text: [Themes: love & dating]
  
  You choose a secluded room to host the meeting. It's large, suited with a large round table. Hopefully, it'll be large enough to make everyone understand the scope of the future. As you take place opposite of the doors, the first participants tickle in. Your men at arms arrive first as you had expected.
  
  "Welcome. Sorry to disturb your moment in the spotlight," you say with a smile.
  
  "What's the matter, Milord?" a knight responds. It's sir Erick, always the fastest one.
  
  "The duke decided to come visit." You notice one particular knight missing. "Did sir Myre survive his celebration?"
  
  "The old man probably had a heart attack being the center of attention for once," Erick jokes. "Last I've seen him he was profusely apologizing to his wife."
  
  "You know what they say.." you joke back.
  
  "Talking about fun, you got plenty too, Milord."
  
  You want to respond when your steward enters the room. She takes a moment to gather her senses.
  
  "My Lord, you called for me?"
  
  "Yes I did, Elaria. Please have a seat. When everyone arrives we'll have to plan our ducal reception." Her eyes light up at the last two words, her attention clearly intrigued. She's still new in your castle and vicious rumors surround her. You'll have to tread carefully with her.
  
  "When will he arrive, My Lord?" She's all business as usual.
  
  "We currently think we'll have four days," you reply back. However, you don't want to start the discussion early. "Did you enjoy the feast?"
  
  "I'm afraid I had to leave early. I do not mix well with ale and rowdy feasts."
  
  "I'm guessing you keep yourself busy mixing other things." another knight, Sir Rudolph, vehemently answers. Her rise to steward was made possible due to an untimely death. To this day many distrust her as an outsider.
  
  "Now, now." you quickly interject. "Remember, we are all rooting for the same cause here."
  
  Any further discussion is broken off with another entrance. Your castellan enters the room, an extraordinary young man for such an important position. His youth makes him quick to overlook. Though you hope he'll balance this table out with his youthful passion and gain valuable experience in the process.
  
  "Milord," he says while deeply bowing. "Excuse my tardiness."
  
  "You luckily aren't the last to arrive." you try to make him at ease. "Please have a seat."
  
  Lastly, Garreth arrived with Myre and the village elder. Together, they look like the grumpy grandfathers of the barony.
  
  "Welcome. Let's start, shall we?" You wait until everyone has taken their seats. "As we all know, our hunt has been the talk of the duchy. Apparently it has even reached the ears of the duke himself. In all his glorious wisdom," you continue with heavy sarcasm. "He decided to personally visit us in four days."
  
  The news sparks a lot of discussion within your group.
  
  "Yes, it's big news. Still, I feel it won't be all sunshine and rainbows. The duke has hidden motives and I want us to be prepared for whatever it is." A character like that wouldn't give up his luxurious home filled with sycophants for just anything.
  
  "Milord?" your castellan speaks up softly.
  
  "Yes, Driòr?" He really needed to work on his assertivity.
  
  "How would you like our reception to be?"
  
  This is a harder question than you first imagined it. With your sudden recent leave from the capital and the subsequent miraculous success, you have gotten momentum on your side. People no longer see you as just an advisor. You are a beastslayer now, and you'll have to decide how to fill in that role.
  
  > say "Martial."
  "Make it an austere occasion. We don't want anything to distract from the feat we've completed. We are of Rivellon, and we must show who we are."
  
  "But, Milord, you wanted a grand feast?" he asks quietly.
  
  "I see nothing contradicting in that. Make it feel real instead of that lofty courtly prancing."
  
  "Aye, Milord. I think I understand, may I leave now?" he asks again. You honestly wonder if he understood it at all. The boy knew nothing of the world outside the castle.
  
  "Take Sir Rudolph. He'll help you."
  
  They both leave. One is decidedly less happy with the whole ordeal.
  
  "Alright, the duke won't like this. But it's time to show the boy the world doesn't spin around him. We are our own people with our own customs. He'll have to play according to our rules. Take it or leave it."
  
  As you look to the room you see the grim faces give out nods of satisfaction. Your words ring true to them, and they'll stand behind you.
  
  "He won't like it," Garreth says. "It's not smart."
  
  "At what point do we stop bending over?" Sir Erick responds.
  
  "Are you willing to die for your beliefs?"
  
  "You aren't?"
  
  Garreth only replies with a grunt. Someone played him at his own game.
  
