Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on Jun 19, 2008 15:21:52 GMT -6
Ignia Ferroque: Adam had received word that representatives from Ulster wished an audience with the Lord and Lady of the Isles, so what better place to welcome them but at the center of politics in Skye - The Blue Castle. Bess was dressed in her usual formal long robe and dress of black and gold... Adam, in his loose fitting trousers and white shirt, with the loose black and gold robe-like garment....A guard stands at the door on either side... each with polished armour and bands of black and gold under the mail.
JackoftheFaerie: It would, indeed, be easy to say that the two Irish that drew near the audience chamber of the Blue Castle each embodied an aspect of Irish way of life. For the Irishman, it was the aspect of courage, war, and unbowed resistance that he presented for the Duke and Duchess of the Winged Isle. Jack was dressed in his martial uniform, although it had been suitably altered for the coming battles. The Irishman wore a cuirass over his cream colored shirt and waistcoat, marking him ready for war. From his right shoulder to his left hip, the Irishman wore also a sash fashioned from the tartan cloth of Ireland's O'Brien family. The blues, greens, and streaks of yellow serving well to show his allegiance. Although, if the truth were told, it was in fact the Celtic "M" that had been embroidered with golden thread that showed who held his heart. The Irishman's boots had endured a rare torment: they had been cleaned and polished. And yet, when the light caught the jackboots that came to mid-calf, one could still see the places where light rippled and showed where deep scratches had been worn into their leather over years of use. Despite his courage in battle and his eloquent tongue, it was still somewhat off-putting to find himself approaching royals to plead a case. The Irishman reached up with the good fingers of his right hand, his ring and little finger still bandaged tightly together and held immobile by splint, tugged lightly at his cravat. Quietly, he gave a worried look to Mairi. Then he slid his tricorn hat, made of black felt and fringed around the top with royal green feathers, atop his head. Then he lightly rested his hand upon the basket-hilt of his claymore, as they drew closer to the guarded doors.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi was clad in a very plain homespun dress, hints of the O'Brien tartan about her as well. She wore her fiery hair up in a netted snood, which was adorned with peculiar looking beads. About her neck was a shell necklace, and also woven in her hair was a crown of leaves. Her face was painted and adorned with woad; her attitude calm and authoritative--thaat much could be told simply by her posture. She offered confidence to Jack as they drew near. Mairi was armed with a matching sword, and expected to once again hand it over. Lastly, she carried her golden harp, a reminder of all that was precious.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick and Seraphim had just arrived from Ulster. The Irishman, clad also in the O'Brien tartan, moved as quickly as Seraphim would walk to her sister. The bearded man had a brooding look about him, but was very gentle in the way that he clasped the woman's hand. "I'd like to catch her before she's in this negotiation, a stor," he said to Seraphim, though seeing Mairi and Jack from a distance, it looked as though that wouldn't be possible. Nearly out of breath himself, he stopped to give her a chance to rest. "She'll adore ye."
Shame of Life: Phim was quite excited to be asked along on the boat ride to Skye, away from the glare of Fafnir who had not been a happy sailor the last few weeks. She did not know they were heading towards anything important, she wasn't told. Her worn brown leather ankle boots were quiet as they moved along, of course she seemed to move to her own strand of time. Her underdress was cleaned linen, the sleeves blounced, tying at her wrists, though the over dress was that modest homespun of deep green. It was a slender dress for that lithe form, a cross cross of brown leather ties closed the overdress secruly. Of course, Seraphim's hair was covered as it usually was, though this time by a warm saffron length of linen, twisted and knoted firmly at the back of her head from short trip over the water to Skye. The green and yellow mix made those hazel hues green-gold as she took in the sites, growing more nervous by the minute, though that stoic face would not show it. Her hand was warm, dry, her thin wrist had a rope made bracelet around it. She'd look to Carrick as he took her hand and then she'd motion lightly with it. "Go before me, I can find my way..."
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess sat in the chairs, whispering between them. The two lovers held hands, when their hushed words changed from personal to political. Bess noticed people gathering in the hallways... Once the guards announced the party wishing audience... their hands finnally, and reluctantly separated... Adam's booming command voice echoed... "Enter !!" then the party were ushered into the elaborate political forum... the simple chairs elevated slightly above the floor. As the two representatives from Free Ulster made their way before them, Bess smiled, and Adam rose. "Welcome tae Turas Lan... de heart 'o Skye... Ah 'ave read the prelim'n'ry scrolls, but Ah prefer tae hear it from ye own voices... and see yer eyes... for Ah belive the eyes speak de truth..." sitting down, Adam winks at Bess, then looks to the representatives... and nods.
JackoftheFaerie: The Irishman hesitated at that. His voice was not often used for courtly speaking and would ring just a bit oddly in his ears without the accompanying din of war. Jack hesitated, before speaking, "M'laird, m'lady..." The Irishman was slow in speaking, not out of fear of offending. But because he was not used to being in such a setting as this. "We dae thank ye true an' 'eartfelt fer allowin' us shelter an' peace wit' in yer lands... 'owever, we are Irish an' cannae shelter e'er in the 'arbors an' ports of our allies. Nae when tha Anglish yoke lays cruelly upon our lands. We dae 'ave need ta return an' safe guard our home." And for now, that was as eloquent as the Irishman could be. He had not yet managed to gain the true frame of mind of a diplomat. There was a quiet look toward Mairi, offering a signal to her.
Pride of Eireann: When they entered, Mairi offered a nod as low as she could go without bowing. The Ceannfort looked a vision of the earth--she was never meant for court life of any kind, and chose to show her true self here and now, keeping careful hold of her harp, an ever present reminder that she was here for the good of her people above all else. Mairi looked slightly more plump than Bess would have remembered, and she would know why. The fair-skinned Ceannfort looked healthy and able, and watched with approval as Jack spoke their introductory words. "Thank ye for yer welcome, an' yer hospitality as we've stayed here." Mairi's eyes caught Beathag's gaze at first, showing her the honesty projected. Bess preferred things straight to the point, as did Mairi, and the two were friends now. There was no need for a reassessment of power. "We have the main concern of Ulster's independence, but we have a lot to offer in terms of the cultural contributions ye'll need to unite our peoples against those that would do us harm," she began. She looked back to Jack, then primarily at the Duke. "Our forces are prepared to retake Ulster, an' our people are prepared to follow all the laws that are followed in yer land."
