Page 008: Not the Last of This
Not the Last of This
Summary: A standoff in Terrick's Roost follows the arrival of a warrant in unfriendly hands.
Date: 20/July/288
Related Logs: Many to follow
Amelia Jarod Jaremy Kevan Revyn Rowan Rygar Tym 
Rockcliff Inn - Terrick's Roost
The Rockcliff Inn is one of the better inns within the town and it shows with the well-lit interior and the relative cleanliness to the other locations in Terrick's Roost. The tables are polished with oils and the floor regularly swept. A set of booths towards a darker rear of the Inn's bottom floor, just beneath the staircase, are where whores generally socialize and eye prospects from when not waiting tables. Signs over the undersized bar area advertise prices for ales and wines as well as several different choices of food to be served at the small eating area by the bar or in the main open area in its comfortable seating. A door behind the bar leads to the kitchen and cellar while another near the staircase leads to a private room that would appear to be off-limits to the 'wait staff' except for food and drink service.
20 July, 288

After a busy weekend and early week for Amelia, its back to the normal day to day. She's been a bit off since Sunday. She hasn't taken any men but then, nobody has come looking for her. She's been tending to the customers and spending a little more time with them. Also, her dresses don't seem quite as low cut. Maybe a few stitches higher. But its that lull between midday meal and supper when only a few people are about. A couple of the sworn knights who have taken an early leave are about with some ales and a whore to keep them busy. This one in particular has taken to a seat at the end of the bar and is munching on a roll with a very small bowl of stew. A glass of house (read: very cheap) summerwine is half consumed beside her while her thoughts consume her, a light smile on her face.

The sound of spurs is preceded by the opening of the Inn's front door. Lord Jaremy Terrick, wearing his tanned riding leathers, browns, and violets, steps across the entryway. Leaving his pair of sworn swords behind him, he bids a quiet nod to the innkeep. Setting a coin on the bartop, the innkeep shuffles away to fetch him a glass of decidedly more fine summerwine, something the young lord usually has whenever he visits.

Jaremy takes a seat at the bar, two stools away from Amelia. Once settled, he glances over to her and issues her a knowing nod before turning his attention back to the bar before him. "Amelia." He addresses her. "Good day to you."

Amelia looks to the door as it opens and her smile grows more fond. Its the kind suited for a friend rather than a potential customer. "Ser Jaremy," she says in a whisper, her own voice knowing in its own way. She has that look in her eye when she is playful about scheming and maybe teasing one of the knights. Even a practical joke. "Good day to you, as well. I trust you're feeling.. refreshed. Anything other than your wine?" He'd know darn well she's not offering sex. It isn't like that with them.

"No thank you, just thirsty from the road." Jaremy replies, the side of his lip tugging in a wry smirk in response to the look in her eyes. It's a quiet response, but an acknowledgement of recent business between the two of them. "…and yes, quite refreshed, thank you." He nods his head at the words of thanks, making sure that they don't go unnoticed by her. "I trust everything is well here and that…" He glances over his shoulder, eyes falling to the swordsmen mingling with the other girls. "…this place hasn't been too much trouble since I last visited?"

"I know the feeling," Amelia says, leaning forward a bit conspiratorially. "It was a busy weekend for me. Placing bets and all." She preens with the smile and settles back into the barstool, crossing her legs under her skirts. A piece of breadroll is torn and dipped into the stew while she takes a sip of the wine. "Things have been well. Carya and two of her friends," whores, "had quite a bit of success last night with that new sworn that usually stands the gate. I can not, for the life of me, remember his name. But two of the knights pooled pennies and a few stars and bought him a night. I saw him stumbling out of here punchdrunk with a smile big enough to light the night sky." Its all said with an ease and grin. She's happy for them, even if she doesn't usually speak to them often.

The inn door opens yet again. One of Jaremy's sworn swords enters briskly, voicing "M'lord," to get the Young Lord's attention. The fact that his hand rests on the hilt of a sheathed sword would give some a cause for concern as he crosses the floor toward the young Terrick. He voices a quick apology for interrupting and leans near to speak into Jaremy's ear, "Ser, three armed men are coming ahorse from the east."

"Amelia there are some things that I should know and definitely some things that I shouldn—" Jaremy stops, brows lowering just as his mug of summerwine is set before him. Intently, he listens to his sworn sword and rises from his seat, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Ride to Four Eagles and inform the Master at Arms and the Guard Captain. Inform Berek, outside, to stand post with me."

