Carrion birds cover the land as the bodies of soldiers, some with uniforms emblazoned with the sign of the Unicorn, and others with the twelve star design of the nation of Corraline, lie, freshly dead, in the afternoon sun. The sky is almost blacked out by number of birds gathered, and stink of death is already filling your nostrils.
General Benedict's planned landfall at this southern beach was an overwhelming success, even at the calculated cost of many of Amber's troops. The objective of this mission, the fort of Delphine, has already been taken, and even now troops under the command of Admiral Caine are fortifying their positions.
The General is personally leading troops from the east, and news of their victories is already reaching the southern force. "A show of force by the new Queen," Caine could heard saying earlier as he explained the overwhelming force Amber was bringing to bear in this conflict.
Prince Brennus, serving under the Admiral, walks the battlefield now, knowing that orders will soon come from Caine to prepare the men to march. This company is expected to meet up with Benedict's forces in two days time, and there are a number of enemy positions between this beach and the rendezvous point. His path crosses that of a man not dressed in the standard military uniform of Amber.
Tall, athletic, youthful of appearance, Brennus, light brown of hair, pale of eye and complexion. He stands amidst his men, dressed in a set of plate armour decorated with designs in black and red enamel; the armour is obviously extremely expensive and exquisitely crafted. At his side he bears a heavy sword that by contrast appears almost poorly crafted due to it's business-like design.
As he espies the stranger a haughty expression crosses his handsome face. "You there fellow, who are you, where do you think you are going?"
Short - about 5'6", with a compact and well-muscled body, wieghing in at perhaps 145 pounds, he stands as if he does not think he is a small person; very self-assured. He is dressed in clothing of black and brown, loose and well-worn, about half leather and half wool - he might be a well-off mercenary captain, or perhaps a scout. a swept-hilt rapier with gold and crimson 'furniture' on the grips hangs in a plain and servicable looking sheath. the blade itself seems a bit heavier than the norm, as if it could be used in battle equally as well as in a duel. He wears the sort of thin leather gloves that a duelist might - good enough against a minor scratch, without giving away too much control...
Turning in response to the somewhat abrupt hail, he reveals Pale, almost translucent skin that is offset by penetrating emerald eyes and orange-red hair that is so bright it seems about to burst into flame beneath his hood. Its length is hard to say, but is is clearly long enough to be pulled back into a qeue... The man's features are chiseled, save for a somewhat broad and slightly snub nose, sporting a faint dusting of freckles, but the center-piece and focal point of his face is the twisted half-smile it bears. "Brennus, isn't it? I remember your birth ceremony."
Allowing some slight annoyance to show on his features Brennus changes stance, throwing back a heavy black cloak lined in red silk to free his right arm he stands fists clenched, arms akimbo, his legs planted shoulder width apart. "That's Prince Brennus to you. I asked you two questions, you have answered neither. I will repeat them lest you in you ignorance might not be capable of answering. Who are you? Where are you going?"
A slight smile appears on Brennus' face, mocking perhaps or simply confident in his position.
Unfazed, his expression unchanging, the man answers... "I am Mordred, of Rebma. You really need to spend more time about the Court you know, if you expect to know who is who. If you wish to know where i am going, and why, you'll have to speak to my superior... and yours - *Prince* Benedict."
One of the soldiers by Brennus' side grows slightly red in the face and takes the hilt of his sword in his hand, although he does not draw it. The man is several inches shorter than Brennus, but is much wider of build. He has pitch black hair - cropped close to his skull - and heavily tanned skin. He is clean shaven, unlike most of the soldiers, and his face is slightly familiar to Mordred. He might be a member of one of the noble houses - a fact further confirmed when he speaks with a Noble Amber accent. "Watch your tongue when you address your betters, Rebman."
He appears to be awaiting the slightest sign from Brennus to draw his blade.
With a brief hand gesture Brennus takes control, "Maer, calm yourself please, this is Mordred, a mage of some repute but little breeding I fear, a lack of decorum is perhaps to be expected."
Turning back to Mordred the complacent smile still evident, Brennus looks him coolly up and down, before continuing, "Do you know Maer by the way Mordred, he's the Earl of Varle, from a fine respected noble family. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your lineage or indeed your rank. But yes, uncle Benedict is my superior, a fact I am quite comfortable with. Have you business here, a message for me perhaps?"
