Jeremy
It was six o'clock late day, the light was dimmed at Master Kharlyle's request in Mercurio's grand dining hall. The dining room was always lit by whale oil lamps hung from grand chandeliers, but today these were extinguished, the only light from the room would be the candles on the table and that of the setting sun shown through their grand stained glass windows. Mercurio sat at the head of the table and his brother Kharlyle sat on chair way from him, a strange place for a person of his class, but it was a stressful week and he just wanted to conversate with his brother without having to scream down a twenty five foot table. All tension and animosity seemed to felter away between the two as they were served hot bread and began their Whylder banter. At this time, they were boys again, let loose from their stress and the responsibilities they created.
Bobby
"It's good to see you again, Lyle. Been such a stressful week for you and I." Mercurio said, grinning as he reached over and took hold of his brother's shoulder. Then as he leaned back, he gave out a sigh and waited for the soups to come out.

"At least we can rest easy for a bit with Morcaster out of the picture. That annoying bloke..." He muttered, taking off his rings and glove. "Oh, did you see this yet?"

Mercurio held up his newly made ring and let Kharlyle take it into his hand. It featured hands made of silver holding up a black, see-through gem that can different colors inside it. The hands also were designed to wear their own rings, too.

"What do you think?" He then nodded to the servant who brought their soup, promptly grabbing a piece of bread and tearing into shreds before dipping them and eating them.
Jeremy
Kharlyle held the ring closely, inspecting its many fine details, and scoffed with laughter when he saw that the hands holding up the gem were wearing rings themselves. "Fine ring Merc" He said handing it back. "You always had a knack for picking out those kinds of things, trinkets and such" He said genuinely trying not to sound condescending. "I don't know what it is, I've never really had that skill, and if not rings and clothes and such, what is there to spend on" He laughed "Good problem we have".
Bobby
"Oh, come on. You're subtly admitting that I've been the one helping you pick out your clothes for you." Mercurio teased goodnaturedly, knowing that he was the only person in all of Marin who could have the privilege of doing so.

Most people feared Kharlyle, if not all. Not only did he have the look, but also subtle temperament and posture that exuded such an aura. Only Mercurio could get through that thick barrier.

"Anyways. Morcaster." Mercurio brought up again, taking the ring back and putting it on his finger. "Have you also sent people to... Frame a different painting?"
Dale
Darin was rather impulsive. This was no theory, but a cold hard fact that he himself also knew. He did things in a hasty manner, usually not planning nearly as much as he should. Perhaps it became rather evident as he charged into battle, that he wasn't the kind to make complicated plans.. But really, perhaps that was his strength. In the thick of battle any plans melted into chaos, but Darin thrived in chaos- The fact that he took things as they come and worked on the fly let him avoid pitfalls that other generals might fall into. Still, how he was going to turn around THIS fight.. Was a bit of a mystery. 

However, as of late Darin had felt rather accomplished. Just a few days ago, in a rare feat of hitting the books and drawing a quill instead of a blade, and sticking it right onto several letters- He had penned himself a series of formal requests to the various powerhouses of the north- And abroad, too! Now Darin knew that most of them wouldn't want to put their money on him taking the throne. Hell, quite a few of them would probably just roll their eyes at the letter stamped with the sigil of the Grey Hills and throw it into their fireplace. But Darin didn't mind. If as much as a single nobleman, merchant, or warlord expressed an interest in supporting him- It would pay off. He was throwing a hundred proposals at the wall, with the hopes of them sticking.

Now while Darin knew that his imulsive mindset and on-the-fly planning was both an asset and a liability, he also knew that you couldn't just take the throne "On the fly". You'd need to make some plans, and at least try to follow through with them. He'd be outnumbered, no question about it. House Zacharov had plenty of enemies as is, and none of them would want him on the throne. Yet, he wasn't too worried about that. He could deal with being outnumbered. The question was if he could deal with being completely alone. Then, everything would be focused on stopping him, countless restless assaults from all angles.. He would need someone to support him. Someone to help take the heat off a bit, and preferably someone he could trust enough to not burry in a shallow grave a week on into the coming war. And as he finally had all those letters sent, he quietly hoped that someone would respond positively. In a rare moment of introspection Darin wondered if having a few legitimate friends could be enjoyable. He soon decided to not occupy himself with such silly questions, and went about the rest of his day- Executing some captive who had taken a shot at assassinating him.. He'd tackle those sorts of questions later. Maybe.
Jeremy
Thoughts toiled in Lyle's head as he leaned back in his chair. "Morcaster, Morcaster... If you hadn't mentioned him I'm sure I would have forgotten him by now. Serves him well yeah, because that's exactly what he was. A memory" Kharlyle chuckled again, and needed to hold a hand up to his mouth "But really, I just got a raven this morning, and something you may want to see..."
Dale
To say that battle erupted wouldn't have been too true. It was more like that battle had been raging for a while, and simmered down into embers as the Baron's men encircled and dealt with the disoriented Grey Hills' forces. Then, Darin came clamping along and stepped into these embers, causing them to burst up in a shower of defiant sparks and flame. Like the big ol brute he was, followed by an arguably even bigger, and more brutish, man. 
There are few things that motivate your average footman as much as seeing his very own lord come barelling on a horse, swing an axe, and bring down the fellow who was just going to impale you in his sword. Darin's arrival did wonders to rally the outnumbered and outmanouvered forces, giving them a large doze of spirit as a second wind hit the Grey Hills' camp. An audible murmur seemed to run through it, which soon erupted into cheers as people saw the rather distinctive Duke stride forth before dismounting- With his bodyguard soon clasing into the battlefield behind him, and the behemoth of a man he had suddenly conscripted.