"It appears that this conversation will have to wait for another time." He bluntly issues to Amelia with a glance before he calls out to the two knights creating quite a bit of controversy with two whores on their laps near the back of the Inn.

"Men of Terrick's Roost you are called upon. Outside." He issues to them as he turns, spurs jingling behind him, and heads out the front door of the Inn.

Amelia nibbles on the stew-dipped bread, fingers resting the wine glass underneath like any proper noble woman would with her meal. But his interest in knowing gets her to lift the glass in front of her face while she giggles at him. "Jaremy, you know I only do that to get a rise out of you. Seeing you blush is a private sport of mine…" Then the sworn leans in and whispers. She lifts a brow and dips her head to him as he excuses himelf. "Of course, m'Lord. Good day and be safe." Even as the others rise, she does as well with her piece of bread and her wine, strolling lazily to the window. She won't leave, but she might be able to see something from there.

The sworn sword nods sharply in acknowledgment, turning promptly and stepping to fulfill his lord's commands. A keen ear can pick up the brief order given outside for Berek to remain, as a rider mounts a horse, and makes for the west. Within the inn, the unexpected summons from Jaremy draws several to their feet, as last bites and drinks are taken, before offering respects to the son of their Lord.

Jaremy leaves, heading towards the Town Square [Out].

Town Square Terrick's Roost
Wed Jul 20, 288 — Wed Jul 20 17:13:54 2011

The town square of Terrick's Roost could be considered well-kept by the standards of the surrounding area. The stone streets run right up to the building fronts around the edge and the locals have kept the spaces between free of grass and weeds that might otherwise upstart between them. There are several homes and nicer shops located here which incline their business or residents towards those not of the peasantry. The Sept of the town can also be seen from here with its ornate stone front rising above the surrounding structures just down the cobblestone road.

The front step of the Rockcliff Inn groans beneath the weight of Jaremy's body as his spurs and riding boots come to a stop in the fresh dirt before the building. A light rain has begun to sprinkle over the town, and the sounds of hooves beating are apparent to him as he turns to see his guard riding for Four Eagles Tower to find his uncle and his bastard brother.

"Berek." Jaremy says with a nod, acknowledging his sworn sword's position as sole guard, at least until the others arrive. Placing one hand flat over his brow-line, the young lord looks to the east as he steps towards his horse, taking the reins. "I can't tell from here if they're flying a banner. Have you seen anything yet?"

"Two banners ser," Berek returns. "Green with a yellow charge. But the one in front-" he raises a hand to point.

The approaching 'armed men ahorse' are difficult to miss, as smallfolk clear the road in front of the trio of cavaliers, trailing a fourth horse, riderless behind. Two of the riders are armed in full maile with lances at rest trailing green pennons with a yellow charge, hanging lank in the wet weather, yet it is the unarmored rider in the lead that likely had so cautious an effect on Jaremy's sworn swords: with two dire symbols of his business clear to the eye, one the broadsword at his side, the other the gilded harpy hanging around his neck, Ser Rygar Nayland stares with stern intent at the swordsmen which emerge from the Rockcliff Inn as his horse walks closer.

Amelia appears in the window with a few of the other whores. They start asking questions behind the glass, but their words are lost to the men outside. The finer dressed whore answers and finishes the piece of bread. Her free arm crosses under her chest while the other elbow props on her wrist, the arm twisting up to hold the glass of wine by her face. But when the men appear in front of the Inn and stop.. Amelia goes sheet white. The wine in her glass trembles. The other whores inquire but Am is speechless with her wide eyes on Rygar.

"Fuck." Jaremy spits to the ground, shaking his head from side to side. If any of the men coming from the Inn are drunk, knight or no, everything remains sheathed until they bare steel." Jaremy says aloud to Berek and the sound of footsteps coming from the inn. A glance is given to the decidedly female face plastered to the windows, taking note of her expression.

"This should be lovely…" Jaremy mutters under his breath, moving to the side of the road, well within view of the arriving entourage.

"Hold." He holds an arm up, bent at the elbow with his palms out. It's a sign that he's requesting word with the riders as they approach. "It's been a long time since we've had Nayland guests. Usually such a visitation is preceded by a raven. I am Ser Jaremy Terrick, what is the meaning of this?"

Rygar reins his horse into a stop as do the two knights behind him. The Nayland's voice is cold and precise as he raises it to answer, "And I Ser Rygar Nayland, my young lord. It shall be awhile longer before Naylands come as your guests, as it is a matter of law which draws me here this day." The clatter of iron shackled affixed to his saddle horn rattles as his horse shifts step on the muddy road. "The Lady of Stonebridge seeks for questioning one who is within, and has issued a writ to this effect. It is most courteous of you to muster so many men to my assistance in this, Ser," he adds, with a brief glance aside at the swordsmen standing with Jaremy before the Inn.

