Frankie
Lord Albert Rhoderick 
Whylderholm Proper
 Albert eyed the two brothers wearily and shook his head a little. One was as crazy as the other, and although Mercurio had not appeared so at first, he was a loon. But... Weren't all that ruled a little crazy? From his studies of the history of Northwind, few of its rulers had been sane, and well, he couldn't help but wonder if he was crazy for even trying to ascend the throne. But he was starving for it. Starvation would drive a man to do the most depraved things. 
He glanced at the two loons beside him and said, "I would have thought you'd have a name for it that was a bit more... Foreboding. More of a symbol of your power, but... I suppose it speaks to your... Personalities." *Fruity. *
They came to a halt and began to dismount, so Albert took his cue from them. Leaning forward, he hooked the ropes binding his hands onto the horn of the saddle and then swung his right leg over the back, sliding rather awkwardly and ungracefully off his mount. His heart panged a bit at the thought of his previous mount, whom he had bred, raised, and trained himself. Yet even then, it was a sacrifice well worth it. The ascent to power never could be clean. So what if it was littered with a few corpses? He let out a soft grunt when he hit the ground and, with a bit of difficulty, managed to free himself from the horn of the saddle. He then turned and looked up at the imposing mansion, his eyes flitting over it and examining every inch of the facade.
 Albert might be hungry and a little crazy, but he wasn't such a fool as to put all his eggs in one basket. The ascent to power would break a few eggs, but he needed to make sure that those eggs were not his own. No, by now his other contact had likely received his letter.

Lord Albert Rhoderick
Iron Gates, The night before his meeting with the Whylders

Albert, while young and perhaps a bit naïve, was not exactly stupid. He had learned over the years not to genuinely trust anyone, nor depend on anyone too much. With a father like he had had, one learned that pretty early on in life. It was for this reason that he had sat down the night before he was going to meet the Whylder brothers and penned the letter to house Westbrook.
In truth, Albert knew little of House Westbrook. He had had no dealings with them in the past, and as a result, he was perfectly aware that this was a longshot, but he knew that his father had spoken well of them. Furthermore, the daughter of House Westbrook could be a promising alliance through marriage, while the riches the house held would be enough to fund his ascent to the throne. He also knew that the Westbrooks were interested in increasing their holdings and garnering more power. For years, House Westbrook had remained holed up in the middle of the mountains of Northwind, yet recently, their political maneuvers made it clear that they were slowly reaching out, like little tendrils of a vine that sought to wrap itself around the greatest tree, snaking upwards to light while sapping sustenance from the tree.

His quill slipped across the parchment, the black ink slithering across the page as the quill scraped against the parchment. He worded the letter carefully, knowing that his future rested upon the success of one, or perhaps both, of the alliances that he was about to form. As aforementioned, he knew little of the Westbrooks, and so he pandered to them on a variety of levels, hoping that something would be effective in wooing them. The delicate handwriting scrawled across the page indicated someone of breeding and education, but said nothing to the conniving man behind it.

To the Lord of House Westbrook

I am writing in regards to the leadership of Northwind and the future of our nation. Indeed, I believe that we are in the most dire straits, and it is only those who best understand and respect the traditions of Northwind that can lead the nation into glory and power. Those who take this moment, seizing it with an iron fist and taming it like we have learned to tame the wild mountain horses, will benefit most. 
It is in this respect that I admire John de Burgh, but he has disrespected our previous king and our traditions. He came to the funeral of our king with an army, not to respect and mourn the dead, but to pave the way to the throne. He does all under the guise of security, going so far as to strengthen the council, yet in seating himself as head of the council, he makes his true intentions clear. I have no doubt that he will dissolve the council once he becomes king. His political leanings, from what I have seen, will cause him to betray the nobility in favor of the shitbloods. It is our duty to maintain the class order and to protect our traditions, our houses, and our stations. We cannot allow an individual who mocks tradition to lead us. The gods themselves would laugh at our weakness! Moreover, House Burgh already fell into ruin once. Can we truly trust a house that has already proven incapable of upholding itself to lead an entire nation?

