"A sad thing to hear! Why woo someone if you don't find anything about them interesting? Mine, they're all very lovely people, and keep me quite busy when I don't need to attend temple duties. I've become rather mediocre at a great many things thanks to them." He laughed softly, then leaned in conspiratorially with a grin. "But don't tell the clergy I didn't perfect everything the moment I touched it, they'll lose their minds. They're already quite upset at my losing streak against Alya."

Another chuckle, a drink as he reclined comfortably again. A dried plum was plucked from the tray and popped in his mouth as he finally shut up and settled in to listen, instead. Then an apricot. (He quite enjoyed snacking.)

He tilted his head. In the end, there is no one. Lips tugged into a soft frown, goblet held still as it was brought to his lips before he paused. The goblet was set aside, and he offered a small smile. "Oh, come now, this isn't the end. Still plenty of time." Eyes followed the line of liquid as it was poured higher and higher. Ah, a sore subject...

The intricacies of northern noble life seemed exhausting. Especially for a man with no interest in women. Back home, that could be solved by taking on another spouse that could produce offspring. In that sense, legacy was important in the Empire, too. But this system sounded... quite suffocating.

Just as Aelius was pondering how exhausting all that seemed, Walter spoke back up with a mirrored sentiment. Aelius' grin returned as he opened his mouth to comment on just that, but the lord's next questions stopped those words short. Smile dropped, face lost any hint of expression, going entirely neutral. The temperature in the room dropped - literally - as if the paladin's warm aura was suddenly snuffed out. At the same time, that ever present scar in his heart, that looming shadow always hovering just beneath all the sunshine, pulsed with pain. The shadow on his heart practically eclipsed the man, even if for just a few moments.

He took in a small breath. Turned to peer at the nearest window vacantly. Drink brought to his lips once more. It was long and slow, stalling. Like a few flicks of flint trying to get a fire started, to no avail.

As the cup was finally pulled away, he reached for the bottle; now it was his turn to mirror Walter. Poured near full. A small toast after the bottle was set aside, and he put his bright smile back on. Point taken. The room remained the same temperature. Not uncomfortable - a regular temperature, frankly, but being around Aelius would get one accustomed to something slightly hotter. It was like getting out of the comfort of a warm bed to the cool night air.

"Not certain, my friend! I remember very little of her. She was apparently a heathen and betrayer of The Heavenly Father, and has been dead for many years." Said in that cheerful, yet oddly flat, tone that did not match his words. Eyes that looked mostly through Walter, but certainly not at him. Smile that did not reach those distant eyes. He took an unrefined swig, then peered back towards the window. As he continued, the faux-cheer in his words fell away, leaving his voice a bit softer. "Temple. There is no family. That is to say, the temple is my family. They know what's best. I'm certain I have a few from over the years..."

Eyes finally shifted back toward Walter. A small, melancholy smile graced his lips. "You have a sister to return home to. That must be nice... Tell me about her?" His voice was still soft. He recognized the redirection - combat was his specialty, and this conversation could have easily turned to an exchange of blows via cruel inquiries. But he didn't want to make the man upset. And he certainly didn't want to feel like this. He just wanted to know more about the man, and the clearly difficult subject wasn't something he intended to touch on again.
 
Walter's lips pressed together tightly.
Oh, they were all interesting. Uniquely so. And he loved them, he was certain. It may have not been an ideal depiction of love, it may have verged on desperation, it may have been - 'I don't want to be alone' - but he loved them deeply, all the same, and it hurt losing them.
Perhaps it was a fallacy of investment. None of them pursued him, after all. He was a a provider to some, a beautiful plaything for others. He was tolerated, up until the point where he refused to be a crutch or a thing. He didn't view it that way back then, in the moment, of course. And yet...

...and yet, he missed those lines that went from corners of the eyes and creased the dimpled cheeks; he missed the careful waking when sleep would not come and the scent of honey drifting in the dusk-lit kitchen; he missed the relief of being protected yet looked at with desire... all of those faces wore no names now, as the rite demanded, but he remembered them. They were the wounds on his heart that scarred ugly, because of what else they turned out to be and how much hurt it caused. But there were parts he loved, too. There were parts that stayed, like prints of hands burnt on the soft tissue of his heart until it grew colder and harder.
No, he was not ready to speak of any of them.

He felt relief with a temperature drop, unsure if the hearth was perhaps too much kindled when he'd prefer a cooler air. Listened, silently, curiously, to how those words were recounting someone else's. Wondered if Aelius has been aware of the surveillance, at least by effect of saying something wrong. Mentally savored the angle of the coming move.

"They do? You seem like a man grown to me, past the point where one would need caretaking." Which made them his handlers, a whole another situation. "But I suppose that you know best."

