Dangerous Damsels Deconstructing the Duke's Dynasty

The ball is a pompous affair. The Duke’s manor is all done up with fine decorations, and the tables are filled by massive quantities of food that will never be eaten. The hall is packed with nobles and servants, the former trying to be seen, the latter trying not to be. At the rear of the hall, presiding over it all is Cassius Norwin, the duke himself.


The Duke is a fat man in his early fifties. He has shoulder-length grey hair beneath his circlet, and his upper lip sports a proud, thick moustache. Tonight he wears an elegantly-stitched forest green doublet.Though his figure is anything but attractive, but his smile is warm and genuine, and his booming laughter is easy to rouse. Despite his personable nature, you have heard rumours that the duke is a dangerous man, not to be crossed. As you watch him make ridiculous faces to entertain the babe in his arms, his youngest daughter, you simply cannot believe them.


To the duke’s left sits his wife, Duchess Leandra Norwin. Their marriage was one of convenience, and it shows. The Duchess is a positively stunning woman in her late thirties. She has long, elegantly curled blonde hair, and her grey eyes evoke images of stormy seas. She has ample breasts, and at every movement they strain to escape her tightly-fitted navy blue gown. Rumor has it that she frequently takes lovers beneath the duke’s nose, and if the rumors are to be believed, her lovers are lucky men indeed. She quietly sips at a goblet of wine, a half-smile on her lips as she watches her husband make a fool of himself.


On the duke’s right, and slightly behind him, stands his bodyguard, Sir Vincent Amarion. Sir Vincent is a young man, appearing to be in his early twenties, but his youth makes him no less imposing. He stands well over six feet tall, and he has the thick forearms and broad shoulders of one who has worked hard every day of their life. His black hair is cut garishly short, completely ignoring fashion. Despite this, he is extremely attractive. Tonight he wears mail beneath a simple red surcoat bearing only the duke’s crest, a two headed dragon, upon it in black. The same surcoat he wears every night. His attachment to the garment has lead to him being burdened with the rather uncreative moniker of “The Crimson Knight.”

Regardless of fashion, however, and despite the rumours of records his family’s history being forged, it is well known that Sir Vincent is one of the greatest swordsmen of this age, and the simple, unadorned longsword at his waist shows that he is not here in a social capacity.


As you continue scanning the crowd, a few individuals catch your eye.


(Describe your characters and what they are doing now. Don’t forget to mention what you are wearing, this is a ball, fashion is important here.)

 

Allia sits at the sidelines. Her head is resting on her right arm which in turn rests on the luxurious armrest of the chair she is sitting in. Her left hand is tapping against the handle of her rapier repeatedly. The weapon doesn’t harmonize with the dark green dress she is wearing, being not ornamental but an actual weapon that already claimed a few lives. Unlike the dress the Duchess is dressing herself in hers barely reveals the collarbone. The cloth hugs her body tightly, revealing what little curves her upper body has, a long skirt covering the rest from the eyes. While not shabby in quality it isn’t quite as fine as the dresses of other noblewomen who are attending this ball. This, together with the lack of jewellery, make her stick out like a sore thumb in this gathering of pomp and splendour.

Allia frowns as she crosses her legs and the impractically big skirt folds itself between them, forcing her to make the very unladylike move of pulling at it. It only adds to her frustration. She just had a talk with one of the many nobles here that could help her. Not only was it very unsuccessful but it almost ended with her punching the drunkard in his mouth-breathing face.

She doubts that he will remember their talk the next morning but the fact that she to correspond with such individuals already shows the desperation of her situation. All she wanted from him was a break on the tariffs the Iron she imported from his province. He had made bad jokes about much rather using his rod on her.

“What a joke these central residents are.” She mutters under her breath as she waves at a passing servant. The young male steps closer and bows slightly. “Yes, my lady?” He asks in a respectful tone. “Water.” Allia commands with a single word. The servant is slightly confused but a look of Allia’s sharp eyes sent him quickly walking off, after bowing a lot deeper a second time. As she waits for the servant to return her grey eyes scan the hall. ‘There must be someone here who isn’t a complete waste of space.’ She thinks and twirls a strand of her long black hair around her left finger, the hand having gone from one mindless gesture to another.

