(514-05-29) Unnamed Feeling I: Hatred
Summary: Mistaken identity and murder most foul on the streets of Sarum.
Date: May 29, 514
Related: None yet.
hadyn braelynn kamron amalthea heulwen lainn dywana tria 

And GMed By (NPC):

sior 


The Eagle Market in Sarum is abuzz with activity today. The smallfolk have just witnessed something that could be considered nothing short of brutish happening; three young men, likely knights, by the look of their chainmail and weapons, are making the rounds, purchasing goods, though it should be noted that there is a certain element of intimidation in their dealings. Another two knights walk into the Boar, a ruckus caused there, with the sounds of tables upturned, before they leave and get back upon their horses, gathering with a man who stands just at the outskirts of the area.

"Where is he?" The man, obviously a knight by his bearing and tabard, demands of his henchmen. They shake their heads in a negative, apparently unable to find whoever it was that this knight was searching. Every single thing about his demeanor and posture implies danger, the threat of violence; he's here for a purpose, and he will not stop until that purpose is achieved.

Stepping away from one of the merchants, Sir Hadyn holds a pouch as though its contents were of considerable worth to him. Tucking it into his belt, he stops as he takes note of the 'likely' knights making a scene throughout the town. A scowl falls upon Hadyn's face as he moves to approach the one they address. Upon arrival, he rests his hand upon the hilt of his sword as he lifts his head, "Merry Meet, this day, Sir.. is there something I can do for you in order to cease such reckless search of this place and those who dwell within?"

A large basket, for such a small lady, but Braelynn carries it with ease. Luckily it's empty today, at least for now. She enters the market on a mission, though she doesn't seem to be in a particular hurry. The first stand she stops at, she encounters the shopkeeper warily eyeing the young men. Green eyes trace the line of his look, and for a moment she begins to plan her retreat, but curiosity, as always, gets the better of her and she watches to see what everyone is looking at.

Kamron is neither armored nor armed, being in Sarum with his cousin and sister (who managed to slip away earlier) to look over the market. The appearance of those men in mail and weaponry, however, draws his bushy brows down into a frown, and he looks to Amalthea, "This looks… most unpleasant." The young knight frowns around the area, looking for some more formal reminder of Earl Robert's justice and power than his own self with naught by a utility dagger at his hip. "I should look into this. Don't get too close, Thea." And then he's slipping her arm from his, and starting toward the nearest of the men in the market, "Excuse me. Sir Kamron de Dinton, one of Earl Robert's knights. Can I help you, sirs?" Thankfully, it's one of the other young men in the group that Hadyn approaches, so at least they're not both trying to talk to the very same man.

The first knight, young, and perhaps about the same age as Hadyn, replies, "No, we are looking for a true blackguard, a ravager of the lands, and we are told he ran to Salisbury not a fortnight ago," this individual declares to Hadyn, jumpy enough that his hand drifts to his sword, considering the other man's scowl and reaching for his weapon. "This is not your concern and so perhaps you should begone."

The second knight, slightly older, but with an unkempt beard and piercing grey-hazel eyes, addresses Kamron, some mild contempt in his tone, "You cannot, Sir. We are looking for a most treacherous of blackguards and we are told he is hiding here, in Sarum. We mustn't delay in finding this cretin and bringing him to justice."

Whatever it is they are, it's clear they are vigilantes. Possibly of the worst stripe.

Amalthea can stick out in a crowd, especially given she accompanies her shorter cousins, and has the reins of a horse in one hand, the beast trotting docilely behind her, leaving a trail of space. Add to that she's not in a gown, but rather a plain tunic and dark leggings, she's a sore thumb. But she's a protective sore thumb and so she watches Kamron approach the scuffle with a narrowing of her eyes and a tensing of her shoulders. The dagger tucked into her tall boots is not drawn, at least, and she stays watchful.

Unfortunately for Hadyn, there are more eyes upon him than he would have calculated. They study his features carefully, and there is some motion behind one of the furthest stands from the knight as a man clad in leather armor rushes to where the main gathering is.

And one of the knights not thusly accosted reports over to the man on horseback in a hurry, a boy no older than eighteen as he proclaims to his presumed master, "Sir! Sir! We have found the culprit!"