This served an important function outside of just raising morale. Earlier the camp had been a mess, splintered little sections trying to fend off organised enemy troops on all sides. But with Darin suddenly standing tall in the middle of it all, they had a coherent anchor point, something everyone could rally too and shape up around. This became evident as the troops rapidly started to organise- With Darin's distinctive voice barking out commands and pointing around wildly, directing the flow of battle as his men defended and assaulted. He event went ahead and snatched a horn from some poor disoriented commander, which he loudly blew.
Ocasionally looking around, he saw his recent mercenary being.. Well, perhaps not as effective as Darin would have hoped. He was mostly dealing with people by knocking them out, throwing them around, or the likes. That big hook wasn't being as bloodied as Darin would hope, but hey, at least he was on the right side of this conflict. That was enough to make him feel somewhat content. 
Still, something that wouldn't leave Darin content was just commanding the battle. No, he felt an urge to draw blood, enact violence, and just get stuck into the thick of it. Pushing his way to the front, shoving someone of his own men out of the way, he gave the horn another loud *TOOT*. He knew where he was most confident in battle- Searching out, and cutting down, the enemy command that happened to stray a little too close to the axe-swinging Duke. Of course, the enemy had a very opportune target, not too far away. The Baron, who seemed to be going through a mix of emotions- Annoyed at the fact that Darin had come to crash his plans, but also rather pleased that Darin had come and made himself an easy target.

Now getting to him wouldn't be easy. It never was, as traversing the battlefield was a chaotic experience at best, and pure bedlam at worst. Though as previously established, Darin didn't mind. In fact, his chaotic personality let him feel that he fit right in here, with the screaming, shouting, clashing of blades, and dying. Some poor fellow tried to approach him. Young, seemed like a recently recruited mercenary from somewhere in the northern provinces. Darin didn't bother himself with that too much. The opponent brought his blade in a wide arc towards Darin's side, but found opposition in the axe that caught and deflected it with an audible *Clang*. He didn't get much time to respond to this, as Darin raised his axe in response, and promptly slammed the butt end of it right into the footman's face. Nothing deadly, but a broken nose and mangled face was usually enough to bring people out of your way. And right now, Darin was like a wolf that had set it's sights on the biggest sheep in the flock. Sure, there might be other casualties as he made his way over, but they were practically bystanders in his hunt for the *REAL* Target.

With the footman felling before his feet, Darin took a step past him. He was promptly met by another warrior bearing down on him, which he sidestepped before lashing out- Leaving his attacker with a large gash across their right arm, bleeding heavily and forcing them to drop their weapon. This was followed by a quick kick to the shins, causing them to crumple onto the ground with a shriek of pain and loss of balance. Darin didn't really consider himself too bound by the fragile laws of "Honorable" Combat. He was pretty damn content just winning and being number 1, even if this meant pulling a variety of dirty tricks out of your proverbial ass, be it biting, spitting, kicking or eye-gouging. Looking down briefly at the man before him on the ground, Darin came down with a harsh stomp at their neck- Causing it to twist in an unnatural manner with a very much unpleasant noise. Not concerning himself with that however, Darin was already off, with both his behemoth ally and honor guard trailing closely behind. The way he acted was impressive, he was constantly in motion like some sort of wicked dance, either dodging, parrying or lashing out without stopping his stride. It made him remarkably difficult to actually pin down and target properly, as it gave whoever found themselves face to face with the Duke very little time to truly comprehend the situation- Before they were met with either an axe, an foot, the weapon of one of his allies, or in one occasion Darin's teeth. That particular soldier would most likely have some tales to tell around the campfire, about how he got that scar being bit in the face by the Duke of the Grey Hills. This briefly earned Darin the title "The monstrous" In their regiment, even though he never caught wind of this himself.