Pride of Eireann: Carrick looked Seraphim over, in approval of the color of the dress. She looked like the wife of an Irishman already. Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead and withdrew a cord from beneath his tunic, kilt, and brat: it held two charms--a Celtic cross given to him by Declan, and a serpent eating its own tail. "No, they've already gone in. We'll walk at yer pace now, a stor. I dislike keeping me own affection fer ye hidden, but here we are free to be ourselves while we visit." Carrick placed another kiss on her hand. They had shared less chaste kisses, but both ardor and kindness shown in his eyes. "My sister will love ye as a sister of her own," he encouraged her to walk on slowly.
Shame of Life: Seraphim blushed at the affection Carrick was showing her. Her own pace was sure to drive him insane as she would attempt to pick it up a bit. She was use to her own drum, then again, being much more long legged than her village women, she'd slow to let them catch her up and what not. To be honest, she had few clothes, but it wouldn't matter soon. She'd be wearing the "man" clothes in her smithy day and night, or so the impression lead her to believe. Her gaze dropped to the grasses as he mentioned his sister again and she felt as if she might vomit form the nerves that took her. Her hand squeezed his gently.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam smiles... as Bess speaks... "Yaer truly welcome in Skye... and Ah knaew how yae feel... tis understandable to yearn faer yeae own homelands..." Then Adam smiles and looks to the pair... "Ah echo M'Lady's feelings... Skye is our 'ome naew, but our ancestry and past lingers elsewhere..." Bess smiles at Mairi and nods slightly, friends of old... Listening to the Ceannfort, Adam stepped down from the elevated platform to stand next to her... "Are yae ready tae take on the Ainglish? ALone? Dae yae stand ready faer a fight? These are the questions I have and would like an answer... would yae die tae the last man and woman for freedom... o' Ulster... or Skye?" then he paused and moved slightly, looking back at the Ceannfort, giving her proper respect as one would do royalty...
"The laws are naet strict.. but we demand loyalty...as well as when we lend out swords, we provide loyalty as well..." he begins pacing a bit in contemplation... the looks to the man and the Ceannfort... "Skye has her own money... yers wouild be respected here and changed at a bank at reasonable exchange... The Griffon is becoming international... " he looks away then back to Bess... then to Mairi... "If yu give Skye yer loyalty... Ah would be prepared to lend assistance to fight the Ainglish... could yu...would yu swaer fealty to Skye...?"
JackoftheFaerie: It would be the Irishman who would answer his voice, "I dae beg fergiveness, m'laird, iffen I speak out of turn." The Irishman was quiet for a but a few beats, before he continued, "Ulster shall ne'er swear itself inta servitude er place itself in tha position o' being 'neath another. We shall nae swear fealty ta Skye. Wha' would such fealty would confer upon those tha' count Ulster as their 'ome an' tha Ceannfort o' highest o' authority? I dare sae, goode sir, tha' many o' those in Ulster would simply see tha' Griffon as replacin' tha Anglish crown." Jack was quiet for a long while, meeting Adam's eyes with his own. What Adam would see in Jack's eyes was what every government man had seen when looking into Jack's eyes: a defiance, a willingness to reject every flag as his own. Save for one. In times past, it had been the black flag that the Irishman had served. The black flag that said he served only his own ship and crew. Now, it was the Lamh Dhearg that Jack served. Served with a passion and loyalty. "We shall nae swear featly ta Skye, fer our people will nae. Tha Ceannfort an' I are only able ta be offerin' ye alliance an' friendship. Tha', an' nothin' else, is what we offer."
Pride of Eireann: Mairi was visibly disturbed by the use of the word fealty, though her indications were subtle. She arched a brow and allowed Jack to speak--her thoughts rested where did his. "Ulster will aid Skye in times of war. Jack has spoken me own feelings on serving another. Let it be said that I truly wish Ulster did not need an arrangement of this sort--but we do, an' we are grateful for the chance. I am doing this to save me people from losin' their own cultural identity, an' I feel that our sovereign state is necessary for that. Ye will find our ships to be the finest--if ye supply wood, we will build up yer navy. I hear we've a new master blacksmith who will upgrade all weapons. We are makin' more than a comeback, our dear friends, an' we've more than horses an whiskey to offer ye...we've the true spirit of the Gaels, an' the songs, stories, poems, and courage to see it through. If we stay with the terms of the preliminary agreement, Ulster remains committed--but it must be clear that we are an independent place; a sovereign state of our own. Ye have me word, though, that our armies will remain true to Skye unless ye ally with the Anglish." The Ceannfort clasped her heart firmly and looked to the Duke and Duchess for an answer. She had hope in her eyes--truth be told, she held the ultimate weapon in her hand. Few knew that she had once played the harp of the Dagda itself, and had learn its three prized strains. The Ceannfort could no doubt persuade the pair with one such song, but chose not to. Whatever may come would do that on its own accord, not by will of the ancient gods, love them as she did.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick didn't mind the pace, but he didn't say much, either. As they approached the gates, he addressed the guards. "I am Carrick Tuatha'an of Ulster; I am here to see the Ceannfort. This is Seraphim, a master blacksmith who has traveled a long way to meet her." The bearded Irishman looked as though he expected a fight. He kept light hold of Seraphim's hand the entire time. "I come also with news from the Archbishop of Dunluce and urgent news for the Ceannfort's ears alone." He looked to Seraphim as he awaited their admittance. Things were dire,a nd he hadn't told her. He had gotten her to safety. If they did not get the military support required this very night, his intention was to leave her here, where it was safe, and to return within the week. "All will be well, a stor," he reassured her.
Shame of Life: She would blink at Carrick's words, looking to him with a small frown playing on that full pink mouth. Her gaze then left his and just looked a their hands together, keeping her saffron wrapped head bowed. She didn't know what to say, since not a word was spoken to her about what was going on. Besides that, she was thinking furiously about his family, afride they'd be like hers. Harsh. But her head would lift a bit and look about, glancing at the guards, then Carrick from moment to moment.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam focused on the man... then smiled... "Yer right M'Lord... Ah'd ne'r expect servitude... jus' loyalty tae brethern... Sae then would yae agree tae an alliance wit Skye, as Skye would align wit Ulster for her freedom... and tae fight the Ainglish..." Adam laughs... "Ah like yer style sir... If'n yae would had signed up for all Ah proposed, Ah would 'ad denied any assistance... baet yae speak fair... wot yae believe in... and THAT means more tae mae..." Maybe inappropriately, but Adam winked at Bess and patted the man upon his shoulder...... Adam looked at the woman and smiled... Had he planned it this way?... of course... he wanted to see grit... and grit is what he got... The Ainglish had sheep that followed the Judas goat...he wanted alliances that bade him the alliances he needed... trustworthy, strong, and adament... Adam stepped to the Ceannfort... looking at her with that charming smile... sea-green eyes staring at her as if searching for the window to her soul... "M'Lady... Ah dunna want yer lands... yer culture... nor fealty... Ah want a strong alliance...one tae make us all grow... as Ah offered all other alliances... tae be free from Ainglish... We kin have the scribes write up the agreement... but knaew Skye shall aid Free Ulster..." his calloused hands took hers... with a smile of reassurance.
