(1867-09-04) Time for a Break
Time for a Break
Summary: After working to near exhaustion, Vorian is finally persuaded to take a break from the rescue efforts at the t'Cordova manse.
Date: 1867-09-04
Related: Follows sometime after Recovery and Cleanup
Players:
Amara  Vorian  

Noble Tier - Ostvor - Couviere
Right off the lowlands gate to Ostvor is the Noble Tier of the City. The highest level of the city other than the gates that link it to the rest of Couviere goes through one long winding central street that goes down in a curve throughout Ostvor. From the lowlands to the mountains, the city is laid out like a twisted hedge then, a cork and a stopper of a glass bottle that wine flows out of. The nobles of the city live in the highest district as befits their class and their caste. Houses here are prosperous, as the nobles, their personal retinues, and the ruling class of the city and those who are staying with them stay. Large houses made of stone painted with the heraldry of the houses staying within them are common, most of them several stories tall. The ruling nobles of the city have the largest complex in Ostvor…a literal castle, with accompanying keep, nestled on the exact center of the hill, the castle itself the highest point of the city. It is apparent that the castle is directly in line between the only two gates to the city…and that it was fully intentional by design. Small gardens for each of the estates are common, though many of the houses are smaller in comparison to the general richness of the city. The layout of it and a long, curving path towards the mountains means there is less space available for larger houses compared to other large cities of similar richness. This is balanced somewhat by the opulence present. Many of the houses, for their size, are very richly decorated, particularly with stonework and statues around them. Many are also walled off with heavy metal gates separating them.
1867-09-04

The work continues.

Men come and go from the crews, and even Vorian t'Maren is finally convinced to take a much-needed rest. For such a lean man, he's driven himself with a surprising strength, ingratiating himself with the volunteers from other Houses with a continual stream of jests and curses. But the fatigue bears him down until he stumbles under a basket of rubble, taking a hard knee.

Men come, lifting the rocks away and brushing down the filthy young knight. They reiterate what Elrick said to him hours before. 'You've done enough, Sir.' And finally, the young man admits that he's simply spent.

Looking down at himself, Vorian seems to realize anew that his hands are, well, skinned raw. "I hear there's ale over with the Healers, sir," says a man — a servant, by the looks of him, who has nonetheless been toiling for hours. "Ale, eh?" Vorian offers up a weary smile, patting the man on the shoulder, and trudges to where Amara and other healers are working. Whether the ale truly exists, it's a good excuse to get the exhausted knight off his feet for awhile.
Corvin has disconnected.

It was a day of experience and learning for Amara, even if the variety of curses was what she was learning most about this day. The majority of injures were similiar to ones she had dealt with back home, even if the causes were different. A few survivors had been found, but so had those who had not made it. Crushed under the debris, and from their attire, servants to the House.

Food and drinks had been brought to help sustain the workers through the hours of hard work, even if many were taking very few breaks. With Vorian appearing to finally take a break, Amara is gathering up one of the jugs that do appear to exist. But what exactly is in them, is yet an unknown to the approachign knight. The young womman does move to meet him,"Sir, you have worked hard, please do come and rest a bit. We have some sandwiches on hand and I can get you somemthing to drink?" Her eyes widen just a ting when she takes in the rawness of his hands,"And looks like your hands could use a bit of tending to."

Vorian hesitates, even now, glancing around. But there are plenty of other men resting. It's really not that embarrassing to take a seat, is it? It looks like it is, to the young man. But Amara's words win him over — and that jug in her hands certainly helps. He slumps down onto a bench, nodding his head quietly. "We're hearing that some people are still stuck in the servant's wing, but it's all calming down now." By which he means — as Amara likely knows — that the odds of finding anyone else alive are rapidly approaching zero.

"I heard there was ale," he continues, gazing at that jug hopefully. And then he looks up, blinking red-rimmed eyes. "Ah. Forgive me, Lady. I am Sir Vorian t'Maren." He doesn't rise, though certainly that would've been the polite thing to do. But even this formal tone seems entirely out-of-place, given the state of the man.

Distractedly, he lifts up his hands, gazing at his bloody knuckles. "Heh." It's more an exhalation than a laugh. "I told everyone to be careful about that."