A visible worry was starting to spread on the Baron's face, as Darin and his little entourage quickly approached. Sure, they were still losing the battle, but not nearly as heavily as before. There was even a smidgeon of a chance that Darin could turn this around, as small as it was. But for now, the Duke mostly had one priority in mind. As he gave a tug to dislodge his axe from the shoulder of some screeching footman, he pointed an accusing finger, accompanied by a shit-eating grin, towards the Baron- Before proudly declaring that "You're ***NEXT!*** You damnable wretch!" The Baron, despite his other vices and flaws, was all in all an honorable man. And to an honorable man, this kind of insult simply wouldn't stand. Darin knew as much, and soon enough their blades were whistling and singing as sword and axe from different provinces met. However, the Duke was suddenly interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, and the Baron likewise. In most cases Darin would shrug that off, but this felt distinctively like a hand that could crush his windpipe without too much effort, so he actually turned to look. The Baron did the same, evidently rather confused. They were both met by Whalren holding the two men at arm's length, and giving them a rather standing oration (admittingly in his thick accent) about what a waste of life this bloodshed was, that perhaps they just ought to put down their weapons, and find common ground in all of this.

It was a speech that moved the Baron, and brought a tear to the older man's eye. For a moment, he pondered. He was sent here to fight, was it truly the right thing to do..? Was Darin truly so unreasonable he couldn't be spoken to like a normal man..? He was unfortunately proved correct as Darin grabbed Whaldren's collar, pulled him down a bit, and delivered a harsh slap to the cheek, before repeating the process with the slightly dazed Baron. "No! Shut up! Blood and honor, ***NOW!***" He responded, evidently rather upset about the interruption. A quick flurry of blows was exchanged from both combatants, soon culminating as Darin delivered a well-placed kick onto the ground- Kicking up a shower of gravel and dust into the Baron's face. Momentarily disoriented, that was the only opening Darin needed as he swung his axe in a wide arc above his head, bringing it down not too different from a lumberjack aiming for a log neatly balanced before him.

There was a terrible crackling as the Baron brought up his blade in a weak attempt at parrying, but found it carelessly thrown to the side. The axe came plumitting down, past his head, and down onto his chest, where it buckled armor and dug itself deep into him. The crackling of a shattered ribcage and the way the Baron froze made a sly grin creep onto Darin's face. A killing blow. Just what he had been hoping for. Slowly the Baron's face became devoid of color as he looked down, spluttered for a moment, and limply gripped at the axe, still burried in his chest. Darin responded with a cocky snarl, and "At least ***I*** Have the courtesy to go stabbing people in their *Front*, instead of their ***Back!***" Before bringing his foot up, delivering a kick to the Baron's lower torso, and pulling his axe free. He took a moment to savour the taste of victory and glory. Or perhaps it was just the taste of blood, after that footman had punched him in the face a minute ago. Those two flavours were oddly similar to Darin.

Still, this proved to be just the opening everyone around Darin needed. Turning around momentarily, he froze for a moment. In his little hunt for glory, a majority of his regiment had died off behind him. Most of his honor guard too. For a moment the frantic clashing and shouting of battle faded away as the blood mist cleared from Darin's vision and he actually took in the situation. There were, let's see.. Him, Whalren, and the Guardscaptain.. All standing back to back in a tight little formation. Around them were, say.. Three hundred or so of the Baron's men, who had just seen their (rather well liked) lord get cut down by some bloodthirsty marauder. For just a brief second, there was an almost awkward silence as the two groups seemed to take eachother in. The silence was promptly interrupted by Darin shouting "I'll take you ***ALL*** ON! *COWARDS!*" And flailing off against a nearby footman. He managed to give two more men some rather nasty scars, bite off someone's index finger, bruise three more men, before finally being pushed down and subdued with a thump to the head from some blunt instrument. Not even the burning rage inside of him could keep his vision from going dark as Darin faded..
Faded..
*Faded away..*
Bobby
Northwind is a massive nation with thousands of miles between its borders. As the battle raged on in the south between John's forces and the forces of the rebellion, John sat quietly in his study pen and quill in hand. The fireplace crackled adjacent to him, providing warmth to the cold interiors of the keep. As pen and quill navigated across the paper, he noticed a shadow moving quickly over the pristine floorboards using the shade as cover. Suddenly, a feeling of resentment overcame John as he peered slowly over his pen and quill and into the dark corner before him, trying to make sense of the noise. He rose from his seat slowly, making his way to the corner whilst unsheathing his dagger. "Reveal yourself! Who is there?" He shouted as he inched closer and closer to the curtain that shielded the source of the noise from view. It took a few moments before John mustered the courage to unsheath the curtains, but nonetheless, he did. He let out a deep sigh and sheathed his blade as two small mice were revealed before him, quickly scurrying into the balcony and down the walls.

