Tammy
Lord Radgore Skagerlly
The Hallowed Halls of the Weeping Pit, Reaper's Skull

Lord Radgore drank from his horn of ale atop the highchair in the halls of his castle. "Years," He went on, "Years of fockin' disrespect and slights. Well none any longer. That boy - he's a good lad - he'll take that cursed fockin' seat from the fockin' Carters and I'll build a dais out of their bones and use their supple flesh ta hold it together as he ascends!" He bellowed out, booming across the entire hall. The majority of the Skagerlly Brood had rode off with Nathaniel on his excursion to Castle Barrmount, but what trueborn and baseborn children of Radgore's remained stood idly in the gathering halls, for hours on end, listening to him drink and belch and struggle through old war stories as he drank and belched some more. Their initial appeasement of their Lord Father had waned rapidly as the night crept on further and further. It went from raucous cries of fervour, to applauds of respect, to mild signs of life, to simple ambiance.

Suddenly he noticed that. "Oi!" He piped up, his coarse, raspy voice once again assaulting the temporarily hushed harmony of the halls. "I said," He rose to get up, though one of his serving girls, skimpily clad, went to assist him. He pushed her so hard when he put his paw in her face, she fell down the stairs with a crack. She cried out in pain, holding her ankle. The Skagerlly Brood went to assist in concern for her wellbeing, but as they moved he shouted the loudest he had all night, **"DON'T FOCKIN' TOUCH HER,"** He harked, leaning on the arm rest of his highchair. They were all stunned in silence as she continued whimper in agony. "I said...," He stood his full form. He was a hulking bear of a man. At least six feet and eight inches, three hundred and forty pounds of unbridled aggression. In his prime, he was the one everyone avoided and ran from on the battlefield. However since then, Lord Radgore had grown quite fat in his older age. But he could still crush a man's skull between his bear hands. "Did all of you fall on your heads when you fell out of ya mother's cunts? Deaf are we? The Deaf Skagerllys, is that what we are? You think that's someone ta fear? Someone ta be opposed by? The Deaf Skagerllys won't even hear you comin' behind them. Plant the blade in between their shoulders, **THEY WON'T KNOW ANY FOCKIN' DIFFERENCE,**" He breathed heavily as he descended towards them. "I said I'll build a fockin' dais of their fockin' bones and use their fockin' skin ta hold it together!" This time, they cheered. Cheered louder than they had the entire night. The serving girl continued to scream.

"That's better," He took another swig of his horn of ale, downing the remains and going as far to hold it above his head so every last drop fell into his misshapen, near toothless mouth. "Fat Tongue," He called out. A boy appeared from the crowd. "More ale," He commanded.

"Yeth My Lord," He replied, running off.

Lord Radgore wiped his mouth. "But ta do it, this *Boy* Wants us ta make amends with those fockin' crooks. Those parasitic, pompous prats who have strived for generations by killing our own! As if I'm ta lay down arms for bitch that fell out of Yaron Barrmount's balls. A marriage, he says. That's what will cure hundreds of years of blood, sweat, agony, burnings, pillaging and the like. Mallsrek can marry what's left of her, after I get one moment alone with that cunt! One dead Barrmount just isn't good enough. I'll string up all their bodies. The boy can decorate our opening gates. The second sister will be stretched across the entirety of the hallways, and I'll save her ladyship for my own personal chambers. Yeah. Yeah I like that. What a fockin' magnificent union that will be now. Now that's somethin' worth celebrating over," He was practically frothing at the mouth. "Where is she?" He asked suddenly. "Where is Kelsafyr? She needs ta-," He hiccupped, "She needs prepare the celebrations of this glorious alliance immediately," He looked around frantically. "Well? Where the fock is she?!" 

"She's praying alone, father. She always does at this hour," Jyrol Skagerlly spoke up.

"Well go and fockin' get her then," He commanded. The serving girl start screaming again.

"But father, this hour is sacred to her. The communication between her and the Frozen Gods is essential in cleansing our household. She atones, for us."

Lord Radgore, drunk as he was, almost tripped as he made his way to his son. He lay his big meaty paw on his shoulder and his weight almost sent him into the earth. "I don't recall asking. I don't recall, in all my years as Lord being told that I have ta answer ta an hour. A slot of time isn't afforded ta a Lord. A Lord affords a slot of time ta others," He pressed down further, causing Jyrol to visibly wince. "Unless, 'a course, I missed that part when my father - your grandfather - was tutoring me. Maybe my hearing failed me, much the same way it has failed you lot here tonight. Or better yet, maybe my own father didn't hear that part when *His* Father was tutoring him. Maybe we are the Deaf Skagerllys, and weakness runs in our veins. Are you saying I'm deaf, boy?" He growled lowly. 