La dee dah, poor Heulwen has not the faintest of ideas what is going on. Instead, she is laughing merrily and tugging on the arm of her brother's squire, a bit of a dour man named Newt, and trying desperately to get him to skip with her. Nothing's doing, however, but with much credit to the poor boy, he has certainly done well in keeping his gaze trained ahead of him. The sight of a pretty lass bouncing along is enough to drive any young man to distraction. The air of the carefree, however, dissipates rather quickly when a shout rings through the market, and Heulwen is brought to a halt by a forceful grasp from the squire.

"Oh, goodness," Wen murmurs, rising on tiptoe to peer over Newt's shoulder. The squire leads her to stand beside Amalthea and the mount, and then steps in front of them protectively. It's a gallant gesture, but at the present seemingly futile; much like Kamron, Newt is not in the habit of banging around in markets in full arms and armor. Besides, it appears there is a particular target for today's hunt.

The large basket is placed on the merchant's stand and she move slightly closer to the scuffle. Braelynn gathers her skirts in each hand and lifts them slightly in case she needs to move in a hurry, but she moves closer to the scuffle, eyeing the crowd to make sure nobody has been injured by the brutes. She makes her way to the woman leading the horse, Amalthea, and watches more closely.

Kamron spreads his hands a little helplessly in a sort of mild shrug at the older knight's less-than-polite response. "My apologies, Sir," apparently, the short knight is going to take the path of excruciating courtesy, "perhaps it would be wise to speak with Earl Robert about this, now that he and the rest of his knights are back from Carlion." Okay, so perhaps there is a touch of subtle threat there, "I'm certain that with the added manpower, you would be able to find this blackguard quickly, efficiently, and without disturbing the populace." Smiling beatifically — and carefully keeping himself generally between his cousin and the strangers — Kamron adds in, "I'm certain that the good and true knights of Earl Robert's garrison would be happy to assist in such a gallant quest. Perhaps I might have your name, Sir, and that of the villain you are seeking?"

Such accusations bring a widening of Hadyn's eyes. He bares teeth behind his beard as he growls out in a booming voice, "I am Sir Hadyn de Tisbury, Heir to my House and first born son to Sir Kenrick de Tisbury, Head of House Tisbury. How /dare/ you place such accusations upon me!" his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword, any movement deemed hostile at this point will result in his drawing it from sheathe. His wild eyes stare to the man he originally addressed before someone else preached false accusation. He grinds his teeth as he tries to maintain his patience, "I will not stand for false accusations that stain the honor of my House. Correct the behavior of those who follow you, Sir."

"I am Sir Iorveth," the knight speaking to Kamron replies, though he gives neither homeland he pledges to, nor a surname. Either he is a knight-errant of a sorts or he is willfully seeking to conceal his origins and family ties. "Earl Robert will not help us, and we shall seek no favors from him. But we should be brief, and we shall not delay our stay here any longer, lest you seek to disrupt our findings, Sir?" Yes, that knight now has his hand nearing the hilt of his sword. Well, scratch that, he does draw it, short-tempered scum that he is.

Hadyn, on the other hand, receives a long once-over from the knight on horseback, who climbs down only to see the man eye to eye. There is a moment of silence, and a sneer of contempt, before he murmurs, "Now you hide behind false names and pretenses, Andras? You left my children to die, you left my wife be violated by Saxons when your obligation to us was to go to our aid along with your traveling companions. No, I, Sior de Gillingham, will not let your life continue past this day." His sword is drawn in a metallic hiss, the sword pointed to Hadyn. "You may draw because I am honored enough to let you die fighting. FRIENDS! TO ME!"

And almost as if on cue, his followers, the five or so knights harassing the small folk at the Market and pub, draw closer to the man, willing and ready to fight any interlopers!

Hadyn draws his sword, absent shield and patience at this point. "My condolences for your losses." he says with dripping anger spouting forth from his tongue. "If you wish to be returned to the wheel of life so that you and your family may reunite, so be it!" there's no escaping this fight and he isn't about to let his opponent have the first move, especially since he's growing increasingly outnumbered by the moment. The Wolf of Tisbury pounces forward towards his foe, sword slashing towards the other Knight. His family name is at risk of staining, and he has someone back home waiting on his return.

A small gasp escapes the Lady Braelynn's mouth as swords are drawn, caught by surprise of a sort. In all of her innocence she still places much weight on words being the solution to most situations. She gives a sidelong glance to the women gathered near her, and takes a few steps backwards, as far from the fray as she can without making it difficult to come to the aid of those she might wish to help.

