Composition. [Private]

[Auriel]

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(Language Warning, this RP is a mix of comedic relief and some semi-political and internals.)

A mug hits the table with a loud 'clack!'.. it's wooden, oiled surface seemingly
rippling with the noise as brown ichor spilled from it. Rum, the drink of kings far away.
The letter sent written, causing a sigh and a long winded cough as the one-eyed Viscount
gazed over the writing. Partying occurs outside as he looked over it, a grave look over his
face as he sighed.

"GOD DAMNIT."

Various miscellaneous items hit the floor as he threw his arms across the desk and
immediately went for a cigar box, drawing the square piped one and cut it by an end,
his sabatons crackling against embers as he trudged over some coals, annoyed he
skidded his plated, glorified boots across the ground in mild disdain as he looked into
a torch and lit his cigar, cursing loudly if only for a moment.

"I signed a god forsaken document, pledging my services for the coming war- this, was
that war. If I wanted to become a vassal, I would've went to Anhald and did /that/! Nay-
we have to proclaim th' entire bloody fock'n south a vassal, no fock'n wonder th' people
of Rogues Hearth rebelled, they're all fock'n insane! I loved fighting alongside some of
those men- but if this, this sort of shit-" Mid-crumpling of a paper as he took in a breath
and coughed into his cloak.

"This sort of shit don't fock'n cut it! This is the shit that I end up helping the grape with!

I fock'n hate Grapes!"

​

 

[Nardlerd]

And so, nearby, the snickering of the Lion-Knight came through as the Ayran peaked his head within. ". . I never knew you to be the hater of fruit, Arike. Try an orange next time." Aemon continued to jest, waving as he dipped promptly after, not wishing to see the waste of rum. Raphael Payne

 

[Auriel]

"So what do we do? Fock'n help th' grapes or not?"
He spoke, inclining against the seat in his office, sighing.
"I may have heard he's a man of conviction and reason, but this shit- it doesn't stand."

 

[Nardlerd]

"So what do we do? Fock'n help th' grapes or not?"
He spoke, inclining against the seat in his office, sighing.
"I may have heard he's a man of conviction and reason, but this shit- it doesn't stand."

Aemon then popped his head back in, bringing his right hand to his chin as he huffed. "Our Honor is in your hands, Arike. We shant dishonor our Lord. Think wisely on this. Either way, blood will flow.."

 

[Auriel]

Aemon then popped his head back in, bringing his right hand to his chin as he huffed. "Our Honor is in your hands, Arike. We shant dishonor our Lord. Think wisely on this. Either way, blood will flow.."

"I lost a couple buds on that ship, mate, I almost lost you. I even lost an eye. Lost a Flander, too. I may not like th' Sangrians but they sure as hell wouldn't pull this fock'n shite."
He drew forth hallowed spices from his cigar, a mixture of cocoa and tobacco alike. His eye dim as he spoke.
"That's all the Lord can ask of us, Aemon. We're not playing in some shite game anymore and I won't hear this shite of us being a vassal. That is not the case. We signed a fair document
and I won't hear this again, it's either ride-or-die at this point, if we were to declare war our homeland would be razed by the Rahas Worshippers perhaps, or we come home and slay them all anyway."

 

[Sir Arc]

Hamish during the time the two diddled around about the subject enters looking slightly annoyed at something like this being discussed
"Methinks t'at taking t'a side of the grapes might not be what we be wantin'. I've seen t'a Witch Kin'es pow'r and it could be somet'ing to be troubled 'bout. Eit'er way t'a lad is 'ight 'bout being w'ot side we be takin' man will be'a fallin'"

 

[Auriel]

"They might have lost at sea but they have numbers. Adding to the equation would sure up their numbers and allow us an independant south as a result. Restore Wise and deal with the fanatics of Rahas later on."

He drew out, sighing as he came to an end.