The Ward (NobodysAngel80 x EvelynWillows)

The city of Vistamare was ancient, beyond any living man's recollection, and it sat upon a wild bluff that overlooked the Sea of Blood. The straits that were passable were few, but somehow the city boasted a powerful navy of three and four masted ships and a fleet of merchant vessels landed there day in and day out. There was once a time when ships of all origins docked there; humans and elven alike, and occasionally even the sturdy barges that dwarves braved the oceans in. Of late the port only hosted human vessels; the crazed King Lothian had gotten it into his head that the other races would spell his doom, and thus he had banned them from the city on pain of death. Well established business owners and households found themselves scrambling to sell their belongings and flee the great city lest they find themselves dangling from the end of an unfriendly rope.

King Lothian was almost as ancient as his city. Most accounts put him at almost 120 years old, which was unheard of in humans. Most people thought that he was just the son of a son named Lothian and thought no more of it, for garnering the attention of the mad king often led to unpleasant things, usually at the hands of his High Inquisitor, Aimast K'Grun.

The High Inquisitor’s reputation was well-deserved. He was rumored to be the half-demon son of a legendary king of old, a man who has served every king since then by rooting out his enemies and destroying those who might overpower them. Even now, Aimast seemed young and vital. He remained youthful, as Prince Lothian grew to become King Lothian, and three generations later King Lothian’s rheumy eyes looked upon Aimast and lusted for his secret of longevity.

Another of King Lothian’s chief men was the Red Mage. He, too, was wildly feared, though less was known of him than the Inquisitor. When in the robes of office, the Red Mage looked fearsome in red and black leather, similar to the High Inquisitor’s silver and black, but made more fearsome by the fact that the man moved like a warrior who had walked on the far side of death too often to fear it’s sting. He had dark eyes and hair, but distinctly elven features in a far too human face. Anyone who saw him out of uniform might think him a young soldier pushing thirty years, though in fact he might boast an age equal to Aimast’s.

If he was one to boast.

Today, though, he did not wear the robes of office. Indeed, he looked like any other sell sword or soldier on leave, in brown trousers, a simple linen shirt under a traditional vest, riding boots and a sword slung low and tight over his hips on a double-wrapped belt. The lower half of his forearms were covered in simple leather bracers, and a single silver band wrapped around his left wrist. On the silver band was the outline of a flying bird of prey.

He looked up at the sign above the door: The Sweetest Things. He could smell baked goods, sweet confections, and roasted nuts. The smell was both cloying and enticing. He ran a hand though his hair and opened the door, amused to hear the soft jingling of bells as the door swung open.

As the door closed behind him, the Red Mage inhaled the mixture of aromas that intoxicated the air of the quaint shop. The enticing scents, from the variety of roasted nuts (chestnut, almonds, cashews and such) to the freshly baked pie slices, steaming from the stone oven that had been baked in. It was a shop of many edible treasures, and whilst temptation would come to any man with the sweetest of teeth, the Red Mage composed himself and examined the treats, waiting for what he had really entered the Sweetest Things for.

From behind a matted rug covering a doorway to the back entrance came a young shop assistant, Elsa Emendale. Although she had began to mature, soon to be the age of 17 and with a line of suitors asking for her hand in marriage, she had a look in her eye of innocence of the world around her. Her family and she were among many living in fear of speaking out against the tyrannical Lothian. Her parents felt that their king should govern his people and improve their lives for what they believed was for the good of their city of Vistamare. But Lothian in his old age was cruel and ignorant. Why be loved by your people when you could be feared by them? Elsa's parents had been cautioned in the past, but times had become worse and perceived traitors to the throne were disappeared regularly and family members forced into silence, denying that their relatives had even existed before their disappearances. Still, Elsa knew how to make her life easier and her obedient nature allowed for her to live without fear of what the King may do to the people.

She glanced at the Red Mage and he returned it. The two stared at each other briefly before Elsa asked, 'Anything sweet for you?' The Red Mage dropped his gaze, wishing not to arouse any suspicions. He had begun to live his life as two different men. Whilst in his robes of office, he was bold and mighty. Feared by many, yet only seen by those who would lose their lives by his hand. When his robes were off, he presented himself as any other civilian. He knew that people had terrible lives and when at work, his was little more than a hired gun, taking out dissenters, trouble-makers and undesirables. But as the years had passed, he had grown to resent his occupation and wished to connect more when those he neither knew nor understood. He had spotted Elsa a fortnight before, closing up The Sweetest Things before heading upstairs to the family house above the shop. He had seen an innocence in her, a way of living with the limitations of peasantry and poverty where the complications of life did not prevent one from having a simple, humble existence. He almost felt that what Elsa had as an innocent, teenage shop-girl was something that he himself had been denied in his youth. He had never known but he wished to know of it now.

Ah, no...no no.