More were resting as the day had grown longer, a mixture, as he says himself, the chance of finding any others alive lessening and the fact that people could only toil at the hard labor for so long before requiring some form of break. Amara does offer a smile to the knight as he takes a seat. "Hopefully they will be reached soon, and have the luck we had last evening." There had been a reason those feasting had ended up in servants rooms.

"There is nothing to forgives, Sir Vorian," is the easy response from Amara. "I believe we are allowed a slip in a few of the required pleasantries on a day like today. I am pleased to meet you, Sir, and I am Lady Amara t'Tremaine." That edge of formality coming as she does offer that introduction in return. "I am afraid the ale got drunk up first, but we do have some mead and it would seem plenty of wine. "

She raises the jug slightly,"I have the mead here if that's what you'd prefer over the wine." Seeming to expect that to be the case, not many had chosen wine as a first choice. "After a drink, I can take a look at your hands and make sure we get them cleaned up before any of that dirt decides it wants to stay with you." She smiles at his tired almost laugh, but not quite,"I think everyone was worried more about other matters than if they scraped up their knuckles a bit."

A glimmer of interest shows in Vorian's features as he glances up again. "You're Sir Elrick's sister. I like Elrick. Hard worker, hard fighter." The words are musing, more to himself than to Amara, but it seems that she's become somewhat more real now that he can place her. "I'll take the mead, yes." He looks the young woman up and down, noting with evident approval the signs of work. "It's good of you to pitch in," he continues.

"It's as bad as a siege, isn't it?" His smile softens the words as he gestures around. "I've seen blizzards in the North that would freeze your eyes from your head, and winds, but I've never seen wind break stone." His voice is awed rather than horrified, and he sweeps his gaze across the dead and wounded with, if not quite a lack of passion, certainly a bit of callousness. He's hardened to such sights, it seems.

"There's something to be said for a day like today, you know," he continues in an oddly cheerful tone. "I've been working side by side with Rivanans. And I would swear that I saw a chief manservant hauling rubble in his finest clothing. Finer than mine."

A nod comes easily,"Yes, I am Elrick's sister." A hit of pride coming to her voice with her answer. Amara reaches to take up a mug and seeing to filling it with mead when he makes his choice. "I couldn't just sit idly by, not with so many being injuried." Handing him the mug of mead as she gestures towards one of the men hauling aside a large chunk of broken stone,"I'd never be able to help with doing that. But I can help seeing to wounds and fetching food for those who can."

Amara's gaze shifts to follow where he looks, though her eyes do not linger long upon the dead. It was not a sight she was accustomed to facing. "I did not know that such a storm coudl exist to create winds that could bring so much destruction in so short a time." Amara shudders just slightly at the memory of the prior evening.

"I…had not looked at it that way," Amara's eyes blinking slightly after he makes his remarks about the day. "But everyone has been pulling together, and working with one another. With little notion to who they are working with."

"It happens after a battle, as well." Vorian drinks the mead, smiling gratefully to the young woman as he swallows. Indeed, his eyes drift shut for a moment, savoring the strong honey-wine. "After Three Kings, I saw a Rivanan Lancer carry one of the Foxes into a field hospital. They became fast friends. Of course, I doubt they ever saw each other again." The young knight doesn't say what he was doing in the hospital himself. Perhaps he thinks it's evident.

"Disaster brings it out in people," he says. "The worst, too. Not only the best." A glance up and down the battered lane. "There will be looters tonight, when the sun goes down. Violence. I would advise you to be home and under guard before it begins." His cheerful tone has turned momentarily dour as he gulps down more mead, exhaling slowly.

"Anyhow," he says as he lays aside the mug, looking down at his raw hands with a grimace. "I suppose you need to be scrubbing this out, don't you?" He manages a whimsical note, hiding what appears to be a certain trepidation. "I suppose I can stand the sting."

Interest was genuinly given to Vorian as he spoke about what he had seen and experiences. They were things Amara had no experience with. "They might have seen one another at a tournament perhaps, they seem to be a way for Courvierians and Rivanaians that might not otherwise have chance to meet and see each other to catch up, even if only for a few moments." She does not ask after the details of the hospital, there were only so many reasons to be there. "It does sound like you have experience much and seen more, Sir Vorian."

News of violence to come, does have Amara's eyes widenning, a look given to the area around them. "Truly? People would…" She doesn't even finish the statement, knowing the truth of it. Even if she might not wish to believe it. "I am sure my brother, or sister, will ensure that I am well under guard for the evening." Even if more to do with a particular Southern Knight then worry about looters.