"No, fa- father, I was just... Just-," Suddenly Jyrol's feet were dangling, he was he was being held up with one giant hand around his throat. "I meant no disrespect," He wheezed. 

"Cause if I am Old Deaf Radgore Skagerlly, then our enemies will be able ta plunge their steel in my back at any given moment, and I'd be none the wiser. Is Old Deaf Radgore Skagerlly going to be stabbed in the back, hmm?" He tightened his grip.

"...... No," Jyrol managed to squeak out as he turned red, then blue, then purple. 

"So I'm not deaf then. I didn't miss that part?" He asked. 

"...... No," He was released. He breathed in and out desperately. The serving girl's shock was amplified. 

"Good. Go and find her and bring her here immediately." Jyrol ran off with out another word. 

"And Curls," Another boy appeared from the crowd before their Lord, "If you don't make her shut her fockin' mouth within the next ten seconds, you all get the Pit."

Jyrol Skagerlly
The Hallways of the Weeping Pit, Reaper's Skull

He almost tripped over himself as he paced toward Kelsafyr's chamber. Once he finally reached it, he knocked, and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
Shirley
**Kelsafyr Skagerlly**
**Kelsafyr's Bedchambers of the Weeping Pit, Reaper's Skull.**

Her bedchambers were noiseless and cool, the hearthstone long stifled, the only sound that broke the silence aside from Kelsafyr's vehement whisperings was the sound of her drapes being blown by the gale, twisting and contorting as if a lithe woman were using them to misbehave. Stooped upon the unyielding stone floor was a delicate woman with her head inclined before an altar of the frozen gods. With fingers interlaced and locked together, Kelsafyr exhibited herself most graciously to her deities. Quiet, breathy whispers caused her lips to part, pleading with those most sacred to absolve her families many iniquities, to preserve Shaydrin as he was so far from her. 

"Honour my brother with your charity, shelter him from those who may harm him, bring him back to me unscathed and-." 

The words drowned within her gullet as she heard the wrapping of knuckles against the door of her chamber. She hesitated for but a moment as if wishing the intruder to depart, before continuing with her devotions. With a definite inhale of breath, she uttered;

"Bring him back to me unscathed and prosperous over our-"
**Knock Knock Knock.**

Once more she was disrupted, and as such she elevated herself to a stand, brushing both hands down her legs to right herself and her dress. *Whichever idiot is awaiting her wrath behind that door best prepare himself*, she thought, her jaw tensing. *The utter disrespect and disregard for her that one would have to interrupt her hour of prayer are nauseatingly loathsome.* She took a few steps toward the door and rested her hand upon the handle, inhaling a breath in a moments respite, before she pulled open the entrance to her chambers. The look that she gave Jyrol was strong enough to curdle milk, but yet there she stood, awaiting a very good reason as to why he took it upon himself to knock on her door.
Tammy
Jyrol Skagerlly
The Hallways of the Weeping Pit, Reaper's Skull

When he finally looked up, she was already there, gazing upon him with beautiful eyes of mystery and mercury. "Oh!" He jumped, clutching his chest. "Kelsa - Kelsafyr. My deepest apologies to disturb on your hour of atonement. May you and the Frozen Gods forgive me," He breathed. Her visage was awe-inspiring. The regality of her sharp and angular features were something men could go weeks gawking at, without food, without water. But the imperiousness of her features made his heart race faster. He swallowed, "Father beseeches your presence posthaste. He says we're to begin planning for celebrations of Lord Vivayn's success, and the future unison of Skagerlly and Barrmount," He informed her.
Shirley
**Kelsafyr Skagerlly**
**The Hallways of the Weeping Pit, Reaper's Skull**

Her brow twitched upwards at an angle, lips remaining pursed and thin and she trained a level gaze upon him. She was utterly silent as she allowed him an explanation, and as he concluded his statement, her chin dipped in understanding. 

"He's drunk." She stated as if this were a normal occurrence. It would have been phrased as a question if she required affirmation, but she already knew it to be true. Her tongue dragged along her lips in a moment of irritation, before it melted into a placid smile. A well practiced expression, it appeared. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep father waiting. I eagerly await to hear how he intends for this to play out." She mused, her hands linking together and resting at her abdomen, her elbows jutting out at her sides. She tilted her head, suggesting he begin escorting her to the grand hall, with little attempt to hide the assertive air her movements produced.