Kamron shakes his head, "You say that Earl Robert will not help you in your quest, Sir Iorveth, then it sounds to me that you should not be pursuing your quest here in Earl Robert's — " Oh look, Iorveth drew his sword. Kamron immediately spreads his arms to his sides, showing that he has neither sword nor axe on him. "Hold, sir!" Anger bubbles beneath the shorter knight's voice now, and paints his features, "You would draw on an unarmed man? What sort of knight are you?" The shout from Sior causes Kam to look about, spotting Newt and Heulwen, "Newt! To the keep! Get the guard! Wen, stay back with Thea!" And despite being unarmed and faced with naked blade, Kamron follows after Iorveth slowly as the man moves back to his liege, "Put down your blades, sir! You are in another man's city!"

Ah, the things that parties will do to a man. Lainn needs the fresh air. Need to get out for a walk. A walk on his hobbled ass. A leg is bandaged, a forearm is bandaged and his face. Well, half the side of his face is angry in burns. Looks like most of it will heal just fine, save a portion on his cheek which looks the worst of all. And yeah, he was just out for some air, and now he finds himself in the middle of weapons being drawn. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" he grunts, walking up with a heavy limp, the skin on the side of his face cracking and peeling slightly from the blisters. "Put that pigsticker away before someone gets hurt! You would find in the middle of the square? Have you damned decency! If you're going to fight, go ahead, loop each other fucking heads off, but do it elsewhere!" the injured Laverstock knight utters dismissively, growing.

Amalthea, being the good stablemaster she is, offers up the horse to Newt so that he might make better time getting to the keep to fetch the guard. "Fly!" she commands the horse, giving it a sound thwack on the rear to send it that way. After that, Thea is turning on Heulwen, half-expecting her to be rushing into the fray already.

Heulwen is quite curious, and she bobs up and down on her toes before trying to sidle out from behind Newt to watch the proceedings. She is rebuffed a few times, but the ring of weapons being drawn from their scabbards causes the squire to jerk, and he is already half-turned toward the horse when Amalthea offers it up to him. Without any further prompting, the squire leaps atop the mount and wheels about, and the horse is goaded into a reckless gallop by the smack on its rump. The ringing of hooves is loud, but it grows distant as the squire rides off in search of assistance, and the faint sound of shrieking women taken by surprise.

In the meantime, Wen has taken up residence — right beside her cousin. It does not seem she is eager to dive in when real swords are in play. Her expression, however, is one of tight-lipped disapproval. "You know, coz, I really had my fill of this nonsense at the tourney, and I am not happy in the least to have our shopping interrupted with this — this — idiocy. Who let armed goons into the market anyway?" This she asks loudly, very loudly, and with her hands cupped around her mouth.

Success
Hadyn checked his Love for Family of 15, he rolled 1.
Success
Sior checked its Hate for Sherborne of 18, it rolled 11.
Success
Hadyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 13. (+10 Passion=25 Skill, +5 roll=18, Success)
Success
Sior checked its Sword of 23, it rolled 5. (+10 Passion=33 Skill, +13 roll=18, Success)
Success
Sior checked its sword of 23, it rolled 15. (+10 Passion=33 Skill, +13 roll=Critical Success)
Success
Hadyn checked his sword of 15, he rolled 14. (+10 Passion=25 Skill, +5 roll=19, Success)
Sior rolls 12d6 and gets (1 3 2 4 6 2 2 1 5 1 6 5) for a total of: (38)

The Wolf of Tisbury may be a bold man, a brave man, and certainly someone who values his family and his honor and will draw his sword over accusations of being a murderer, of being a man other than who he is, of a number of things that Sior levied him of being. All of these are true, but none of that matters for a man so consumed in rage and grief that none of that matters; what matters is finding those responsible for the deaths of his loved ones, even if those faces, the one he so painstakingly memorized so that one day he would see his retribution, faded over time, becoming more generic, less easily recognizable. Until everyone and anyone who had even the shadow of resemblance to him became targets for his wrath and fury.

The same blind rage that fuels the man's attitudes and clouds his thinking is the rage that leads him to outright murder, no stops to what happens next as Sior is challenged. "I told you that your day would come," he murmurs, almost intimately to the man, as he parries the other's sword blow with a loud ring, and subsequently runs his sword through his heart, twisting the sword almost cruelly. "A heart for a heart, bastard. Die and our debt is settled."