This is a RP between Nobodysangel80 and EvelynWillows. It's a private taboo 1x1 roleplay. Sorry if that was confusing, but you can't jump in here.

You also cannot 'god-mode' another person's character. I see you're new here and it's a simple mistake to make, but please make sure to read the site rules and ask questions if you're not sure about what to do.

*Puts rhm21 over my knee and spanks him.*

Now go play in some other thread.

Even in a city as bleak and dangerous as Vistamare, there were little pleasures to be found. It was necessary in a place like Vistamare, with the spectre of madness ruling over the people, with so many empty homes and businesses from the great exodus of those who had the means to escape King Lothian's rage. There were theaters and taverns of course, musicians and dancers and ladies of the night who plied their trades in perfumed brothels and the alleys of the docks. But while there were many diversions for those left in the city, The Sweetest Things was perhaps the most well loved. It was a shop as old as the city itself, opened by a man and his wife, passed down to that man's son and his wife, passed down to their daughter and her husband...and now passed on to that daughter and husband's own daughter. Rihayne had been the proprietress of the shop for two years, ever since her parents had left on a much encouraged holiday that they weren't intended to come back from. Her father had enough of a look of something other than human to him that staying in the city when the first murmurs of the king's newest madness began rumbling had been decided to be a very bad idea. Rihayne didn't show any sign of her father's half breed heritage and so was far safer than either her mother or father, and so the shop would stay in the family, as it always had been.

At the moment, she was busy pulling a pan of sweet buns from the oven, drenched in melted sugar and cinnamon, full to bursting with molten berry compote, her sable brown hair slightly grayed from a dusting of flour from helping her stock boy put away large bags of flour, her face round and pink cheeked from the heat, her cheeks dimpled and streaked with a line of white from a flour and confectioner's sugar mix she'd swiped across her cheek when pushing back stray hair that had escaped from the messy knot that held most of her hair back from her face. She was as much a part of the happy, bustling atmosphere of the shop as anything else, cheerful and busy, partridge plump and slightly bossy and nosy in an almost motherly fashion to the patrons that came in, asking about their families, their days, their work. She was of course careful to avoid topics of the king; that was a dangerous thing to discuss with anyone these days, and she knew that better than most.

The softly chiming bells brought her attention to the door as she smiled brightly, rubbing the back of her hand against her forehead after placing the pan of rolls on the counter to cool. "Hello there! Welcome to The Sweetest Things! What can I get for you today?" The shop, like it's proprietress, was bright and cozy, with gleaming glass windows holding displays of the day's breads and pastries, polished wooden floors and rustic looking tables covered with woven blue tablecloths and with backed benches and chairs in the open, well lit sitting area. Wood and glass cases filled with pies and cakes and tarts of all varieties lined the store, and the back, barely visible, showed a row of ovens filled with baking bread and other treats. The whole building smelled of vanilla and fruit, sugar and cinnamon and warm, fresh bread. It was a comforting place and always had been, due in no small part to the smiling, eternally cheerful face behind the counter greeting her newest customer.

The sell-sword, for that was what he resembled, smiled at Rihayne and looked about the shop. "Actually, I was hoping to call on Master Vaerlorne and his wife, Semraye. It's been a while since I've set foot in here, and I was wondering how they were faring."

His dark eyes finally rested on the pleasantly plum, smiling face of the woman in front of him. He frowned slightly and nearly shook his head. "You're not...you're not little Rihayne, are you? You were just a baby the la- uhm, you were just a kid the last time I was here." He paused in front of a display cast that showcased a bunch of loaves of stuffed breads and ones knotted with cheese and onion. He tilted his head. "Is that Elven supper bread? I think I'd like a loaf of that if it is."

She looked up at him, her smile fading just a little. "Ohh. Oh, you didn't know." She forced herself to smile brightly again. No one ever spoke of why people left. After all, it was the only thing keeping a lot of people going nowadays, just the pretending that things weren't as bleak as they actually were. "My father's mother became ill and they went to stay with her and help. They'll be back once she's back on her feet." It was the same story she'd told for two years, and most people by now simply nodded and smiled and wished for her grandmother's speedy recovery, but their eyes had the knowing look that left no doubt that they knew...they knew. "And yes, I'm Rihayne, twenty and six now, last Midwinter. You must have been stationed at one of the farther off encampments, I suppose." You just accepted the stories that you were told. No one ever liked to be called out on the stories they told to keep their sanity around here. It was common courtesy more than anything else.

She bent down and opened the case, taking out the tray of the supper bread and smiled, placing them on the counter. There were savory ones stuffed with cheeses and dried meat, others with chopped up vegetables in thick sauces, and others still with sweet clotted cream and fruit for dessert afterwards. "They're not as good as my father's but then again he learned them from the best. Which one would you like? The crumbly cheese and chopped ham loaf is probably my favorite, but I'm offering them at a lower price since I made them last night." He seemed awfully young to remember her from her childhood. Well, there were all manner of people who had the blood of other races in their veins that were diluted enough to pass for human. Being one herself, she found it better to simply live and let live, though she showed absolutely nothing of the fey blood she'd supposedly gotten from her father.