JackoftheFaerie: Jack stood quietly as he listened to Adam speak his words. Like his style? There would be just the faintest cant of his head, as he watched how Adam moved and what he spoke. Truth be told, Jack was trying to read the man. The fight for Ulster, for Dunluce, would come soon enough. When it came, the true strength of the alliance would be tested. Jack did his best to hide a smirk, for he knew that Mairi let only one read her eyes -- her soul -- like an open book. Mairi would show Adam only what she wished. It was Jack that could peel by Mairi's layers and see her true soul.
Pride of Eireann: She saw the same honesty in the duke and duchess that she had seen in Jack the moment she met him--which was ironic, considering he was probably the seediest pirate in Dunseverick. And yet, there had been something about him, as there was about her own people, and about the pair before her now. She nodded at what Adam said. "And so it is agreed," was all she would say. She nearly felt like her brother Declan the Archbishop of Dunluce, who need only say something to decree it so. She had nearly lost her nerve--and perhaps her dignity, but Jack had done his job as Consort and spoke out of turn precisely when necessary. Their relationship was far beyond a romance--it was complicated but smooth overall, held together by very ancient ties. It was even rumored that the pair were so much of Ireland they bled green, though that particular rumor was false. "We will sign the necessary paperwork then," she assured Adam. Lifting her head proudly, she felt that she had compromised little and had gained a great deal for Ulster.
Pride of Eireann: It was then that Carrick appeared, much to the Ceannfort's surprise. The brutish warrior was bringing a woman by the hand and looking at Mairi alone. Clearly he did not realize he was in the presence of the leaders of this land. At least his cursed dog wasn't with him, only a woman who appeared to lack backbone upon Mairi's first assessment. Before she could say a word, Carrick spoke. "I need to be speakin' with ye alone, deifieur." He didnt's eem willing to let go of the woman's hand, however, taking a subconsciously protective stance in front of her.
Shame of Life: Carrick had lead her past the guards and into the room with few others. She felt like they were intruding. Blinking again, though as she felt gazes upon her, she'd straighten up again, to her full 'manish' height. That pleasantly blank look in place as she cokeed her head just so to the side as she gave a glance at each. A light flush across her freckled cheeks as she bowed her head a bit, giving a little bob of a curtsy. The whole while, she never let go of Carrick's large hand.
Ignia Ferroque: Bess motioned to the servant waiting in the wings... who inturn handing a glass of ale to each member... Bess speaking with a smile of accomplishment for both Skye and Free Ulster... "Tis some o'Turas Lan's best ale... let's toast to the alliance... and help pave the way faer a Gaelic Renaissance that Adam and Ah believe in so much..." Adam echoed her toast... "Here here!!" He too compromised little, and gained much... with Ulster regained...Ireland would be next... then the English would not be at his backdoor. Then an unexpected pair entered... his land...his chambers...her people... he would allow her to handle this...unless...
JackoftheFaerie: Jack was moving quickly before too much could be done. Gently, he took Carrick's arm and lead him away. Softly, he said, "Tis good ta see ye again, Carrick." There was a glance toward the Duke and Duchess before he murmured, "Tha Ceannfort signs a treaty now, m'friend. What news 'ave ye?" As the Consort and the Ceannfort's brother spoke, it would be clear the news was dire. The way the two men, warriors both, spoke it was clear that the news would demand immediate action. After glancing to confirm the news, Jack nodded. Then as he strode back to Mairi's side, he spoke, "Tha Anglish are sendin' a force against tha' town o' Dunluce. What men tha' Ceannfort 'as there cannae repeal due ta a lack o' supplies an' men." He did not try to keep his voice low or keep such dire news from their new allies. As he spoke, however, he kept his eyes on the Duke and Duchess. Ulster was in need of aide and this had been her clearest and pure call for aide. It was not muddled by diplomatic talk. "Wit' out suitable relief, tha' town will fall. As tha townsmen 'ave refused ta parley wit' the Anglish, tha towns men except only what tha rites o' wargrant them.' Which was that every man, woman, and child that resisted the English would be put to death. "Tha Archbisop o' St. Patrick's tis also put ta flight, fer tha Anglish 'ave accused him o' blasphemies an' other sins. I can be sayin', m'laird, m'lady, tha' such accusations are nae true." There was a pause, "Fer I know Fat'er Declan ta' be a devout an' pious man.... fer a convert ta tha' Christ-child."
Pride of Eireann: Mairi's heart sank at the news. She nearly lost grip on her harp as she turned to her brother with sad eyes. Amidst all this, the Ceannfort looked to the woman at his side. "This is the woman accredited with crafting me sword, then?She will make ye a good wife." Mairi was rather rough around the edges compared to Seraphim, but she stepped forward and offered Seraphim a rather uncharacteristic embrace, not realizing that Carrick had not yet taken it upon himself to win her hand. Or that he had--but that he had yet to win it. "Seraphim, welcome to me clann. This is Jack, Consort an' admiral. The Duke an' Duchess of Skye, our most valuable ally." Mairi's voice was more than a bit shaken by the news, and it showed in a tremulous tone that could be detected by most present. She opened herself up, physically, to the Duke and Duchess, for the moment hiding behind the formality of introduction. "The aforementioned master blacksmith. Her weapons are so balanced, they make one man fight like two."
Pride of Eireann: Carrick was completely dumbfounded by Mairi's words. He had in no way secured permission for Seraphim's hand. Part of his motivation was of course that he could not court the woman in public because of what the English would do to her if they found out. He wanted her safe, in a place where she could concentrate and work, where he could watch over her and visit her. But now he was ultimately red faced and scared; white in the knuckles.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi, still stunned, took hold of Jack's hand after sharing a glance to her brother about the dire situation in Dunluce. She wondered if Seraphim was already with child. "It seems that we must soon depart fer dear Dunluce," she said. She would not assume the Duke and Duchess would agree so soon--but their help was required. As a sign of good faith, Mairi drank the drink. She would need it this night.
