(514-08-25) After the Rain
Summary: Elrick, Eirian and Acwel discover a melancholy Padrig. Fighting happens.
Date: 25 August 514
Related: Heavy Rain
acwel eirian elrick padrig 


It is far too early in the afternoon for a man to be hellbent on drinking until he passes out, but such is the way with Padrig; he is far too deep in his own self-inflicted misery to have sought the company of his beloved whores, even, and so he seeks naught but the company of his beloved ale. He is sprawled in a patch of dirt beside the city wall having crawled blindly down the back alley behind the whorehouse to find a place to take a piss. This particular corner is darkened by the shadow of the city wall not heavily trafficked, being as it is sandwiched between a disreputable hawker of miscellany of questionable background and a bawdy house.

Padrig isn't far enough into the drink to be completely unaware of his surroundings, but he's far enough into his melancholy to give precisely zero fucks about them. He squints one-eyed into his skin before sloshing it around to check the level of its contents: abysmally low. "My kingdom for a drink," he groans, tilting his head back to thunk against the wall.

With the news that the knights of Salisbury have returned from their mission to the manor of Redland, with results more dire, Elrick is on a mission of his own to seek out his cousin. Not a surprise, Eirian is also at the Laverstock's side as they are all family now and while on his search, he bumped into Sir Acwel, a knight who is known to be levelheaded from what was seen at Marlboro. His help was sought as well, as Padrig is missing, not at his usual watering hole or spending time with skilled courtesans after a bloody battle.

After asking around in Sarum about a knight of particular description, the trio are directed to the back alley behind one of the buildings with such a known reputation and Elrick looks at his companions, "I will approach, since he knows me best. I'm afraid his… decision-making will be impaired as I have a feeling he is deep into his cups." Proceeding down the alley, his concern is confirmed when he hears someone asking to trade a kingdom for more alcohol. Releasing a sigh, Elrick begins approaching his cousin, "Paddy, you're safe. We've been looking for you." It is a cautious approach, as one would approach a cornered cat that is wounded and in no mood for intervention.

"Sir Padrig," Acwel greets, clad in chain despite the rather heavy and extensive bandaging he has received and re-received in the aftermath of the battle of Dorset. A battle that Padrig was present, after all. His green eyes scan around their surroundings as if to ensure there are no passerbys for whatever might ensue. He doesn't say anymore than just that greeting for now as he waits for Elrick to approach his cousin, though the Woodford has seen that kind of despondence before, even if he hasn't yet felt it. Or so it shows in his expression, half-perplexed and half-concerned.

The attempt to seize inspiration from the depths of one's heart can be devastating to a man pledged on sword and shield, after all.

Padrig looks up immediately not at the sound of his name, but at the telltale crunch of debris beneath shoes that announces the arrival of one - two - three people. His gaze lands first upon Elrick, and his eyes widen as he takes in Eirian and the vaguely familiar face of the Woodford knight. The latter is, unfortunately, dismissed for the moment; his cousin is addressing him, after all, and it would be rude to ignore him. "Aye, so I am safe," he replies slowly, and his words are broken by the shuffle of his feet as he braces himself to rise. To his credit he sways only once and reaches out to touch the wall to keep himself erect. "Not so much can be said for the others. You have heard the news, then." It isn't a question; his lips press together in a grim line and he looks away, suddenly unwilling to meet anyone's gaze directly. "If you, too, have come to sing songs about my glorious skill on the field, I would rather not hear it. I am content with my ale."

"The others knew of the risks when they received their knighthood, Paddy, as do we all." Elrick says with a sigh as he nears his cousin, not helping the other Laverstock up to his feet, not showing too much caring actually besides the initial statement about the man's physical wellbeing. "And yes, I have heard the news. Unfortunate but those in Dorset has much to pay for, and they will pay for their transgressions. However, cousin, I am not here to speak of your accolades because we all know I am the better Laverstock Knight, not you, so the songs I sing would be my own. I'm only here to tell you stop being such a little bitch, Paddy. It is unbecoming." Striaght and to the point. "No matter what happens, you know that your family will always love you and be there for you. Look at how much of a fuck up I was and you still stood by me in the end. After the Laverstock Way of course."

Among the varied party serving as envoys, the quietest among them could well be mistaken for a squire forced to tag along, a lost traveler, a courier with nothing better to do than follow around Acwel and Elrick in search of excitement. Handsome knights examining the seedy underbelly of society require someone to act as a witness, a medieval chronicler getting into the trenches and really discovering what the unpleasant side of chivalry is about. The deep cowl and ground-length robe may actually lead some pious folk to suspect death reaps tonight, sending souls to purgatory or back to Hell, though death is hardly an imposing subject seven feet tall and skinny as bones. Said shadow also stays in the deepest gloom, face turned downwards, that no casual attempt to decipher her identity might be found. In this spectator sport, Eirian has much to learn and, for that matter, any attempt to 'accidentally' wander down the alley or scamper past with a cudgel has to get through someone else first.