Finding Heulwen right beside her, Amalthea wears a bit of a shocked expression. It fades, though, into an unhappy grimace when her younger cousin starts heckling the knights. "Hsst!" she whispers to Heulwen. "Do not draw attention our way, 'Wen. We can hardly defend ourselves against such men, and there is no reason to draw Kamron into reckless defense-" And she's about to say something else but suddenly her heart is in her throat and her eyes are wide because someone was just run through right in front of her.

As he's run through, Hadyn's eyes widen with pain and shock. His sword falls from his hand to the Earth beneath, blood washes down the blade of his killer. With a shaky hand, he reaches for the pouch in his belt. Slowly withdrawing it. A cord made of silver falls from the pouch to the ground beneath him, a cord used for hand-fasting ceremony but lined with silver throughout. A piece worth easily half of a Knight's wages. As the phrase 'a heart for a heart' are spoken to him. His final words whispered while choked with rising crimson that pours from his lips. "I'll wait… for you.. at our river…" his eye sight dims and then there is nothing.

The staff that Lainn had been using to carry himself upright, finds himself next to Kamron, a show solidarity for those that disagree. "Despicable." the Laverstock notes to Dinton. "Duels are one thing, but to do so in marketplace? Foul. Cowardly. /Dishonorable/." he growls, looking as if his limbs and face were not so burned, he might've jumped into the middle of things.

One young Priestess has comes riding into the square in such of… yes Hadyn. Dywana is already frowning to herself as she rides, those ever changing eyes searching the crowds about as she draws near to where she had hoped to him the Knight. This allows her the height to see what is going on and it takes her a moment before her eyes widen in horror as she sees Hadyn ran through.
Such things do cause the moves that epics are written about, be they true love stories or the most tragic of tales. Without thinking about the Knights in her way, the tiny Priestess throws herself out of the saddle and towards Hadyn running into who knows what as she calls out his name. "Hadyn!" It echoes with horror, pain and misery, a call from the heart so deep that it touches the primal of the world outside the walls of the city.

Kamron looks over to Lainn as the other knight comes raging in as well, nodding slightly, and then he steps forward again, raising his voice to a shout, "Put up your swords!" And then they are clashing, and Kamron steps forward again, closer to Sir Iorveth, within sword range now, "Stop it now, by God!" And then the local man has been stabbed through the chest, and shouts, "Put down your sword this instant, and submit yourself to the Law of the land, for that was nothing less than cold-blooded murder most foul!" Bold words from a man with no weapon larger than a belt-knife, but armed men should be coming from the castle, right… even if it's likely that they'll be here far, far too late.

A loud gasp escapes Braelynn's mouth. She watches in horror as the sword disappears into the knight's chest. The color, what little was there, drains from her face. The left side of her skirt drops back to the ground as a small hand flutters up to cover her mouth, stifling the gasp as it dies in her throat. She stares, unable to tear her eyes from the proceedings.

Heulwen mutters nonsense words beneath her breath, shaking off Amalthea in her irritation of having a perfectly fine day ruined. She is, of course, only of the mind that someone has sought to cause some melodramatic mischief among the peoples, but when the swords start clashing in earnest she falters, frowning. Wen dares a flicker of a glance to Thea, and surreptitiously reaches out to close her hand around her cousin's in a painfully tight grasp. The two are not so far away as to be unable to hear or see, quite plainly, the very, very short fight, and it is with a sort of detached astonishment that Heulwen witnesses her first true death. No tourney this, indeed. She becomes aware after a moment or two of a high-pitched shriek, and realizes only belatedly that it has come from her. Clapping her hand over her mouth, Wen stifles the scream and heaves to the side, leaning heavily into Amalthea.

From her window, up above the Boar's Beard, Tria watches, also in horror, as a man is killed right in the market. Her feet are too badly burned for her to leave, but she remains there at the window, face pressed against it, eyes wide, looking at the man who had been killed and the man facing him. The killer.

"The headsman will have a lovely date with you, foul blighter!" Lainn spits in Sior's direction. There's a twitch in the end of the Laverstock at the killing blow. "Thousand curses upon you, murderer! May the Gods blight you and your line for generations, the birds eat out your damned eyes!" He leans heavily on his walking cane.

"Found yourself a new woman, did you, Andras?" Sior's words are spat out almost like the venom of the deadliest of vipers. There is very little emotion in those eyes of his, so unfocused and distant, but there is a glimmer, almost like pleasure, of seeing Hadyn's life wane out as though it was nothing. For good measure, the sword is twisted again and then this murderer snickers, chuckles and then laughs, loudly, a booming laughter that might pierce even the shouts and the pleas for him to stop, the calls for the fallen. The laugh of a man past anything resembling mental faculties. But a tear runs down the corner of his left eye as he looks up, closing them briefly and sobbing. Remembrance for his family, perhaps.

