Bobby
Amaryllis, Col
The Gallant Pheasant, Iron Gates

Col shrugged when she said that people like he didn't rise above their station. He replied, "People like me don't become knights. My kind die of starvation with frostbite everywhere from their nose to their arses." She winked then mentioned seeing the world. He smirked, "I have no doubt that you will see whatever land you want. At this point, you're more accomplished in battle than I am." More teasing, he'd met her twice. Both time she was in the midst of a crisis after an attack. 

He playfully rolled his eyes when she said he'd make it to the top, "Is this not it?" He'd never stayed in an inn before with Lords and Ladies right across the hall.

During the small pause he continued to look over at her. It seemed like there was more to say but neither of them was talking. He forced himself not to react when she said she could never forget his face. He had a couple quick responses, but again his words failed him.

He laughed when she joked about having as many scars as a knight, "Aye... If I see you crying over an injury again, I'll personally make sure that you learn to use a sword."

When she was attacked by the shifter he pulled the pitchfork out of her leg and sewed the wound shut. It was brutal, but it might be the reason she was sitting across from him at the moment. "How'd my work hold up?" He reached across to touch her leg, but stopped himself. He looked across at her, staring for a second before it was clear her was going to keep his hands to himself. 

"I think you should go back," He said gesturing with his head towards the door. "I know everyone was concerned about your friend's reputation earlier, but in reality yours is more important. No one will let you near her if they find you missing from your bed and anywhere near mine in the middle of the night." 

He stood up, offering her a hand to stand. When she did, he let go then walked with her over to the door. He opened it slightly letting the soft orange light from the hall peer in, but he just stood there for a moment before he closed it again. He looked over at her, "If you can, you may want to try a bow. You're too small and weak to actually be useful with a sword. Stop sending good men on your dream quests, and Lady green eyes will probably get one for you." 

He opened the door again, leaving enough room for her to go back across the hall. Goodbye was so final. He really did hate the tradition, but he wanted to say something to her... 

He settled on, "Don't cry. Don't die..." With just a hint of a smile.
Frankie
Amaryllis, Col
The Gallant Pheasant, Iron Gates

She had smiled warmly at him when he said that he'd personally make sure she learned to wield a sword, chuckling softly. She hoped she would never face another attack ever again. She had had enough to last a lifetime, certainly.

And then he had asked about his handiwork, to which she had replied, "Stitches held up great! Managed to keep infection away, and the scar isn't too obvious. Granted, nobody ever sees it anyway. I limp a little now, as I'm sure you've noticed, but I'm pretty sure I would have bled out, had it not been for your stitches. You did a great job with them, really. Took them out myself." She had smirked at him and added, "You would make an excellent seamstress."

But the sense of teasing and warmth completely vanished when he said, "I think you should go back." Her smile faded, and she looked down at the floor as she bit here lower lip hard. This was it, then... She wasn't going to see him again, and he was going to cut their meeting short, at that. 

She said nothing in response to all the things he said, just silently rising from her chair and following him to the door. Only when they both stood at the door did she look up at him, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She kept them in check, somehow, and said in a voice that was devoid of the tears that made her eyes look all watery, "I never gave a damn about my reputation, Col, and I never will. I care more about people than reputations." She swallowed hard, so close to hugging him, but somehow she sensed that wasn't right for this situation. He wouldn't want her to be all affectionate or anything.

She managed a little smile at him, replying, "I can promise only one of those, but..." She shook here head and just said lamely, "Good luck in the tournament, Col. I know you'll win." 

She knew he wouldn't want her to say goodbye. He clearly didn't like goodbyes, or else he would have said goodbye the first time. And so she left him with those words alone before brushing past him and out the door, but rather than going to Josephine's room, she started down the hall and disappeared down the stairs. 

She definitely wasn't going to sleep now, and she didn't want to bother anyone. Besides, she needed some time to compose herself, and it was easier to push Col away than it was to get hurt. Both of them were better off without each other.
Jeremy
Kharlyle Whylder

Undisclosed Location: Fargone 

"Wot" Kharlyle was simply surprised at the fainting of the he held in his hands. "Didn't die, did e'?" He asked, face within a confused grimace.

"Nah, Master, I can feel his pulse, I do believe him to be sleepin' yeah" One of the men hoisting Rhoderick's body stated without giving eye contact to his Master.

"Al'wight, jus load 'im up on a horse, tie him well yeah?" Kharlyle began to whipe the blood from between his fingers with a hankerchief. As the men dragged Rhoderick's tied body to the black stead behind him, Kharlyle spoke up again. 

