What is this Celebration? [Yassia]

[Amalric Maulesel]

Amalric's horse slid in the mud. The fur of his great dogs was now matted down and one could see at last their bright eyes and their clumsy tongues. His party consisted of five men, all on great lonely horses in the rain-beaten forest. Their prancing hounds ran around, mixing among themselves like a bandit's game of Cup and Ball. His men bore cross bows, battle axes, and even harpoon spears as the Great Captain Ahab might in his insane pursuit. The rain came down like an ocean as Amalric rode grumpy and soaked. His clanging gang rode on the outskirts of Camelot. He had no idea where the narrow forest trail lead - perhaps a village was around the next bend or the trail went on and on until Camelot's towers loomed above. He would not remove the map from its pouch because the parchment would be ruined by the rain. He did not need to follow his trail. He had a bag of fresh griffin droppings with him. The beast was in these parts not a day ago.

Suddenly, his good friend, Sir Munche, trotted to his side. He was also wet and looked positively miserable. "Sire, is that music?" he asked, lifting his visor. Amalric lifted his own visor and asked him to repeat what he said. He could not hear over the rain that clinked on the metal cap. Sir Munche said it again, and by now, lanterns glowed distantly between the trees.

"What luck, a village!" Amalric gaped, and he and Sir Munche looked at each other and then spurred their horses. They lead the dirty men and wet dogs into a cleared field. There was a large, elevated pavilion protected from the rain by a hoisted water-proof canvas. This village common reminded Amalric of the fair grounds outside his own humble city, albeit, bordered by the tangled roots of willow trees. The dancers thumped on the pavilion and the whole construction shook to the music.

The King removed his helm with a quick twist of both hands. His men were ragged, the royal insignias on the horses worn and covered in dirt. In this weather he looked something less than a king, though his armor and weapons were still out of place. He rode his horse in circles as he looked around, and it stamped impatiently under its heavy load. He was looking for a road that might continue to a lords manor, or a tavern, or any place that may offer shelter and a place to rest. Still, the common was set with many other tents. The steam of cooking food drifted through the rain, and nothing like being wet to raise a miserable hunger. His men wavered behind him, also taking off their helmets and wrapping cloth around the points of their spears. One whistled for the dogs, and they came to their master with tongues lolling and bodies shaking, throwing their water all over the poor knight.

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(TAGGED) Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha
(NOTE) Hospitality would be lovely I'll let you fill in what the celebration is about. This takes place in S3.

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

One thing Yassia would probably never get used to while living in Albion was the pouring, miserable rain that seemed to be coming out of nowhere. And what was equally unfathomable was the good grace with which the people simply seemed to accept it as inevitable. When they planned a party, they erected pavillons so at least the majority of people would stay comparably dry, and they simply ignored the oncoming chill that went with every shower. Was Yassia too spoilt because she felt at least a little bit uneasy in this pouring rain, even though she knew nothing really bad could happen? After all, it was no tempest where lightening could strike one of the pavillons and set it on fire…

When she dared to voice her complaint about the weather to young Lady Hyld of Hawkhurst, whose 18th birthday was the cause of this festivity and to whom Yassia had formed a tender bond of friendship during her stay in and around Camelot, the said lady only laughed it off, already a little dizzy from too much dancing and too much undiluted wine. “Oh come ON, Yassia, don’t be such a princess!” “Well, face it, I am” “Doesn’t mean you need to behave like one!” “Hey, ever heard of fulfilling expectations? I’m only trying to live up to the clichés”
This was the usual turn their banter took every time Yassia voiced her dismay about something that Hyld simply regarded as natural, and though they had talked it through countless times, it never ceased to amuse both women.