The warriors that face Kamron and Lainn now beat on their shields with the flat of their swords, organized… perhaps ready to commit brutalities of their own before a sobered Sion tells them, "Leave these men, let us fetch our horses and get out of here."

And unless they are stopped, this is exactly what they aim to do; their objective reached, and a soul departed to Heaven, truly, this is a dark day for the Sarum and the Eagle Market.

Amalthea wraps an arm and Heulwen protectively, though careful to keep out of the way should there be any vomit. "It's okay," she hushes, like she's talking to a spooked filly. "It will be okay." Does she look certain? No, of course not, but she looks determined to make sure it is. It seems to be the case, since the men are leaving without any further bloodshed or cruelty, and the Dinton lass relaxes just a bit.

Kamron is not so easily cast aside, even by men with swords when he has none. Drawing in a breath and reaching his left hand up to touch something beneath his tunic, he side-steps to place himself between the blackguards and their route of retreat, his eyes flickering over to Lainn to make sure that he is not going to do it alone, "I said hold. In the name of Earl Robert, I charge you with murder or attempted murder of a vassal of the Earl, and command you to hold where you are, sir." He's not insensate to the screams, especially not the one with a familiar voice, but he knows his duty, and for all that he is staring down six armed and armored men, and his hands shake slightly at his sides, he is not going to back down.

Failed.
Heulwen checked her awareness of 5, she rolled 12.
Failed.
Braelynn checked her awareness of 5, she rolled 19.
Success
Amalthea checked her awareness of 10, she rolled 4.
Failed.
Tria checked her awareness of 10, she rolled 18.
Success
Lainn checked his awareness of 10, he rolled 8.
Failed.
Braelynn checked her firstaid of 15, she rolled 19.
Success
You check your awareness at 9, you rolled 2.
Failed.
Amalthea checked her firstaid of 10, she rolled 15.
Success
Dywana checked her awareness of 10, she rolled 9.
Critical Fail!
Dywana checked her firstaid of 12, she rolled 20.
Success
Tria checked her firstaid of 10, she rolled 8.

Kamron will not be standing alone in that. Lainn, injured with cane and all stands with him. "Only a dishonorable coward murders a man in broad daylight and then runs with his tail between his legs for fear of getting caught." His rage is bit restrained, but it's certainly on high alert. "You committed the act, act like a man and be made accountable for it." The Laverstock will stand with the Dinton, in defiance.

Even from her vantage point at the window, Tria can tell the man is dead. Or dying. The breaths he takes, if any, are too shallow to see from there, so they may even be non-existent. Ducking her head, she tries to get the vision out of her mind, but it lingers, imprinted there as if she were still looking down. Her shoulders shudder and she forces herself to look once more, only then does she notice the Dinton standing, guarding the way so bravely.

Those blue eyes have turned to Ice as Dywana pushes her way past the group of Knights, ignoring all but the face that stands above Hadyn and then Hadyn himself. Her movements are reckless as she throws herself down next to the fallen Knight, for the moment she can only stare down at him, her voice harsh and full of pain, she slides her hand into his, her fingers wrapping around the silver chain and holding it behind them. "Hadyn, you are NOT allowed to die, not after the Goddess brought us together in the river. I will NOT allow this.." Untold grief laces each word, as she kneels there in the blood of her beloved.

"You command us with nothing, and you will leave us alone, or you too will die, if you truly wish to be accomplices to a crime most foul, you two." Iorveth, the one at the far left of the group as they start to depart, tell Kamron and Lainn. The other four draw ther swords, just in case they try anything funny, and point the blades at both Dinton and Laverstock knights. But, for their troubles, they do get smashed brutally on the chest with shields, enough to knock them back. No more killing than has to happen, it seems. "Dare you speak ill of Sir Sion and you will end up on the floor like Sir Andras there." But since they are not armored, nor armed, they simply sheath their swords once again and go mount their horses, just as the first guards start to show up, rushing with their lances to the scene.

"HALT! STOP, CRIMINAL!" The two Sarum guards on horseback exclaim while the others run as fast as he can on their mounts.

