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Erit of Eastcris
Low-Rent Poet
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2014
- Location
- Elsweyr (California)
Ethan Laurke was not a small man, nor was he large in the sense that he was corpulent. No; he, like all the men of the noble House of Laurke, was a man of singular stature and presence, tall and broad and thick-limbed, weighted down with bulk of muscle from a lifetime practicing the family's tradition of smithery. He, his father, his grandfather, all men of the Laurke line back to Lucas, who had been granted the Laurke's peerage, could be compared without hyperbole to bears in their prime. The years and generations had only served to enhance their fortitude of presence by instilling the House with ever-solidifying regality and refinement, granting the Lords Laurke a bearing of authority and solidity that lent a mental weight to them befitting their large statures. As such, it was very rare for them to be disturbed, and never frivolously, for they were very easy folk to be intimidated by. So it was quite unusual for Ethan to be in the position he found himself in one frosty winter morning, as he was holding an open court for the subjects of his demesne. There before him as he sat on his dais, two elderly men where trying to argue his favor over perhaps the most frivolous thing he'd heard in his years.
"You truly came before me today, took the time from my schedule, to argue a case over a clutch of eggs. Eggs which are entirely hypothetical, mind. And you need me to decide to whom the eggs would belong if laid in the other's coop." He kept his features, broad and angular as though forged from steel, carefully neutral throughout. And as silence hung in the air for a time, the two farmers shifting nervously under his withering forest-green gaze, he sighed and allowed himself a measured frown. "I am a merciful man. If you leave and cease to squander my patience with this mummery now, you will escape with just the shame you feel now." A single massive hand, easily the size of either man's head, waved towards the door. "Begone."
He let loose a slow and hefty sigh, scrubbing through the waves and curls of shoulder-length russet hair and standing from his seat. The heavy pine door closed behind the last of his subjects, and he stepped down from the dais with deliberation.
"My Lord Laurke?" Came a voice, reedy but familiar.
"Yes, Jeremiah?" He turned, slowly, to face the man who had attended him throughout his twenty years. The man who had been at his side when his father passed ten months ago, and had dutifully borne the burdens of state in Ethan's stead while he grieved. Jeremiah was tall, albeit not so much as Ethan, and slim, weathered with age and grey of both the hair upon his head and the carefully trimmed and braided beard upon his chin.
"I apologise for the abruptness, my Lord, but a woman has come, claiming to bear a gift from your late father. She will not speak more of the subject, saying she will only deal with you personally."
Another heavy sigh, broad and heavy shoulders slumping with fatigue and agitation. "Very well. Bring her here, as well as tea; I feel this will be a long meeting."
"As you will, my Lord." Came the answer, and Ethan returned to his seat on the dais, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and reclining into the chair, chin resting upon his knuckled with a mien of power and surety befitting his station as nobility. For but a moment, the audience hall was silent, before the polished grey stonework echoed with the sharpness of footsteps approaching, alongside a soft tinkling of what he guessed to be Jeremiah with the tea and a more muted jangle that he did not immediately recognize. Shortly after, a gnarled husk of a woman strode imperiously into the room, knotted cane in one hand and the other resting behind her back, and the first thing she did was meet his half-lidded eyes. Behind her followed Jeremiah with the tea, which he served quietly before withdrawing; and a third figure, cloaked in swathes of grey and brown, from which that unfamiliar jangling came. Chains, then; a slave of some sort?
"The great Lord Ethan Laurke, I presume?" She said, voice gravelly with years and holding that note of arrogance the elderly thought they deserved. At his nose she beamed, flashing a maw half toothless, and nodded deeply. "Good, good. You look a good deal like him, I must say; your father, I mean." She waved her stick as if for emphasis before continuing, Ethan arching an eyebrow in question to the point of all this. "First allow me to offer my condolences for his passing, and apologies for being so late; I rushed here as quickly as I could when the news arrived, but my base of operations is in Ivorale, you see..."