“Go and find yourself some young gentleman to dance”, Hyld suggested then. “I’ve seen the Lord of Turnbrigde stare your way all day!” Yassia snorted with laughter. “You want to marry me off so badly? That man must be past his fifties!” That earned her a hefty dig in the ribs. “I meant his son, silly!”
But the ensuing merry laughter was abruptly cut off when a band of ragged and almost menacing looking man, heavily armed, entered the place of celebration, simply the center of the tiny village on their horses. The music stopped and the merry tunes were replaced by the low murmur of voices. Not many of the feasting crowd were armed, but those who were Yassia could observe putting hands on sword hilts and moving forward slowly to shield there loved ones. Even Yassia herself had moved in front of Hyld instinctively. She was standing closest to the arriving party and could make out some crest on the saddle rugs, though heavily covered in mud. Those were no thugs, she was almost sure of that.

As no one seemed able or willing to take the first step, and as the silence grew more and more loaded with hostility, Yassia felt it was her duty to break the ice, even though she was a nobody in this country.
Leaving the shelter of her pavillon, she took a step forward and raised a hand in greeting.
“In the name of Hyld of Hawkhurst and her father, you are welcome to this village and this celebration, Sirs. If your intentions bear no ill will. If that is the case, then leave your weapons with your horses and join us. If however your intentions are not proper, then turn around and leave this place as you are not welcome.”
Her voice was laced with regal authority; the very one she had practically imbibed from early infancy. Even if she was walking out on a thin limb here, she felt it was her duty to act as such. Even slowly starting to get wet, she knew she also looked the part

[Amalric Maulesel]

Amalric put a hand through his sweaty helmet hair, looking back into the forest, at his horses mud caked hooves, then left and right for a path to move on and away from the crowd. Perhaps he could get his company away to a nearby tavern and avoid the suspicious squints through the rain. Meanwhile, Sir Münche collected the hunting devices, riding around the group fully understanding the situation as much as his king. At last, he brought them to the carrier mule, who had lagged behind and finally emerged from the veil of willows.

The music stopped as Amalric ordered his right-hand knight to stow the griffin bait, which were large slab of salted pork that had been trailing behind the mule on the ground. The carrier unwillingly lifted the stinking flesh into the leather bag, also wary that they were foreigners in a foreign land. Amalric positioned his horse to block his men as they finished switching their skinning and gutting knives into more discreet pouches in their saddle. Fehrtie's large rump and curving neck made an excellent cover as Amalric finally turned to look upon these villagers of the Kingdom of Camelot.

Wherever Amalric goes, he can recognize the common villager. They are very distinct compared to the nobles and royal, and may be considered common sense in Camelot. In Landgraben, however, one needed a careful eye when a knight did not wear his armor, for simple wool made the dress of most men and only the care in the weave could distinguish the noble from the miner. as for Camelot's villagers, even when they wore their cleanest shirts there was always a flea-bitten misery in their eyes. They scurried to one side of the pavilion to get a better look, though, as if he was not their business. indeed another class of people had stepped down and made there way over the field. The men held cloaks above themselves and their women partners, but there were still numerous fancy shoes that were reluctant to trek the mud. Amalric studied their costumes. Under these drapings, any smart lad might conceal a costume sword or dagger, and so Amalric did not approach. He remained waiting to offer a salutation and a query for shelter. With his helmet off, water had already soaked down his neck and beneath the chain mail. He was thoroughly heavy and tired and he and his horse stood in an eery stillness. His back hurt by from the strain of keeping light in his saddle so that his rear did not thump upon Gertie's back. Still, he did not doubt that his steed was twice as sore.

The gentlefolk approached through the rain until they finally beheld the the foreigner. They gave him queer looks and both sides waited for the other to speak first. The party-goers did not know how to address Amalric fbecause Amalric, though he didn't know it, had the dark looming intent of an American police officer in that navy blue uniform, straight face, and belt jiggling with too many tools of destruction. Amalric was the one who was supposed to speak first, just like the cop standing in the rain and tapping on the window, but underneath his iron casing, he didn't know precisely what to say or do. He knew the customs of Camelot's court and the basic etiquette of a tavern, but he was unfamiliar with this village and celebration.