"I am afraid so, then a bit of cream and bandaging to help keep the dirt out yet, especially if you mean to help out some more." Amara offers a smile,"I am sure you've managed worse than a bit of a sting. Though I know being tired always seems to make even a little sting seem worse than it is. I'll do my best to be quick about it and not make it sting more or longer than it need be."

"Not so much, in truth," Vorian avers. He smiles a slow grin, considering. "Well, if I'm being honest, perhaps more than a little. Perhaps a bit of dashing and derring-do, back in the misty past." His dark features light up with the grin, dust shifting about. He offers up his hands. "I put myself entirely into your hands, Lady."

And then, more seriously, "Oh, people will always do what they can get away with. It's odd — the same man who'll rush into a burning building to save a child? He won't hesitate to snatch whatever gold he sees while he's doing it, as often as not. No one is all hero. Nor all villain, either." A glance over to where a rather villainous old soldier is sitting, his face so crossed-over with scars that it looks like someone has played tic-tac-toe on his cheek. "Except for that one. That one's a proper bastard."

The man, who is passing by with a load of rubble on his shoulder, snorts a laugh. "Well, you'd know, Sir Vorian. You'd know."

<FS3> Amara rolls Healer: Failure. (3 5 5 2 5 5 1 1 2 5 6 3)
<FS3> Amara rolls Healer: Great Success. (7 4 6 1 7 5 8 3 2 8 6 8)

"Maybe not so much as some, as you say. But certianly more than I've ever seen." Even if Amara is not entirely sure if that is good or bad. She goes on to explain,"My mother has kept me in Hartswood most of my life, I think because Antonia and Elrick were always away, and she didn't want to have another of us gone from her."

She stows the one jug and reaches for a basin and a bag of supplies, pulling along a makeshift stool. The later being used to put the basin and some supplies on rather than to sit. She actually knells as she takes up his hands to move them over the basin. Listening well to what he says yet, her eyes looking over at the soldier he points out. Her eyebrows raising, actually seeming to believe what he says about the man. Even if she might give the leathered old villian a half smile. It was the polite thing to do, right?

"I can see that though…people having a bit of both in them. Even if all we see is one thing or the other, or least seem to." Amara talking as she starts to work, but whether because she is tired, or nervous, or some other reason. The cleaning phase doesn't just string, but there isa bit of added blood drawn when she scrubs a bit much to get out a particularly stubborn bit of dirt. "Sorry," the apology coming quickly, knowing she's caused an added bit of pain. More than she should have. Quickly running a bit of water to clear the soap before she pats the area dry. Oddly enough, her touch afterwards is rather light and well practiced. The cream that she applies does help to take the sting out as it cools the angry skin. Even if she murmurs another,"Sorry about that." The young woman seeming a bit mortified by her mistake.

"Ow!" The yelp is positively un-manly. Or, perhaps, it's perfectly masculine. Everyone knows that men can bear great pains with stoicism, but the little ones always seem to provoke great agony. "Bloody.. Oh, forgive me!" The profanity slips out before the young knight can bite it off. And then the cream is applied, and the sting does seem somewhat lessened.

That leathery man-at-arms begins to laugh. It's a surprisingly rich noise, full of genuine good humor. "Don't mind'm, Lady," the commoner says to Amara with surprising forthrightness. "I remember he stubbed his toe when he was a lad, couldn't stop blubbing. Could you? Sir." The familiarity with which he mocks Vorian brings a rueful smile to the young man's features.

"I said it and I'll stand by it. A right bastard. Lady Amara, this is my Sergeant, Fallon. He likes to pretend he's my mother." A glance over at Fallon. "And an uglier mother I could not imagine. What your wife sees in you? I've no idea."

The banter helps him restore his equanimity, and he gives Amara a slow grin. "You truly have a delicate touch, Lady. I'm afraid I was rather rude." He seems capable of swapping between formality and profane, soldierly, speech. "I hope you'll forgive me. And Fallon, here. I'm afraid I spoil my lads, let them speak to me as they will."

Amara does cringe after he yelps. It wasn't the first time she'd heard a man yelp in what many would say is not an entriely manly way. She had seen bigger men act worse over little tiny splinters in the infirmary back home. It still baffled her a little that. "No…forgive me, I wasn't as careful as I should have been." Even if the bit of cursing may have caused a rather startled look.