He nodded, waving a hand to bid her continue. Travelling from one end of the nation to the other naturally took time.
"Second, permit me introduce myself; I am Dalque, a merchant specializing in more... specific wares. One of which your father spared no amount of effort and coin arranging for you to receive on the day you took over these holdings, though I doubt he intended it to be in this manner... I digress." She half-turned, directing her gaze to the cloaked figure. "And lo, here we all are. Come on then, girl; off with that cloth so you can introduce yourself to his Lordship."
"You truly came before me today, took the time from my schedule, to argue a case over a clutch of eggs. Eggs which are entirely hypothetical, mind. And you need me to decide to whom the eggs would belong if laid in the other's coop." He kept his features, broad and angular as though forged from steel, carefully neutral throughout. And as silence hung in the air for a time, the two farmers shifting nervously under his withering forest-green gaze, he sighed and allowed himself a measured frown. "I am a merciful man. If you leave and cease to squander my patience with this mummery now, you will escape with just the shame you feel now." A single massive hand, easily the size of either man's head, waved towards the door. "Begone."
He let loose a slow and hefty sigh, scrubbing through the waves and curls of shoulder-length russet hair and standing from his seat. The heavy pine door closed behind the last of his subjects, and he stepped down from the dais with deliberation.
"My Lord Laurke?" Came a voice, reedy but familiar.
"Yes, Jeremiah?" He turned, slowly, to face the man who had attended him throughout his twenty years. The man who had been at his side when his father passed ten months ago, and had dutifully borne the burdens of state in Ethan's stead while he grieved. Jeremiah was tall, albeit not so much as Ethan, and slim, weathered with age and grey of both the hair upon his head and the carefully trimmed and braided beard upon his chin.
"I apologise for the abruptness, my Lord, but a woman has come, claiming to bear a gift from your late father. She will not speak more of the subject, saying she will only deal with you personally."
Another heavy sigh, broad and heavy shoulders slumping with fatigue and agitation. "Very well. Bring her here, as well as tea; I feel this will be a long meeting."
"As you will, my Lord." Came the answer, and Ethan returned to his seat on the dais, resting one ankle on the opposite knee and reclining into the chair, chin resting upon his knuckled with a mien of power and surety befitting his station as nobility. For but a moment, the audience hall was silent, before the polished grey stonework echoed with the sharpness of footsteps approaching, alongside a soft tinkling of what he guessed to be Jeremiah with the tea and a more muted jangle that he did not immediately recognize. Shortly after, a gnarled husk of a woman strode imperiously into the room, knotted cane in one hand and the other resting behind her back, and the first thing she did was meet his half-lidded eyes. Behind her followed Jeremiah with the tea, which he served quietly before withdrawing; and a third figure, cloaked in swathes of grey and brown, from which that unfamiliar jangling came. Chains, then; a slave of some sort?
"The great Lord Ethan Laurke, I presume?" She said, voice gravelly with years and holding that note of arrogance the elderly thought they deserved. At his nose she beamed, flashing a maw half toothless, and nodded deeply. "Good, good. You look a good deal like him, I must say; your father, I mean." She waved her stick as if for emphasis before continuing, Ethan arching an eyebrow in question to the point of all this. "First allow me to offer my condolences for his passing, and apologies for being so late; I rushed here as quickly as I could when the news arrived, but my base of operations is in Ivorale, you see..."
He nodded, waving a hand to bid her continue. Travelling from one end of the nation to the other naturally took time.
"Second, permit me introduce myself; I am Dalque, a merchant specializing in more... specific wares. One of which your father spared no amount of effort and coin arranging for you to receive on the day you took over these holdings, though I doubt he intended it to be in this manner... I digress." She half-turned, directing her gaze to the cloaked figure. "And lo, here we all are. Come on then, girl; off with that cloth so you can introduce yourself to his Lordship."
