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@GoblinFae ]
He didn't need to look to know that they were coming.
Here in Vermillion, capital of Falkenrath, was the gray stone and mortared form of the Iron Keep, that held the ruling family of this lowly province. It once did. Now it was empty and desolate save for the form that was draped at the worn leather chair in the rookery near it's peak. When his spies saw that the Grandmaster of the Mordecai had noticed Falkenrath was no longer under their control, the message was sent posthaste by nighthawk.
Having only just arrived days ago, it was only a matter of time before that "Knight of the Realm" would follow along with it. And as Roland sat draped in that chair, clutching the wine bottle – half empty – firmly in hand, he swigged it to his lips and took a hearty sip and draped it back down. He glanced at the note in hand and the chicken scratch scribbled therein.
"The Grandmaster himself huh? Coming to meet with little ol' me? Whatever did I do to deserve such attention?" Roland laughed to no one in particular. He pulled his leg from the armrest and sat up just as the door to the office opened up and there stood Darius, a tall slender old man, graying whiskers and white hair that grew long to his shoulders.
"I suspect that might have had something to do with ousting the Brennick family and keeping them confined to the manor rooms of the Keep, my lord." Darius murmured and shrugged, coldness keeping his own amusement at bay.
"One. There's one Brennick family member left. And he's living quite comfortably I might add," Roland sat up and gave a glaring look to the old man. "Did you come here to mention old news? Or bring me another bottle of Fordon 42 from down in the cellar?"
Darius sighed, crossing the distance and plucking the bottle up from the ground. He kept it for himself when Roland reached across to grab it. And he took his own glug of it. "I did," he replied calmly, keeping his distance from a slowly fuming Roland. "Our scouts have spotted a visitor nearby, with a familiar crest. And just as we speak, I believe the Grandmaster is rolling into the courtyard of Iron keep."
Roland hoisted himself up with surprising speed from the chair and crossed the distance between him and Darius, gripping the man by the neck. "You are....on a thin line, old man," he breathed. But a smirk took his lips instead. "And your balance is impeccable." He took the wine back and examined the bottle. "You think the new Grandmaster will like a drink? A good host of his castle will want to make a guest feel right at home."
"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Darius shrugged Roland's grip away, calm as ever.
"Get the Fordon 42. And direct my Legionnaires to let him through the Gates."
Roland downed the rest of the bottle before slamming it against the table and grabbing Anguish from where it rested on the old wood surface. He strapped it around his waist and drew his fur-lined cloak over his shoulders once again. He stepped out of the room. They would meet in the Great Hall, where all previous lords before him met their supporters, their aggressors, their match.