He nodded. "I see." He also nodded when she said that he must have been stationed in the further off encampments. "I've been busy, yes. But I'm back now and I suspect I'll be by your shop more often. I've missed it, you see. Sometimes when one is living off rations and water, the memory of a good meal is enough to sustain you through a harsh winter. This place has long been a favorite of mine."

He selected a few of the loaves, including the one that she had pointed out for him. "Twenty and six? That's a good age to be. And your husband? What does he do for a living?" In truth the mage was wanting to know if there were others of her bloodline about. He'd been guarding her family off an on for a long time, now. Guarding, perhaps, was too strong a word; he'd been keeping track of them. He had no obligation to watch over them, other than a personal friendship with their ancestor from generations before. Still, he tended to think of the descendents of his past friends as his own family, and liked to keep watch on them from afar.

As he looked about the shop he could tell that she had some help but not much. It was a busy place, but more so it was too busy for only two sets of hands to handle all the work. "I noticed that your wood pile is getting low out back," he ventured, "you wouldn't be in the market for someone to haul and split wood for you, would you? Maybe in trade for a day's worth of bread on occasion?"

If nothing else, it would give him an excuse to be around more often. He didn't think she'd take him up on the offer though; he was a stranger, and she a young woman. Well, young enough to be wary.

She listened to him as he spoke, shaking her head and laughing as she boxed up his loaves for him, placing them on the counter. "No husband. No time for one." She smiled a bit at the thought and shook her head. Far too much to worry about to be thinking about husbands. She wasn't getting any younger of course, but those things...they'd have to wait. Until her parents could come home, at least. They deserved that much at least. "Well, I'm glad that you're back. It's hard out there, from what I've heard from other soldiers ending their tours. We never hear much about what's going on or why." Constantly at war. There was no telling why; not that anyone would dare question the king and his policies. No one that wanted to keep going about their day to day lives at least. It was better to not ask too many questions, but sometimes, she really wished that she could understand. Maybe that would make it easier, to discover that no matter how strange or mad it all seemed that there was some purpose for all of this awfulness. Some reason that would make the death and the fear all worthwhile.

She looked a bit surprised at the offer of help and considered him a moment, giving him a small smile. "Well, I suppose if you don't have any other more pressing jobs, I could certainly use the extra help. Kline is a good lad, but there's only so much we can get done in a day. An extra pair of hands would be very helpful." She'd always had a soft spot for the soldiers that came in. They'd smile and laugh and tease her, but...they never truly left the battlefield, many of them. And more and more often they came back as if...as if they were missing some piece of themselves. Sometimes physically, like a hand lost to a sword or toes gone from frostbite. But more often than not it was more than that. Something in their mind, in their eyes. And that sort of loss was harder to learn to live with. "I can't pay much, a few silvers a day. Expenses and all." She didn't want to say anything about the taxes becoming more and more difficult to manage, but the remaining business owners were starting to feel the squeeze. "But, if you don't have a place to stay, there's a spare storeroom I can make up as a room for you. And of course free meals." She smiled a bit. "Hope that would make up for the admittedly dismal pay."

"Oh. I...I have a home," he said, "and like I said, maybe just a trade. Some work for lunch," he smiled, "just until I can find something fill my days again." And to let me keep a closer eye on you now that King Lothian has his crazy idea to pursue immortality.

"Thank you. It's good to see this shop still around. I'll come back tomorrow." He took the loaves and paid her the fee, wondering to himself at how she could still charge so little with all the taxes that had been weighed against the people. He said goodbye to Kline as he exited the quaint little shop, and stepped out into the day.

As the sun warmed him, Lord Winters smiled to himself. It was easy to remember what it felt like to be a young man, unsure of himself and just gotten back from a horrid war. He'd done it too many times to forget. Still, as he walked through the streets towards his home he shifted each time he was in shadow, loosing the trappings of a young soldier and becoming who he was in this stage of life. Each shadow that passed saw him dressed slightly more regal; still the same face, the same eyes, but the uniform really made the man, in this case. That, and the way he held himself.

When he reached the great gates of his home the guards had no problem recognizing who they thought of as the Red Mage. Roguel Winters was simply 'lord' to them. When he was in the castle, in service to the king and his damned High Inquisitor, he became simply the Red Mage. His lives never overlapped. He kept things compartmentalized.

It was easier to live with some of the things he did that way.

The gardens were elaborate and as ornamental in appearance as any lord's fancy grounds, but where theirs were simply grown for their beauty, Lord Winters' gardens claimed numerous herbs, bitters, vegetables, fruits, and nuts. His garden had purpose and beauty. He'd spent too many years living among his Elven cousins to do differently.