He shrugged.
"Dolores isn't the one to be waiting for me, exactly... Nothing much to tell. Me and her are twins. We've been brought up to take the family name and legacy. She if of the opinion, and I do not entirely disagree, that she should have been named heir when I have left home for a better part of two decades. Nobody is supposed to know what I have become, but I think she knows at least the gist. The notion of my nature had drifted through Arshakan spies to your temple, after all. It complicates things more than my return does. It's not that we don't like one another, it's... complicated."

It was the fact that she didn't have the wherewithal to make the moves when father died, that needed to be made.
Maybe because she was too soft on Richard, maybe because father would not let her. She managed to avoid irreparable decline in matters of the land, and that was impressive, given the limits. But Dolores wanted things to stay the same, so she'd have a clear path paved by tradition outdated by several centuries. Dolores wanted to be heir, because she would uphold that tradition. Dolores wanted things just as they were, so she could live the life of a noblewoman and pursue her hobbies and liaisons without needing to give too much thought to governance.

She seemed content, all the same, to push the responsibility to make hard choices, to accrue a certain reputation, onto him when he returned, when father reinstated him right before deathbed farewells. She seemed fond of maintaining routines, averse to risky or complex restructuring, and somewhat sentimental in a way that allowed for Richard's extracurricular. And Walter was the one who had to clean up that stagnancy and get the progress flowing once more.

Perhaps Walter found it a pain in the ass that most men who enjoyed women, and women who enjoyed women likewise, found Dolores' company more palatable, and Walter didn't know what qualities darling twin possessed that lived vividly in their imaginations. He was not married, and it was a big deal for the family - but she was not, either, and no one batted an eye, because she was not a formal heir. She got away with so much that he had to pay for. Compared to her in the room, he'd never be invoked with as much interest.
And now, there was an invisible rift between them that they both were tepidly trying to close.

He cared for her, of course. He understood that, to her, it might have seemed at times that father surely would have named her once his health declined. But then, Walter crawled back, and was handed everything practically on the spot. Nevermind he'd been half-dead and no one had been certain he'd survive that winter.

So, the best solution seemed to split the responsibility. Try avoiding stepping on each other's toes. And if something happened to him - perish the thought of living to be old... or aging, he felt... when something happened to him, she would step in as an heir proper, with the land hopefully revitalized for another generation or two.

"She likes her crossbow hunting and our art room and her women. She has some marriage prospects salivating over our lands. She looks stunningly like our mother writ a little shorter." He smiled faintly. "And no, my mother is not present, either. One more big gossip is that she ran away, but the truth is, none living that I know of have a clue as to why or where she'd gone. I did have my great-grandfather pay a visit last year, but I wouldn't talk about that."
It took quite a bit to convince him I was a person. He knew. How did he know?

"You should visit Bremen on your way back. That's a longer way around," opposite from going southward, in fact, "but worth it all the same, I assure you."
 
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"Caretakers?" He tilted his head and frowned, eyes flickering up in thought. "...No, caretaking isn't quite right. They and I stand on close to even footing in regards to our stations in the temple; the High Clerics are chosen by The Heavenly Father to serve him," That's what they told Aelius, at least, and he never had any reason to question them. "..like how the Red Imperator embodies Ko's will." Without saying it out loud - Ko allegedly chose the High Clerics, whereas Aelius was, as many might call it, a happy accident. Aelius had the God's blood in him, or so it was claimed, but that was not as strong a claim as the God himself choosing to bestow his power unto you.

To any on the outside, it was easy to see: excuses to keep the demigod under their thumb. To Aelius, that's simply how it was.

He shrugged and leaned back, snagging another snack from the tray. "Ko knows best." He corrected simply.

The paladin's ruby eyes settled back on the lord as he spoke; he enjoyed some of the cured meats as he listened. At one point he parted his lips to comment, but quickly closed it and tilted his head like a confused dog. Spies already knew..? He couldn't deny the knowledge that there were Arshakan agents out in the world gathering information for the Empire, but... how, he wondered, did they find out about... whatever is going on with Walter? How did Walter find out? And why didn't they fill Aelius in beforehand? And... wait, he specifically said his temple. His brow creased. Eyes drifted up in thought.

He... supposed Ko was always watching, at least when the sun shone. That was just an accepted fact of his life, something he didn't really think much of - except when correcting certain words and phrases. But it would make sense that if The Heavenly Father knew what Walter was, that information would at least get back to some of the High Clerics, if not the Red Imperator himself.

Huh.

Slowly, he returned his attention to the man as he turned back into the conversation. The goblet was brought back to his lips for another long, slow sip.