All for naught, however, Sior, and his band of murdering criminals, manage to outpace the guards and depart the gates before they could be closed.

Failed.
Braelynn checked her intrigue of 3, she rolled 7.
Success
Amalthea checked her hunting of 15, she rolled 9.
Failed.
Heulwen checked her intrigue of 8, she rolled 11.
Critical Success!
Heulwen checked her hunting of 2, she rolled 2.
Failed.
Braelynn checked her hunting of 2, she rolled 15.
Failed.
Amalthea checked her intrigue of 3, she rolled 17.
Success
Tria checked her intrigue of 5, she rolled 2.
Success
Tria checked her HUNTING of 15, she rolled 7.
Failed.
Lainn checked his hunting of 10, he rolled 13.
Critical Success!
Lainn checked his intrigue of 3, he rolled 3.
Failed.
You check your Hunting at 4, you rolled 18.

To her credit, Heulwen manages to hold onto her lunch. She shakes her had wordlessly to Amalthea, much too shocked to actuall give voice to any real protest. She turns her gaze back to the man on the ground, and the sight of the blood burbling out of the mouth, slowing, stopping, already beginning to congeal in the presence of the air—it's too much for her. Wen may have seen men wounded in battle, and the cleaned bodies of the deceased, but never has she witnessed such violence in person. So perhaps it's not so bad that she shoves away from her cousin, stumbles against a nearby stall, and ducks behind it to wretch.

The hand doesn't move from Braelynn's mouth. She shivers in shock and she stumbles back a few steps. Tears well up in her eyes for this stranger and the woman who cries over his body. She takes a deep, shivery breath and tries to gain control of her body enough to stand steady.

The men are being driven by the guards and Amalthea releases the breath she was holding. Heulwen knocks her slightly, but Thea doesn't seem irked over it, only sympathetic. She herself doesn't wretch (having seen the afterbirth of a foal) but her dark eyes are haunted for far longer, even as she approaches Dywana and the body of Hadyn. "M'lady," she murmurs, in the same soothing tone she uses on the horses when they are distressed. "What might we do for you?"

Kamron continues to move to get in the way, and makes enough of a nuisance of himself to be smashed down to the ground by the foreign knights. He does his best to shove back, but it's only a matter of moments until the Dinton knight finds himself on the ground, his left arm curled in close at his side, blood trickling from his nose and from a split lip. He's probably going to have a black eye, too.

Deciding not to stay in her room any longer, she grabs her blow, quiver and anything she can find. Dried meat? Check. She's gone like a flash out of the Boar's Beard and out where the others are with every intention of hunting the murderers down. She notices Dywana and frowns, but no time now, she leaves that more delicate task to the ladies. Walking to Kamron, who had put up a stand, "I will go with you, noble, we'll track him down." She offers a kerchief for the blood. "Gather yourself and come."

Lainn stands his ground. Almost, no well, he /did/ stand his ground to the point of stupidity. Unarmored and unarmed beyond his walking can, the Laverstock takes the bash of the sheild, staggering and falling backwards, blood trickling from his nose and the wounds reopened on his cheek. With a low groan, he starts to picks himself up from the ground. "You know…there are times…" he grunts. There's glance over at Kamron. "Sir Kamron. You dead yet?" is spoken in a slightly jokingly manner. Humor usually makes the pain worse. Usually.

By now, Heulwen has cleared her stomach of the entirety of its contents, and in a most fastidious manner she rises and uses the edge of a sleeve to dab at her mouth. To see her now, it seems absolutely natural for ladies to be upchucking in a public square. Her chin jerks upward at the sound of more scuffle, and she watches with a sort of horrified detachment as her brother, and her friend, are buffeted backward by shields and driven to the ground. She glares the most evil daggers possible at the retreating forms of the cowardly scum, and then rushes heedlessly toward her brother, doing all she can to avoid even looking at the body and the grieving widow.

Instead, Heulwen drops to her knees beside her brother and begins patting him over immediately in her frantic need to reassure herself that something is still right with this world. She cannot even hear Tria over the pounding of her heartbeat as she shoves at Kamron (quite uselessly). "Get up, Kam, get up! Get up, they're getting away."

Dywana isn't even sure what or who is around at this moment, those eyes are gone as pale as her own skin as she simply kneels there in Hadyn's blood. She leans over after a moment and presses her lips gently to his, her head bowed as she whispers words of maybe nonsense to most but a prayer to the old gods for others. She doesn't hear anyone near, simply lost in her own grief.
Her hair is loose and flowing around her as the wind in the market picks up to swirl around her kneeling form, a picture of great lose and grief if one was to paint a picture of the beauty, the dead and the spending of blood..