"I ordered that horse killed hours ago, and it's still alive. Do *Not* Insult me by bringing him home upon it" Kharlyle's buoyant and forgiving tone existed only due to his newfound excitement, the new friend he had made. As the body of the horse collapsed Kharlyle paused again "You know what? Actually, take a leg or two home with us, Al'wight?" 

As the corpse of the legless mangled horse was thrown into the river, Kharlyle became content with the fact that he had not only ruined his hankerchief, but was also unable to clean his stained hands.

"Master Kharlyle?" A Well trusted hound asked "Do you think he'll forgive you back home, you think he could forget" The other guards interests were visibly piqued.

"When he's on the Iron Gate throne, there will be few things he remembers, and many people to forgive. But when he sits upon the skulls of a thousand slave children, he'll be far to focused on forgiving himself" Kharlyle gave a glance to the guard in recognition of what he just said was rambling and incoherent. 

A long breath of silence occurred before Kharlyle attempted to break the tension with a laugh at his own dialogue. "Are we off then?"

Kharlyle helps the reigns of his horse and led off behind his brother back to WhylderHold, a new home.
Bobby
Amaryllis, Col
The Gallant Pheasant, Iron Gates

He sensed the tone shifted when he suggested she go back to her room and the watery eyes was almost enough for him to completely change his mind. He wanted more time with her too, but he knew the right thing to do was to see her back across the hall. He was rarely optimistic, but seeing her again didn't feel like an impossibility. They were both shitbloods from Northwind, reality dictated that they'd see each other again soon because neither of them would end up seeing the world as discussed. There was the comfortable pessimism that typically dominated. 

He stood in the doorway, watched her walk up to the door across the hall then change her mind. A copper curl was the last part of her to vanish around the corner. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually closed the door then got back in bed. That curl was bound to haunt him for a few minutes before he fell asleep. The look on her face by the door before she left too, but eventually they faded away into the darkness of the room and he fell back asleep. 

He naturally woke up before the sun rose and that morning was no different. The slow start was different. All morning he felt like he was walking with stones in his boots, especially walking by the door across the hall. He couldn't even confirm that she was still in there, but he lingered by it before he left.

He focused on the task at hand, getting to the tournament before it started. He had a long way to go, and with new motivation to return he wanted to get make the journey as quickly as possible.
Frankie
Lord Albert Rhoderick
Undisclosed location: Fargone

Rhoderick was transferred from his stead and to that of one of the knights while his horse was brutally slaughtered. The mighty stallion hit the earth with a heavy, sickening thud. There was a certain finality to it. Like a trap snapping down on an unfortunate little mouse. Would Rhoderick fall like his steed, crushed by the hand of the Whylders? Or would they lift him to new heights?

That was yet to be seen. He remained unconscious as his horse was mangled and tossed into the river, and he was still unconscious as he was tied and bound to the horse. He leaned forward in the saddle, his head down and bobbing as they rode Eastward. His head hung heavily, his muscles completely relaxed in his unconscious state, while blood continued pouring from his wound. It dripped down in great, huge red droplets, soaking the neck of his mount and sliding down its withers. 

By the time he woke up, they were well on their way and the horse, along with the pommel of the saddle, were soaked in blood. He groaned softly as he started to open his eyes, which were now partially crusted shut with dried blood. It took him a few moments to get them open, and he reached upwards to wipe away the blood. Another groan escaped him before he asked, "Where the hell are we? What are you doing?" He managed to focus his eyes upon Kharlyle and glared at him.
Jeremy
Kharlyle Whylder

Outskirts of Whylderholm Proper

Kharlyle simply looked straight forward atop his horse, hoping that Rhoderick would lose consciousness, but by his second question, he knew this couldn't be the case.

"I could LITERALLY not be doing anything more innocent at the moment. I'm just trying to go to my house, get off my godsdamn back, fuck" Kharlyle spoke as if he was inconvenienced by Rhoderick's true terror. "We're just going to work out some paperwork, just talk to the more charming one, I'm confident he slept better than I last night"
Frankie
Lord Albert Rhoderick
Outskirts of Whylderholm Proper

Rhoderick glared at his captor, pulling feebly at his ropes that bound him to the horse. "Fucking... Fuck..." It began as an insult, but turned into a sharp groan. Little of his skin was visible through the blood plastering his face, but what was visibly was a deathly white that rivaled that of snow. 

His weakness, however, did not stop him from attempting an escape. His head ached, so he tilted it down again, but in the meantime, he began fumbling with his ropes, desperately clawing at them in an attempt at escape. Yet to draw less attention to his actions, he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find any pity for you given that you FUCKING STABBED ME!"