At last, a lean woman stepped off the pavilion - you know, one of those characters who volunteers only after all have passed. She wore an elegant dress that sweetened her frame, though not nearly as extravagant as the other gowns. Many of the women clustering by the porch looked to oprecious to allow the rain to pat their heads and this lady was without a gentleman to hold a cloak above her head. She raised her hand and took several quick steps, exclaiming breathlessly a sort of greeting. "In the name of Hyld of Hawkhurst and her father," she said as if she were disappointed that no one else had the common sense to speak, "you are welcome to this village and this celebration, Sirs. If your intentions bear no ill will. If that is the case, then leave your weapons with your horses and join us. If however your intentions are not proper, then turn around and leave this place as you are not welcome.”

She stood brazen to the rain and she bore herself confidently, looking him up as if she her words were the thoughts on everyone's mind. Though she dressed as a wealthier lady, she held the aloofness of a villager. Amalric acknowledged her and her declaration with a hand removed from his saddle and placed on his hip. His horse jostled sensing the freedom. "I am quite sure we mean no ill will towards you and your guests, my lady. These heavy arms are to aid in the arrest of of a Griffin beast, you see, but unfortunately, the hounds have lost her trail," he explained. "If we may rest here," his tone softening, into the plea tat suited his dripping appearance, "I would be most grateful. We have ridden since sunrise and the weather has not been so good." He lowered his eyes for a brief moment to give the lady his respect, "Though we do not mean to intrude on this celebration. We will be on our way if Hyld of Hawkhurst has too much on her hands this night."

His men had camped in worse storms of greater gales and tree-splitting thunder. Still, he had no reason not to seek shelter in this village. He was no enemy of Camelot. Though he was stubborn and proud that he would syurvive if this willow glade had never been settled, he had a sweet tooth for a spot by the pavilion's railing to lean upon and a beer to drink. A proper rest would lift everyone's spirit. The villagers, though ragged, did not carry the quiet smile of the bandit and the more elite party-goers now seemed to be enjoying their confusion as any small town in the throws of a juicy scandal.

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(TAGGED) Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha
(NOTE) None~

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

Whoever these men were, their leader – at least Yassia readily assumed he was the leader by the way he held himself – had an air of confidence around him that further assured her she was not dealing with a band of mere marauding soldiers here, or even mercenaries. What was their purpose here though, as they didn’t seem to be familiar with this place and its people? Through the rain she spied something nasty and raw looking being secured to a rope that was latched on a mule so it was being carried through the muddy street. Wrinkling her nose the tiniest bit she pondered about its purpose while it was stacked away. Was that some kind of bait? But was beast would be so eager as to literally spring at the chance of such a bait? Well… probably those huntsmen – if that was what they were – knew best and she shouldn’t question them.

Now that she thought about it again, these men also looked more tired and soaked than threatening. She had said her piece and now waited for the answer, which promptly came.
"I am quite sure we mean no ill will towards you and your guests, my lady. These heavy arms are to aid in the arrest of of a Griffin beast, you see, but unfortunately, the hounds have lost her trail,"
There it was again, this air of confidence that told Yassia’s trained senses that she was dealing with a high born man, she observed with an inward grin, while around her several people gasped at the mention of a Griffin. Given, some peasants or villagers she had met had been a coarse lot, loud and confident on the outside and amongst their kind, but only men of rank would act so very at ease amongst such an obvious display of nobility. Then again… this was Albion, not Ailantha, you could only be so sure.

His plea for shelter though just underlined the sorry state this whole company was in, and Yassia could only feel for him and his men. Out in this weather all day, and unlucky with the hunt at that! She herself was slowly getting soaked, but for once she thought nothing of it. It was far more important to keep up appearances now. But now she had stepped up for her friend to smooth the way, it was not in her power and status to decide in this matter. So Yassia turned to Hyld who thanked her with an almost imperceptible nod of the head and then the young lady finally took up her role as host, greeting the newcomers with a kind, yet slightly cautious smile.
”I am Hyld of Hawkhurst and I welcome you to this place, Sir”, she began, addressing their leader only. “If you would be so kind as to tell us your name first, so we might know who we are dealing with? Once the formalities are through, however, you and your men are more than welcome to join us here. Up ahead”, she vaguely pointed into the direction, “is Hawkhurst Manor where you can leave your horses and maybe warm up a little, before you join us in this celebration.”