 

Reana walks among the numerous people at the party, greeting various guests and receiving greetings in return. She is wearing a blue dress the same color as her eyes. It shows quite a bit of cleavage – enough to catch people's attention, but not enough to make her seem like a slut. Her only piece of jewelry is a silver necklace with a large ruby in the center that serves to attract attention to her ample bosom. In her right hand she is holding a glass of expensive wine, barely touched. Currently she is focused on memorizing names and faces, occasionally making mental notes of people she should speak to later. She is alone, but Anna, Lea and Isabel are all nearby, ready to come to her aid as soon as she calls them.

As she continues to mingle among the party guests Reana ends up getting close to where the Duke and his wife are, and she finally gets her first look at the Duchess. So that is Leandra Norwin. I have heard that she's a beauty, but I did not expect the rumors to actually match the real thing... It was not my intention to try and seduce the Duchess, but perhaps I should reconsider that decision... Reana moves closer to take a better look at the stunning blonde and her husband.

 

Please roll your perception.

 

Please roll your perception.

 

Perception roll: 20
+3 (Reana's Perception)
Total: 23

(Of course I get a 20 when I don't really need it... *eyeroll*)

 

My roll:
Roll 6
Skill +1

Result 7

Of too a good start, me.

 

Irène decided to wear a red slit v-neck dress with deep cleavage, black stockings, red high-heels and some jewelry. While the dress might've been simple and the jewelry not overly extravagant, she still made a stunning impression. The elegant ankle-strapped high-heels added her few inches, the lace of her stocking, visible under the slit of her dress light up the imagination... and the way the dress hugged her silhouette, the way it highlighted her curves... and while she was a clearly a creature of sex, it was the elegance that dominated her entire being.
She was currently engaged in gossip with one of the court ladies – Laura – an attractive blond in her late twenties. On her pair of ample breasts, that her off-shoulder dress only underlined, was lying a necklace with big emerald. Suddenly Irène whispered something into her companion's ear both of them left the ball-room.

About 30 minutes passed before Irène re-entered the ballroom and made her way to the window. After fun and business with Laura, it was time to mingle again. She took a glass of wine from one of the servants and started looking around. Who would she use, to create a base of support to her family... to her daughters?

 

Please roll your perception.

 

Allia’s eyes wander from side to side of the room over and over again. Nothing of interest falls in her sight. Besides maybe Sir Vincent. The stunning knight is one of the few people here that she can admire; disciplined, well-groomed, accomplished.

And so far above her in position that talking to him at the dukes table would a major affront. Allia isn’t that desperate. Yet. She would have had better chances to talk to him if she stayed in the army, but fate had another plan for her.

The servant finally brings her a glass of water which she takes from him without a word and sends him off with a simple motion. She quickly finishes the glass and now refreshed stands up. Sitting in front of a wall won’t solve her problems. It was time to mingle with some of the nobles and listen for rumours. Maybe something interesting was making the rounds today. Maybe she would meet somebody at random. Maybes over maybes. ‘I hate gambling on those.’ She growls in her own thoughts as she marches into the fray.

 

Perception roll:
(skill) + 1 (roll) 16 = 17

 

Jharl James Ghembretton flaunts the notion that the massive piled food is not here to be eaten, taking dainty fork* and spoon fulls of each delicacy from a plate held by one of his Bannermen, 'Heloise' by name. Attending the ball with him are his two nephews and niece, Jonathan Ghembretton, George Ghembretton, and Clair Ghembretton, each in the livery of house Ghembretton: Ermineoise and Argent, yellow ermine spots on a black background and the white lace and silver jewelry which symbolized the silver gryphon of their coat of arms.
*(An invention of the north, but one that is catching on in the southern realms since he introduced it two years ago...)

The Ghembretton heirs wear more white than their uncle, indicating purity, while the elder Ghembretton is attired in a dark suit with lace only around the cuffs and collar, and the white gryphon picked out in freshwater seed pearls on his right chest.

He scans the crowd, noting names and posture, and settles on two noblewomen, who seem to be here for more than show: which to speak to first?

It is not much effort to decide between them, one woman wears a proper sword, no fainting violet she, while the other, in the red dress which clearly showed of what he considered an indecent amount of skin, is a noble through and through. She can wait, the woman with the sword? That iron may not be hot, but it would remain so only a short time unless the rest of the men here were utter fools; which he didn't rule out. Iron once heated is dangerous to grasp without tools, but before that...