"I see," he finally commented. "That certainly does sound complicated. Still... Perhaps not waiting for you back home, no, but... you do still have her." His eyes fell to the goblet, watching the liquid as he slowly swirled it around. "Family is irreplaceable. I'm certain I don't need to tell you this, but, people can slip through our fingers at any moment. Treasure her while you can, hm? Things may not seem so complicated and difficult when one of you is gone. All that would be left are things unsaid, missed moments..." Another sip. "...but, I ramble."

Smile turned back towards Walter. "I would love to visit, if I'm able to!" He swung his legs over the arm of the chair and his feet plopped back onto the ground. He almost sat normally, though quite informally, with his legs spread wide and his posture slouched as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It should have been illegal for a man to have this much cleavage showing, with his untied tunic drooping to give a generous view as he leaned forward. "You know, this is the only time I've been out of South Ilica. If I could find an excuse to travel the land and see the sights..." He grinned. "It would make me very happy."

He paused as he watched the lord a few moments more. Expression sobered. Chin rested in his hand. "On another note... if I may ask..." How did he even ask? "...what... happened to you? All that I saw, back during the fight..." he trailed off. Then, a shake of the head and a small smile. "But of course, if you do not wish to speak of it now, I understand. You can tell me of where you would show me were I to visit Bremen, instead."
 
"Didn't you say a few days prior that other weavers were only borrowing Ko's power, while it was bestowed on you? How do you tell the difference?" Walter shrugged. He was a godless heathen already, nothing much to lose in terms of respectability.

There was a sigh full of patience, slow, full-chested. It contained no anger. It contained an infinite understanding for people advising on things in which they themselves had, at least seemingly, little experience. Then again, the lad's cock was quite a community builder. Aelius was still young. Might start tearing at the leash the moment he'd realize that was the method of control. And then they'd kill him through one of the upstanding citizens whose secondary occupation was to spear-polish. Easily. Quietly. The paladin went to the heathen lands and they have corrupted the noble son of Ko. Oh woe, oh horror. Thoughts, prayers.

He thought of his father's cane landing across his spine. He thought of his great-ancestor pushing a vorpal sabre into his chest. He thought of his older brother, trying to dismiss his command.

Eyes drifted over the form very clearly displayed. The lord's posture did not change much, save for reaching for the bottle again. "You aren't a leashed dog nor slave, you deem yourself a divine - surely you can find an excuse," he smiled back, filling his cup. He did not drink. Rested it. Took an apple, and bit deeply into it to hold his tongue further, his attention tracing down the cleavage line, it seemed, to the stomach. The hills and valleys were quite inspiring this season.

Walter seemed to chuckle under his breath, shifted slightly in his seat.
The gloved fingers splayed, straightened to the limit, and then collapsed onto the chair's arm once more, one by one.

"Hm..." A sour-sweet note was still on his tongue as the apple run out to the core. He tossed it into a bucket under the table, with the failed drafts and other things to be burned. "What happened to me. What... happened to me," his words fell softer, with a threat, somehow. Oh, he would savor the expression of regret.

Slowly, smoothly, Walter unfolded his posture and rose to his feet to cover ground, to make the southerner look up at him.
"I think I could speak of it some, now, sweet lamb."

The fingers of his left hand brushed under Aelius' jaw, gentle as a feather, guiding his head up. The fingers of his right hand, were like soft suede. They traced down the prominent cheekbone, skimmed across the temple, and put a lock of hair behind the slightly pointed ear before settling on the neck.

"I have taken notice, how... some words you say are not your words." He drifted closer, pushing Aelius against the back of the chair, knee landing between the spread thighs. Leaned over so their faces were closer, his tone conspiratorial, almost a whisper, puffs of breath barely reaching to caress against the mouth. If only his eyes were not burning like the night sky. "I could speak now, just a little. Because your medallions, the ones that transferred sound and vision of you far, far away to your temple - are undone, and away, and are going to be returned to you freshly polished. What happened to me, lamb?"

His hands framed Aelius' face. There was no pressure. A perfectly calibrated vice needed none. That face would stay exactly where he wanted it.
"A cult in the south happened. Not sure how close to your borders." Thumbs stroked the cheekbones. "They tried to hollow me out. Set the aspects of dread and agony in me, make me a sacrificial vessel... but they had failed." He offered a wistful smile in the corners of his mouth. It dimpled his cheeks, but the light in his eyes was gone.

