Dale
Duke Darin
Northwind, Grey Hills Duchy, Darin's Chambers

There was a distinct whining in the Duke's Room. A whole flock of servants had all gathered around the outside of the door, some of them pressing their ears against it and trying to snap up on what the warlord was mumbling about inside. Oh, had he recovered from the grevious wounds he recieved when fighting the Wolf-Lord a month back? Or perhaps those arrows that nailed him when he was escaping from the whole De Burgh battle fiasco? Or maybe the Foot Ulcers he had gotten when he alone marched the entire way back to the Grey Hills, kept alive only by some dirty rags-made-bandages, endurance, and a steady diet of hand-caught small woodland animals? Perhaps that nasty plague had gotten to him, the one that sent murmuring waves through all of Marin, leaving no high-or-low blood safe from the pestulent hand of fate.. Whatever had gotten to the secluded Duke had left him isolated, cut off from the rest of the world, and crammed in his bedchambers for the last month, only being seen to the world outside his door when he ocasionally snuck around the keep covered in cushy robes and blankets. Indeed, the servants mumbled, guessed and gossiped- whatever could have reduced the great warrior-duke to this shadow of his former self?

The answer was apathy.

"But sir, there is no reason to abandon your cause! The capital could very well be ours, and the estimations of our forces still point towards a high readiness for whatever our opponents could hope to throw at u-" His advisor (the third one this month, the other two still hung in gibbets near the keep gates) mused on and on, only to be interrupted by an exhasperated "No, let me ***BE!*** I don't, I don't WANT to go and conquer that stinking pile of refuse they call a capital anymore.. I don't, I really, do not. I don't give a **Rat's ass** About De Blorgh or his **Missbegotten gang of cronies**.." There was a quiet sniffle, just to punctuate his tone. ".. Just, get another servant up here.. I want, another cup of wine, and, some more of those honey sweets.." The Duke whined, turning over in his bed to face away from the advisor interrupting his moping, and pulling the fuzzy furs that covered his bed closer. "But sir! All you need to do is, get up, and get out there! The world is yours for the taking, oh great Darin, you just haven't seized it yet! You just need to get MOTIVATED!" The advisor blurted out, only to be met by the tired looking visage of Darin. His eyes were red and slightly swollen, the bags under his eyes had amplified quite a bit, he looked like he hadn't had a shave in a few weeks, and like his otherwise warrior-like physique had gained a few pounds. ".. But I don't want to be motivated, I want to lie here and be sad." The duke rebutted, before returning to his musings.

Alas, life was not easy. Having such high views of yourself, while at times justified, also lead to a little bit of cognitive dissonance. Throughout life Darin had enjoyed a dance on roses. During the little civil war to take the throne he had personally claimed several skulls (some of which by now were cups, and some even candle-holders), made brilliant tactical decisions, and been praised as an orator without equal in Northwind- riling the masses into a furious mob when needed. But as of late, with the whole struggle for the throne, he had been pulled through flop after flop. Getting trashed by a wolfman, captured by De Burgh, outmanouvered by sneaky tacticians, and getting lost in swamps. It was if the roses had withered, and left Darin in a sorry and gray state, almost as gloomy as his fertile home region. What, or who, could possibly rouse the heavy hearted lordling from this miserable state? His advisors didn't know, but they would sure love to find out.
Bobby
John De Burgh
Swinford

John wished to waste no time between his meeting with Leviticus and returning to the safety of the town afoot the peak of Swinford Keep's highest hill. The guards were unlike all others in De Burgh's Army. John's light infantry wore light grey chainmail with a heavy plated torso. They appeared to the onlooker as a relatively standard infantry unit. However, the elite guards were of an entirely different breed. Their armor was colored heavy black with purple capes, and wore helmets with faces engraved into their masks. Lord John spared no expense in crafting one of the most feared and respected guard battalions in all of Marin.

As the guard rode forth and received Levi's weapon, John motioned him to halt. "That won't be necessary. I have no intention of stripping the man of his right to defend himself." The guard shrugged and handed Levi back his bow and returned to John's side. The Lord gripped the reigns on his horse then spun about, looking over his shoulder at Levi and beckoned him to follow.
Carol
Levi Cortez
Swinford, Northwind

Levi's hands tightened instinctively around the bow, and he strapped it back into his back. He slid his dagger back into its sheath, and silently thanked his gods. "You are a respectable man. That much is obvious. I can see why your men follow you." Levi said, tightening the bow so it wouldn't get in the way of his movement. 

He walked and met John, and matched his speed. "I know this is strange, but I wanted to extend my gratitudes for the welcome. Some would rather kill than ask questions." Levi said, popping his neck as they walked.
Bobby
As Levi rode abreast the Lord, the Royal Guard attempted to intercept them. John simply waved them off. "Let us ride ahead." John commanded, as he gripped the reigns of his pale white horse, who's beautiful skin had been rusted by blood. "Just a fortnight had passed since this plain was a battlefield. The sun still rises, the grass is still green, but the birds no longer sing in Swinford. The morning Larks have abandoned the town long ago." John said, motioning to the miles of burned woods that surrounded the field. The smell of burnt oak was still prevalent in the Spring wind.

"These trees will forever scar this land, my friend. From now, history will make famous the fields of Swinford for the battle that occurred here... A battle in which flames surrounded the warriors like a gladiator's cage."

In less than an hour, the pair had reached the foot of the hill. Just atop was a massive military encampment set up by John's forces immediately following the seizure of the city. A forward assault on Swinford would be near impossible from an attacker's position with this defense mounted.
Carol
Levi Cortez
Swinford

As they reached the city, Levi studied the surrounding carnage. "The problem is you must maintain the way history sees you. Unfortunately you are in a very precarious state at the moment. You now hold a major military hold here in Swinford. You won this land in a monstrous battle. Will you be a benevolent master? That is the question History will ask of you, just as it has asked every other man who has claimed power." Levi said as they rode. 

Levi's eyes flickered over the encampment, and looked amused. "You have lucked out. It would be very difficult for an army to infiltrate this place. But you have one weakness, and it always comes with having these large groups of people in one spot. You must watch for individuals." Levi said, picking up the reins again. "I am not implying anything, only saying that an assault would be difficult, but unfortunately with that much defense comes the issue of infiltration. Watch your men, John de Burgh." Levi said, squinting as the sun hit his eyes.