Success
Padrig checks his Loyalty for Robert at 15, he rolled 7.
Success
Elrick checked his Love for Laverstock of 15, he rolled 6.
Success
Acwel checked his energetic of 16, he rolled 7.

"What's that? Content with your ale? There's war going on out there, Laverstock!" Acwel steps forward as he musters his inner drill sergeant, perhaps reminiscent of the man he squired under: Sir Gwydion de Newton, his uncle. But he's quite a bit less polite than his esteemed kinsman, and as such, he puts on the brave face of a roughneck: "Your glorious skill on the field doesn't matter one fucking whit while there are people in need of your sword and shield. And you spend your hours here, drinking? What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get on your feet, Sir, and go fetch your armor and sword. If you do well enough, I am sure the women in the esteemed," he glances at the building they find themselves near, "house over there will even give you quite the war hero discount."

It smarts just a little bit to be called out on being a little bitch about anything, but Padrig narrows his eyes at Elrick in warning. "You really don't want to provoke me, Rick, not by using your impeccable history as a standard," he replies quietly, approaching his cousin with slow steps. He tosses away his wineskin without a thought, and it lands some several feet away and begins to glug merrily as it empties its contents into the dirt. "You know it isn't their duty or their honor to be kidnapped," he continues, reaching out with both hands to push Elrick back with a forceful application of his palms to the man's shoulders. "It isn't duty or honor to be slaughtered like a dog by soulless, honorless fucking pigs—" Padrig is almost at full steam now, but he deflates a little when Acwel interrupts to give him a nice tongue-lashing.

Only his scowl darkens a bit, but he stays his hand for the moment - or at least the only thing he does is hold up a finger to warn Acwel to cease. "Don't seek to lecture me, Sir Acwel, on the coming war. I just had the somewhat dubious honor of disappointing the Earl with word of his massacred men described in great detail from my front row vantage. I didn't see you there." He sketches the Woodford a somewhat sardonic bow, but his expression is far from amused.

"And what was /your/ mission, Paddy? Did His Grace tell you to ride off for Redland to slaughter all of the Dorset knights there and bring back the captured knights on your shoulders? When you spoke to the Earl, was he disappointed by /your/ actions? From what I have heard, you saved a knight from the same cruel fate, or worse, bleeding out on the field of battle without his family or loved ones knowing what happened." Elrick says with a smirk as he is shoved back a couple of steps, not relenting with his words, pressing forward without hesitation as he would when in battle against another knight. "If you had chosen otherwise, the two knights that were captured would not have been the only ones to be slaughtered. All would have been slain, or worse, Paddy. But you accomplished your mission, the Earl wished to learn what happened to the missing knights. You did just that."

As the singular lady in a sea of knights, Eirian adapts to the Laverstock Way fairly well. The rules follow a similar pattern. Stay out of arm's reach, make yourself inconspicuous and save the salvos of harsh words for the right moments, the salves for the wounded ego for another. For the time being, she keeps the two men actually trained in the art of war squarely in front of her and maintains the important role of moving any sot along his way. It helps, in this sense, that she is a woman. They might impugn her character by assuming she serves in the classy thatched house next door, or question why someone of quality is down here. Face hidden, cold smile at the ready, her weapons are the silent kind.

Failed.
Elrick checked his loyalty for Robert of 15, he rolled 19.
Failed.
Acwel checked his energetic of 16, he rolled 18.
Success
Padrig checks his Loyalty for Robert at 15, he rolled 2.
Padrig rolls 1d6 and gets (4) for a total of: (4)

Success
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 2. Modified 22 with +10 for Inspired = Success; overflow of 2 raises roll outcome to 4
Failed.
Elrick checked his dex of 8, he rolled 18.
Padrig rolls 1d6 and gets (5) for a total of: (5)
<OOC> Acwel says, "I'm joining in, sure."
<OOC> Acwel says, "Grapple."
<OOC> Padrig says, "Split rolls, 8 and 4. Taking into account Acwel is a wounded man, I'm mostly going to hammer on Elrick because it feels less awful when it's kin."

Success
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 11. Modified 18 with split +10 for Inspired = Success
Success
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 4. Modified 14 with split +10 for Inspired = Success
Success
Elrick checked his dex of 8, he rolled 1.
Success
Acwel checked his dex of 10, he rolled 5.
Padrig rolls 1d6 and gets (6) for a total of: (6)
Success
Padrig checks his str at 12, he rolled 10.
Success
Acwel checked his str of 15, he rolled 4.