"I denied them, with everything I was. And... something gravitated to that mad tenacity, to that denial of chaos, that need to persevere. As much as primordial forces notice, anyway. I am this, now. I am old oaths in blood. I am bones of the earth." The shadows outlined sharper, shivered. The colors felt brighter, in contrast with the palor of Walter's skin. His bloodless lips moved, in his own recital, dejected but reverent, "I am the ever-flame that pierces through the Firstborn Night, illuminating The Great Vacuity which Contains All, and one that is shrouded within it. It flowed through me because it is too large to know, express, or feel. So it expressed - through me, and can not be separate. I am its anchor, its gate and key and keeper, and I will carry the duty of protecting the living order, excising the excess, returning it to the Night where all being waits to emerge."

His eyes narrowed, laughing, and he moved closer still, as if for a kiss, voice quenching into shuffled, breathy whisper, right at Aelius' lips.
"And if you think yourself too good for order, lamb of the south..."

For just a brief moment, it was like the Shroud bent. Walter was still there, his outline, his features, but through him - was the source, and to look at him was akin to looking into a bottomless abyss while stood flush close to its edge. His fingers were warm, but on every level of being but the physical, that touch felt cold as the frigid arctic expanses, a promise of the end teetering just behind Walter's fingertips that would unwind the tension and draw at Aelius' flame with terrifying pressure until it was all gone.
"...I will consume you."

The force lingered, for a second. And retreated, allowing for a breath in choked silence.
Walter's fingers unwrapped from around Aelius' throat. His eyes were violets, the indigo of midnight, soft and sad, once more.
He seemed like he was about to step backward, and sink into his chair, unless stopped. Perhaps, bring up Bremen's sights, with a casual tone that denied discussion. But not yet.
 
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Arpa was abuzz with the recent happenings. Undead on the move, or so the gossip went. Big news, if you gave the matter no further thought. Anyone with half a brain understood that the restless dead were like as not to move regardless of what motivated them to do so. Most of the time, they simply wandered, and kept on wandering until they came across some form of life, be it man or beast.

This bunch are different, though. Agatha had known that the moment Redbad conveyed his scouts' findings to her. Something had drawn them together. Now, it had started guiding them towards the only road connecting Arpa to the outside world.

Iron wraiths and undead warriors. Soldiers in undeath, gathered together under a single banner, that being death itself.

Agatha had yet to decide whether there was some greater strategy at play or not. Assumption was the mother of all fuck-ups. Until she knew more, direct action could wait. Assuming they could not discern the cause of the symptoms, she would still have to send out a force large enough to deal with the threat. The Iron Wraiths gave her some pause, however. Sacrificing men so early into the conflict did not sit well with the Captain. It never had.

Lord Thornley's residence was located a door down from the Carpenter's place in which they had first encountered each other. A dejected-looking Huntsman appeared from the house just as the winding street carried it into sight.

Agatha recognised the young man, though it took him a while to notice the black-clad mercenaries walking towards him.

'Chin up, lad!' Agatha called out in passing, fist to heart. 'Soon be Yuletide.'

The Huntsman startled, nearly losing his grip on the bag clutched in his right hand. It clinked slightly as Reggie hurried to return the gesture. Coin or something just as valuable. It was a pity he was an ally. Otherwise, Hobnail and Squirrel might have jumped him then and there. 'Captain Agatha!' He replied, voice crisper than his coutenance. 'Heading up to see His Lordship?'

'Aye, just that.'

'Perhaps Your Ladyship would- Wait, wait! Hold a moment!' Mounting the front steps, Agatha led the way inside, her bodyguards slowing just enough to keep Reggie tottering about in the street whilst she sought out Walter.

Muted voices led her deeper into the house. Humble settings. Not the kind of place she expected a blueblooded lordling to rest his head. No Huntsman appeared from the woodwork to greet them, which she found a bit odd. Agatha had been hoping to see Dorothea, but, alas, no such luck. Oh well.

Hob and Squirrel halted in their steps as the she-ork strode on ahead, the latter taking a seat whilst the former took to holding the walls up with their considerable bulk. Beyond the groaning architecture, she heard a voice, low, almost threatening.

Something about consuming lambs? Agatha didn't have a timepiece on her, but it seemed a little early for dinner.

Knocking, the mercenary let herself in, only to pause in the doorway the moment she saw Walter and Aelius. Golden eyes flitted from noble to notable, back again. The moment stretched as Walter put distance between himself and the southerner. For a heartbeat there, it almost appeared he had been straddling the God botherer.

'Catch you fellahs at a bad time?' Agatha smirked, fingers on the door handle.
 
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At first, Aelius found a warmth to his cheeks at Walter's sudden boldness; the softly spoken 'sweet lamb', despite - and maybe a little because of - the underlying threat in its tone had him a little excited. People didn't talk down to him. So being called something so... almost condescending, albeit wrapped in soft words... Well, there was a certain thrill to it, wasn't there?