He handed the packet of bread to his startled manservant and strode into his study. "For Celcilia," he said, referring to the cook. "I'm not to be bothered until supper." Winters needed to find out why he had missed the exodus of Vaerlorne and his wife, Semraye, and to scry to ensure that they were still well. He'd check on their daughter again in the morning and put a tracer on her, so that he'd know if she was in danger.

Times hadn't been exactly wonderful since her parents had escaped the city. They'd managed to keep it very quiet, just a short trip to visit her father's people to be with his ailing mother, who wasn't ailing in the least. They had wanted her to come with them, worried that she'd be in danger because even if she didn't look it, she did have a bloodline that was far from pure human. She'd assured them she'd be fine, and even now, she received letters on occasion from them, and sent letters in return. They were careful to keep up appearances, and she kept the letters pinned up on the wall of the shop. Even after two years, enough people still came and inquired about her parents and how her grandmother was doing to make it worthwhile to show them the letters.

Kline didn't stay very much later; his parents ran a general goods store down the road a bit, catering mostly to travelers passing through and he had his own duties there, leaving her to handle the afternoon and evening customers alone. Fortunately she kept slow cooking soups and supper loaves in supply for the dinner crowd, mostly soldiers and laborers who either didn't cook for themselves or preferred her food to the cuisine that was served at most of the boarding houses and such. To be entirely honestly, she certainly couldn't blame them, and her food was a fair sight cheaper than the food offered in taverns, not to mention tastier as well. It was a stroke of brilliance on her part, if she did say so herself. With the king's policy of suspicion against so many non-humans and those of obviously mixed blood, a goodly number of positions were left open. Several of those positions were those of the galley cooks for the soldiers' barracks in the palace and the city guards. There were still some of course, but not nearly enough to cover everything and rather than gangpress what soldiers remained into kitchen duty, she was instead paid a surprisingly generous stipend to provide meals for the soldiers and guards of the city. It worked out well for her, making her able to keep her prices for regular customers low, and the soldiers certainly weren't complaining.

The evening itself was always busy and by the end of the night, the big tureens of roasted meat and vegetable stew were nearly empty, the leftover roasted meat put over the fire in broth and water and spices to cook down over the night into the base of the next day's soup, the chicken left over boiled down into chicken stock for dumplings tomorrow. With everything set for the night, all the other pots and dishes washed and the dough for the morning's baking set out to rest under dampened cheesecloth, she locked up for the night and made her way up the stairs to the apartment. Upstairs from the shop was her and her family's apartment and nowadays it was dreadfully quiet and lonely. Aside from a cat and her mother's little terrier, the place was entirely too empty and quiet. She'd left things precisely as they were, hoping that they'd be able to come home soon when all of the madness blew over...but even then, she couldn't help but think that it was possible that she'd never see her parents again. The thought of shutting down the shop and running for the elven lands...her mother's heart would break. The shop had been open for years. This city was their home, her home, the only home she'd ever known. To leave...to leave was unthinkable. One day, things would get better. The malady that had been affecting the poor king's mind would clear and things would be as they once were. They had to be.

Wesson, the little brown and white terrier her mother had loved so well, greeted her at the door with a happy little yipping bark, running around her feet in near fainting excitement. She couldn't help but smile a bit and reach down to pick up the little ball of fur and terror, cuddling him. She had been spending longer and longer hours in the shop, coming home barely to bathe and sleep before going back to work again. It had been different when her parents were here. There had been time for things. Time for meeting people, for friends, for attending chapel and exploring the university libraries, for attending lectures back when great scholars had come to the universities to speak on subjects magical and mundane. There had been time for walking in gardens and enjoying the smell of rich, wet earth and growing things, time for...for so much. But with the shop resting solely on her shoulders now, it was her responsibility to keep things in good order until her parents returned.

Freckles, the tortoise shell tabby cat that occasionally deigned to allow her to pet him hopped up onto the bed as she laid out her nightclothes and got ready to bathe. It was a bit hypocritical, she thought, to have chased the dwarves and gnomes out of the city along with the elves and everyone else not human, but still make so much use of their engineering for plumbing and such. Still, she wouldn't complain about it overmuch; covered in flour and sugar and spices, she was simply happy to get a hot bath without having to boil gallons of water first. The water was drawn up from the aqueducts and heated huge natural cisterns under the city, and mostly it was important businesses and the public bath houses that had the benefit of hot water. However, given that her family's business was old and well regarded, they had it as well and it extended up to their living area too, allowing her to unpin her hair, put her dirty clothes in the hamper to be washed later and sink into the steaming water. The city was quiet after dark for the most part, with taverns and brothels still operating after the sun went down. It was quiet enough that she could simply relax, settled into the water, scrubbing herself clean and letting the hot water soak away the soreness and stress of the day. Eventually, she would have to hire someone to help her full time. When it had been the three of them working the shop, it had been easy enough to do so with just Kline's help occasionally. But now it was becoming far more than she could manage alone. Hopefully that soldier would come by tomorrow to help. Heavens knew she could use all the help she could get.

