<span style="font-weight: bold">Prince Darien el'Ruven</span><br/><br/>A warm wind blew across the starlit camp of Prince Darien, bringing with it the faint scent of lafia from the Gors. It wouldn’t have surprised the casual sniffers in the camp though, drenched as it was with various perfumes worn by the lordlings who had accompanied the prince in his journey south. Ruvenian though they were, it wouldn’t have inspired them to string sonnets about scented dreams under the stars. It was just another night in the prince’s camp.<br/><br/>For nearly two weeks, they had made slow progress down the length of Ruven, following Alacra, a minor distributary of the Ellorien. For the first few days, not many knew where they were headed. The prince had kept his counsel to himself. After they had marched clear of the last village, he had disclosed his intention of traveling to the Fortress of Light.<br/><br/>That was a week ago. Now, they were camped in the shadow of Mount Birdar, well within arrow shot of the fortress, flying the seal of House Ruven. Not the nation’s flag, but the family’s. It was as clear a sign of peaceful intention as any. Still, it was not any house. It was House Ruven, the ruling family. What the Grand Master of the Order thought of that was anyone’s guess.<br/><br/>The camp was laid out in concentric circles, with Darien’s big tent in the center. It was a gaudy gold and blue tent with its private latrine and bath. Two sentries liveried in the House’s colors guarded the entrance while few more crouched behind the crates as added security. Within the tent, a cheery light glimmered.<br/><br/>The prince was seated casually on his carved wooden chair, one leg thrown over an arm of the chair, cradling a goblet of spiced wine in his right hand. He rested his chin on the fist of the other as he listened to Lord Migrain glorify the rich culture of Ruven.<br/><br/>“Take the word ‘fuck’”, he was saying to the group assembled in Darien’s tent – a very young but wealthy group of men and women from the great houses of Ruven. “It is clearly of Ruvenian origin. Today, even the Lerindorans use it. Sure, the southerners find it a very vile word, but no one can deny neither its ubiquity, nor its power to shock the listener. The northerners rarely swear, it is true. But when they do, they prefer ‘fucking’ to their own ‘flaming’. Let’s face it, friends. The days of the ‘bloody’ Lerindorans are gone. We now live in the age of the ‘fucking’ Ruvenians. And we are fucking good.”<br/><br/>They all cheered and laughed loudly, and gulped down their goblets. Almost immediately, maids and servants glided to refill their glasses. No one noticed these movements anymore. Every Ruvenian noble expected their glasses to be refilled when empty. It was as natural as breathing.<br/><br/>Darien allowed himself a smile. It was all very amusing. He always found Jain Migrain highly amusing. The man was a headache, to be sure, but he was great company when you were drunk.<br/><br/>“My lord?” He felt warm fingers caress the back of his hand. It was Lady Sulein. She was leaning towards him, displaying ample cleavage as she spoke. “What news of the messenger? Will the Grand Master agree to see us?”<br/><br/>Darien was not fooled. Despite her seductive suggestions, Bela Sulein was a power player. She reveled in information. She knew it held a bigger power than her body.<br/><br/>“Why don’t you relax and enjoy the night, Bela?” he said, enjoying teasing her. “Maybe he will see us, maybe he won’t. Is it so terribly important?”<br/><br/>“But it is!” She applied a stronger pressure on his arm. “With him by your side, you can prove your leadership. You are born to lead, Darien.”<br/><br/>Darien knew it was flattery, but that didn’t lessen the swell of pride. He smiled at her indulgently.<br/><br/>“My man has still not returned, Bela my sweet. He is probably in the fortress right now, talking to the Grand Master. You will know when he comes bearing new, trust me.” He laid the back of his hand on her cheek and caressed it. In any other table, this would have been a very awkward moment. But this was a Ruvenian table, filled with young Ruvenian lords. The banter continued ceaselessly while Darien flirted with Bela.<br/><br/>Just another night in the Prince’s camp.