"So. Although you freely admit you do not know my Lineage, you feel free to disparage it. And I suppose that you are also of the opinion that 'good breeding' guarantees both intelligence and common sense, not to mention some ambiguous type of superiority. Fascinating."
He turns to look around at the carnage that has been wrought, his thoughts his own. After a moment he faces Brennus and Maer again, not looking in the least bit fazed. "Well I suppose it could be excused, given your youth and somewhat sheltered upbringing, but I doubt it will be. Good day."
He nods once to Maer, and walks off in the direction of the command tent, where Benedict and others involved in the planning of the next phase of the conflict will be gathering.
Bristling at the departure of Mordred, Brennus' already pale face is ashen, his lips are drawn tight making his mouth a narrow slash.
Brennus calls out in a tight voice, controlling his temper is obviously proving difficult, "Hold there you damned oyl-kru! How dare you leave my presence without my permission. You will return and give account of yourself this instant."
[OOC: oyl-kru is what the word sounds like. An Obscure word from a local Shadow which Mordred probably knows means something like 'Blood Drinker']
Slowly, Mordred stops and turns, asking - with a pronounced smile in his tone to match the wry twist to his lip...
"On what grounds have you managed to fabricate the supposition that I am here for any reasons but my own and those of my superior? Further, as you and I are nowhere near each other in the chain of command, why should I answer in any way to you?" He is completely at ease... waiting a response.
His face now unreadable Brennus strides slowly toward Mordred. He stops several paces away. "I take it then you recognise no authority other than your own whim and the military hierarchy you have chosen to follow, that the varied rank of royalty and nobility has no meaning for you. Do you then consider yourself the equal of even the most distant scion of Amber?" Brennus fairly spits out the last sentence, contempt evident in every word, that there might even be a suggestion that such a thing were so.
"When I am at war, I follow my military commander and none other. How else? Am I supposed to drop whatever I am doing in order to cater to the whims of anyone with a title tacked onto their name - half of them earned by no other means than birth? That would certainly play havoc with the established command, and is no way to run a war."
His tone and manner are more serious now. "Those due respect, I tender such. If you wish my respect, then you may earn it by deeds, not insulting language. If you seriously wish to know what it is I am doing and why, then you are more than welcome to apply to my commanding officer, Prince Benedict of Amber, or to the Lord Caine - also a Prince of Amber. To them I answer in this conflict and none other, unless it be the Queen herself."
Brennus listens to Mordred's words in silence, his face devoid of expression. When Mordred finishes Brennus comments. "You have said enough, be about your business." Having said this he turns on his heel and walks away, Maer in tow.
Smiling, Mordred shrugs, shakes his head slightly and continues on his way...
Brennus rounds the corner papers in hand. On seeing Mordred he stops short, his eyes narrow for a moment, his face impassive, he gives a short bow then speaks. "After you... Master Mordred? Your pardon if I have used a title which is in any way incorrect or insulting to you, had we been properly introduced I would of course have used a more precise nomenclature." he declares, a touch of a mocking smile in his eyes.
"Master is appropriate, as is Magister or Magus. You may take your pick of them if you wish. Benedict and Caine have taken to referring to me simply - either by name or by title; Mordred or Magus." He sketches a brief but elaborate bow.
"However, I do believe proper protocol at this juncture would say that Royalty or Nobility should precede 'Specialist'. Please - after you, Prince Brennus." There is such a noticable lack of mockery or sarcasm in voice or manner or expression that it is clearly intentional. Brennus can read that as he likes.
Brennus raises his eyebrows in surprise at Mordred's change in manner and returns a formal bow. "Why, thank you Magus."
Brennus frowns appearing to be about to speak again, but apparently thinks better of it. He gives a nod and a small smile before entering.
Mordred gave Brennus a small nod of acknowledgement, his expression bland, and followed him into the room.
Mordred and Brennus enter the briefing room. In the center of the room is a large wooden table. One of the legs appears to be been damaged, and several old books are now supporting the short leg. A large map of Corraline is spread out across the surface, with numerous pins and figures arrayed across it. Leaning on a chair in the back of the room is a large portrait of dubious beauty but clear age. The subject is a young lady, dressed in clothing that was probably fashionable centuries ago. She is probably lovely, but the artist seems to have captured some other quality of her - a darker, more sadistic look - and has translated it into the portrait as to make her look almost monstrous.