Just as the rich and full laugh does by the look Amara is soon giving the leathery fellow. Her gaze soon shifting back and forther between the two with the banter that comes. It causing the young woman to ease a little as well. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Fallon," she bows her head to him in a polite fashion from where she yet kneels. She has a look that she is both amused and slightly mortified at the exchange and teasing. "It is good though to have people who want to look out for you, especially with the places you seem to go." Battles and sieges!!!

Once the cream was applied, a light bandage is secured over the wounds to help keep out dirt, least some, as it is also done so not to restrict movement. "Thank you, Sir. The master healer back home said I had a natural knack for doing these things. Though it does seem I have not been at the top of my game today." Amara gives a warm smile,"I will forgive you, if you will forgive me?" Her eyes shift back over to Fallon, the man getting a bit of a smile as well. "I've seen that some with the men in the infirmary, or with my brother and his men," even if Elrick may well keep a certain level of separation yet,"…a certain level of brotherhood, I think I have heard it called before."

"I was a bit of a troublemaker when I was a young boy. My knight often set me to standing the midnight watch with the men, to harden me. We grew to know one another too well." Vorian smiles ruefully. He seems to be waking up further with the conversation, his strength returning to him, at least in part. He has the ability to devote his whole attention to a person as they speak, and now he turns that ability toward Amara, listening to her with a grave attention as his hands are bandaged.

He does her the courtesy, as well, of considering what she says before responding. "Fallon wasn't my first Sergeant," he says quietly. And it's odd — the older soldier seems to recognize his cue, and quietly rises to depart. The pair do know one another well. "My first Sergeant died during the retreat to Valetta. Fallon and I, and the others, grew very close during our months there. Brotherhood, yes. We're responsible for one another now. I keep them alive, fed, paid, and they make me look good." A brief smile.

"Other knights have a different attitude," he continues. "Perhaps a better one. They feel that if there is no distance between themselves and their men, the men will not respect them. And that may well be true in most units. But it'd be.. false and foolish, I think, to try to act that way with my men." It's a surprisingly cogent explanation.

"And, yes. Of course." He pauses, his grin widening as he continues. "Of course I do forgive you for patching me up."

"You were?" A touch of disbelief, weren't all knights supposed to be all upstanding pilliars of…Wait, Amara knew her brother wasn't perfect. Maybe the bards tales weren't all true? Slowly putting away the remaining bandages and cream, taking care with the supplies much the same way a knight looks after their equipment. Even if many may dismiss the need when dealing with 'just' bandages.

The quietness that comes to his voice has Amara pausing in the task and a somber edge touching as if knowing what his next words may hold. Even if not the words themselves, but the meaning within them. "I am so sorry for the loss and hardship that you experienced then, Sir Vorian." Words that many have surely spoken, but her tone is genuine. It was no simple platitude repeated. "I am glad though that you did grow together and continue to look after one another."

Amara's brow furrows briefly in thought. "Yes, I have seen that. Even between Knights and their squires..different techniques, or attitudes as you say. I may only have just met you, Sir, but I think you would know your men and the best way to treat them and have them treat you." She faintly inclines her head towards where Fallon has gone off, some of the others. "I have seen how you work with them, and they you this day. I would say your attitude is what is best for you and them. Maybe it would not be best for another group." She gives a smile,"Just like it would not be best for me to have tried to become a knight. " Though his comment on forgiving her for patching him up does cause another smile to come and a bit of pink to touch her cheeks. "Or perhaps I should have."

Vorian grins at that faint blush, tipping his head briefly to one side, his eyes glinting with subdued mischief. It's hard to keep the man's more irrepressible nature down, it seems. He answers her with a more cheerful voice. "I think you're right. And when it matters, they strap down and do the task with admirable discipline."

"A knight? You? No, Lady. I'd rather you keep well away from bloody battlefields and heroic last stands. It'd ruin your hands, and you have a delicate touch." He lifts his own hands in an ironic display. "Calluses. Scars. Hangnails. Smashed thumbs." He grins more broadly, reaching to rub a hand through his beard. "And you'd have to put up with rather smelly sleeping arrangements, cold ground, sore muscles, bad jokes.." He waves a hand absently.

"No, Lady. I quite like you as you are. Knights must have something to fight for, after all." He looks rather pleased with himself, having come out with that.