But that was quickly dissipated. Aelius moved easily as Walter pushed him, guided his chin; there was no resistance. Part of it, yes, was a dumb part of his brain that was excited to see Walter stop 'playing hard to get'. But there was the logical part of him that was quick to recognize the real threat lurking beneath the surface. To recognize that pushing against him would not end well.

He didn't even get the opportunity to enjoy the man's touch. Aelius' brows knit together and his eyes blinked rapidly for a moment. His words, not his own... and, "My medallions..?" Mind raced already. Transferred sight and sound, back to his temple. Scrying weave, on those..?

But no time to process that. The hands on his face were so gentle, yet... he dared not move. Burning gaze met burning gaze. A cult, a failed sacrifice, an entity. Both pity and horror crossed Aelius' expression. Eyes fluttered as Walter moved in even closer, but dared not shut, not now, not with a predator upon him. Aelius was not prey - not normally. But under Walter - under whatever this thing attached to Walter was - that's exactly what he was.

The void before him drained the color from the paladin's face. It felt like that vast expanse was trying to reach out, to find weave to fill itself with, and Walter let its fingers brush against Aelius' deep well of power. In response, the nearby hearthfire and any lit candles flared up dangerously for a few moments, Aelius' own eyes burning brighter, heat radiating off of him and promptly getting consumed by the void aura hovering far too close for comfort. If it came to fight or flight, Aelius' instinct was clearly fight. It was not an active thought - just his body's response to the edge he felt himself teetering on.

'...I will consume you.'

Aelius was certain he would. Not a doubt in his mind.

Walter's being returned. And began to retreat away. Aelius's hand snatched the man's left wrist to hold him in place. His gaze was still locked on the man's face, his own a shade or two paler, eyes still ablaze. His gaze, however, slowly shifted from fear - yes, fear - to a moment of determination, to softening to a gentler flicker of empathy, even through the fear that still kept the blood drained from his face.

"Walter..."

The door suddenly swung open, and in stepped the Shield Captain. Aelius turned to look, releasing his grip on the man's wrist, and... remained sitting upright, tense, brows furrowed and face ashen. It was not the air of a man whose intimacy had been rudely interrupted. It was the look of a man haunted.

"...no," he responded after a beat, voice flatter than normal. He blinked, eyes finally focusing on the woman at the door. "No, we were just sharing drinks." Gone was the sunshiney aura that usually accompanied the man, as with his usual bright smile. He sunk back into the chair and, with a heavy exhale, threw his legs back over the chair arm so he could lounge back (though he certainly didn't look relaxed). Grabbed one of the other unopened bottles of liquor and popped it open with ease. He downed what remained in his goblet, then refilled it with the freshly opened brandy. A little too full to be polite.

Normally he would have immediately offered her a spot at the table to join them (despite this still not being his home, and therefore not having the right to do so). But instead, he was in deep contemplation of the drink he just poured.
 
"Walter..."​

He could hear the footsteps before they entered the home, the same as he could hear Reginald's, the gate familiar and two more unknown. Agatha has arrived.
For all his intent to be free of victims should Aelius attempt to burn him before he took that strength at inception point... well, mercenaries were foolhardy, so Walter knew first hand. At least she was not trying to be sneaky.

'Catch you fellahs at a bad time?'​

The baron stood straight, then took a step back. His head turned to Agatha in the doorway, with a tiniest delay in recognition as he took his seat once again. Studied the mercenary as he reached to the side, grabbed a piece of cheese with unnerving precision, and let attention drift as he brought it to his mouth, staring absently at the hearth. It was already almost through the kindling. He let the paladin half-lie for them both, offered him a nod in recognition of the effort. Raised his hand.

The other hand found the glass. He drank it to the last drop, welcoming the numbness to creep into every breath of his. Let the seconds hemmorhage away.
"It would be a shame," he spoke, "if people visited me without being invited, announcing themselves, or so much as offering a greeting. I would not want to get blade-happy when tensions run high and simple courtesies are not afforded."

A sigh, flaring nostrils betraying irritable disposition, exhale slow. Then, he looked at her again, focused. Calm.
Whatever had just transpired, had not been pleasant.

"Are we going to have this problem just so you can parade your insolense, Agatha? Are we fifteen?" His gloved hand moved, fingers splayed in an idle wave towards her. "Send your goons out the door, now, and report." He needed a moment to breathe. But a part of him hoped that whatever had brought the Captain all the way up the hill, had been urgent enough.
 
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"...no. No, we were just sharing drinks."
​
'Right.' Half a lie in place of an honest answer. Didn't bode well for their future cooperation, did it? 'Bad time.' Awkward. Perhaps even a touch inconvenient. In the days since she had met Aelius, she had never seen him appear so small, so vulnerable, as he did now. Cowed into submission by a man nigh half his size.