Several officers are in the room, mostly talking to each other, but a few are examining the map. Caine, not in uniform, is examining the painting. Dressed as he, and with the look of a common sailor, you'd hardly think him an admiral. There is a charm, handsomeness, and attitude that clearly shows him to be different from those about him. His devilish smile is wiped away, however, when Brennus and Mordred enter. "No problems with your assignment, I trust?" he looks at Brennus inquisitively.
Mordred's eyes at once sought out Caine, lingered on the painting he was looking at, then back to him, as if he was waiting for the Admiral to turn and begin.
At Caine's words to Brennus, his bearing shifted - ever so slightly - to that of a soldier who knows it is his place to wait, patiently, in readiness, for his commander to have a moment for him. During this period, though he is aware of the conversation around him, he is in 'waiting mode', and giving the vast majority of his attention to the painting and its subject.
The beginnings of a smile evaporate from Brennus' face in response to Caine's question and changed demeanour.
Brennus steps forward giving the correct military salutation, precise in its execution. Standing to attention he responds. "Nothing I couldn't handle thank you Admiral." Taking his papers Brennus places them on the table. "My reports for you sir; when you need them."
Brennus then steps back and waits.
Caine takes the papers from Brennus, with a nod, and quickly flips through them, glancing at the summary figures for the wounded and dead. "Impressive," Caine whistles. "These figures are even better than we anticipated. I suppose some of the credit goes to you, Magus." He eyes Mordred, as if reappraising the man. "The Queen was right about the potency of your magic. I'll see that she is notified of your efforts. Plenty of room for improvement though, but an excellent first showing."
It appears that the last of the officers have entered the room. "Alright, I'll try to keep this short. I know the men are tired, but we've going to push, strike them before they have a chance to strengthen their defenses. Lord Delany, you'll stay here with a small force to hold the fort, while the main force breaks into two parts." Caine describes the plan in depth. Lord Chantris will take half of the force and march through Corraline, eventually meeting up with Benedict. Caine will take the remainder of the force and continue to sail along the coast and intercept a portion of the Corraline fleet that recently set sail from the capital.
Addressing Brennus, Caine grins. "Prince, Benedict wants you to accompany Lord Chantris and his forces." The Admiral still hasn't given any orders to Mordred. "Chantris, you should move out immediately. We're already running a little behind schedule. The fleet will depart first thing in the morning. That seems to be everything. Any questions?"
Brennus' stance and demeanour remain unchanged, although he'd allowed himself a brief smile and an incline of his head in response to Caine's orders.
Brennus waits in silence, listening for any questions from anyone present.
Mordred listens carefully to all that is said, notices Caine's lack of directive for him, and says nothing - If and when Caine has something to say to him, he will do so. there is never any point and nothing whatsoever to be gained in pushing an Elder - particularly this one...
Mordred stands, at ease - again splitting the difference between military and civilian 'specialist' in his bearing and demeanor. By now he knows the painting so well he could almost duplicate it himself, brushtroke for brushstroke.
There are one or two minor questions from some of the officers in the room, but no major inquiries. Caine doesn't seem at all annoyed by the questions, and in fact seems like he was expecting them. After everyone is done, Caine smiles. "Very well. You're all dismissed. We've lots to do, and not much time." The officers begin to leave, and Caine speaks up again, taking a seat. "Mordred, wait for a moment. There are a few... details we need to discuss."
Brennus takes his leave with the other officers, but waits a moment outside in the hallway. As Lord Chantris passes Brennus speaks. "Lord Chantris?"
Brennus bows as Chantris pauses and turns. Chantris bows in response, and the soul of courtesy he enquires.
"Prince Brennus, may I assist you in any way?"
Brennus answers, his tone respectful, formal.
"My Lord, might I request a word with you?"
Chantris nods, and with a gesture of his arm he invites Brennus to walk with him.
"Of course. Shall we?" Chantris asks.
Brennus smiles and nods in return. Together Chantris and Brennus then move away from the briefing room.
Mordred had waited until the last person started for the door, then mentally shrugged, and begun to follow them, figuring Caine would get to it in his own time, when the Admiral's words stopped him from leaving. Not showing the relief he felt inside, he allowed the door to shut behind the last person out and turned to face his erstwhile commander.
"Of course, Admiral. I would welcome any and all feedback you might have. Grateful as I am for your kind words earlier regarding my efforts, the concept of 'War Magics' is still new and I am still feeling my way about. Anything you can add to take some of the guess-work out of it would be wonderful."