Amara busies herself with putting the last things back into the small pack in those couple of blushing moments. Before finally rising back up, a hand brushing at her skirts to knock off the bit of dirt that has taken to clinging to them. "Proof then, that your attitude is just fine."

Her long hair shifts as she shakes her head,"My father might not quite agree with you, I think he sometimes still wishes I'd taken the path just like my brother and sister did." Amara gives a smile,"Though you are right, it would ruin my hands. But all that time has made your own ready enough to take on the work you did today." Her own hands would have been shredded to ribbons, unused to the hard labor. Just maybe wrinkling her nose a little bit as she tried to imagine the conditions. "You mean there are worse jokes then those my brother tells?"

His comment does have that bit of pink flourshing back to her cheeks. "Thank you, Sir, you are quite kind to say so. Though I don't think I am the sort that most knights think of when they are considering what it is they are fighting for."

"I'll let you in on a secret, Lady. Most knights on a battlefield are thinking of one of two things — blast it, I'm bored, or oh, dear, I hope I don't soil my armor. Warfare is nine parts boredom, with a smattering of sheer terror." Vorian grins again, tipping his head in an acknowledging nod. "But if it were like the songs, I'm quite certain you're mistaken. I'm sure there are many men who would tell you so, if they had the nerve."

Nerve — or cheekiness — is not something the t'Maren lacks, it seems. He smiles a slow, crooked grin. "Fathers are like that," he says after a few moments. "They always make you feel as though you've done something wrong. When in reality, they're quite proud. They're simply terrible at showing it."

He considers in silence for a moment, studying Amara. "Far worse jokes. Shall I tell you one that my men and I share, every time before a fight?"

Oh secret! Amara does lean just a little as he speaks just what the secret is. Blinking and giving him a look of surprise, neither thing was ever mentioned in the bard's tales or any of the wirrten tales of the battlefield. "Truly? How do they come up with all those stories, if that is what most are thinking?" She shakes her head,"I do not think so, but if you think so." Granted, none were likely to have nerve after the one knight who has ever dared to ask for her favor only ends up getting heavily targetted by her family in tournaments.

Amara cants her head as she looks at Vorian studying him a little. "So he is really proud?" It is something to consider. "Has your father done that to you then? How did you discover he was actually proud and not disappointed? He had to show it some how, didn't he?"

There is a small turn of fidgetting with her hands as Vorian considers her for those silent moments. "I…um…sure? As it is the only way to be certain there are worse jokes than his."

Vorian grins again, but this time there is a latent ferocity in his expression, and he lifts the mug to take a sip. "I always ask them," he says, "what they think their chances of survival are. I say, 'Hey, lads, what's everyone think of our chances today?'" His smile sharpens even further. "And they say, in response, "Sanguine, Sir Vorian!" He barks a laugh, then waits a moment, as though expecting Amara to join in.

"Sanguine. It's, uh. It means bloody. Also, optimistic. Sort of covers both the possibilities, see." It really is a terrible joke, and Vorian's smile fades to a sort of sheepishness. "It sounds better on a battlefield," he mutters. "Gives us a certain.. dash." So he thinks.

He clears his throat, rubbing at the side of his neck. "Well. About my father. He likely wore out his belt on my backside when I was a boy, and we were never particularly close before I left for the North. But I was gone six years, you see." He smiles over at the young woman. "When I came home, we sat and drank long into that first night, just he and I. Traded stories. Things he'd never told me before."

An edge of uncertainty does exist, Amara just not sure what she's gotten herself into by asking to actually hear that joke. Her eyebrows rise up slowly as he does tell the joke. She does end up blinking at the end, looking a touch confused and then uncertain when he does laugh. Managing a smile and half a chuckle. But otherwise she is fairly certian she missed what was supopsed to be funny about it. Then he explains it..and an "Oh…" comes followed by another 'Ohhhhh." when a bit more understanding finally hits.

A smiles comes,"Yes, that is a bad joke. But I think I can see how it gives the..dash." Maybe. "Especially, if it is something that is tradition between you and your men. It would maybe not be right if you didn't tell it, or tried to tell…well a better joke."

There is that turn again in her expression as the more somber matter is discussed. Fathers. "Oh…" She knew how training took one away, her siblings had left and been away often once they'd become pages. "So the time apart helped, for you. And having stories to trade." She chews on her lower lip a moment, before she manages a smile,"I do not think I will get that with my father. But maybe I will make him proud..someday."