Agatha found it odd, the way he contemplated the drink in his hand, avoiding her gaze, like a man trying too hard to relax.

He's scared, she realised of a sudden, gaze shifting to meet Walter's, eye sockets so dark she couldn't see the violet in his eyes. Damn near let the fire burn out, she noted, unfazed by the lord's cutting remarks, the way he ordered her to dismiss her bodyguards, or rather goons. To be fair, most of the men under her command could have been described as such, but not those two.

Of course, debating the finer points of their characters would like as not prove a complete waste of time. Still. A bit of politeness never hurt anyone, did it?

'I knocked, Lord. And there were no guards posted to announce me,' she answered, taking a step back into the candlelit hallway. A swift hand signal sent Hobnail and Squirrel heading for the exit, though the diminutive Weaver had to be roused from her comfy chair with a gentle kick to the shins. 'Nor can the situation we find ourselves in wait, sorry as I am to say it.' She wasn't. Not in the slightest.

'If it's any consolation, this shouldn't take long,' the she-ork promised, closing the door with one hand whilst the other presented Redbad's report, the message cylinder around the same length as the bollock knife tucked through her belt.

Approaching Walter, she handed him the report, before crossing to the hearth.

'We've undead on the move, and quite a few of them at that,' she spoke up, more for Aelius's sake than the lordling's. Whatever happened betwixt them is no business of mine, she mused, feeding log after log to the fire, small ones first, then the large. 'Might be nothing,' she continued, encouraging the embers with a poke here and there. 'But it's definitely something.'

Turning, she leant against the mantle as Walter finished reading. Didn't take long. Redbad was punctual with his letters as he was in life. A good man, insofar as any of us are capable of actual good.

'I intend to find out what.'
 
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Aelius took another swig as he listened to the pair; it wasn't often he truly wished his constitution wasn't like an incinerator when it came to alcohol... but getting drunk sounded ideal right now. He didn't like feeling frightened. And he didn't like... the pit in his stomach he got after hearing that his temple was scrying on him.

Alas, even if he downed the whole bottle himself, he might get a light buzz. Yes, his celestial blood saved him from many a poison and disease - his entire interaction with that plague was testament to that - but this was a kind of poison he'd like to take, for once.

He finally lifted his eyes from his cup as Agatha made for the hearth and gave a verbal summary of the report while Walter read. The paladin perked up as he listened, the distant look in his eyes fading out as he focused in, brows furrowing. Undead on the move. And a lot. That was something he could help with. Crowd control was a specialty of his - so long as the crowd wasn't expected to survive.

"I'll help," he announced, not asking for permission. The hearthfire kindled back to life by Agatha flickered and flared back to full power, the candlelight shuddering before burning a bit brighter. He took another quick drink before setting the goblet aside, rested his arm on the table, and peered with burning intent at the woman. He was still lounging in the chair sideways with his legs over the arm, but now looked more natural rather than trying to force himself to relax. "If many are on the move, I can scour the horde."

Difficult to tell whether it was the sobering conversation had prior to Agatha's arrival, or whether the topic was enough - but this was the first time he'd spoken to the woman without giving her eyes. Aelius did have the capability to be serious, even if he preferred his sunshiney demeanor most times.
 
"Right."​

Walter finally caught his breath, and hindsight hit him.

"Bad time."​

He lifted a hand to his eyes and rubbed them, head ringing and skin clammy under the clothes. It didn't take a toll, this time, but it left a frigid mark along every vertebra. The faint residual traces of Shroud sunk into his blood. Nothing to unfray, though.
Walter's eyes traveled from Aelius handling his drink with emphasized attention, avoiding looking at him, to Agatha, sending Shieldbearers out.

'Brigands, bastards, nobodies we are, you hear me, boy? We are dirt. We hold blood and piss better than gold. We are leashed beasts. And we're still better than half the larger armies, and you know why? Because we stick together better than any band. Because we go to war against the beasts that can't be leashed. Those are of no use to anybody. The rich fucks bleed gold into our hands, just so we take them out.'

A slow, hushed exhale followed.
He probably could do without having done a couple things in this equation.

"You are correct. And you have allowance for visits on urgent matters." he admitted, the report shifting in his hand with a high-pitched crinkle.
His eyes ran over the scribing, again on some lines. Within two beats, he stood, rested his hand on the back of the chair.
"This is tenth of Imkish, yesterday. They've a few days before moving across the queensroad, and we have a food caravan coming."

Gloved fingers furled around wood, the intoxication evaporating under the renewed strain.
"Thank you, Agatha," Walter intoned, voice betraying him slightly. He watched her feed the fire. "The numbers aren't in our favor for any kind of open force collision."

