Was she chaste? No, she didn't seem like the type to keep herself a flower. But why was he thinking about sex? It was something that pushed him forward and gave strength through frenzied nad unplanned but natural foot falls and sword strikes himself, in which he found himself growing dangerously close to Hakon as their blades locked and he found his face mere inches frmo her as their arms might tremble as each was to hold back the opposing fighter's blade.

Increasingly, she noted his eyes gaining a faraway look, he was thinking - she could see the gears working there within his mind. She knew the Grand Duke well enough to know he would not surround himself with stupid men... Well, for the exception of her predeccessor, a brusque man who held no honor but all infamy for being the cause of a massacre within one of her cousin's cities within Vythe. Last she had heard of him, he had Gone on a soul searching journey with a Knight of the White Lily. She didn't envy the woman that traveled with him, she was surrounded by predators enough as it was... Then again, her mind flickered back to her own experiences. She had experimented, yes. Indulged herself... But not to the point of losing what would make her 'pure'. It was all that was truly her own in this political world, and she would give her limbs and head before her chastity to the state.

In fact- combat was oddly sensual, primal, she supposed. What could possibly be more intimate then balancing precariously with another on the thread of life then being a tangle of limbs as well? Hm- maybe intimacy simply came down to animalistic tendencies. It was almost a shame.

Focusing back upon the present, she suddenly twisted her wrist as her blade connected in a horizontal strike against Zannerick's. Her eyes snapped to his face, he was close. She flashed the vaguest of smiles and felt some warmth flooding her face before slipping the blade forward to attempt to jab his breast. Not to impale- but simply to prick.

And to test the strength of his armor, Zannrick punched away her blade- knowing he'd be fully protected and using the strange retaliation to sneak in his own streak as he cut his own blade at an angle, aiming for her shoulder- or perhaps at least one of the straps holding her dress.

Swiftly tossing one hip backwards to drag her torso along with it, skirts flowing like ink and brushing his legs, his blade tings lightly across the netting of precious stones that held her dress about her shoulders and throat. She arched an eyebrow at him, smirking vaguely, as if subtly inquiring to his intentions in that moment: to maim or to shame, persay? Nonetheless, she steps back, swinging the blade vertically upward in a powerful, momentous upward stroke to force him back out of her guard- though a cunning glitter seemed to be in her eye.

Zannrick was forced back, and not necessarily all by her blade. He saw where his blade had cut and paused a moment to guard himself through a shamed bow.

"General Kilandre.. I hadn't meant to harm your dress."

Hakon steps back, looking down, straining slightly to see the netting had ever so slightly been torn and some of the precious stones were either pissing or cleanly sliced through. She idly reaches up, releasing one hand from the hilt of her blade to brush the netting and offer him a tiny smile," It can be repaired, besides, there were far too many gems any way... Though I may make you face the wrath of those who created this dress," she muses idly, lowering her blade though her stance spoke of vigilance.

With a teasing smile, she tilts her chin upward, chiding idly," Perhaps you should make the odds more fair, I don't believe you need that much protection, do you?" She comments, theatrically resting her hand on her cheek. Mocking him? Teasing him? Either way, a warm glint seemed to have come into her gaze. She understood him more then words could have expressed, which is all she had wanted in the first place- so truly? She was content, and... Somewhat conflicted, in a good way.

"Are you referring to my armor, General Kilandre?" he feigned to be taken a back, but snorted at the very idea. His blade, after all was still at the ready, eager and hungry for more strikes, but kept still at his side, like a good trained dog.
"You had agreed to spare with me. The armor is very much like the skin of my body." He was rarely ever seen with it off. "But are you so intimated by it you must question it now?" And without warning, he danced forward, striking out his sword towards her, again and again, this time, seeming to aim for the other shoulder that was the only thing seemingly holding together her dress.

She was ready for his attack, in a swift movement of silver steel, she batted his sword off course. Using his momentum as well as a small step forward to draw into his guard, her face a mere inch from his as a sly, deadly smile as sweet as sugar curled her cherry lips," Oh I am not intimidated in the slightest, Sir Zannerick Austengarde," she answered in a low voice- an oddly husky warmth just beneath her wods.

She tilted her face forward, her cheek hovering just beside his as she murmurs in his ear," But I believe it is only fair, due to the fact you seem quite intent of stripping me of my own 'skin'," Her words nothing but a low purr. Allowing her lips to hover just beside his ear. She had never acted so brazenly, well- maybe once or twice before. But never so quickly. It was oddly endearing and exhilirating. Perhaps that haughty Duchess was right? But even if she was.... The General would never admit it.

The moment dragged out for several seconds, she simply allowing the words to hang in the air, full of mystery and suggestion. Alas, she would not let him get away so easily, as she switched the grip upon her sword and drove the hilt firmly into the softer platining of his flank. A solid yet slightly stinging blow.

He couldn't believe he let this woman get so close to him, and it was strangely erotic. He'd have to see how... in need she might be when this spar was all said and done. He knew now more than ever he needed a lot more than one 'relaxing' evening out on a sparring field- unless he could find means to make it something more....

She had almost got his armor with her strike, but he struck it away and pushed himself back away from her to give himself some space. It would do him no good to allow his judgement to get clouded over primal desires. Just because he considered wanting to bed the general, did, by no means, mean he ought to act on it. Nor let it tar his reputation.

"If I'd want to skin you alive, you'd know it," he taunted. "Because you'd already be dead, or hanging, bleeding out from your lack of skin." there was a wicked smirk, a dark one of appreciation. "Your skills are impressive, General. The Grand Duke was well advised to promote you."