I offer you an alternative to De Burgh in the form of an alliance between our houses. I have taken over my father's holdings following his death, and I believe that we could mutually benefit from such a partnership. I would gain from your wisdom and experience, as well as any material support that you could offer. I have land holdings and wealth, but lack the men for an army. I believe that you could provide that to me. Likewise, you would benefit from the opportunity to topple a lunatic from the throne, protecting the nobility and elevating your household. Indeed, as king of Northwind, I could bring your household to a station of power that it has not known in some time. You will be revered in Northwind. As high as the mountains upon which your house stands, so shall your power be, standing next to me. 
I look forward to continuing this discussion, if you so choose, and more importantly, I look forward to a vibrant, fruitful future. May Northwind soon be under our domain. Long live House Rhoderick. Long live House Westbrook. 
Your Humble Servant,
Lord Albert Rhoderick

Albert signed the letter with a flourish, slipped it into an envelope, and poured the crimson wax to seal it shut. With the wax still hot, he pressed the seal into it, leaving the image of a fox imprinted on it, just as Rhoderick would see himself imprinted onto the history of Northwind forever. Quietly, he slipped out to the livery where a trusted rider was waiting. The exchange was quick and discreet, and with that, the rider disappeared into the night towards House Westbrook.
Jeremy
Kharlyle Whylder 
Whylderholm Proper

Kharlyle mantled down from his horse.
"Albee, now I know I did that whole thing where I cut a letter or somefin' inta' ya head or somefin', but honest mate, I'm doing ya well. Well. And well, I know you would probably like ya head back to where it was a few days ago maybe, but it's not that bad. But tonight. Uhm... Tonight will be just that bad." Kharlyle gritted his teeth and pulled back his collar. "It won't be pretty aight, but it's for ya own good yeah, its liquidation night, And I don't fink I've ever done a liquidation wif' someone as profit'able as you, yeah"

"And I'll be doing *ALL* Of the liquidation because I am ever so good with the business side of our business" Mercurio seemed to intercept Kharlyle's every thought. 

"Actually Merc, you're quite bad at most things" Kharlyle stated flatly.

"False"

"But, you actually *Will* Be doing all of our heavy paperwork tonight will Mr. Rhoderick on account of the fact that I really don't want to"

"I KNEW ALL ALONG" He screamed, heads turned towards his directions. "Albit, come with me, its liquidation night" Mercuro said to a bound and injured Rhoderick.
Frankie
Lord Albert Rhoderick
Whylderholm Proper

Albert groaned softly just listening to the two of them. It seemed like they were always talking in circles, and his brain had a bit of a hard time following the crazy talk. Though perhaps this was their plan? Talk in circles to disorient him, and if they kept doing it enough, maybe he'd end up as batshit crazy as them. 

The talk of liquidation stung him to his core. He had already written the letter to House Westbrook, promising power and wealth and portraying himself as a man with land holdings and such. He did have those at the time of the letter, but if the Whylders had him sign that away, he would be left with nothing. He would have nothing left to bargain with... Unless his alliance with the Whylders was enough for the Westbrooks to believe that he really could garner the support of the noble classes and that he had the charisma to lead.

He finally pushed such thoughts aside with a slight shake of his head. He couldn't think of them right now. He first had to secure an alliance with the Whylders, as crazy as they were, and then he would continue on with his other conquests. One acre, one house, and one bridge at a time until he could finally circle around de Burgh like a snake and sap the last of his power.

He hoped there was nothing more to this *Liquidation*. They made it sound sinister, but the truth be told, as long as it involved no more blood or pain, he'd be satisfied. In any case, he didn't join in on their conversation and simply followed Mercurio into the manor. His eyes widened as they stepped through the grand entrance, where they were greeted with the most exquisite finery. Gold glimmered in the candlelight, while ornate tapestries and luxurious furs seemed to be draped across every available surface. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, and he openly admired it all. Indeed, the finery here rivaled even that of the castle in Iron Gates. How they came to such wealth, he didn't know, but he knew that, in league with them, he would also enjoy such finery. How could he not?