"I'll help. If many are on the move, I can scour the horde."​
Eyes turned to Aelius. Probably a good thing if the man got to flex his strength. Make things feel right again.

"I wish to go, too," the baron spoke. "I'll take two of my stronger weavers along, they'll hide the squad's tracks and make proper warding perimeters for camp." That was more than enough. He couldn't take out the mass of number. "How are we thinking this best handled, and when will everyone be ready to depart?"
 
'Numbers aren't everything,' the Captain replied, stoically. 'You are right, however. Brute force might win us the day, but I am loath to make such a decision with Arpa's fate hanging in the balance.' The township was the last holdout in the entire region. Losing control of the road would condemn everyone, the Company's civilian strength included. And more death means more undead, she thought, stepping away from the hearth, a hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Old habit.

"I'll help. If many are on the move, I can scour the horde."
"I wish to go, too. I'll take two of my stronger weavers along, they'll-"​

'No.' Agatha cut Walter off before his hope could turn into expectation. 'You will remain here in my abscence. If both of us were to perish out there, it would undermine everything we've come here to achieve, not to mention the effect our loss would have on morale.' Without proper commanders in place to make sense of the chaos, it would not take long for the situation to spiral further into despair. 'My Second, Nymrethyl, will assist you whilst we are away. I will take those weavers you mentioned, though,' she smiled, tusks gleaming, her company blacks soaking up the firelight.

'Mender will have both our hides if you do not heed her "recommendation". So. If it's all the same to you, please, rest,' she implored Walter. 'The sooner she deems you fit enough to return to your duties, the sooner you can go risking your life again.'

She didn't want to have him confined to quarters. But some people were too stubborn for their own good.

'We ride out in the morning,' she told Aelius, turning to face the paladin. 'First light. Bring enough supplies for at least a couple of days. Oh, and bring your glaive,' she nodded. 'I reckon you'll have need of it.'
 
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It was simple mathematics - he was not being defeatist, he was being factual. Numbers was a favorite game of too many a lord who did not wish to bother to use tactics, terrain or maneuvering. Walter shrugged one shoulder, remembered the person he picked that up from, huffed through the nose and moved the other one, too.
"You would be barred from retreat once engaged, I hope you understand that." Falling back to Arpa would mean more than losing a tried and true road, with this strangely concise army on the heels.

'No.'​

The baron stopped, staring Agatha dead in the eye for the rest of it. His right hand's aching fingers splayed out, straightened, and half-furled, relaxed. His face did not change. His eyes were still dark, and tired, and intelligent with a cut to the stare that made looking back uncomfortable for most. His face, however, remained relaxed, and could almost read as an unspoken 'pity'.

"Your concern," Walter began, "is duly acknowledged. You have no authority over my thirty, or sufficient knowledge of joint tactics or specialties in the field. I will dispatch a different Huntsman along with you, for advisory duty, of my choosing. The pair I was considering are best suited to act in tandem with myself, and will remain at the assigned duty at this time. For matters of morale, Nymrethyl will be communicating with Percival, and should the issue of disturbances come to pass, we have a few folk specializing in resolutions."
Only a single, known name in exchange for the charming powerplay attempted.

He plucked the open bottle, splashed a drink into his goblet, and cradled the cup of it in the hand as he lifted it off the table.

"On a separate matter, let your head healer find herself a different concern, which, I've heard, will be harder still with a sudden drop in diseases here in Arpa - but not impossible given we are still waiting on that medicine caravan." Eyes drifted briefly to Aelius, only for half a heartbeat. It was surely their doing, this shift. He could feel it in his bones.

"If you don't suppose she will - reign her in. I do not require further help. I will not be leading from the back." Gloved fingers furled. He knew Mender had seen the strange half-mummified thing of an appendage underneath the fabric - his skin crawled just from thinking. He hated the thought of having been touched, even to help, even knowing it was not rational to think so. "That said, I will take a day to recover,..." ...to avoid my body betraying me, "...to handle a number of strategies with the town elder in regards to the settlement's prospects, before I am back in the field. Arpa needs to remain after we leave it, for a good century to come at least." Can't go like Aragor, he thought, sinking into the ground. Not this time. Not this one.

He halved the drink in one burning swallow.

"Thank you for your report, Captain. Good night. Aelius," a step back to his chaos of papers and manuscripts, and, without mistake, fingers plucked the poem that the paladin was oggling earlier and offered it forth, folding the paper by the edge in the same move. "Here, since it caught your fancy. Don't worry about burning it, it is only a draft." He offered a valiant attempt at a smile, faded with the newly found concern.
Gods. He just wanted to be drunk right now.
 