She flashes him a vicious smile, wolfish in aggression, cat-like in cunning, purely warrior. Carefully, she reached up to pinch the netting together that hung slightly from her neck- arching a slender eyebrow at him," You seem to be quite confident you could do so without struggle-" she muses in return, idly striding about him in a small circle, akin to a predator about her prey. She wanted him to believe she had control. That was how she had survived nearly unscathed thus far, the entire facade of having complete power and control within a situation made her invincible.

"- Though I appreciate your praise-" she brought the saber up vertically, in a sort of salute, offering him another smile. It was all a mask she had expertly woven, her heart hammered in her chest, she felt particularly flushed and her breathing was much deeper then what this mere spar could draw her to. She too, did not act, but from the look in his eye, she could tell he was pondering the possibility.

Admittedly, she could imagine nothing more desireable then to be utterly tangled with this man of equal strength and standing. But- then again, she had promised herself control - and to wait... She had a duty as well, which was to the future of her family. Alas, that would not keep her from... Experimenting," How many blows do you think that all was? Or does it simply not matter?" She chuckles vaguely.

Zannrick eyed her, but remained on guard.
"Were you not keeping track?" A mock smile. "I thought you'd take this dual seriously."

" I would were I not so utterly distracted," she drawls lightly, flashing a smirk in return, tilting her head to one side," I must say, I am impressed as well, Sir Austengarde, I can see why the Grand Duke holds you so closely." As she spoke, she moved slowly closer, merely imperceptibly- the skirts of the dress rippling like liquid in a soft breeze that rolled over the neatly trimmed lawns.

It was unclear her motives, but- perhaps she was toying with him, willing him to make the first move, the first mistake. That small, sly smirk curling her cherry lips onlt seemed to confirm that suspicion.

Much to her chagrin, he held up his blade and did nothing. But he kept on his guard.
"You're losing, by the way," he told her. This time, it seemed there might have been a smirk in his eyes. "And I'd only have to win this match were I to disrobe you. But for your honor, my lady," he moved, taking a step back and moving to put away his blade. "Perhaps we ought to call it a draw."

She was unsurprised he would pull that card, it drew another smirk to her lips as she briefly flourished her curved blade, freezing it mid-air to catch the light of the blazing braziers nearby and moonlight above, focusing upon him with those hawk-like eyes," You're too kind, though is that truly what you desire?" She inquires, an undertone of a challenge just hovering beneath her words, mocking him ever so slightly. She alas, did not want the spar to end in such a way, she had vengeance to sow- but there were more cunning and fun ways to do so.

As she tilted her head, a lock of white-blonde hair fell free from the intricate braid about her head, curling just beneath her cheekbone, an oddly endearing mistake on her figure that seemed to only add a measure of... Realism to her form.

"What I desire isn't what's important, Lady Kilandre. It would only be polite to discontinue." And he paused, staring away from her as he added, "Reputations are at stake."

Hakon paused, then finished the flourish in a flash of steel, burrowing the scimitar back into its hidden sheathe as she approaches him, extending her hand. The gesture was both inviting and that of mutual respect, an opportunity to an alliance to be formed in whatever shape it may take," Well, Sir Austengarde," she begins calmly, gazing at him with a smile," If the desire to keep our reputations intact stands, then may I suggest observing other activities, if you will graciously accompany me?" She inquires gently, tilting her head.

She had the nagging feeling that she knew he wished to perhaps bed her, she felt the same primal desire. Alas... Before doing so, she wished to at the very least know him. Perhaps she was childishly sentimental, naive in this new world of bright lights and long words... But she valued what little she could truly call her own, and would hold onto it as long as possible.

Zannrick studied the woman with some reserve, straightening his shoulders.
"I have no set plans for the evening. I fear that I may be at your disposal, General," he went on with a bow of his head, and had to wonder- where did the woman wish to lead?

" In truth, Sir Austengarde, from what you have shown me, I would rather keep you around as long asspossible," she muses, dropping her hand back to her side as she thoughtfully turns toward the Palace, with some careful manipulation of the wiring of the net that held her dress about her throat, she was sure no one would notice how it was vaguely damaged.

" What do you say we pay the Grand Duke a visit?"

That idea alone made him stop dead in his tracks. An icy feeling curdled in his veins. He shook his head.

"The Grand Duke insists I remain... elsewhere throughout the evening." And though he remained rigid about it, he still remained at the lady's side. "He desires I enjoy the evening. I rarely a day off." He looked away, feeling awkward. Why did he feel the need to defend this? Perhaps he was feeling  a bit like a fish out of water. He rarely left Calent's side.

She furrowed her brow, somewhat sympathetically- she recalled his nickname 'The Hound' and indeed he looked quite lost with the sudden notion of being seperated from his master. This idea was somewhat apalling, that a man of such stature could be so... Unwhole without another. But then again, that was how she had felt when Aven Alveron had died, disappeared and all that was left of him was the ring he had given her, a promise that she would remain his. That was nearly a year ago, the grief had long turned into anger that had burned out like a damp fuse. She was ready to continue living- so perhaps it was the same for Zannerick? She could only assume.

Mulling over the possibilities, she gazed up at the sky," I suppose the Veranda would be clear, if you wish to dine and rest? But if not-" she looks down, chuckling lightly," I would be more then happy to dance with you here again, sir,"

"If you wish to dance, we can take this to the ballroom. But I grow thirsty. Perhaps now might be the time for wine."

Hakon smiles, tilts her head," Very well- please, lead on- I am sure you know these grounds better then I," she chides faintly, offering the smallest of smiles

"Then let us drink." And he took General Kilandre's arm in his own and guided her from the lawn towards the broad, marble staircase leading up to the veranda...


OOC: Zannrick leads Hakon here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=23656.msg354646#msg354646).