Shame of Life: As Carrick left with the other man, it looked to be the man who had punched another in the face at the Skye dock when she was picking up her smelting irons. Her head tilted a bit as her hands folded before her, since she had nothing else to do. But her head would lift as the man spoke and then blinked as the woman ...hugged her. She'd blush at her words, the rise in color clashing with the saffron hair scarf that hid her dark locks, she'd awkwardly return the embrace turning her head a little away from the four to glance at Carrick with a little lift of her lips before wiping it away before looking at the four again. The lady moved so fast, she'd just nod her head a bit, not attempting to speak, as if she could right now.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess waited... drinking their ale and not gawking, but an occasional glance, but their ears did listen and then they whispered to one another... Bess looks to a messenger and motions for him... "Tis trouble in Eire... Send word tae Sir Philip o'Raasay... Tell de man tae ready 30 o'his hips... for assemblance and tae be at the Ceannfort's command..." Adam chimed in... "plus provide 10 soldiers and 10 archers per ship... three o'de ships with cannon... 4 o'de ships shall be heavy galleys..." looking to the Ceannfort... "Yu shall have 23 ships and 3 more with cannon of 6 each...... Ah kin provide 10 men per ship and an additonal 10 archers per.... and they shall be ready at mid day on the morrow... is that sufficient?" Adam didn't like giving up his newest weapon in the arsenal, but cannon would outgun any English ship of the day... they could use cannon on land, but had no effort into their ships... this is what he pondered while Mairi spoke. The messenger had already departed for the Isle of Raasay... and Sir Philip, a Templar in hiding, would know by the signal fires what to do... for Adam and Bess now had plans in place for future skirmishes. Adam wrapped his arm around Bess as they looked to the contingent.
JackoftheFaerie: The Irishman cleared his throat quietly, before he offered, "M'laird?" Jack quietly waited to see if he had the Duke's attention. "I dae big yer fergivenesss iffen I speak in error. " Then he said, "Mah commission 'as nae yet been terminated in Skye's fleet." That said, the Irishman was already turning over the figures in his mind. With the Immram, the Echtra, and the Lagan, that put the total to twenty-six ships. With the four-hundred and sixty men being offered from Skye and the 125 sea-borne soldiers serving aboard the Immram alone. A relief column of some five hundred or more souls would be marching on Dunluce relief. Also, five galleys would be setting sail as well when one included Robb's ship. There was a half-turn toward Mairi, "Ceannfort? We shall 'ave some five 'undred men ta march ta the relief o' tha town." Then he turned, "Carrick, 'ow many dae ye 'ave in er guerillas?"
Pride of Eireann: Mairi offered an impressed look toward the Duke, then bowed her head reverently before aptly turning the conversation over to Jack. She could command, and she was a symbol--but she was not a strategist. Moving forward, she went to socialize with Bess, hardly realizing the faux pas she'd made before her own brother. Mairi and Bess spoke of tournaments, details of the arrangement, and so forth.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick, meanwhile, kept hold of Seraphim's hand and answered the direct question. "About four hundred, but three hundred gathered. The others are scattered, an' some in bad shape or unarmed." He looked at Seraphim, trying to provide support, scared out of his kilted mind on how it would go when it was time to be alone with her. There was a truth in his eyes--he really did have something to tell her. Letting go of her had, Carrick casually put his arm around her shoulders gently before he continued speaking to Jack. "I have not seen Collin O'Donnell...but have heard stories of him livin' an' dyin'...he may have some men, loyal men; don't know how many or where they are." He spoke Collin's name only after Mairi had left to speak with Beathag--after all, he was usually a sensitive subject for the Ceannfort. He looked at Seraphim, scared all of this might frighten her away. It was easy for the warrior to wear his heart on his sleeve before two other couples quite obviously in love.
Shame of Life: Her nimble fingers were lightly twined with Carrick's, Seraphim keeping her mouth shut, not that she spoke too much to begin with. But she listened, her heart pounding harder with all the talk of war, she just left one of those...but that was how she met Carrick, supposing they couldn't be all that bad. Right. Anyway..his hand left hers adn then went around her. She'd lean into him just a tad, her hands folding before herself once more, a thumb toying with the rope bracelet.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam wrapped his arm around Bess and winked at her as he could see Jack mentally calculating the strength... "Oh and Jack... Ah want mae cannon back..." he teased... Looking to the Ceannfort... "We shall discuss reimbursement for the losses once Ulster is free o'Ainglish... aye?" he smiled and spoke softly... "War machines daen't come cheap... though the Ainglish captured daes bring a nice ransom..."
JackoftheFaerie: Jack was quiet for a few moments, thinking on the amount of men that could be called upon to reinforce the town. Slowly, he began to nod his head. The Irish-Scots alliance would be just shy of one thousand men. More, depending on how many men Collin had. There was a smile as looked to Mairi, "We shall be out numberin' tha Anglish."
Pride of Eireann: "Aye," Mairi spoke. "If Declan has managed to save his coin, we can repay in that, an' make up fer the rest in the buildin' of ships. We'll replenish yer navy and make it a greater force." She raised her glass to the Duke before glancing again to Jack. She looked positively relieved.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick, meanwhile, wanted to stay as long as humanly possible. What was he going to say to Seraphim? There was only the truth. Discreetly, he withdrew some papers from his belt and handed them to her.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi's look to Jack was also a question concerning ransom. She generally didn't seek ransom, she just killed high ranking English, and with great pleasure. but she would remain quiet now.
Shame of Life: The papers would hit Phim's palm and she'd look up at Carrick a moment, she'd shift a bit under his arm, leaning further into him as she unfolded the papers. Green-golds were racing over a quite short bit of writing before she'd frown a bit at the signature at the bottom. Her Father's. Then she'd reread the letter befor quickly shuffling to the next one, Carrick's from the signature she'd glimpse first. She shook a little under the man's arm before standing straight. She'd lift her head to look at him. That warm, oddly accented voice was barely heard. "I ...will be outside. I need some air." And more room to read the letters, she tended to pace when she read letters.With that, she'd gently excuse herself from the room and moved back the way Carrick and her had come.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess toasted the armada that would sail to Ulster... yet another accollade toward the Gelic Renaissance - to run the Ainglish from Irish soil... hopefully, this time for good... "Ah shall be looking forward to a grand alliance Ceannfort..."
