<strong>Sebastian Archambault</strong>Outside the Carriages<br/><br/>Sebastian still feels weak from his ordeal earlier, but some rest ,some water, and a bit of careful sewing, preceded and followed by a shot of hard liquor, had the big smith up and about. If still not at his peak. His left arm was held in a rough sling fashioned from what was left of his bloody shirt and he had cleaned up abit. The nasty wound would leave an impressive scar however.<em>Something to tell the children one day</em>, he muses.<br/><br/>Shirtless, the man’s powerful muscles ripple in the flickering torch light, as he directs the two boys in their duties. Shooing them around the back to start unloading the supplies with the other servants. He is still fuming about Lilian’s theatrics and realizes that he had not offered apologies to the strange newcomer.<br/><br/>Bastian gingerly throws his leather smith’s apron over his shoulder to cover himself and walks toward Ivy and Lilian’s carriage. Picking up a step stool with one hand, he smiles tossing it down and raps three times on the wooden door.<strong>“Ladies we have arrived,”</strong>he calls his deep baritone voice carrying in the still night air.<br/>