Success
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 10. Modified 18 with split +10 Inspired = Success
Failed.
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 18. Modified 14 with split +10 Inspired = Failed
Success
Acwel checked his dex of 10, he rolled 4.
Success
Elrick checked his dex of 8, he rolled 2.
Padrig rolls 1d6 and gets (6) for a total of: (6)
Success
Padrig checks his str at 12, he rolled 5.
Success
Acwel checked his str of 15, he rolled 1.

Critical Fail!
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 20. Modified 18 with split +10 Inspired = Critical Fail
Failed.
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 15. Modified 14 with split +10 Inspired = Failed
Success
Acwel checked his dex of 10, he rolled 3.
Failed.
Elrick checked his dex of 8, he rolled 16.
Success
Padrig checks his str at 12, he rolled 11.
Success
Acwel checked his str of 15, he rolled 7.

Success
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 11. Modified 18 with split +10 Inspired = Success
Failed.
Padrig checks his dex at 12, he rolled 17. Modified 14 with split +10 Inspired = Failed
Critical Fail!
Elrick checked his dex of 8, he rolled 20.
Padrig rolls 1d6 and gets (4) for a total of: (4)
Failed.
Acwel checked his dex of 10, he rolled 17.

Success
Acwel checked his Loyalty for Robert of 15, he rolled 11.
Success
Eirian checked her Proud of 16, she rolled 1.
Success
Elrick checked his Love for Laverstock of 15, he rolled 10.
Success
Padrig checks his Loyalty for Robert at 15, he rolled 2.

Padrig's reply has Acwel seethe a little. He bristles, and steps back after a moment, content not to say anything for the moment. Not yet, at least. Instead he waits, crossing his arms, to see just exactly what this Laverstock Way thing they debated is just about. Maybe it's old school brawling? The Woodford is so-so at fisticuffs, so he'll wait.

Padrig's face turns red as he tries unsuccessfully to keep his temper at bay, but truly how could he not want to smash in Elrick's face after such provocation? "My mission," he replies tersely, shoving Elrick a second time with more force, "might have succeeded, but they died nevertheless." Another shove. "What kind of cretin would I be to not wish to rescue them all from such a fate? What kind of cretin are you to say otherwise, you poncy little shit?"

Now worked into a full rage, Padrig growls loudly and pounces on his cousin, fists swinging madly as the two descend into an untimely and rather ungentlemanly brawl. At least they aren't in a very public place.

The rage that boils out of Padrig easily help him overpower his slightly younger cousin as Elrick takes blow after blow. Luckily the blows to his body are softened by the protective leathers he wears on a daily basis when outside, but his cousin still hits like a whipped mule kicking him in the chest. There will no doubt be bruises and one blow does land on the side of his mouth, drawing a cut there. With a growl of pain, Elrick does what he could to hold Padrig off while Sir Acwel does what he can to wrestle with his cousin. However, Padrig is like an enraged bull, with the strength to back it up.

Whoa, whoa. This is getting violent. Acwel watches Elrick take the first blow before he decides to step in, rushing forward, albeit painstakingly, to try and get Padrig to stop by pinning his arms, or try a shoulder smash to the side followed by a hard grab at the shoulders. Unfortunately, the Laverstock is slippery as an eel, and blow after blow on Elrick is succeeded by a successful avoidance of the Woodford's grappling, despite his best efforts.

It isn't the words or even the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind Padrig is beginning to seriously doubt what in the hell is even going on here, and it certainly isn't poor Acwel's attempts to wrest him away from Elrick that really does the trick. No, what actually happens is Parig himself; he leans back and withdraws his fist, ready to sink it deep into Rick's gut when he notices the trickle of blood spill from his cousin's mouth. That right there is enough for him to remember why he was upset, why he is being a total git, and why he should probably begin to apologize. Appalled, Paddy rocks back onto his heels and stares at Elrick in a moment of confusion as his arm drops to dangle limply at his side.

"Well fuck," he mutters, panting heavily. Padrig slowly eases himself away and straightens, gazing about as if with a sense of newly-found wonder as he reaches down to offer a hand to help Elrick to his feet. He glances sidelong to Acwel but has the good grace to look away, slightly abashed. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Rick, I don't know what in the hell I was thinking. You were right. You were absolutely right. I am a little bitch."

At least one can say that Elrick does very well taking blows because when Padrig finally lets up, there is no cry of complaint or a moan of pain. Instead, he reaches up with a hand to wipe away the trickle of blood that forms from his cut lip. "You certainly don't hit like one, damn Paddy. If you weren't my cousin, I'd question if you weren't half a mule or something." Then he shakes his head as he looks down at the back of his hand, shooting Eirian a quick glance before looking back to Padrig, "At least you got it out of your system, yeah? I'm use to the Laverstock way so no need to apologize. You may be a little bitch, couz, but I still love you just the same." Trying to inject at least some humor into the atmosphere, to show that he hasn't taken any of this to heart.