"Torvalds, who is that woman wearing the rapier?" Jharl Ghembretton askes of his 'Intendant' Torvalds, the man who's job it is to keep the other nobles straight for him at these parties. (Though this is the first such he has attended since his return two years ago, his 'reemergence' if you will...)

"Allia Antorha your excellency, she was once a young officer in the army and they SAY that her house's finances are weak due to debts incurred by her father..." Torvald's Replied, voice pitched so only the Jharl could hear.

"Sins of the father eh? I like her already." The Jharl whispered back, and put his hand on the hilt of Лунный клинок then gestured to his niece's and nephews' attendants that they were to be kept out of trouble. That seen to he strode in the direction of the woman in the black and green dress...

 

Allia is wandering aimlessly when she notices a rather large man stepping into her path. He is bigger than her, and she is by no means small, bulky and muscular. The scar across the right side of his face and the beard make him a rather intimidating figure.

A quick look at the depiction of a gryphon made from white pearls and Allia knows who she is walking towards. Jharl James Ghembretton, she only knows him by reputation, which is one of northern savagery, but there is another thing rumoured about him: His family is having a similar situation to her own.

Or in other words, he would be of little to no help to her.

Seen as the leader of house Ghembretton has her eyes on her she stops once she passes him. “What?!” She asks, staring up at him. The tone of the question is arguably more insulting than simply walking by him.

 

She's a beauty, and she's got nice... eyes. Reana thinks as she moves closer to where the Duke and his wife are. I'd love to take a closer look at them... but let's not rush things – there will be enough time for that later. Besides, one should not try to seduce the Duchess right after meeting her, and with her husband right next to her. No need to tempt fate by doing rush things like that...

The young noblewoman considers her options and quickly picks the one she likes best: Get closer and observe the Duke, the Duchess, sir Vincent, and all who try to talk to them. Knowing who and how badly wants to speak to the Duke and his wife could prove a very useful bit of information. Of course, if given the chance Reana will introduce herself to the Duchess and her husband, but she won't force the issue, as that could attract unwanted attention (not to mention make her seem desperate). She also makes sure to listen to the conversations around her, in case she hears something of interest to her...

Perception check (if necessary):
Roll: 17
+3 (Reana's skill)
Total: 20

 

The Jharl is taken aback by the abrupt and borderline insolent tone of the woman he had sought out. Suaveness and charm are not his strong suits, but none the less he takes a more diplomatic tack than her attitude would result in from anyone not of noble birth.

"Milady Allia Antorha I presume? I had hoped to speak with you about a possible, venture, between our dynasties, but since you seem otherwise occupied..." He explained with a slight bow, letting the invitation, should she chose to take it, hang unspoken.

(OCC: You seem to be under a misapprehension: the Ghembretton's are not in nearly as bankrupt as your post implies: their capital is just largely invested at the present time, especially in North Sea Trade and general shipping.)

 

Remember, this is a game of reputation and rumor. Facts are optional.

 

Allia side-glances to the surrounding nobles. Some eyes rest on her, but generally she is ignored. 'Not like i have anything better to do anyway. let's hear it.' She thinks and sighs. "Yes, I am Allia of Antorhall and no I am not preoccupied." Again, she glances at the surrounding, this time her eyes rests on the noble she had spoken to earlier chugging down a glass of wine so fast it spills from the edge of his mouth. "Just slightly disgusted." She mutters and rips her eyes of the scene "I just don't know if you, 'Jharl', have what I need, but by all means if you want to talk I suggest we take this somewhere less crowded."

Edit: Fixed Typos

 

Lord Havelock sits at a table, an untouched glass of wine in front of him.
He's wearing a black jacket, almost peasant-like in its lack of decoration, but made of the finest fabrics. All his other clothes are black, too, plain black. He is not the sort to flaunt his wealth. He is more the practical sort: the jacket has hidden pockets.

He looks around the ball, trying to pick out any snippets of conversation or people of interest. (Perception check: 23 (Rolled a twenty + skill of three).

 

The Jharl follows her gaze and his mouth sets in a grim line for the briefest moment. "Yes, somewhere less, crowded, would be advantageous." He allows, sharing her disgust with the displays of vulgarity around them.

"Have you been given a room here in the ducal residence or would my own chamber be amenable to you?" He asks with all the charm he can muster...

Roll: 18
Charm:+0
Total: 18

 

Allia, roll your willpower.