JackoftheFaerie: It would, indeed, be easy to say that the two Irish that drew near the audience chamber of the Blue Castle each embodied an aspect of Irish way of life. For the Irishman, it was the aspect of courage, war, and unbowed resistance that he presented for the Duke and Duchess of the Winged Isle. Jack was dressed in his martial uniform, although it had been suitably altered for the coming battles. The Irishman wore a cuirass over his cream colored shirt and waistcoat, marking him ready for war. From his right shoulder to his left hip, the Irishman wore also a sash fashioned from the tartan cloth of Ireland's O'Brien family. The blues, greens, and streaks of yellow serving well to show his allegiance. Although, if the truth were told, it was in fact the Celtic "M" that had been embroidered with golden thread that showed who held his heart. The Irishman's boots had endured a rare torment: they had been cleaned and polished. And yet, when the light caught the jackboots that came to mid-calf, one could still see the places where light rippled and showed where deep scratches had been worn into their leather over years of use. Despite his courage in battle and his eloquent tongue, it was still somewhat off-putting to find himself approaching royals to plead a case. The Irishman reached up with the good fingers of his right hand, his ring and little finger still bandaged tightly together and held immobile by splint, tugged lightly at his cravat. Quietly, he gave a worried look to Mairi. Then he slid his tricorn hat, made of black felt and fringed around the top with royal green feathers, atop his head. Then he lightly rested his hand upon the basket-hilt of his claymore, as they drew closer to the guarded doors.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi was clad in a very plain homespun dress, hints of the O'Brien tartan about her as well. She wore her fiery hair up in a netted snood, which was adorned with peculiar looking beads. About her neck was a shell necklace, and also woven in her hair was a crown of leaves. Her face was painted and adorned with woad; her attitude calm and authoritative--thaat much could be told simply by her posture. She offered confidence to Jack as they drew near. Mairi was armed with a matching sword, and expected to once again hand it over. Lastly, she carried her golden harp, a reminder of all that was precious.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick and Seraphim had just arrived from Ulster. The Irishman, clad also in the O'Brien tartan, moved as quickly as Seraphim would walk to her sister. The bearded man had a brooding look about him, but was very gentle in the way that he clasped the woman's hand. "I'd like to catch her before she's in this negotiation, a stor," he said to Seraphim, though seeing Mairi and Jack from a distance, it looked as though that wouldn't be possible. Nearly out of breath himself, he stopped to give her a chance to rest. "She'll adore ye."
Shame of Life: Phim was quite excited to be asked along on the boat ride to Skye, away from the glare of Fafnir who had not been a happy sailor the last few weeks. She did not know they were heading towards anything important, she wasn't told. Her worn brown leather ankle boots were quiet as they moved along, of course she seemed to move to her own strand of time. Her underdress was cleaned linen, the sleeves blounced, tying at her wrists, though the over dress was that modest homespun of deep green. It was a slender dress for that lithe form, a cross cross of brown leather ties closed the overdress secruly. Of course, Seraphim's hair was covered as it usually was, though this time by a warm saffron length of linen, twisted and knoted firmly at the back of her head from short trip over the water to Skye. The green and yellow mix made those hazel hues green-gold as she took in the sites, growing more nervous by the minute, though that stoic face would not show it. Her hand was warm, dry, her thin wrist had a rope made bracelet around it. She'd look to Carrick as he took her hand and then she'd motion lightly with it. "Go before me, I can find my way..."
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess sat in the chairs, whispering between them. The two lovers held hands, when their hushed words changed from personal to political. Bess noticed people gathering in the hallways... Once the guards announced the party wishing audience... their hands finnally, and reluctantly separated... Adam's booming command voice echoed... "Enter !!" then the party were ushered into the elaborate political forum... the simple chairs elevated slightly above the floor. As the two representatives from Free Ulster made their way before them, Bess smiled, and Adam rose. "Welcome tae Turas Lan... de heart 'o Skye... Ah 'ave read the prelim'n'ry scrolls, but Ah prefer tae hear it from ye own voices... and see yer eyes... for Ah belive the eyes speak de truth..." sitting down, Adam winks at Bess, then looks to the representatives... and nods.
JackoftheFaerie: The Irishman hesitated at that. His voice was not often used for courtly speaking and would ring just a bit oddly in his ears without the accompanying din of war. Jack hesitated, before speaking, "M'laird, m'lady..." The Irishman was slow in speaking, not out of fear of offending. But because he was not used to being in such a setting as this. "We dae thank ye true an' 'eartfelt fer allowin' us shelter an' peace wit' in yer lands... 'owever, we are Irish an' cannae shelter e'er in the 'arbors an' ports of our allies. Nae when tha Anglish yoke lays cruelly upon our lands. We dae 'ave need ta return an' safe guard our home." And for now, that was as eloquent as the Irishman could be. He had not yet managed to gain the true frame of mind of a diplomat. There was a quiet look toward Mairi, offering a signal to her.
Pride of Eireann: When they entered, Mairi offered a nod as low as she could go without bowing. The Ceannfort looked a vision of the earth--she was never meant for court life of any kind, and chose to show her true self here and now, keeping careful hold of her harp, an ever present reminder that she was here for the good of her people above all else. Mairi looked slightly more plump than Bess would have remembered, and she would know why. The fair-skinned Ceannfort looked healthy and able, and watched with approval as Jack spoke their introductory words. "Thank ye for yer welcome, an' yer hospitality as we've stayed here." Mairi's eyes caught Beathag's gaze at first, showing her the honesty projected. Bess preferred things straight to the point, as did Mairi, and the two were friends now. There was no need for a reassessment of power. "We have the main concern of Ulster's independence, but we have a lot to offer in terms of the cultural contributions ye'll need to unite our peoples against those that would do us harm," she began. She looked back to Jack, then primarily at the Duke. "Our forces are prepared to retake Ulster, an' our people are prepared to follow all the laws that are followed in yer land."
Pride of Eireann: Carrick looked Seraphim over, in approval of the color of the dress. She looked like the wife of an Irishman already. Leaning over, he kissed her on the forehead and withdrew a cord from beneath his tunic, kilt, and brat: it held two charms--a Celtic cross given to him by Declan, and a serpent eating its own tail. "No, they've already gone in. We'll walk at yer pace now, a stor. I dislike keeping me own affection fer ye hidden, but here we are free to be ourselves while we visit." Carrick placed another kiss on her hand. They had shared less chaste kisses, but both ardor and kindness shown in his eyes. "My sister will love ye as a sister of her own," he encouraged her to walk on slowly.