Vorian clears his throat and reaches out with a bandaged hand, touching the girl's forearm. "Lady Amara? Look around." He gestures with his other hand, palm up, and flashes his too-bright grin again, the piratical gleam in his eye as he continues. "This is what an adventure actually looks like. You're having an adventure right this moment." A nod toward the stack of corpses, some of which are beginning to — rather inevitably — smell. "You've done battle with death today. Not many can say that."

And a nod given to the wounded men, to a fellow whose leg had required amputation but who will, if infection does not set in, probably survive. "And you won more than you lost." He drains his mead, setting it aside. "This is precisely the sort of time when a person's nature shines through. The good, and the bad. Your father may not know how to speak to you about it, but he'll see you've been tested."

A soft grunt as he flexes his hands. "And you survived."

Amara looks to the hand on her forearm before looking up to Vorian. A brief study being made with that turn of confusion in her eyes, before she does look around as he gestures to everything. Even if her gaze does not settle long on the corpses - that are also attracting their share of flies. "I….did not realize. Or to consider to think of it that way." She manages a bit of a smile as she looks back to him,"I am not sure it would be called a good adventure. They always sound more…exicting and…well fun…to read or hear of adventures."

His words do give Amara something to think over, it was not a way she'd look at any of it. But in truth, she'd not taken time to think upon it. Even been trying to avoid thinking about it, just doing to avoid remembering. "I did survive it." A half smile comes,"And father will talk to Elrick, not me about it. I would bet Elrick's already tried to find way to send him word. But you are right, I have survived…and didn't fail this test. " She pauses and glances at his bandages hands,"Least not to badly."

"An adventure," quotes Vorian with an air of one repeating a familiar line, "Is someone else, very far away, in deep shit." He grins, rises to his feet, and stretches slowly. There are a few audible clicks as he paces over to that jug of mead and refills his mug. The stench and the flies don't seem to even be noticed by the man. He takes a drink. "This is what they all look like. Tedium, hard work, moments of terror. I love adventuring, don't mistake me. Wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's."

"But I'm an idiot."

A deep belly-laugh and the filthy knight looks down at Amara as he paces back over. "I don't know your father," he admits after a few beats. "But if he's not proud of you and your brother after the past day, then I doubt his judgement." His frankness has a rather blunt quality to it. "My friend, that tornado was maybe the scariest thing I've ever lived through. Only thing that kept me from screaming was that I had a job to do. If I hadn't had something to keep my mind off.."

Amara listens with a slight cant to her head, a grin forming the more he recites just what an adventure is. Now that did fit what was in the tales. "I do think I see why the bard's tell very different tales from…well…this. No one would ever hire them to sing otherwise." She shakes her head fairly quickly,"I don't think you are an idiot at all, Sir Vorian. You have a passion for your life, your men for what you and they have accomplished. I don't think an idiot would care about anything, not like you seem to."

"He'll be proud of Elrick, I am sure of that. He kept me safe, and was out helping,"Amara giving a turn of her hand to the on going work. Work that Elrick had been part through out the day. A flicker of surprise comes when Vorian says the tornado was the scariest thing he's lived through. Hadn't he talked about sieges and some of the biggest battles she'd ever heard of. And…the tornado was scarier? "Elrick helped me to keep my mind from it…" Oh, she had screamed. "I do know it's the scariest thing I've ever been through. But I've not been through much, not seen things like you have. Nor tested near so much."

"Oh, battle's easy," Vorian says casually. A touch too casually, a glance to see if this impresses. But he also seems relatively serious. "Battle's about doing a job that you've been trained for all your life, see." Or at least, a t'Maren has been. The young knight runs a hand across his face and glances around. "You just do your job. You smile for your men, you tell jokes, you swing a piece of metal about until the other fellows go away.

"But a storm? You can't fight a storm. You can't kill a storm. Can't even tell it charming little stories to make it smile. Nothing you can do to a storm but pray at it." Vorian tsks softly and shakes his head. "Scary. I don't like being helpless. It makes me grumpy."

"Bards always miss the smelly bits, I notice. And artists. Have you ever noticed that? Artists always seem to forget about the guts, when they're painting battlefields."

Amara does look a little impressed when he says battle is easy, especailly with such ease. Far certain a battlefield would be a difficult and scary place. Granted, for her it likely wold be. Even if not for long, with her skills she'd be killed in a thrice, for she was certianly not trained for battle.