Yassia nodded inwardly to herself, praising her friend for the confidence she showed. Her father had been called to attend an urgent matter of business with one of his tenants, so where normally he would have taken the lead and played the host, she had to.
”Yassia”, Hyld addressed her then, with a little smile that was more genuine, “can I burden you with the task of showing these gentlemen the way to the manor – seeing as you’re already wet?” As if some spell had been broken, the surrounding nobles and villagers started to laugh heartily at this little jibe, washing away the tension that had been hovering in the air ever since the party arrived. And Yassia joined into the ensuing laughter good-humoredly, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement. “Of course I will, Hyld. Sir, please follow me!” she declared, then turned around to lead the way.

[Amalric Maulesel]

If you added together the weight of Amalric's bones, his wet skin, the sticky tunic, each drop that soaked and sweated up the fabric, and the armor on top of that, it was a wonder the his horse's hadn't broken its back.

"Of course, my Lady. I am called Lord Münche, an old name from the country of Landgraben, if you know it," he said. This was the old casual lie. Who would tell he was really a king? He did not bumble around the forests to be hunted or robbed, so he kept discreet. With Sir Münche at his side, of course he would have the necessary documentation if it was asked for. So the king was always Sir Münche and Sir Münche was always blessed with the alias Stiere Scheissman. "This is my manservant, Stiere Scheissman, and the other men of my household." He nodded, then, to Sir Pilsener and Sir Tollkühn. The former was already tipping a canteen of whiskey to his lips. The latter couldn't take his eyes off of Lady Hawkhurst and was struck with a stupid, happy, and nervous smile. The other two had dismounted and were busy shooing the dogs, work always in their noses, away from the mule and his packed carrion. Of course, Amalric was too tired to shout and call them into line like an unforgiving drill sergeant. They're quirks were his constant game of whack-a-mole.

So, of course, Amalric eagerly pushed his horse to follow the lady, who turned through the crowd and onto a path, too trodden to have grass or be very muddy. Picture a modern mother at one of those Walmart super-centers, holding five children of various ages in various pockets and slots in the cart, tangled up with a grocery list and the munchkin pulling her hair. Its a very miserable face. And even though Amalric doesn't deal with nearly as many burdens, his men are grown and his list is but one item (for these are simpler times) sadness is always relative. The rain was awful. Entire battles were cancelled for rain like this.

They walked on and on, down the trail. He didn't really say anything, and now that his party had been welcomed smoothly, he was free to glare sourly at his gauntlets, which he was having trouble removing. Sir Münche rode a little ahead of his grumbling master, trying to make sure that their hostess got the right impression. He always was very polite. He had dealt with a lot of when it came to King. He was younger, but a part of him still played the tidy governess. The rain wasn't enough to break him, but at least, he wore lighter gear than his leader - a leather jerkin on top of simple chain-link mail. Perhaps it was just easier for his horse to keep up with the walking maiden.

So the good knight explained their adventures while Amalric cursed behind, pre-occupied in his manly, busy world of questing and armor and dogs that had no room for a caring woman of any sort.

"We've had a very long day. In the beginning, the horses had gotten loose from where we tied them."

"No no no no."

"Mmmm. Last night, we slept in the Coraline Caves, so of course, the horses did not have a proper place to be kept. They are all very strong when the want to leave the spot we tie them."

"Dratted piece!"

"So we had to catch the horses. At least the mule was good. The mules are always good when they're walked long and aren't too thirsty. But the dogs were awful beasts."

"Nrrrgggghhh!"

"All their ropes were tangled when we found them and they're lucky they didn't strangle themselves in the night. But we cut them loose, and all was good, but the rain, the rain. It is not good for our steel."

"Schiezze, get over here!"

"My Lord!"

[/color]The knight said, turning around. Amalric threw his helmet at him, and he caught it hurriedly. Then he lightly rode to the tank of a man. Amalric whispered, "I think this suit is stuck on me." [/b]Sir Münche looked worriedly at Yassia and the road ahead.