  "I want to do this without directly taunting the duke," you shush them both. "And I want to do this without selling ourselves out to a city boy."
  
  "Trust us. We'll behave," Sir Myre says pointedly looking at Erick. "And we'll be preparing a nice surprise for our guests. Oh, and we'll need the villagers too."
  
  "If both Driòr and the elder agree..."
  
  "Yes, yes. We'll talk to them afterward."
  
  "Then go ahead."
  
  The meeting then goes into specific details. You're all both excited and equally worried. This would be it. This would be your reputation and your legacy.
  
  > It's not long before the cursed day arrives.
  You stand on top of the walls. It feels like your entire barony stands side by side with you. There are grim faces, white knuckles and an overall sense of stressful anticipation. You needed to do your ancestors proud. You needed to show everyone your barony was not to be trifled with.
  
  In the distance you see a grand column moving toward you. It is escorted by hundreds of shining armors. It feels like a force prepared for a siege. Your heart thumps in your throat.
  
  There, leading the mass are two solitary riders. One must be your cursed wife, the other the feared duke himself. They're close enough.
  
  You move to the tower, down the staircase, and through the gate. It's been opened. The heavy metal bars will no longer protect you against the trespassers. Valiant hearts will have to suffice.
  
  "Welcome, welcome to our lands my liege," you say bowing respectfully. "It's a great honor for all of us."
  
  "The honor is mine," he smiles back. "For it is not every day my subjects perform such a great act."
  
  "Thank you, Milord. Please follow me." You pointedly ignore your wife as you turn around and lead them into your home.
  
  "As you can see, your fast arrival left us without much preparation. What you see here is authentic. These are our lands as they are."
  
  "I see..."
  
  "Before we start the feast, tradition calls for an offering in blood. My finest knights will offer themselves as a worthy opponent in a grand melee." It was overexaggerated, of course. "Also my townsmen are forming their own company. If you have any not of noble blood that wants to test their mettle, they are free to do so as well."
  
  "Hmm..."
  
  You see the duke is far from impressed. Tough luck, your people are what they are. They are ready and you can't change that.
  
  Luckily your wife breaks the stalemate. She whispers something and his entire demeanor changes. It makes you sick. There she is, so close yet so far away.
  
  > see her again at the feast.
  Both melees have been won. You're proud of your people. Yet the duke's reaction worries you. You had expected more maturity, at the very least more dignity. Yet he acts like a petulant child. He's only kept in check by your wife. You see now that you've lost her. She has sold her soul to that vile frog. You soften your sorrow with a few more drinks.
  
  That is what the feast descended into. For all your instructions have been abandoned. When swept up in glory, your people can't deny their drinks and fun. The hall descends into something resembling a shady pub. It's not long before drunken brawls start breaking out. The tension had reached its boiling point.
  
  The brawls spread. The duke panics. Complete chaos descends and envelops every one of you. It's not long before swords are drawn and two camps arise. You try desperately to calm things down. But what is one man against the flood?
  
  The two groups charge leaving only bloodshed, death, and destruction. You had failed. You know you'll never survive this day.
  
  > Flee.
  Your barony has been lost. Your people are slaughtered in front of your very eyes. Some deep part of you growls its satisfaction; they deserved it.
  
  But not you. You wait, pretend to join the fray and quietly move out to the door. It's open. You slam it shut behind you and run as fast as you can.
  
  "Where do you think you're going?"
  
  The harsh voice interrupts your escape. It's a ducal guard, top brass. He moves in to block the way as he's joined by his men.
  
  "I'm afraid I need some fresh air." you try as sweetly as you can.
  
  "Duke's orders. No one goes in or out. I'm afraid you'll need to-"
  
  The moment you hear his refusal you step in, draw your dagger and plant it firmly in his throat. There's no time for arguing. Before the others have time to react you slice another open. The last guard stares at you with shocked eyes. It is the last thing he sees.
  
  You run, don't stop for anything. Your castle is in flames. Any remaining villagers have been murdered and their homes pillaged. It's a catastrophe.
  
  You run for the only thing you know to be safe. You run for the woods. You know there are pursuers, hear horses speeding up to you.
  
  You lose them all in the green hell. None of them return.
  
  Over the years people start to fear the forest. Ancient dark spirits kill any who dares to enter their realm. Hunting parties search for the lost baron. They hunt you like a beast. You're smarter than them.
  
  You spent the rest of your short life fighting.
  
  You have so many regrets.