Winters stood on the rooftops and watched as the lights of the little bakery flickered off one by one. He saw a streak of light where the curtains were parted slightly, and a tortoise shell cat hopped up onto the bad. A small terrier dog jumped playfully by the small sliver of view that the Red Mage had as he watched over Rihayne's home. From his vantage point he could see lovers strolling down the street, cutpurses lurking in the shadows, and drunkards weaving their way home to their resentful and disappointed wives. The heart of the city kept beating no matter how much sunlight or rain fell upon Vistamere.

Early the next morning, hours before the sun would rise, the soldier knocked at the back door of The Sweetest Things. He wore much what he had the previous day, though his face was clean and he had a pair of heavy gloves tucked into his belt. He leaned against the door and heard the sprightly yap of a dog, probably the terrier that he had spied the previous night. He noticed that the alley had been left to disrepair, possibly because of the lack of hands to help work since King Lothian cast out all non-humans. He made a mental note to himself to speak to the merchants' guild to see about hiring more lamplighters and street sweepers to keep the back roads manageable.

The day began early at a bakery, but even still, the knock at the downstairs back door and the subsequent excitement of Wesson came a good bit earlier than Rihayne would have liked. She glanced at the clock and groaned softly, pulling her pillow back over her head. It was an hour before she had to be awake and as she got up, she couldn't help but lament that lost hour, washing her face quickly, brushing and pinning her hair into some semblance of order. The lights in her little upstairs home flicked on one by one as she hurried from room to room, throwing on breeches and tunic and heavy apron, heading downstairs to see what was going on. The whole process usually took much longer, but with the added urgency of someone at the door, she was downstairs and opening the back door in a scant few minutes.

She was surprised and pleased to see that it was the soldier from yesterday, the one who had come by and offered to help chopping wood and such. She never had help in the mornings, Kline, being a young lad and still having a lot of growing left to do, tended to sleep in until his mother chased him out of bed and off to lessons in the morning at the children's school run by students at the university. Midday would bring the young boy here to help her, and by that point, the busiest work of a bakery was finished and dying down. The thought of having help that morning was a very pleasant one. "Ohh! You're here early! Come on in then!" She smiled a bit and stepped back letting him into the currently inactive kitchen. Aside from the pots of stew base simmering quietly on the stoves and the bowls of bread and pastry dough laying covered in huge mixing bowls, the work of a bakery hadn't yet begun.

"Well, you can start with the wood if you'd like but honestly it'd be rather dangerous for you to be swinging an axe in the pitch black so we might want to save that til later in the morning when the sun comes up." She smiled brightly. "I could use a hand chopping up vegetables and meat for the stews, or you can begin getting things prepared for me to make the breakfast meals for the morning customers. It's up to you; I can teach you how to do either one pretty easily. We're starting earlier today, so we'll have plenty of time to let you get the hang of things before the soldiers and workers start coming in." She held out an apron to him hopefully, rather liking the idea of an actual extra pair of hands in the busy mornings. If these were his usual hours, she'd have no problem asking Kline to go and do the wood chopping later, or getting one of the other young men in the city to do it. Woodcutters were easy to find. Someone able to help her with the actual work of the bakery was a rare and precious thing.

"I'm not too early am I?" He stepped through the doorway, and the little dog instantly began sniffing at his boots, the little tail wagging so fast that it looked like the dog's rear end might begin to levitate. "I always thought that bakers started their days the night before, what with all the rising and the kneading." He set his gloves on a lower shelf when she handed him the apron and looked around. "I can cut things, Mistress Rihayne. Please, go ahead and tend to your morning needs. I'm not lost in a kitchen." He looked around and old memories of her parents bustling about the kitched came to mind. He remembered her in a small play pen in the corner, laughing as her father tossed dough into the air in flying circles to make the stuffed breads that he was so famous for.

"Really; I promise I won't burn down your shop." He slid the apron over his head and wrapped the strings around his waist, tying them in the front. As he went around the kitchen to peek at what she had been doing he rolled up his sleeves past his elbows. Cooking was hard work. The rolling and kneading was excellent for working on hand strength, and he missed the simplicity of the work. For a few hours each day, at least until her afternoon help came in, he'd be able to forget about the complexities of his role as the Red Mage.