Shame of Life: Seraphim blushed at the affection Carrick was showing her. Her own pace was sure to drive him insane as she would attempt to pick it up a bit. She was use to her own drum, then again, being much more long legged than her village women, she'd slow to let them catch her up and what not. To be honest, she had few clothes, but it wouldn't matter soon. She'd be wearing the "man" clothes in her smithy day and night, or so the impression lead her to believe. Her gaze dropped to the grasses as he mentioned his sister again and she felt as if she might vomit form the nerves that took her. Her hand squeezed his gently.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam smiles... as Bess speaks... "Yaer truly welcome in Skye... and Ah knaew how yae feel... tis understandable to yearn faer yeae own homelands..." Then Adam smiles and looks to the pair... "Ah echo M'Lady's feelings... Skye is our 'ome naew, but our ancestry and past lingers elsewhere..." Bess smiles at Mairi and nods slightly, friends of old... Listening to the Ceannfort, Adam stepped down from the elevated platform to stand next to her... "Are yae ready tae take on the Ainglish? ALone? Dae yae stand ready faer a fight? These are the questions I have and would like an answer... would yae die tae the last man and woman for freedom... o' Ulster... or Skye?" then he paused and moved slightly, looking back at the Ceannfort, giving her proper respect as one would do royalty...
"The laws are naet strict.. but we demand loyalty...as well as when we lend out swords, we provide loyalty as well..." he begins pacing a bit in contemplation... the looks to the man and the Ceannfort... "Skye has her own money... yers wouild be respected here and changed at a bank at reasonable exchange... The Griffon is becoming international... " he looks away then back to Bess... then to Mairi... "If yu give Skye yer loyalty... Ah would be prepared to lend assistance to fight the Ainglish... could yu...would yu swaer fealty to Skye...?"
JackoftheFaerie: It would be the Irishman who would answer his voice, "I dae beg fergiveness, m'laird, iffen I speak out of turn." The Irishman was quiet for a but a few beats, before he continued, "Ulster shall ne'er swear itself inta servitude er place itself in tha position o' being 'neath another. We shall nae swear fealty ta Skye. Wha' would such fealty would confer upon those tha' count Ulster as their 'ome an' tha Ceannfort o' highest o' authority? I dare sae, goode sir, tha' many o' those in Ulster would simply see tha' Griffon as replacin' tha Anglish crown." Jack was quiet for a long while, meeting Adam's eyes with his own. What Adam would see in Jack's eyes was what every government man had seen when looking into Jack's eyes: a defiance, a willingness to reject every flag as his own. Save for one. In times past, it had been the black flag that the Irishman had served. The black flag that said he served only his own ship and crew. Now, it was the Lamh Dhearg that Jack served. Served with a passion and loyalty. "We shall nae swear featly ta Skye, fer our people will nae. Tha Ceannfort an' I are only able ta be offerin' ye alliance an' friendship. Tha', an' nothin' else, is what we offer."
Pride of Eireann: Mairi was visibly disturbed by the use of the word fealty, though her indications were subtle. She arched a brow and allowed Jack to speak--her thoughts rested where did his. "Ulster will aid Skye in times of war. Jack has spoken me own feelings on serving another. Let it be said that I truly wish Ulster did not need an arrangement of this sort--but we do, an' we are grateful for the chance. I am doing this to save me people from losin' their own cultural identity, an' I feel that our sovereign state is necessary for that. Ye will find our ships to be the finest--if ye supply wood, we will build up yer navy. I hear we've a new master blacksmith who will upgrade all weapons. We are makin' more than a comeback, our dear friends, an' we've more than horses an whiskey to offer ye...we've the true spirit of the Gaels, an' the songs, stories, poems, and courage to see it through. If we stay with the terms of the preliminary agreement, Ulster remains committed--but it must be clear that we are an independent place; a sovereign state of our own. Ye have me word, though, that our armies will remain true to Skye unless ye ally with the Anglish." The Ceannfort clasped her heart firmly and looked to the Duke and Duchess for an answer. She had hope in her eyes--truth be told, she held the ultimate weapon in her hand. Few knew that she had once played the harp of the Dagda itself, and had learn its three prized strains. The Ceannfort could no doubt persuade the pair with one such song, but chose not to. Whatever may come would do that on its own accord, not by will of the ancient gods, love them as she did.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick didn't mind the pace, but he didn't say much, either. As they approached the gates, he addressed the guards. "I am Carrick Tuatha'an of Ulster; I am here to see the Ceannfort. This is Seraphim, a master blacksmith who has traveled a long way to meet her." The bearded Irishman looked as though he expected a fight. He kept light hold of Seraphim's hand the entire time. "I come also with news from the Archbishop of Dunluce and urgent news for the Ceannfort's ears alone." He looked to Seraphim as he awaited their admittance. Things were dire,a nd he hadn't told her. He had gotten her to safety. If they did not get the military support required this very night, his intention was to leave her here, where it was safe, and to return within the week. "All will be well, a stor," he reassured her.
Shame of Life: She would blink at Carrick's words, looking to him with a small frown playing on that full pink mouth. Her gaze then left his and just looked a their hands together, keeping her saffron wrapped head bowed. She didn't know what to say, since not a word was spoken to her about what was going on. Besides that, she was thinking furiously about his family, afride they'd be like hers. Harsh. But her head would lift a bit and look about, glancing at the guards, then Carrick from moment to moment.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam focused on the man... then smiled... "Yer right M'Lord... Ah'd ne'r expect servitude... jus' loyalty tae brethern... Sae then would yae agree tae an alliance wit Skye, as Skye would align wit Ulster for her freedom... and tae fight the Ainglish..." Adam laughs... "Ah like yer style sir... If'n yae would had signed up for all Ah proposed, Ah would 'ad denied any assistance... baet yae speak fair... wot yae believe in... and THAT means more tae mae..." Maybe inappropriately, but Adam winked at Bess and patted the man upon his shoulder...... Adam looked at the woman and smiled... Had he planned it this way?... of course... he wanted to see grit... and grit is what he got... The Ainglish had sheep that followed the Judas goat...he wanted alliances that bade him the alliances he needed... trustworthy, strong, and adament... Adam stepped to the Ceannfort... looking at her with that charming smile... sea-green eyes staring at her as if searching for the window to her soul... "M'Lady... Ah dunna want yer lands... yer culture... nor fealty... Ah want a strong alliance...one tae make us all grow... as Ah offered all other alliances... tae be free from Ainglish... We kin have the scribes write up the agreement... but knaew Skye shall aid Free Ulster..." his calloused hands took hers... with a smile of reassurance.
