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(The boy is dressed in rags, with a dirty face and unassuming posture. He seems surprised that you picked him out of everyone in the common room to talk to. It's obvious he's more used to watching what others are doing than having his own actions watched.)
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I really have duties to see to, Collin, but since they all involve this common room I guess we can speak for a bit. In fact, it may help me be less noticed. (Aran beckons towards a table in the corner.) Come over here, and don't talk too loudly!
I say Protectorate, but it's really just a loose organization of Protectors from around Alder who are in the service of the king, or Protect nobles loyal to him. As for titles, I suppose if anything I'm an Apprentice Protector. I currently serve under Uthiel, the king's personal Protector, although with any luck I'll be given a charge of my own within a few month's time. And none too soon! (Aran's face momentarily clouds with bitterness).
About these rags, I spend plenty of time in them while scouting for information in the city, or doing various exercises Uthiel thinks up. Last month he had me working picking pockets. Picking pockets! The worst part wasn't the actual theft, but then returning the stolen items without being noticed.
As for where you are, you're currently sitting at a splintery table in the Slit Purse tavern in city Periath, capital of Alder, Lansas continent. Oh, and your foot's in a puddle of ale.
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If I was caught? He probably would have let the guards cut off my hand. It's all a learning experience to him.
As for why I'm in this tavern, it's NOT a learning experience. See those guardsmen over there? (pointing to a table in the corner where a dozen armed men are drinking heavily) Lord Idral's men. Uthiel's particular interest in keeping an eye on them is no coincidence.
(Nate Jones disclaimer: I have two character interviews up that mention the name Uthiel. I have a habit of recycling names I like; the two characters have no relation to one another.)
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You can judge him as you like. He's fair with the other Apprentice Protectors, and even given to showing mercy. But whether I've done anything to earn his enmity or not, I seem to have a healthy share of it. (He drops his head glumly), and I'll have another healthy share when I finish my duties here and report to the Houndsmaster for punishment.
As for Idral's guardsmen, they may be drinking a lot but they're not joining in the general merriment of the rest of the tavern. They're not even bothering the serving women like normal drunkards. I'd think they were just surly if half of them didn't keep checking their swords. And that man there, with the gold line on his cuffs? The officer. He hasn't taken a sip of his ale and his eyes haven't left the door since he came downstairs from checking their rooms. He's waiting for a message, I'll bet what's left of my stipend on it.
I think something's going to happen, and whatever it is bodes ill for the king. I may need to leave soon.
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(Aran laughs, though he looks around guiltily before answering). Don't think I don't love the king, friend. I do. He took me in when my parents died of the plague, and I would have been trailing after the corpse wagon like a lost puppy all the way to the mass grave, ignored like so many other waifs in that madness. More than that, he gave me an opportunity to live my life in noble service to his family, protecting a member of his household and becoming, I hope, a close friend and adviser to my charge.
But you don't come from anywhere in the realm, if you have to ask that. Good King Oyweryn means well, I promise you. But it's not for nothing that he's seen as weak and helpless, bumbling his way through the governance of Alder like a well-meaning oaf. Idral killed his parents, all know it, though they did it by use of Kahreashi assassins and nothing can be proved. (Aran spits off to the side at the word assassin, obviously deeply offended by the idea).
Idral's here for the same reason all the other nobles are. The king's debts have grown too great, and in a last act of folly and desperation he's selling off his own daughter's hand to the highest bidder. But no price would put Celana's hand in the care of the eastern duchy. Surely even Idral, for all his pride and ambition, must see that.
As for me, I'm here to make sure he doesn't intend to barter with steel when his offer of gold is rejected.
[This message has been edited by Natej11 (edited July 19, 2009).]
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