High Inquisitor Aimast K'Grun swept through the castle halls on his way to King Lothian's audience chamber. The king was more insistent every day. He demanded that the chalice of life be found, as well as the blood to fill it, so that his own life would be extended. It irked the Inquisitor to have him more important tasks of the day interrupted to appease the childlike king, who sat on the throne and threw fits when his demands weren't met. Usually those fits were accompanied with rolling heads, but never the Inquisitor's. No, not him, for there was only one man who King Lothian feared, and that man was not...a man. Dark horns swept back from Aimast's head, looking like a great ornamental headdress, but the horns were a gift from his father. The Inquisitor was the offspring of a dark priestess and her summoned demon lover; his task had originally been to find and destroy the children of the priestess' husband, a king known for his fondness for young women and their innocence. Somewhere in Aimast's task he became embroiled with the king's oldest bastard son, and there their destinies became forever entwined.

Roguel Winter, the bastard son of a king, and Aimast k'Grun, the demon son of a queen; almost-brothers locked together for unknown reasons and forever tormenting each other with their meddling. Today Aimast had good news to report to the king. He had found the source of blood that was needed, and he had a good lead of where the Chalice would be.

"Too early? No no! Well, a bit earlier than normal. And you're right, I do a lot of my busy work at night before I leave, so I can have that extra sleep in the morning. It's been a bit harder to handle since the city guards and the soldiers stationed here come here for their meals rather than the galley." She sighed a moment. "There were a lot of non-humans in the army and the guard corps. And most of them in support roles. So the city's tried to pick up where we can. The tailor and seamstress in the city does repairs for uniforms, and the local blacksmiths take care of armor and weapons in lieu of the military's own people. It'll take time to train others into the roles that got abandoned with the non-humans leaving."

She frowned slightly, and it was obvious she wanted to say something but she didn't, instead forcing a bright smile as he pulled on the apron and rolled up his sleeves with the air of a man that knew what he was doing. "Ohh, your wife is going to love this someday! I hear so many wives complaining that their husbands can't do even the most basic tasks in the kitchen. It makes you wonder how they survived before they got married." She shook her head a little and turned to uncover the first couple of bowls of dough and beginning to cut them into loaf sized sections. "And then I remember that I end up feeding most of them, so that question rather answers itself, I suppose. Ohh, and the vegetables are in that bin there." She pointed to a large wooden bin of potatoes, onions and tomatoes. "Once you've gotten...about twenty pounds of those chopped, we'll toss those into the cooking pots for the stew and let them simmer down. That'll give me time to get all of the things in the oven and get to work on the food for the soldiers." She greased the baking pan lightly and set the dough in it to bake, sliding it into one of the many ovens in the back before working on the next tray.

It was surprising that she didn't seem to move quickly so much as rhythmically, efficiently. She wasn't as fast as her father might have been, but there was no wasted movement. Every step, every turn, every motion did something, and often times more than one thing at a time. One hand would be sprinkling chopped nuts and sugar lumps into a hollowed out lump of dough while her other hand was brushing on a sugar and egg glaze over the top of sweet rolls. She didn't toss the dough like her father did, but her fingers were quick and nimble as she braided the loaves in with the cheese and onion, the sausage and herbs, and all manner of supper loaves she'd be baking. Even her feet and hips and elbows were used. She obviously knew her way around the kitchen well enough that even if it were pitch black inside, she could have done her work in the dark. It was what she'd grown up doing, what she'd done her whole life, and though she wasn't precisely fast, the speed at which the trays of food began to fill the counter display and the windows and fill the baking racks in the back was telling.

The soldier was busy with chopping vegetables and sorting them into different bowls when he noticed that Rihayne was still working next to him. He watched her dancing in the kitchen, her body creating a rhythm all its own in the warm room. Her hands played the ingredients like a musician as she dusted and stuffed, rolled and filled. Finally he decided that he had to get her to go take care of herself.

"Mistress, aren't you going to go take a shower? Do your hair?" He smiled and a dimple creased his cheek. "I'll get the prep work done until it's light enough outside to chop wood." He set the knife down and looked at her, shaking his head at her. "I'm here to help, not to be babysat. Go - put on some kohl and pinch your cheeks, or whatever it is that women do to make themselves lovely."

He reached out and pulled playfully at her hair. "Like this; don't you need time to braid it into a coronet?" He finished pouring all the cut vegetables into the last of the bowl. "And I'll keep an eye on the ovens." He sneaked a little morsel of cheese to her terrier. "I won't let them burn."

She looked up, surprised as he spoke to her, mentioning that she needed to go and take a shower and do her hair and wondered if she smelled bad or looked unkempt. "I...I just showered last night before bed...and wh-what's wrong with my hair?" She reached her hand up nervously, pausing just in time to keep from putting dough and flour in her hair. It was a little strange to see him smile; the dimples made him seem less severe and she found herself blushing a little as she looked away, pushing her hair back from her forehead with her forearm. "I'm fine, I'll just stop and braid my hair back a bit tighter. I don't wear any makeup in here, hot as it gets with the ovens and cookstove going."