Though Dywana doesn't reply to her, Amalthea remains where she is, crouched by the lady and her dead love, murmuring quiet, soothing noises. Everyone is a horse, to her. Her eyes sweep to make sure Heulwen and Kamron are all right, of course, but seeing that they are, she keeps her post. Someone needs to be there until the guards come to help.

Kamron groans as hoof-beats and shouts ring out, pushing himself up to a sitting position, his left arm still curled in close to his chest, "I don't see any angels yet, Sir Lainn, and the gates are still of wood, not pearl." The first part might be an insult to the commoner just scurrying up to his side, or to his sister doing the same, but then he's getting shoved over by Heulwen again, and he groans, "Ow. I'm okay Wennie, I'm okay." Pushing himself back up to a seating position, and then slowly to his feet, he nods to Tria, "We will get more of the guards. There are six of them and I am yet unarmed, mistress." He waves off the offer of the kerchief however, with a little smile and a nod of thanks. That smile fades away entirely as he spots Dywana kneeling over the dead man, and he draws in a slow, painful breath, a stricken look coming over his features, "I'm sorry, Lady. I…" he looks to Lainn, changing that to, "We could not stop them."

Another deep breath, and Braelynn's hand falls back to her side. She takes a step toward the greiving woman, but stops awkwardly. After a few seconds pass she begins to move toward them again. She crouches next to Amalthea and says quietly, "Is there anything I can do?"

Relieved, Heulwen sits back on her knees as Kamron rises up, and then she grasps his hand to help heave her to her feet. Screw him if he won't offer help, but she is going to take it. Once standing, she dusts her skirts clean and scurries after him, loathe, apparently, to let him escape view. She spares a glance for Tria, and a grateful smile, beckoning with a flick of her fingers for the lady to follow. Anyone with weapons willing to give chase, aye? Clutching the lengthy sweep of her bliaut, Wen scampers right up beside her brother and then turns immediately away from the sight of so much loss and grief. Not yet, she cannot look at it yet. Instead, she focuses her attention in the direction the men left, staring very hard as if willing herself to somehow divine their destination.

Tria would never assume herself an angel. Perhaps the opposite, so there is no offense taken from her. "As long as you yet live, there can be justice for this man's death." Lifting her hands, she pulls back her curtain of tousled red curls and confines them into a leather tie. There is a look towards where the guards had gathered, then the gates. "I will set out to track him then and report back, The trail could go cold should we wait too long." Hearing some villagers, she frowns, looking in that direction, she stands and takes one by the arm to listen to what he has to say. With another frown, she looks back to Kamron, "We shouldn't waste time." Seeing the lady at his side, she nods at the beckon, turning to follow. Anything to get something done.

"Good, because I wasn't ready to be sent off on a pyre to the Gods yet." Lainn grunts, sitting upright out of the dirt, and feeling his nose. "Ow." Not broken, but it certainly feels like he might've sprained his already burned leg. Good thing he already has a cane to walk on. And he, like Kamron, is looking at Dywana. "Shit." he mutters. "My Lady." he frowns. What can he really say? "That thing that passes himself as a man will not live long to enjoy his deeds." That said, he shakes his head at Kamron. "I think I'm sitting this one out. I'm no good in a fight right now, as much as I would love to go along."

Amalthea glances aside from Dywana for a few moments as everyone else approaches. "I think we just need to give her space, and time." There is a pause as she rises, looking to Kamron and Lainn, her voice lowering to a gruff whisper. "Someone will need to move the body from here, though. It will not do, with everyone gawking."

Success
Dywana checked her vengeful of 10, she rolled 4.
Success
Dywana checked her orate of 15, she rolled 12.

Dywana for all intents and purposes was a kind good soul, a Priestess of the Mother Goddess, a holder of rites for fertility. But as she looks up from the face of Hadyn, her normally stunning and bright features are closed, dark and cold. Eyes that some have seen one color of blue or another have deepen to a blue so dark it seems black and she turns those eyes towards the departing horsebeats.
A pause, and then a voice that could seduce the most chaste into dangerous acts, speaks and flows to those around her. "I must stay here.. with him.." Grief so thick that it slides along the skin like velvet spills from her throat, her free if bloody hand moving to lay against her stomach as she looks back to those near. "But I offer a reward… to any who bring back the head of his killer.." A harsh demand as she turns back to gently touch Hadyn's face, as if hoping that by staying near and the grace of the Gods he will return.