If she saw Jaremy look at her, she's showing him no notice. Amelia's pale face is accompanied by heavy breathing. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, the labor of it enough to concern the whores. One seems to make a joke. The other laughs. Amelia doesn't even hear it. Her hand is still trembling the wine in the glass. She didn't need his introduction to know who this man is. But Stonebridge… She stops breathing. More of the whores are crowding around her at the window, all trying to get a better view.

"…and so well of you to ride with armed escort, though last I checked the range between this place and Stonebridge itself has endured years of peaceful travel, Ser." Jaremy replies, pulling his eyes away from Rygar to the two men of Stonebridge, and then finally the shackles hanging from the riding horse in the rear. Eyes scanning slowly, Jaremy begins to calculate what his eyes are seeing before him. Brushing his damp hair away from his eyes, he steps closer to Rygar's mount, extending a hand. "Interesting sight, Ser, a man of Hag's Mire delivering a warrant at the head of two of Stonebridge. You're an awful long way from home…" He pauses. "…I would see this warrant."

"We Naylands are well renowned for our love of law and order, ser," Rygar returns tone dry, despite the weather. "I do ever enjoy the sight of justice being done." One hand reaches without looking behind him, the leather fingers closing around the thick fibrous paper placed into it by one of the Stonebridge knights. He reads it aloud, "By the hand and seal of the Lady of Stonebridge, it is ordered that one Amelia of Seagard be taken into our holding, and questioned as to her confessed role in the theft of silver from the Treasury of Stonebridge. Done in this, the five-hundred eighty-eighth year of the common reckoning." Looking up from the page, to the Terrick heir, the stern faced Rygar presents the document, stamped with the green wax button and standing crane crest of Tordane.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit. The blanket of fear on Amelia's face is causing it to slack under the wet weight. She finally averts her eyes to the other two men and then to Jaremy. Then to Rygar. At least she is breathing. But when the charges announced, the sound of breaking glass can be heard from Rockcliff's front window. Amelia is standing right there, the hand holding wine now empty. The other whores inside stare at her and slowly begin backing away. There's going to be trouble and they don't want any part of it. The look on Amelia's face is one of pure panic. The normally unflappable whore of Rockcliff begins backing from the window, legs unsteady as a foal, until she bumps into a chair and nearly topples. Instead she just freezes in place after that.

Tym arrives from the Roost Lane.

A severe layer of ice falls over the crossroads as Lord Rygar reads the warrant aloud for lord, lady, smallfolk, and sellsword alike. A crowd begins to form, and the audible sound of murmuring throughout the gathered smallfolk slips in between the falling rain.

Turning his head towards Rockcliff Inn's windows at the sound of broken glass, Jaremy stares in silence before turning back to the writ of arrest. His gloved thumb quietly traces over the wax seal of Stonebridge. His thumb taps on the waterproofed leather document case and folds it shut.

A long moment passes as Jaremy is rained upon, standing near Rygar's horse. His silence finally comes to an end. "You'll find that we, too, are friend to law and order. You say that this is confessed to? Exactly how much silver are we talking about here, Ser." Jaremy asks, glancing once again to the Inn's windows.

Meanwhile, at Four Eagles Tower:

The weather is in that ambiguous grey state between a heavy mist and a light rain as a rider approaches the castle along the eastern road, recognizable as one of the sworn swords who had ridden out with Jaremy earlier that day. He calls to the guards on gate duty, loud enough that words carry to the courtyard, "I bring message from the Young Lord. Where are the Sers Terrick and Rivers?"

Ser Terrick doesn't seem to be far, for before the guards have a chance to respond, Revyn's appear from around the side of the gate, one hand lifting to idly scratch at the back of his head while the other remains rested on the hilt of his sword, a casual gesture from the years of training. "I'm here. What news do you bring from my Nephew?" Now, he begins to make his way towards the rider, his squire lingering a few paces behind.

Ser Rivers is not particularly difficult to find, and after a few shouts to a page from the guard on duty (which sends one of the boys off to get him), he emerges from the stables and strides toward the gate to meet the comer. He's dressed in one of the dark green tunics he favors (one with an eye for vanity might suggest because they bring out his eyes, and they'd not be wrong), sword at his waist, Terrick sash tied at his swordbelt. "Payte," he greets the sworn sword with a grin. "What's Jaremy gotten up to, then?"