She went to the sink, washing her hands clean and stepping back into the storeroom a moment, pulling out the pins that had messily held her hair back, finger combing her hair into order, pulling it back tightly and pinning it in a tight coiled knot behind her head and pulling a white baker's cap over her hair to keep it from coming loose and getting into the food. A few moments later she stepped back out into the kitchen, smoothing her apron and washing her hands once more, getting back to work. There was a reason she bathed right before bed. Mornings were bad enough as it was, no need to add an additional chore to it.

"You..." the soldier shook his head in frustration when Rihayne returned from putting on her cap. "Mistress Rihayne, if you do not care for yourself then how will you ever find a husband? How will you continue your family line?" He went over to her and took the towel out of her hands. His body was close to hers, his left hip nearly touching her own as he faced her. "I'm going to tell you one more time. Go upstairs to your room. Clean yourself up; put some kohl on and braid your hair when it is wet. Tie your waist wrap straight. Then come back down here. I expect you to do that in the next half hour. In the meantime I will watch your kitchen."

He took the towel and snapped it so that it struck her rear with a decisive ~pop!~ "Now go on! I'm not here to allow you to continue as you always have, I'm here to give you a chance to make things better."

She had no idea how to respond when he asked her how she expected to attract a husband if she didn't take care of herself. She hadn't given much thought to attracting a husband or anything of that nature; she had far more to worry about at this particular point in time. She had to worry about the shop, about the new contracts for the military and guards, a lack of available help with the available workforce of the city being spread so thin. He took the towel from her hands, so close that she had to look up at him and had an inkling of how tall he was compared to her. And it made her gulp a little in nervousness. He gave her orders like she was a child and he was her father, giving her a time limit and everything. She stared up at him in shock, not certain how to react to this... and then the towel snapped, stinging across her backside with a sharp snap, making her squeal as she jumped, stumbling backwards. "I...but...you..." She felt her face flush bright red, trembling a little and turning, running up the stairs as fast as she could, rubbing the little stinging spot on her ass where he had snapped the towel on her.

She didn't know why she obeyed him, but she did, throwing off her clothes, showering herself again and braiding back her wet hair, twisting it up and pinning it up. She dressed in clean clothes once more, tied her apron on once more. Kohl....she'd never really been one to wear such things, but she was nervous about coming downstairs without it. Still, the half hour time limit ticked closer and closer, and eventually she felt the lesser evil to be to show up without one component of his instructions than to not show up at all. She made her way nervously down the stairs, her fingers twisting into her apron as she closed the door behind her, hesitant to come near him once more.

Bread cooled on the racks. Stuffed baked sandwiches waited for the lunch crowd to arrive. Stews boiled prettily on the low fires, and the last of the flat breads was coming out of the huge ovens on wide, flat paddles. The soldier looked at Rihayne absently as he pulled out the flatbreads, then did a double take. "You forgot something, Mistress. How will anyone notice the gold and green specks in your eyes if you do not highlight them?" He slid the breads unto the cooling racks and put the paddle aside.

He dusted off his hands as he walked towards Rihayne. "It's dawn now. I'll go chop some wood, but I expect you have enough time to line your eyes before the first customer arrives. He bent his head to the left, then to the right as he examined the baker. "It's not bad."

With a dimpled smiled he moved towards the door. "How much wood do you desire split? A full cord, or half, Mistress?" Outside the door was a sturdy axe hanging from a handle. The soldier thought that he would have to sharpen the axe first, but thankfully she at least had one.

She swallowed hard but puffed up her chest and stiffened her back slightly, giving him a stern look of her own. "Now look here! This is a bakery, not a tavern! I'm a baker, not a serving girl! I don't put that sort of silly stuff on my face; I wouldn't even know how to do so even if I possessed such a foolish thing. Besides, it gets quite hot in here, that sort of thing would just run and melt and then I'd look horrible! Now, I took your request to go get a fresh shower and change of clothes and such but I'm not putting on makeup, and I'm quite serious about that. So...so you can go ahead and chop the wood, half a cord should be enough to suffice. Now...now shoo!" She said,shaking her apron at him to emphasize her point. She hardly needed commentary on her looks; she was here to do a job, not flirt with customers or any such thing like that, and certainly wasn't going to let a soldier walk into her shop and dictate how she dressed and presented herself. She didn't need to wear any silly kohl, and she didn't have any anyway.

She turned her attention firmly back towards the bread, checking the stews and moving them off of the direct heat to keep them simmering but not quite boiling and began to wrap the sandwiches in parchment-like paper and put them into the warming cabinet to keep them fresh and hot. Most people came and bought their lunch for the day when they got their breakfast, as their lunch break wasn't nearly long enough to come to the store, wait in line and buy food, eat it and get back in time. Wrapped in the parchment and then in cheesecloth with a hunk of cheese, roasted potatoes and a couple of pickles, it made a fine, filling lunch for the workers and soldiers who frequented her shop. She glanced towards the soldier, blinking a moment as she realized that she'd never inquired after his name. "What shall I call you anyway, sir? That sounds a bit formal, and it could get confused with customers and such around as well."

