(514-11-27) Ermm...
Summary: Custennin de Falt meets Cerys de Tisbury. He feels like he's been flattened by a verbal bulldozer after the conversation.
Date: 514-11-27
Related: None
custennin cerys 

The days are shortening, the weather worsening, and many more sensible creatures have already disappeared from view for the duration of the Winter. Mankind, however, frequently feels obliged to venture out of the warmth and into the cold - and a rather large exemplar of that is presently being provided by Custennin. The lord of Falt manor is perched atop a horse, with squire and pack-animal in tow behind. Heavy brows creased into a glower, the young knight looks quite ferocious - though the glare of light bouncing off the early fall of snow that still clings on here and there might provide at least a degree of explanation for his expression.

"Ooooohooohooo…" A long drawl comes from behind the knight, his squire and their animals. It's an expression of surprise and mild curiosity. It leaves the throat of a young tiny ginger, whose brightly red curls are left free to play with the wind and one or two snowflakes, which fall from the sky accidently and land on the fiery locks.

The young woman's dress fits closely to Cerys' forms and has a rounded neckline that only gives a faint hint of cleavage, if any at all. The bodice is medium gray with a decorative embroidered pattern on the front using silver-colored thread. The fabric of the dress looks really heavy, but it keeps petite lady warm together with a long cloak, decorated with some furs.

Cerys is holding a heavy basket with both of her hands The continent of the basket is hidden under the cloth. Her big green eyes are widely opened and stabbed at Custennin.

The knight joins his squire in craning around to peer curiously back towards the source of that mysterious sound. A blink, then a renewed furrowing of his brow, then he faces front again and gives his horse another nudge with his heels, leading his miniature caravan through the gateway and into the courtyard beyond. There, he swings off his (quite possibly actively relieved) mount, passes the reins to his squire, and looks back to the diminutive redhead once more.

"Is something amiss, milady?", he enquires in a rumble.

Custennin checked his recognize of 3, he rolled 12.

Critical Fail!
Cerys checked her Recognize of 7, she rolled 20.

The young lady follows that caravan through the gateway and stops, waiting for the knight to dismount and end up on the ground. However, then she lets out a similar sound filled with exactly the same emotions, "Wooow…" She keeps her head rised a little bit to look into the man's eyes. His question brings a mild blush to her cheeks though and Cerys lowers her look to the basket quickly, "Forgive me, Sir. I didn't mean to stare. It's just… I have never seen such a… Well… I have never seen a bear with my own eyes, but I believe you would scare even them off."

The huge man blinks a couple of times, clears his throat, glances to his squire - who is studiously busy with watering the horses, all of a sudden - and then looks back to the little redhead once more. "Custennin of Falt," he says by way of introduction, seemingly rather unsure of quite how else to respond.

Cerys beams broadly and looks up at the man again, when she hears no offense in his words, "Cerys de Tisbury. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir!" She offers him a bit awkward curtsy, because she still is holding a heavy basket with both of her hands, "Sir Custennin! I heard of you! Bradwyn told me a lot about you. I used to tease Bradwyn for being so tall. He always used to say that there is even a taller man known as Sir Custennin de Falt! A pleasure meeting you. I hope I did not disturb any urgent matters of yours?"

Custennin continues to look a trifle dazed, but after a moment manages to shake his head. "No, no. Not urgent, no. I am merely here to deliver an account of recent matters in my lands, to my liege. But you know Sir Bradwyn? We had a good contest of arms at the royal wedding tourney, and I admit that I formed a firmly favourable impression of him."

"Of course, I know Sir Bradwyn. He is my best friend. He was page and squire to my uncle Mathias de Tisbury. So, Bradwyn and I grew up together. I consider him as my brother. My uncle was teaching him how to fight, while teaching me how to read!" Cerys laughs, "These days were amazing, but here we are now! He is married and busy, and I am here serving to our dear Countess as lady in waiting." Her gaze wanders to the man's squire for a few moments but soon comes back to the huge man again, "Winter, huh? What will be braught upon us by the snow and cold this year, huh?" She tries to keep the conversation going.

Custennin still seems rather overwhelmed, blinking again in response to the flow of information and queries. "I… should imagine that all will be comfortable enough in the heart of the county," he ventures. "But I have been endeavouring to ensure that my own lands on the frontier are as best-prepared as might be…" A slight pause, then he cocks his head a touch. "You are literate? By no means a standard accomplishment for one raised a pagan. I am favourably impressed."