 John was paranoid, and he knew it. He knew that putting himself in any sort of position of weakness would be a direct threat to his livelihood. Nonetheless, he returns to his study and continues to write his letter. The letter was being addressed to Grand Duchess Anyanka of Astoria for her kingdom's support in the war. The Grand Duchess would prove a valuable ally who's loyal regiments most certainly would keep the war going in De Burgh's favor.

"To her Grace, Grand Duchess Anyanka.
Civil war plagues my country, and the people are in desperate need of a savior who's best interest lies with them. I have taken it upon my own accord to see my people grow into one unified community, however, my opponents in the south have been key to disrupt peace and wage bloody war on the people who call this country home. I, as benefactor and protector of the people of Northwind due kindly request your support in subduing the southern rebellion. My enemy has made his disdain for government clear, and his rule would be marked with death and destruction of not only Northwind, but it's prosperous ports and trade cities. Please reply to this letter at your leisure, and I hope that your decision is what is best for Marin.

 Dearly,
 John De Burgh."

 The moment his letter is finished, he seldom had time to place the ink back into its cartridge before one of his scout commanders stood erect in the doorway to his study. "My regent, news from the battle has finally returned to Iron Gate," He would stammer quickly before approaching De Burgh's desk. "The battle is won, sire. Darin, Duke of Grey Hills has been captured alongside an accomplice." He paused, allowing John to comprehend the information presented. John, being intelligent as he is, knew that there must be a catch. He knew a battle is never easily won and that there will always be consequences, however, only time tells whether the consequences will be the intended ones. "However, my regent, the Baron has fallen to the hands of the Duke. His body was recovered and is being returned to Iron Gate for a state funeral." The scout would step away from John's desk and stand at attention, waiting for his orders.

A grin would appear on John's face as he weighed the situation. A duke, captured in battle that is being brought to the capital immediately following the death of a council member. John was never the Baron's largest fan. His skill in battle was subpar and he often was insubordinate to the head of state. A trait John is not particularly fond of especially as regent. However, with him dead, his seat is automatically vacant on the council. A vacancy that John soon has plans to fill. John would rise from his seat, addressing the scout before him. "Ensure that Darin and his accomplice are treated with utmost care and hospitality. Feed them, shelter them, and clothe them. I will address them as soon as they arrive." With that, the scout nodded and exited the room, leaving John alone in his study once more.

Soon after, as the sun began to retreat behind the prideful mountains on the horizon, a horn blasted just outside the gates of the capital. John slowly approached the balcony of his study and peered over the entire city. Thousands parted way for the regiment that passed through, escorting the hostages to the keep where they will be held. John proudly rested his hands firmly on the handles of the balcony as he peered over the affair, people looking him on and cheering the soldiers through as they marched in triumph towards the keep at the center of the city. The gilded doors of the keep opened wide as the blood red carpet of the throne room exposed itself to the two prisoners who were being escorted inside. The throne was vacant, as John refused adamantly to sit on it. He believed that it represented the past several centuries of the people suffering through tyranny and he thought its imagery was abysmal. John stood among an armed entourage that took post behind him, whilst also surrounding the two prisoners who were still blindfolded. "Their blindfolds... Remove them." John would simply instruct to the escorts. The guards calmly released the knot on their heads as the blindfolds fell to the ground. As John's gaze met with Darin and his accomplices, a faint smile would break upon his lips. "I believe it's been too long since we've met, Duke." He would say to him mildly. "Welcome to Iron Gate."

"Oh, you too?" Mercurio said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of folded parchment. "Tell me, is it from someone called Zacharov?"

Upon receiving affirmation from Kharlyle that indeed, they both received letters from the same man, they began to engage in rapt discussion. Such a window of opportunity could not be missed, and they both intended to profit out of this somehow, and to the fullest.

"So we have Zacharov." Mercurio took his fork and placed it sideways on the table with the tines facing the left. "And de Burgh." He then placed his knife, the tip of the blade facing towards the tines.

"I think immediate correspondence is key in our case for Zacharov. We need to let him know that he is being supported by us." Mercurio began, taking a piece of bread and placing it by the fork. 

"And when de Burgh begins to notice that things are going south for him, he step in and assist him. By that point, both sides will have to have our services. We will be too valuable to lose." He placed another piece of bread by the knife. 

Both utensils faced a bowl full of bread. 

"But... Yes. Zacharov. What do you think we should send him to let him know we are going to support him?"