by Barnaby

It was the cool Autumn air that had brought Andrew from his manor this afternoon. He strolled the streets of Britain, his home, unable to recall the last time he was able to do such in peace. There were still some who protested in the streets, but much of the discontent that had plagued the land in the past year had subsided – departing with the oppressive heat of an unusually warm summer. He smiled as a small group of children ran past him, chasing each other over the cobblestone path he walked. Things were not yet back to normal – what constituted “normal” he was unsure – but the air was no longer thick with despair. Blackthorn had returned from his journey of the land and immediately began directing efforts to distribute food and medical aid where it was most needed. With the immediate symptoms treated, efforts were turning to some of the root causes of what ailed the realm. A cautious hope had come to Britannia, and Andrew shared in it.

 

As he rounded the corner near the Salty Dog tavern, he spotted a familiar face through the window. This person had seen Andrew, too, and gestured for him to wait.

 

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The Knight Dupre stared into the bottom of an empty mug, as if frozen in a trance. Around him were the comforting, familiar sounds of a tavern. Some wondered why he drank as he did – was it to forget some horrible memory, or to distract himself from his exhausting, and at times gruesome, duty? Perhaps it was simply that underneath the legend that people saw in him, he was just a man who enjoyed a good time. In truth, he thought, it was all these things to some degree. But more than anything else, he took comfort in the atmosphere that came with drinking. The constant noise (be it from speech, instrument, or other device), the tasteless jokes, and the camaraderie – whether you called it a tavern, a pub, a bar, or a saloon, they were all the same. Language and race didn’t matter, if you could find comfort in these establishments it didn’t matter how far you traveled because you would never be far from home.

 

He was taken from his musings by a hard slap on the back, and the offer of a kind drunk to buy him another round. Dupre was about to oblige when he looked out the window and saw Sir Andrew looking back at him. He waved to the fellow knight and excused himself from the generous stranger.

 

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“Join me for a round?” Dupre asked, as he exited the Salty Dog.

 

Andrew smiled broadly behind his great red beard, “Nay, another time though for sure. I was just out for a walk.”

 

“Then I shall join you. My legs could use a stretch,” Dupre responded as he stretched his back, stiff from having sat so long at a bench. “Tell me, do you still have reservations about what is to happen?”

 

“Don’t you?” Andrew inquired as he resumed his walk with new company.

 

Dupre chuckled before replying, “Yes, I suppose I do. But I also believe it is something that ought to be done. It is what is best for the Kingdom.”

 

“Perhaps, and I certainly stand with you on this decision. I just feel as though this is what he wanted from the start,” Andrew paused before finishing, “THAT is what makes me uneasy.”

 

“Fair enough,” Dupre nodded, “I don’t doubt that he had this in mind since his return. I also don’t doubt that he will act in the best interest of the people, however. If he feels that he should be the one, well, then I agree with him.”

 

The two men walked in silence for a few minutes, both in contemplation. They walked passed the Cavalry Guild, and approached the Great North Road. As they turned onto the road and neared its large bridge, Andrew broke the silence.

 

“And what of the philosophy he so famously espoused in the past? Are you to tell me you believe in that, too?” he questioned.

 

“I think…,” Dupre began, “I think that he sees that he cannot rule a kingdom with Chaos as its foundation – especially not THIS kingdom. But neither will he govern by Order through the Virtues. And if he has indeed been truthful, and it is truly only balance that he seeks, then the Virtues will continue to be the guiding light for the lives of every Britannian – though I imagine some of the conflicts of old may rise again.”

 

“And if he hasn’t been truthful?” Andrew asked, quietly.

 

Dupre nodded to his fellow knight’s sword and replied, “I see you still carry a blade, though you have called yourself ‘retired’. Do you plan on leaving it at home any time soon?”

 

Waiting for Andrew to shake his head, Dupre continued, “Neither do I. I nearly ran him through when I first saw him upon his return, but he has earned my trust – until such a time as he loses it.”

 

Both men stopped when they realized where their walk had brought them.  Across a great moat, rising impressively into the sky, was the new Castle Blackthorn.

 

Dupre clapped Andrew on the shoulder and exclaimed, “But enough of this talk! It is wise to hold some reservations. But for now we have a party that needs planning! Everyone will be coming.”

 

Andrew nodded as he stared at the magnificent structure in front of him. It was a cautious hope he held, but it was hope nonetheless.

 

 

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 Castle Blackthorn

WHEN: Sunday, October 14th

TIME: 7pm EST

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