JackoftheFaerie: Jack stood quietly as he listened to Adam speak his words. Like his style? There would be just the faintest cant of his head, as he watched how Adam moved and what he spoke. Truth be told, Jack was trying to read the man. The fight for Ulster, for Dunluce, would come soon enough. When it came, the true strength of the alliance would be tested. Jack did his best to hide a smirk, for he knew that Mairi let only one read her eyes -- her soul -- like an open book. Mairi would show Adam only what she wished. It was Jack that could peel by Mairi's layers and see her true soul.
Pride of Eireann: She saw the same honesty in the duke and duchess that she had seen in Jack the moment she met him--which was ironic, considering he was probably the seediest pirate in Dunseverick. And yet, there had been something about him, as there was about her own people, and about the pair before her now. She nodded at what Adam said. "And so it is agreed," was all she would say. She nearly felt like her brother Declan the Archbishop of Dunluce, who need only say something to decree it so. She had nearly lost her nerve--and perhaps her dignity, but Jack had done his job as Consort and spoke out of turn precisely when necessary. Their relationship was far beyond a romance--it was complicated but smooth overall, held together by very ancient ties. It was even rumored that the pair were so much of Ireland they bled green, though that particular rumor was false. "We will sign the necessary paperwork then," she assured Adam. Lifting her head proudly, she felt that she had compromised little and had gained a great deal for Ulster.
Pride of Eireann: It was then that Carrick appeared, much to the Ceannfort's surprise. The brutish warrior was bringing a woman by the hand and looking at Mairi alone. Clearly he did not realize he was in the presence of the leaders of this land. At least his cursed dog wasn't with him, only a woman who appeared to lack backbone upon Mairi's first assessment. Before she could say a word, Carrick spoke. "I need to be speakin' with ye alone, deifieur." He didnt's eem willing to let go of the woman's hand, however, taking a subconsciously protective stance in front of her.
Shame of Life: Carrick had lead her past the guards and into the room with few others. She felt like they were intruding. Blinking again, though as she felt gazes upon her, she'd straighten up again, to her full 'manish' height. That pleasantly blank look in place as she cokeed her head just so to the side as she gave a glance at each. A light flush across her freckled cheeks as she bowed her head a bit, giving a little bob of a curtsy. The whole while, she never let go of Carrick's large hand.
Ignia Ferroque: Bess motioned to the servant waiting in the wings... who inturn handing a glass of ale to each member... Bess speaking with a smile of accomplishment for both Skye and Free Ulster... "Tis some o'Turas Lan's best ale... let's toast to the alliance... and help pave the way faer a Gaelic Renaissance that Adam and Ah believe in so much..." Adam echoed her toast... "Here here!!" He too compromised little, and gained much... with Ulster regained...Ireland would be next... then the English would not be at his backdoor. Then an unexpected pair entered... his land...his chambers...her people... he would allow her to handle this...unless...
JackoftheFaerie: Jack was moving quickly before too much could be done. Gently, he took Carrick's arm and lead him away. Softly, he said, "Tis good ta see ye again, Carrick." There was a glance toward the Duke and Duchess before he murmured, "Tha Ceannfort signs a treaty now, m'friend. What news 'ave ye?" As the Consort and the Ceannfort's brother spoke, it would be clear the news was dire. The way the two men, warriors both, spoke it was clear that the news would demand immediate action. After glancing to confirm the news, Jack nodded. Then as he strode back to Mairi's side, he spoke, "Tha Anglish are sendin' a force against tha' town o' Dunluce. What men tha' Ceannfort 'as there cannae repeal due ta a lack o' supplies an' men." He did not try to keep his voice low or keep such dire news from their new allies. As he spoke, however, he kept his eyes on the Duke and Duchess. Ulster was in need of aide and this had been her clearest and pure call for aide. It was not muddled by diplomatic talk. "Wit' out suitable relief, tha' town will fall. As tha townsmen 'ave refused ta parley wit' the Anglish, tha towns men except only what tha rites o' wargrant them.' Which was that every man, woman, and child that resisted the English would be put to death. "Tha Archbisop o' St. Patrick's tis also put ta flight, fer tha Anglish 'ave accused him o' blasphemies an' other sins. I can be sayin', m'laird, m'lady, tha' such accusations are nae true." There was a pause, "Fer I know Fat'er Declan ta' be a devout an' pious man.... fer a convert ta tha' Christ-child."
Pride of Eireann: Mairi's heart sank at the news. She nearly lost grip on her harp as she turned to her brother with sad eyes. Amidst all this, the Ceannfort looked to the woman at his side. "This is the woman accredited with crafting me sword, then?She will make ye a good wife." Mairi was rather rough around the edges compared to Seraphim, but she stepped forward and offered Seraphim a rather uncharacteristic embrace, not realizing that Carrick had not yet taken it upon himself to win her hand. Or that he had--but that he had yet to win it. "Seraphim, welcome to me clann. This is Jack, Consort an' admiral. The Duke an' Duchess of Skye, our most valuable ally." Mairi's voice was more than a bit shaken by the news, and it showed in a tremulous tone that could be detected by most present. She opened herself up, physically, to the Duke and Duchess, for the moment hiding behind the formality of introduction. "The aforementioned master blacksmith. Her weapons are so balanced, they make one man fight like two."
Pride of Eireann: Carrick was completely dumbfounded by Mairi's words. He had in no way secured permission for Seraphim's hand. Part of his motivation was of course that he could not court the woman in public because of what the English would do to her if they found out. He wanted her safe, in a place where she could concentrate and work, where he could watch over her and visit her. But now he was ultimately red faced and scared; white in the knuckles.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi, still stunned, took hold of Jack's hand after sharing a glance to her brother about the dire situation in Dunluce. She wondered if Seraphim was already with child. "It seems that we must soon depart fer dear Dunluce," she said. She would not assume the Duke and Duchess would agree so soon--but their help was required. As a sign of good faith, Mairi drank the drink. She would need it this night.