"It is alright," Acwel replies, a little taciturn in the end. Either he has nothing else to contribute or he simply doesn't feel like doing so at the moment. Other than, perhaps, "We still need you south of Sarum, Sir Padrig. I hope to see you there. After I heal, that is." And for the most part, he stands back and wanders back to Eirian to let the cousins have their family moment.

Padrig barks out a brief, abrupt laugh at Elrick's joke, nudging him in the side with an elbow but refraining from anything that might be deemed as further bitch-like behavior - like, say, a hug or a friendly butt squeeze. Instead, he looks to Sir Acwel and offers the man a sober bow at the waist. "My apologies, Sir Acwel, that you were witness to such behavior. I will, of course, be returning to Dorset. It seems that is where I am most needed these days. I returned only to deliver the news and see to some repairs before fetching my squire and the rest of our gear." He pauses and looks to Elrick, clearly brimming with the desire to request his cousin's attendance southward, but he catches sight of Eirian and second-guesses his motivations. "My apologies to you as well, Lady Eirian, for having to stand here and watch me snarl and snap like a wounded cur. I do hope you will find it in you to forgive me."

The small scuffle gets almost no attention overtly from Eirian, who turns away for the most part while things get solved by fists instead of comfortable words. Any intervention might harm their masculine sensibilities. Besides, this is a society full of high-strung killers no less prone to frothing rages than their aggressive warhounds and horses. Hands cuffed behind her back, she says not a word against Padrig becoming a menace to society by throwing himself into an irate tizzy. Eyes shut at certain grunts and cries too familiar for her liking, though none will have justification to say she flinches at a squeamish sight. A glance flickers askance at Acwel when he retreats towards her and the look speaks volumes; the mask is back in place, serene and capricious as ever. "What apologies are necessary? You are cousins," she remarks, the wry lilt to her voice carving upwards. "You act as though I have never seen a scuffle before, when I am a Burcombe." And they, to a man, are noted for their myriad flaws. Beyond flaws. "You will have our escort for at least the day if you like, for Sir Elrick escorts me on my business to Sir Oswallt."

Hearing the laugh from Padrig fills Elrick with relief as the tension in his shoulders unwinds, much better than another punch delivered by his cousin which he was half expecting. When the other Laverstock speaks of returning to the Dorset front though, the expression on the slightly younger of the two becomes a bit stony, as he knows that he would assist Padrig on that front as well. When Eirian speaks up though, there is relief yet again as Elrick nods his head in agreement, "Ride with us, Paddy, I will be glad to have another trusted blade as we ride south. And once we see Lady Eirian safely to Sir Oswallt… I will join you on that front. So we can face Dorset together." When the last bit is said, he turns his gaze towards Eirian, as if that announcement was for her ears as well.

The Knight of Woodford isn't afraid to meet Eirian's gaze for that moment, but nothing is said by him about the matter as he half turns to nod once again to Padrig. "I will see you both, Sirs, soon. My wounds haven't quite let up, yet, but a little bit more of rest will have me riding out to Dorset soon. Sir Gwion was my first cousin," this last he adds a bit somberly, "and Sir Gwydion was the knight who took me under his wing. It would be a grave disservice if I shied away from bringing bloodshed to Dorset as a result. No," he considers, "now it is a matter of honor."

Padrig nods once to Acwel and offers the man a smile and a hesitant clap on the shoulder. "Then we are hoping you mend quickly, Sir Acwel, so that you may seek your vengeance. I relish the chance to bring the mongrels of Dorset to their knees." Stepping back, he gestures for Eirian and Elrick to precede him before clasping his hands together behind his back. "Lead on, cousins. I've chosen to take up that lovely mount we caught in the fields as my new charger, Rick. What do you say to that? Will I look a dashing knight atop his gorgeous steed?"

"You would look the better beside your brother, the banner of Laverstock streaming behind you, to deliver justice upon Dorset," Eirian replies, not an ounce of irony to be found in her voice. She reaches out lightly to touch Acwel's arm, if he does not shrug her off. "May you heal well and whole, and know your efforts to safeguard the county are much appreciated. There is an honour in what is done, all the more poignant for those taken too soon. Thank you, Sir Woodford." She then retreats a step before anyone sets on fire because a pagan May Queen dared to sanctify a good Christian. Once again awaiting her husband, she waits until Elrick is fully adjacent to her before slipping her arm through his.

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