"Or Joust with it," adds Amara. "I'd just even said something about that…before it tore into the castle. I had not even known there were storms that could be like that. But…Duke Darren said they have them like that there." That was something that was unfathomable and down rigth frightening, storms like that with some regularity? "So that means you were quite grumpy last night." Amara cracks a little smile after saying that.

"Yes, I have noticed that, especially with the artists. There is a lack of blood in the battle pieces. I have seen more blood in the infirmary from a small cut then seems to appear in the paintings."

"And when they do paint it, they make it look like silk scarves. Real blood — well, you know. It's got all sorts of different colors. Red, black, brown when it dries.. And the scent. Like iron. Or I suppose iron and copper smell like blood." Vorian considers this for a moment, then laughs. Perhaps the mead is working on an empty stomach and exhausted body — he takes another long gulp, in any case. Maybe he just has a strange sense of humor at times.

Still grinning, he says "I was grumpier than a wet cat, it's true. Of course, I did have a job to do, which helped. Get the Duchess and her people to safety. Protect Lord Gabriel and Lady Alina. So I did that and just tried not to notice the wind." The sucking sound. The terrible roar. The screams of the wounded. Just for a moment, as he reflects on the night, his features grow grim.

And then the smile reappears, like a conjuror's trick. "It did save me from the most tedious dinner companion I've ever had, though."

Amara nods solemnly,"Yes, I know how it really is. The colors it can take, and the smells." She wrinkles her nose just a little. The dead that was not so far away did help aid in a reminder of the smells that could happen. Her brows raising just a little when he laughs. The knight did have the most interesting turn of humor. Or maybe it was the mead.

"I did see them get out early," something about near seats of honor and being closer to safety. "It was hard not to notice the wind. It was so loud." As where the screams of those who got pulled out through the crack in the wall. Amara blinks,"It did? Who was your…I suppose it doesn't matter who, but why were they so tedious. they must have been awful to top your liste of tedious dinner companions."

"Oh, some knight. I never caught his name. All he wanted to talk about was losing to some other knight whose name I can't remember. Apparently there was a dirty trick." Vorian waves a hand dismissively. What little reputation he has, and what he's said so far, reveal the man to not be solely a tourney knight. And he confirms this when he says, "I did better than I expected. My first true tourney."

"And yes, they did get out early." Was that a note of pride in his voice? Were anyone paying attention, they might've noted that Vorian was the first to act. Though of course, that might've been cowardice rather than quick thinking. And he doesn't brag, to his credit. Not aloud, anyway. He glances over at the on-going work, frowning faintly. But the man really isn't in any shape to get back to it — despite his smiles and the way he's quaffing that mead, fatigue is written over every inch of his body.

"Do you know, I was rather enjoying watching the wine ripple in my cup while I pretended to listen to that bore, before the storm broke."

"Oh," Amara gives a slight shake of her head,"I have heard some kngiths say things like that. If there was a trick, I am sure the officials would do something about it." Right? And with his talk of battlefields and his men, Amara do think him a tournament knight. The tournament prize had drawn many to the field that did not usual compete. "Do you think you will compete again?"

The work is starting to slow as more begin to reach their fatigue points, and as the light of the day starts to wane in the sky. "I am sure you will have a chance to watch wine ripples again soon enough, Sir." Amara does glance over towards the healers she had come with, who have started packing up with expectations of finding anyone else before the day is call having dropped. "It looks like I may need to get going, and I should quit keeping you from getting some food to go with that mead. You should go and get some proper rest, give your hands some time to recover a little." Picking up that pack and basin that had been used,"It was nice to meet you proper, Sir Vorian, and have a chance to talk. You've given me some things to think about, thank you." The young woman giving him a warm smile before she might move along.

Vorian offers a grave half-bow, properly courtly, but there's something ludicrous in the dust-covered figure trying to be chivalric. He looks like he belongs in a quarry somewhere. "I shall certainly get some rest soon." And he is certainly lying. But it's probably not worth arguing about. The knight offers a quick grin. "It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady."

He glances around, nodding his head as he sees the healers beginning to pack up. "You did a proper job of work here today. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, mm?" A brief, considering pause. "Probably saved more lives than your brother, for what it's worth." And he turns and moves back toward the work-crews, still lugging his mead along.

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