Ronald
Cyprien de Lysse
The Keep Sempiternal of the Grey Hills

Bastien knocked at the door. He knew it was Bastien because he knocked exactly four times.
He didn't say anything, Bastien knew he was waiting for him. He didn't need permission to enter. The knocking was just courtesy.

"Come here son. Sit," Said the lord as he gestured towards the chair. He couldn't help but notice how Bastien recognized it.

He had to make an effort not to look him in the eye just yet. He waited until the young man was in place that Cyprien turned his gaze towards him.

"I have summoned you here because a choice presents itself before you and me, and I want you to make that choice," He said. The lord pressed the fingertips of his hands against each other. "Last year, you insisted that I allow you to attend a jousting tournament in the Isles. I said no. The isles are a backwater, and we had no buisness there... Until now. War rages in the north, the scouts from House Koern claim De Burgh is going to win. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. War is inevitable.
So, I have decided to attend the Isles. Quuen Charity Lane is absent from Sol, and her senechals have been ignoring my requests for reinforcements.
This means that you, my son, could attend the tournament. However...

This visit to the isles, is, and will remain, a diplomatic mission. Fleur will accompany me, so a large retinue will follow us.

You could attend the tournament. Or you could stay behind. Travel to Sol and get our troops. An army of Ibbish mercenaries will march trough the Grey Hills as well. It is important that they're given free transport to the Witherlands so they do not fall into the hands of De Burgh.

That is your choice. To attend the tournament, or to safeguard home while I'm away. I must say, that I would prefer if you stay, but I will not blame you for chosing to go."
Katherine
Bastien de Lysse
The Keep Sempiternal of the Grey Hills

Bastien's posture stayed rigid during his father's entire speech, but internally he felt his heart slowly deflate. Of course this would happen. The tournament was something that Bastien has always wanted to attend. And now that it was finally possible, there was something to prevent him from going.

"I see," He said after a few moments of silence as he gazed evenly at his father. '*He looks tired,'* Bastien thought as he saw his father's expression. Though his frigid appearance stayed unaltered, he felt a wave of pity.

Though he knew how much distaste the other family members in the Keep felt towards him. Especially his- *Aunt.* But he could not just desert them, or his home, in good conscious. He needed to be a leader. A protector.

Not a selfish coward.

"Then I leave for Sol in the morning," He replied cooly as he stood up. He glanced at a window. It was already dark outside. Otherwise, he would have already be preparing to make leave.

He shared a brief empathetic look with his father as another bout of pity came over him. Then his cold shield of an expression returned. He walked over and opened the door, gave his father one last nod, and then closed the door behind him. 

*'What do I do now?'* He asked himself as he stared at the door. He turned and began walking to another part of the building purposefully. 

*'Fleur. I want to see her before I leave.'*
Melanie
John De Burgh
Burgh

 During the whole of a darkening sky, the plentiful soldiers cast shadows surrounding their Lord. John found himself amidst a moving field of darkness, appearing a silhouette of the man he was rumored to be. His men shielded the truth of his stature among a sea of their imposing bodies. The cavalry led the charge up the hill, brandishing their swords and clasping their helms. A pervasive feeling of doom had ensnared John as he gazed upon the bleak entropic domain to which he had laid his claim. For a moment, John reflected on a different arrangement of the scene's particulars. Each swipe of a blade was an unsteady hand stroking an abject brush on John's easel. The canvas was ugly, convoluted, and worst of all, depicted no clear image. John was a better painter than this, surely. In his visage, a sense of disgust emerged at his lack of taste. It was time for him to seize his brush and reclaim control over his masterpiece.

Up the hill, Levi's men had not failed to earn John's admiration. John studied the field for any sign of Tharn or Levi but could not make out the details of any face. All of them seemed so similar to him - pallor and chipped by frost, but nonetheless consumed with hatred for the enemy. Returning the courtesy, a wave of horsemen emerged over the hill like a tidal wave, preceding John. The cavalry commander rode forward, driving a pike through a Wolfman's spine, engaging one of Levi's soldiers in combat. Banners rose over the steep horizon, signaling John's arrival. Tharn had been most wise to abandon his fight with John and pursue the smaller foe. Perhaps the barbarian King had even thought to regroup in the wilderness before re-engaging. Too often had weak-willed warlords failed to pursue a broken enemy, and John would not make that mistake. This conflict must end decisively. 

 "Break formation!" John commanded, ordering his troops to disperse and destroy the remaining Wolfmen. What remained with him was his unit of personal guards, cavalry auxiliaries, and some of his most trusted commanders. The battle, and the war, was nearly won. Upon this hill, John De Burgh's reign would begin, and the onset of a new and glorious state would be reborn from the Empire of old. A malevolent grin broke over John's stained face, but it was short-lived. Beside him, a slight rumble of clashing shields had erupted into a tremor of disturbing magnitude. His gaze shot to the left, where a dozen of his soldiers had been piled onto the ground. Solymr reared in shock, neighing as his mount had suddenly been sent flying off his back. The force of the attack alone was nearly enough to kill John, and he had not even seen his attacker's face before he knew exactly what occurred.