Shame of Life: As Carrick left with the other man, it looked to be the man who had punched another in the face at the Skye dock when she was picking up her smelting irons. Her head tilted a bit as her hands folded before her, since she had nothing else to do. But her head would lift as the man spoke and then blinked as the woman ...hugged her. She'd blush at her words, the rise in color clashing with the saffron hair scarf that hid her dark locks, she'd awkwardly return the embrace turning her head a little away from the four to glance at Carrick with a little lift of her lips before wiping it away before looking at the four again. The lady moved so fast, she'd just nod her head a bit, not attempting to speak, as if she could right now.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess waited... drinking their ale and not gawking, but an occasional glance, but their ears did listen and then they whispered to one another... Bess looks to a messenger and motions for him... "Tis trouble in Eire... Send word tae Sir Philip o'Raasay... Tell de man tae ready 30 o'his hips... for assemblance and tae be at the Ceannfort's command..." Adam chimed in... "plus provide 10 soldiers and 10 archers per ship... three o'de ships with cannon... 4 o'de ships shall be heavy galleys..." looking to the Ceannfort... "Yu shall have 23 ships and 3 more with cannon of 6 each...... Ah kin provide 10 men per ship and an additonal 10 archers per.... and they shall be ready at mid day on the morrow... is that sufficient?" Adam didn't like giving up his newest weapon in the arsenal, but cannon would outgun any English ship of the day... they could use cannon on land, but had no effort into their ships... this is what he pondered while Mairi spoke. The messenger had already departed for the Isle of Raasay... and Sir Philip, a Templar in hiding, would know by the signal fires what to do... for Adam and Bess now had plans in place for future skirmishes. Adam wrapped his arm around Bess as they looked to the contingent.
JackoftheFaerie: The Irishman cleared his throat quietly, before he offered, "M'laird?" Jack quietly waited to see if he had the Duke's attention. "I dae big yer fergivenesss iffen I speak in error. " Then he said, "Mah commission 'as nae yet been terminated in Skye's fleet." That said, the Irishman was already turning over the figures in his mind. With the Immram, the Echtra, and the Lagan, that put the total to twenty-six ships. With the four-hundred and sixty men being offered from Skye and the 125 sea-borne soldiers serving aboard the Immram alone. A relief column of some five hundred or more souls would be marching on Dunluce relief. Also, five galleys would be setting sail as well when one included Robb's ship. There was a half-turn toward Mairi, "Ceannfort? We shall 'ave some five 'undred men ta march ta the relief o' tha town." Then he turned, "Carrick, 'ow many dae ye 'ave in er guerillas?"
Pride of Eireann: Mairi offered an impressed look toward the Duke, then bowed her head reverently before aptly turning the conversation over to Jack. She could command, and she was a symbol--but she was not a strategist. Moving forward, she went to socialize with Bess, hardly realizing the faux pas she'd made before her own brother. Mairi and Bess spoke of tournaments, details of the arrangement, and so forth.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick, meanwhile, kept hold of Seraphim's hand and answered the direct question. "About four hundred, but three hundred gathered. The others are scattered, an' some in bad shape or unarmed." He looked at Seraphim, trying to provide support, scared out of his kilted mind on how it would go when it was time to be alone with her. There was a truth in his eyes--he really did have something to tell her. Letting go of her had, Carrick casually put his arm around her shoulders gently before he continued speaking to Jack. "I have not seen Collin O'Donnell...but have heard stories of him livin' an' dyin'...he may have some men, loyal men; don't know how many or where they are." He spoke Collin's name only after Mairi had left to speak with Beathag--after all, he was usually a sensitive subject for the Ceannfort. He looked at Seraphim, scared all of this might frighten her away. It was easy for the warrior to wear his heart on his sleeve before two other couples quite obviously in love.
Shame of Life: Her nimble fingers were lightly twined with Carrick's, Seraphim keeping her mouth shut, not that she spoke too much to begin with. But she listened, her heart pounding harder with all the talk of war, she just left one of those...but that was how she met Carrick, supposing they couldn't be all that bad. Right. Anyway..his hand left hers adn then went around her. She'd lean into him just a tad, her hands folding before herself once more, a thumb toying with the rope bracelet.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam wrapped his arm around Bess and winked at her as he could see Jack mentally calculating the strength... "Oh and Jack... Ah want mae cannon back..." he teased... Looking to the Ceannfort... "We shall discuss reimbursement for the losses once Ulster is free o'Ainglish... aye?" he smiled and spoke softly... "War machines daen't come cheap... though the Ainglish captured daes bring a nice ransom..."
JackoftheFaerie: Jack was quiet for a few moments, thinking on the amount of men that could be called upon to reinforce the town. Slowly, he began to nod his head. The Irish-Scots alliance would be just shy of one thousand men. More, depending on how many men Collin had. There was a smile as looked to Mairi, "We shall be out numberin' tha Anglish."
Pride of Eireann: "Aye," Mairi spoke. "If Declan has managed to save his coin, we can repay in that, an' make up fer the rest in the buildin' of ships. We'll replenish yer navy and make it a greater force." She raised her glass to the Duke before glancing again to Jack. She looked positively relieved.
Pride of Eireann: Carrick, meanwhile, wanted to stay as long as humanly possible. What was he going to say to Seraphim? There was only the truth. Discreetly, he withdrew some papers from his belt and handed them to her.
Pride of Eireann: Mairi's look to Jack was also a question concerning ransom. She generally didn't seek ransom, she just killed high ranking English, and with great pleasure. but she would remain quiet now.
Shame of Life: The papers would hit Phim's palm and she'd look up at Carrick a moment, she'd shift a bit under his arm, leaning further into him as she unfolded the papers. Green-golds were racing over a quite short bit of writing before she'd frown a bit at the signature at the bottom. Her Father's. Then she'd reread the letter befor quickly shuffling to the next one, Carrick's from the signature she'd glimpse first. She shook a little under the man's arm before standing straight. She'd lift her head to look at him. That warm, oddly accented voice was barely heard. "I ...will be outside. I need some air." And more room to read the letters, she tended to pace when she read letters.With that, she'd gently excuse herself from the room and moved back the way Carrick and her had come.
Ignia Ferroque: Adam and Bess toasted the armada that would sail to Ulster... yet another accollade toward the Gelic Renaissance - to run the Ainglish from Irish soil... hopefully, this time for good... "Ah shall be looking forward to a grand alliance Ceannfort..."
