4th of Saun, Arc 717
The halls stood, quietly. At this time of the Cycle, the people of Warrick - even that of the noble family - had worked tirelessly, as great as at any point in the winter. Saun's rays meant the death of plants, the evaporation of their supply of water, the scorched earth that plagued fields. The people needed tend to their harvests for tireless breaks, throwing buckets upon buckets of well water onto their crops, and praying desperately for rain. The atmosphere was hot, at least, which lent them rain and frequent storms. Yet even so, they needed regulate, and provision water as well as they could.
House Warrick had aided the farmers in their tireless endeavors, sending out the men and women of the house to the crops to work in the scorched fields, a sign of solidarity between noble and illegitimate, the common man. Yet this arc the House did not arrive upon wholly random fields to toil among their crops, arbitrarily. The carriages of the ducal family could be seen for miles around, and heading in a particular direction: the farmstead of one particular Lei'lira Warrick, current heir to the ducal throne, a woman chastised greater than most for her absence in the political affairs of the family she was supposedly to rule.
Among those sitting within the wagon were Duke Alston, Duchess Isabel, Great Lord Victor and Great Lady Wren, all of House Warrick, with the latter two come for personal and self-benefiting reasons. Victor and Wren, brother and sister, had become rivals in the recent arcs and competitors over the legacy of their House. This had begun since the death of their elder brother, leaving them in a precarious position regarding their own security within the ducal family, the two of them equally ambitious and unyielding.
Lei'lira was, of course, a threat to their ambitions. When Alston had recommended they speak to her, Wren and Victor gregariously obliged, assuring the Duke that they would find the right answer for the Realm.
And so they came, both with different methods and mindsets, exiting different carriages. One stood in armor with a sword at his side, and one with a silken dress, fanning herself as the flow of air did little to move her slicked black locks, tied into a bun. They were two different individuals in every way, though both of them offered Lei'lira a brilliant smile as she worked her farm, offering her a helping hand.
Finally, Alston and Isabel exited their carriage, and the Duke began to speak to his granddaughter and heir apparent.
"Lei'lira," he called to her, "My dear, you look positively red," he stated. "You ought to delegate your tasks to servants and farmhands, lovely. You'll become a sweltering, charred, wrinkled mule in your middle years otherwise. It would be a shame - you have always been a beauty," the man nodded quietly, before breaking into a violent fit of coughs and wheezes. Old age was getting to him, clearly.
"Love," Wren Warrick spoke, "would you allow us entry into your... barn, or whatever you dwell in?" she questioned, staring intently into the eyes of the heir. "I'm afraid the heat is quite oppressive."
The halls stood, quietly. At this time of the Cycle, the people of Warrick - even that of the noble family - had worked tirelessly, as great as at any point in the winter. Saun's rays meant the death of plants, the evaporation of their supply of water, the scorched earth that plagued fields. The people needed tend to their harvests for tireless breaks, throwing buckets upon buckets of well water onto their crops, and praying desperately for rain. The atmosphere was hot, at least, which lent them rain and frequent storms. Yet even so, they needed regulate, and provision water as well as they could.
House Warrick had aided the farmers in their tireless endeavors, sending out the men and women of the house to the crops to work in the scorched fields, a sign of solidarity between noble and illegitimate, the common man. Yet this arc the House did not arrive upon wholly random fields to toil among their crops, arbitrarily. The carriages of the ducal family could be seen for miles around, and heading in a particular direction: the farmstead of one particular Lei'lira Warrick, current heir to the ducal throne, a woman chastised greater than most for her absence in the political affairs of the family she was supposedly to rule.
Among those sitting within the wagon were Duke Alston, Duchess Isabel, Great Lord Victor and Great Lady Wren, all of House Warrick, with the latter two come for personal and self-benefiting reasons. Victor and Wren, brother and sister, had become rivals in the recent arcs and competitors over the legacy of their House. This had begun since the death of their elder brother, leaving them in a precarious position regarding their own security within the ducal family, the two of them equally ambitious and unyielding.
Lei'lira was, of course, a threat to their ambitions. When Alston had recommended they speak to her, Wren and Victor gregariously obliged, assuring the Duke that they would find the right answer for the Realm.
And so they came, both with different methods and mindsets, exiting different carriages. One stood in armor with a sword at his side, and one with a silken dress, fanning herself as the flow of air did little to move her slicked black locks, tied into a bun. They were two different individuals in every way, though both of them offered Lei'lira a brilliant smile as she worked her farm, offering her a helping hand.
Finally, Alston and Isabel exited their carriage, and the Duke began to speak to his granddaughter and heir apparent.
"Lei'lira," he called to her, "My dear, you look positively red," he stated. "You ought to delegate your tasks to servants and farmhands, lovely. You'll become a sweltering, charred, wrinkled mule in your middle years otherwise. It would be a shame - you have always been a beauty," the man nodded quietly, before breaking into a violent fit of coughs and wheezes. Old age was getting to him, clearly.
"Love," Wren Warrick spoke, "would you allow us entry into your... barn, or whatever you dwell in?" she questioned, staring intently into the eyes of the heir. "I'm afraid the heat is quite oppressive."