Kamron helps Heulwen up to her feet without thinking, the instinctive brotherly — and knightly — gesture that is unconscious and ingrained. Tria's words get a slight nod, "Do not get too close, mistress. These appear to be desperate, vile men who would not hesitate to harm a woman." Anger roils in the man's voice, and his brows are drawn into a pained, furious scowl. He nods to Lainn, "I'm certain that Earl Robert will want to send sufficient soldiery to arrest these blackguards." And then the grieving woman is speaking, and he bows his head, his voice quieted in answer to her grief, "There is no reward needed, Lady. It is the duty of all good and true," there's a momentary pause, and his eyes dart to Lainn, and to avoid insulting the Laverstock, he adds, "and able, knights to right wrongs, and surely you have had an abominable wrong done to you." Nodding to his cousin, he beckons the nearest of the guards over, "We will need his body gathered in according to his religion…" a moment's thought, and then he adds, "He said Tisbury, I believe… so that would be the Old Ways?"

Braelynn stands and backs away, not needing another word to extricate herself from what is bound to be an uncomfortable situation. In fact, she almost looks relieved to be unnecessary. She takes a few steps backwards, and the swivels on her heels and heads out of the marketplace, leaving her basket behind.

With an expression as cold and unreadable as a block of ice, Heulwen continues to stare forward, stepping slowly away from her brother and advancing several steps in the direction of the escaped group. She casts about a bit for a moment, as if dithering over some particular point in her head, and then stills. With her arms crossed over her chest, she waits quietly and as unobtrusively as possible.

"And may the Gods favor those that go." Lainn doesn't sound very happy at the fact that he can't go himself. Pulling himself up and onto his feet, he looks a bit wobbly, but the cane thankfully keeps him upright. "Personally, I'd like to see him brought back alive and then get the headsman's axe in this very square, because I'm all about poetic justice, but bringing his head back works too."

"I have a bow, I never get too close, I'm a ranged fighter." Tria assures Kamron. "I would go and help find him with you." And a nod to Heulwen, "And you as well." A twist of her lips as she glances towards the Boar's Beard. "Despite my current occupation, I am also a hunter. The Earl likely will, though I would like to assist." She looks to the heartbroken woman at the mention of a reward. "Then I will take my dagger along just in case." Not likely she'd be able to bring herself to cut off a head of a person, but she has high hopes. "Or yes, as he said. See him beheaded, justice brought, before the people and his family."

Amalthea tries to suppress the shiver at Dywana's words and fails miserably, even taking a step back from the woman so powerful is her speech, her movements. "I can help," the woman offers, more to her kin. "I can ride and care for the horses, and I can track. If help is needed, I offer it."

Having fetched the guard, Newt then went to fetch Kamron's gear, and rides back atop his own horse, the other Dinton steeds trailing behind him in a train. That would be why he's late, of course. He wisely chose not to try to carry a weapon along with all those leads, knowing just as well as anyone who has spent more than five minutes in his company that he is clumsy to a fault. Still, as the little herd of horses mills to a halt just shy of the scene, he calls out, "Sir! Sir! I have your axe!" And everything else, but that's for later, undoubtedly.

Kamron nods to his squire, gesturing the youngster over toward his cousin and sister. "We'll ride as soon as we've a quick report to the Earl and the necessary knights and armsmen to ensure that we deliver the villain to justice." He steps over to take his axe from his squire and slip it into the loop at his belt, nodding to Lainn and promising to Dywana, "And if he resists arrest and will not yield, I will see that you get your vengeance, Lady." The verbal and nonverbal offers of help from his kinswomen draw him up slightly, his lips pressing together and worry piercing his stern visage.

Dywana is not in the mood it seems to allow anyone to touch Hadyn, she hears the words from the others as if a dream as she reaches up and slowly closes Hadyn's eyes. She reaches up and undoes the cloak that is riding her shoulders and gently places it around the fallen Knight, tucking it around gently before folding his hands across his chest. Each touch is slow and loving. But when the handfasting chains come into her view once more, tears start to run down her face, hot drops of water that fall in a silent cascades as she brings the chains to her lips and then wraps them around her waist. Unable to stop her actions she bows over his body with her forehead resting on his chest and weeps.

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