Perhaps he expected her to look away, or to wilt under his gaze like a flower come the Waning. Walter's finger spread like spider's legs, then furled. An ally stands before him, concerned with his welfare, and all he can see is the threat to his authority, the thought came and went as the Captain revised her approach. The quickest way to get a rise from one of such noble bearing was to tell them "no."

No, you may not wander off into the marshes after succumbing to exhaustion. No, you may not risk an endeavour shared simply in order to quieten the whisperings of a mind unused to idleness.

It wasn't a matter of authority so much as pragmatism. No doubt she could have framed her argument better, appealed to his sense of self-preservation rather than challenging his pride. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. No point crying over spilt milk. 'Just a few, Lord?' Thirty, plus eight hundred. Add a few more for good measure. More than enough to hold Arpa for the day or so it would take His Lordship to recover properly.

'Won't be leading at all if you keel over again,' the she-ork commented, dead set.

Then came the compromise. Agatha gave a small nod. Better than nothing. 'Lord.' She bid farewell to the curly-haired donkey. Equal in temperment, if not appearance. 'Aelius. See you in the morning.' With the slightest of bows, she pivoted, before making for the door. Unhurriedly.
 
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Aelius' eyes drifted between the two as they had their back and forth; the polite power struggle felt all too familiar, as he'd seen this very thing happen far too often between the High Clerics and other nobility. So Aelius did as he always did: sat back, sipped at his drink, and waited for them to finish.

He nodded at Agatha's words and held his cup up in cheers. Ride out in the morning. Can do.

As Agatha made her way out, the paladin saluted. "Bright and early." His eyes then drifted back to Walter, and the offered paper folded between his fingers. Aelius set the goblet aside and swung his legs back over, then stood from the chair. He accepted the poem, considered the folded paper for a moment, then tucked it into his shirt. He then put a hand on the table, other hand on his hip, and leaned closer to the lord.

"Trying to get rid of me?" He murmured with a small tug of the lips. "I didn't think we were done with our drinks. Or chats." He still had things to say. The paladin leaned in, brought a hand up to adjust Walter's vest - not that it needed any adjustment, he just wanted to flirt. Yes, even after their previous conversation.

"I'll leave if you truly want me to. But I still want to talk." Fingers busied themselves up to the lord's collar, where he continued faux-fixing the man's clothes. Aelius still wasn't near as bright and sunshiney as usual; Walter's threat had certainly spooked Aelius, to say the least. But it hadn't turned him away from the man. Not at all.

"Besides, you owe me a performance of that song."
 
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Walter didn't look at Agatha. Well, she was right, whatever that expression meant.
He did want to... A part of him, wanted to run until he was weak enough to get eaten by something strong enough to manage through his desperate last stand. An elaborate suicide with extra steps. He has rendered himself incapable of rest, and so, he had to run until he couldn't run anymore... and if he was only as good as the volume of his achievements, perhaps he wanted to run until he was not able to anymore. Until he matched the rumours evil tongues wove.

Not too stubborn to die. Simply unable to stop and rest until he'd crippled himself for good.
There were so many things to do...

"Captain," he echoed the orkish woman, and her smile some days before felt ephemeral in what could only read as soft beginnings of tension. Of course he'd send Dorothea with her. Just not... not Illyn. Had no time to explain the wolfman antics.

His eyes followed her leave as Walter stood in silence, until three pairs of steps have all vacated the premises, beyond the threshold, and he could not hear the clinking and creaking of armor anymore. Eyes closed slowly in utter spiritual exhaustion, and he drew a deep, tired breath.

Attention drifted to the peripheral sight catching feet swinging in the air as Aelius sat straight for but one moment before standing. Walter studied Aelius' approach, the way his draft had ended up down the cleavage, it would seem, and the way his space was leaned in, the warmth half-radiating from the large body, half - passing through him as magic filtered back into the Shroud.
"Would you not suffer lest you turned in early?" he proffered. Smiled back, not quite a sated predator, more weary idiot who still had enough heart in him to feel a slight flush at his face. "Trying to seduce me?" He parried.

A quiet fell to the next consideration, the lord's hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle to tilt it over his unfinished drink. Which bottle and whether it matched, he no longer cared. From vest to collar, almost brushing skin - the touch was not unpleasant. Cruelly so.

"I don't... and we can talk, if you like. It would be dreary to have to finish the spread by myself alone, and go to bed woefully sober." Walter's pale fingers brushed under Aelius' chin, his gaze tracking over the dip upward the curve of the plush lower lip, and to the line of the mouth. And then, ruefully, he looked away, turning his head to the medallion on the desk. "I could try and sing, but it's of heartbreak, you know. And my throat is quite dry with all the liquor. Still... I promised, and you held me to it." A huff through the nose, a slight squint. "Do you want to stay this close for the limericks, too?"
 
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