The soldier laughed when Rihayne dressed him down. "So there is some fire in those veins of yours," he teased. "Finally." He stood there for a moment, grinning at her flushed face and her attempt to shoo him away. He went out back to get the axe, then brought it in to wet the blade before sharpening it. As he stood at a far table, methodically running a whetstone across the axe head, he watched her move through the kitchen and do that little dance of hers.

"What shall I call you anyway, sir? That sounds a bit formal, and it could get confused with customers and such around as well."

He glanced up at Rihayne as he tested the edge of the axe. "You can call me whatever you want, but my name is Roguel." He gave her a little wink as he hoisted the axe to his shoulder and went out back to split the wood. Soon the steady chopping of the axe could be heard, and before she realized it, the morning patrons were pouring into the little shop to buy their meals for the day.

She stared at him in shock; he'd been doing that just to get a rise out of her?? Her face flushed with embarrassed anger and she turned away, turning her attention instead to the bread baking in the ovens. Ohh, the nerve! Making such a deal about her hair and her clothes and putting on kohl! He came back in a few moments later with the axe, the blade wet before he settled down to sharpen it and she sniffed a little, still perturbed at the whole exchange. "Well, Master Roguel...I'll appreciate you to stay out of my personal affairs in such an intrusive manner. I'm a grown woman and I can look after my own affairs. I...I appreciate your friendship with my parents but...but for right now, until they return, I'm the mistress of this establishment and I wish to be treated as such." She folded her arms and glowered at him in what she hoped was an intimidating, business like manner, but at the same time she knew that she didn't look very intimidating in the least. Still, it was a good effort and she was proud that she'd stood up for herself to a bully, even if he was a well-intentioned one.

He'd scarcely gotten outside and begun to chop wood when the first patrons began to come in and she was in the middle of her normal morning maelstrom, taking coin, passing out breakfast pastries and refilling large tureens of boiling hot tea and coffee for the breakfast crowd, eager to have something to kick them into the right mindset for a day of work. She was used to the cheerful chaos that her store housed, and was entirely in her element when it came to doling out meals, hot beverages and smiles to the people that clamored to her shop. Busy as it was, tiring as it could be, she loved every minute of it, wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"Not Master Roguel. I work for you; just Roguel." He smiled when she said that she was the mistress of the shop and he took a step to put him close to her folded arms. "And it's good to see you taking charge. It looks good on you."

Later that day the crowds had begun to die away when the soldier came back in. He had resharpened and cleaned the axe, which he hung up in a cabinet near the rear door. Roguel waited until the last customer had collected her bag of loaves before approaching the counter. "The wood is cut and stacked, mistress. Do you have someone to bring more in the morning?" He grinned at her apprentice and gave him a smack on the arm. "Are you giving Mistress Rihayne a hard time?"

The kid shrugged. "No more than usual, I guess."

Roguel laughed. "All right. Mistress, if you're done with me then I suppose I should get out of your hair until tomorrow morning." He reached out and pushed some of the loose strands of her hair away from her face. "You should keep these pinned back, you know. You have lovely eyes."

She really didn't have any idea how to respond to Roguel's comment about her eyes, her hand moving up to smooth her hair back as she blushed furiously, glancing away in embarrassment. "Y...you're being very silly now, Roguel. And...and I'm not anyone's Mistress either, so you can simply just call me Rihayne." He was...if she wasn't certain of his teasing intention to simply try to fluster her, she'd have thought for certain that he was flirting with her. That was a silly notion though and didn't bear any more consideration of it. She glanced at Kline a moment before shaking her head and turning her attention back to the ovens. "Well, if you want to leave, that's fine. I can carry wood in myself in the morning, so there's nothing to worry about there. I have several other chores if you don't have anything else to do, so you're more than welcome to come back. If you want to wait a few moments, I'll pack you up a lunch for later."

Roguel smiled and reached across Rihayne to pluck a small biscuit from the counter. He was terribly close to her, only a hand's breath apart at the most. "You shouldn't have to carry wood, Rihayne. I'll do that for you later tonight, but I have work to do this afternoon. You'll wait for me, won't you?"

He smiled and glanced over at Kline. "I'll wait for lunch. Hey, kid, what do you want to do with yourself after all this? I mean, you're not quite the type to want to grow up and be a baker. What do you want out of life?"

As they talked, a man walked by the window and glanced in. His eyes flashed red for a moment when he saw Roguel inside.

The soldier straightened up and became a bit serious until the man disappeared out of sight. He listened to Kline's words, but he seemed slightly preoccupied.