Cerys snorts playfully, "Of course, I am literate!" She rolls her eyes, "Are you Christian? Why it is hard to believe that pagans can be literate too? My uncle's intelligence is widely known." She sets the basket on the ground before looking back at the man, "I am very curious person and I try to absorb everything valuable to my future. Reading is one of those things." She clasps her hands behind her back and sways slowly, studying the man for a moment. Then she adds, "Falt. Falt… Where exactly is it? You should visit Tisbury. It's by the Naddar River. You could see that pagans are little different from you…" She frowns a bit and eyes the man before beaming, "Roman Christian, right? Your remark suggest that you are Roman Christian. You shall visit us. My father and you could work out some sort of alliance or trade agreements. I am sure we would have what to share."

Custennin's bewilderment certainly isn't being given much of a chance to fade. He still looks quite frankly rather stunned. "I am wed to a pagan," he says quietly. "We are expecting our first child. And Falt is beholden to Sir Oswallt; it is the easternmost of the fiefs guarding the Southern frontier. We lie to the East of the Avon, adjacent to the eaves of Camelot Forest. Trees to the South, and many leagues to ride before encountering the next manor to the East, near the road to the Eastern lands."

"Congradulations! The first child always brings so much joy to the family. I wish him or her health and strength to grow up into proud, but generous, strong but gentle, firm but understanding and pious future head of the house." Her wishes are sent with honesty not just because people would expect such words, "There should be a few hours journey from your home to mine. Still, I believe that you should meet my father Kenrick de Tisbury. Also, we are always more than happy to welcome guests from all over the Salisbury. We are on the entrance to the Blackmoor woods. We have some pretty wild hunts there. Of course, if you are not afraid of wolves. We have so many of them i the woods! I sa wmany of them with my own eyes. Some are very dangerous, but some are very cute. Just have in mind, that killing a wolf-cub is a bad sign, followed by many hardships upon the killer." She is very serious stating that, "You must be very careful. One man killed wolf-cub by accident. The playful puppy basically jumped in the way. The man was aiming at a boar. It took just one week and his child died. Later his wife. Finally, his grains rotted. Of course, people braught him some meal and everything, but he got sick and died too…" Cerys shivers.

Custennin glances around, perhaps in search of aid… but his squire has the horses to tend to (and hide behind, while eavesdropping), and there are few others loitering outdoors in the snow-speckled chill. "We… hunt as well, of course. In Camelot Forest. We have a hunting lodge, under the eaves. But we have been fortunate in, ahh, avoiding any encounters with fae creatures, so far as I know."

"Fae creatures? You have never met any of those? Me neither!" Cerys nods excitedly, "However, my oler brother did, Uwain de Tisbury. Have you ever met him? He is just wonderful. He is very talented knight. Though, maybe you didn't meet him. He is relatively unknown. He became a bit strange after meeting those faes. He says he is haunted by spirits and various creatures of the woodlands. He said he saw some goblins and nymph tried to lure him. I am not sure if we should be afraid to meet those things. Maybe we just need to learn to interract with them, you know."

"I… rather suspect that if such creatures wished to be our friends, then they would have forged such relationships long ago," Custennin ventures. "Our people are not newcomers to this land. The… beings of the wild wood and deep underhill could have made themselves known if they so desired. Far better for us to avoid meddling in their affairs, and they in ours, than to push where contact is so clearly unwelcome."

"Though, we all live in the same lands, you know," Cerys grins, "Pity we can't find common ground. Anyway, we shall leave them be. Maybe I shall leave you too?" Cerys leans to take the basket into her hands again, "I took enough of your time already. I am sure that you would like to inform Count Robert of what you came to inform him and then go back to your wife. It was a pleasure to meet you and you are most welcome in Tisbury, Sir Custennin."

"I, ahhh, thank you. And you should you ever, ahh, down the Avon… of course. Likwise. Ahhh. Good day to you, milady." Custennin endeavours to flounder his way to safety, now that he abruptly has it in sight. After a moment, he remembers to offer a bow, then turns to check upon his squire's horse-tending efforts. And perhaps try to overcome his stunned confusion before encountering either of his lieges.

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