"I will go back and ask for oil. They may have it at a cooking stand."

"You do that,"[/color] [/b]Amalric said, disliking the thought of his undressing, and came ahead to walk with the lady as his right-hand knight left him. She was very noble in the way she walked - she could probably balance a pile of books on the top of her head even while playing a violin - and he fell neatly beside her. He was too stuck on the puzzle of his glove to give her more of a look-over, and so, he had yet to recognize as anything more than a noble lady's maidservant. He had nothing, really to say. After a moment, he looked around and forgot about his hand-guard. "Do you mind leading me back to that celebration after my armor is removed? One of my men is no longer with us, and I'm afraid he likes these sorts of things," [/b]he said with sighing frustration. Sir Tollkühn was that young tomcat who always sneaked out of the house at night, all testosterone, guts, and heart.[/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

(TAGGED) Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha
(NOTES) totally my inspiration ahh! love winnie <3

[Yassia Dyfrène de Ailantha]

When the man said he and his men were from Landgraben, Yassia couldn’t have been more surprised. She had passed through this beautiful country on her way to Camelot, still in Mircea’s company and it seemed ages ago. They even had found shelter in Landgraben’s castle for a night, while it’s lord, the King Amalric Maulesel had been away, so she had never met him. Also none of the other names this Sir Münche introduced meant anything to the young princess, but it was still odd to be reminded of a time like that, when things still had been more or less like they should be.
But Yassia pushed all melancholy aside and also didn’t comment on her knowledge of this country yet, that would all come later should any casual conversation be in order. For now it was her task to guide this men to a dry shelter safely and even though she normally didn’t take orders from anyone, she didn’t mind this time. It was a friendly turn, nothing more, Hyld would never assume she had some sort of hold over Yassia.

Sir Münche was silent as they walked through the rain, apart from minor comments that seemed more directed towards his wet attire he wanted to get rid off than to anything his manservant now started to explain. Yassia listened politely, cocking her head like a sparrow which sadly made the rain run straight over her face like a little creek. Every once in a while she would bite her lip to keep from chuckling when the struggling Sir Münche would grunt something extraordinarily angry, which made it all the more hilarious. But it was highly uncourtly to laugh at someone else’s misfortune, so she tried to stay composed, concentrating on the story about the horses instead.
“I am very sorry for all your misfortunes, Sirs, very sorry indeed. I can only agree, I am not used to so much rain myself, but I guess there are people born to it.”

The her counterpart was called back to help his master with his soaked armor and when Yassia saw they were halting for a bit, she too turned around and waited while the rain poured down on her. Meanwhile the fabric of her richly adorned dress had soaked full of water as well, was heavy and damp, and to make it even more uncomfortable, now clad to her slender frame in a very showing manner. Turning a bit to the side while the men were talking, she tried to smoothen the dress and pry it away from her legs where it was sticking most unbefittingly. The servant apparently had been given a task, because now it was Sir Münche walking forward to fall in line with her. A little silence ensued, awkward on Yassia’s part as she just didn’t know what to say and keep up befitting appearances at the same time. She could not adjust her dress in front of his eyes of course, so she just hoped it would not look too scandalous.

"Do you mind leading me back to that celebration after my armor is removed? One of my men is no longer with us, and I'm afraid he likes these sorts of things," Sir Münche said, and Yassia nodded, glad he had been the first to break the ice.
“Of course, Sir, I will do so as soon as I have changed my clothes as well. Differing from common expectations, that will not take so long.” She added with a little self-humorous jibe.
“Oh and, just to make sure: If you are from Landgraben, you must be a subject to King Amalric Maulesel, right? I passed through his land on my journey here and even spent a night in his beautiful castle, though he himself was not present.”
She had politely circumvented the comment about his young and adventuresome follower, it was not a very seemly thing to talk about, and even if he had been slandering the man first, it was not for her to add to this repoval. Oh yes, Yassia was always very firm on manners, they could help you through many delicate situations.