"M'lord," Payte greets Revyn with a short bow, only slightly winded from his hurried ride. "Ser," he adds a moment later to Jarod as the other appears. "Three armed and armored riders coming into town on the eastern road, sers. Naylands. The Young Lord ordered that I tell you both."

To the short bow, Revyn is giving a nod of his head and a slight lift of his hand in a dismissive wave. It's apparent that he wants the news, more then formalities and when that news comes, his lips curve down into a slight frown. A turn of his head brings his squire into view, to whom he tells, "Prepare the horses." Then, he's casting a look to Jarod and then back to the rider, "Naylands .. we will depart immediately, then."

"I'll get my armor on," Jarod says simply at that news, to Revyn and Payte both, the lightness in his mood lessening noticeably. Flippant as the bastard knight seems a good deal of the time, he can turn to serious quick enough when it's called for. A nod to Revyn, and he's off to gear up. He'll be geared in not-too-terribly long and ready to roll.

"Sers," Payte notes the reception of his message with a second short bow, making to assist Jarod in arming himself in the absence of a squire, as he voices, "The Young Lord was last at the Rockcliff, sers."
From afar, Dev laughs. Even after all these years, I have somehow never mastered australian time zones. What time is it for you right now?

Revyn was already armored, but that's not unusual considering he spends most of his day in the yard, conducting both his own training and that of the others. So, he remains in place, his head bowing to Jarod and then to Payte as they move off and he only shifts from that spot once his squire has returned with his horse, to which he's offering the boy a nod of his head. Taking the reigns, he's commanding, "Go, tend to what duties you have left. We will not be long." Then, he's moving to pull himself into the saddle.

Jarod has likely sent Rowan away on some errand or other (they're frequent with the tournament upcoming), and offers Payte a quick thanks for the assistance with his armor. "We ride to Rockcliff, then." He grunts as he fixes the straps his breastplate. Satisfied, and a page having fetchd his sturdy brown courser from the stables, he mounts up to ride out with Revyn. "This is damn bold, riding right in to us like this. Not even bothering with proxy bandits or other games."

Town Square - Terrick's Roost

Revyn arrives from the Roost Lane.
Jarod arrives from the Roost Lane.
Rowan arrives from the Roost Lane.

"Near two hundred silver stags, ser," Rygar answers, cold and crisp from his seat atop the horse. "If any theft could be called trivial, this is not one such." A breath drawn through flared nostrils as the Nayland regards the Terrick below. His own gloved hand reaches down to invite the return of the warrant. "Will you produce the woman, or shall these good men at my back bring her, Ser?"
p jarod revyn=Rygar (unarmored himself) and two knights armed in full maile sit on horseback in front of the Rockcliff. They are trailing a fourth riderless horse behind them, with shackles slung on the saddle horn. Jaremy and a few swordsmen are standing between them and the rockcliffe. Amelia is inside the inn, watching througha window and panicking.

The Rockcliff's innkeeper has a lit a few candles due to the shade of rain so she is a little more visible inside. She meets eyes with Jaremy.. but she doesn't gesture. No shake of her head. No nod of confirmation. That is just wide-eyed and pure terror on her face as if she were staring at visions of her own grizzly death at hand. Her whole body shuddering is she heaves her breaths, one hand on a chair and the other a table to steady herself, her expression turns back up to lock on Rygar and there it stays until he asks. Oh Gods. Those hazel saucers look to Jaremy.

Tym has wandered out as the crowd gathered, joining it, clearly not shy about being one of the on-lookers. He looks back and forth between Rygar and Jaremy as each of the lord knights speak, head on a swivel as he follows the action, turning to look even further aside as attention turns to the Rockcliff and the woman at the window.

Kevan arrives from the Roost Lane.

Jaremy's hand moves, inching the leather-bound writ of arrest just out of Lord Rygar Nayland's reach. "…an awfully large collection of coin for one woman to steal from Stonebridge's treasury." Jaremy says to himself, as if finishing his thoughts aloud. Tilting his head, he glances up to Ser Rygar with a pair of lowered brows. "You would do well to remember, Ser Rygar Nayland, that you have no authority over these lands. Those men on horseback will do no such thing and in honor of their fealty to the Lords of this land they will do no such thing…" Jaremy looks to the men accompanying Rygar, giving them a knowing glare.

Turning, he motions for two men near the door of the Inn. "Escort Amelia to the rear of our line, she will be brought to Four Eagles Tower for questioning in the matter. Place a man at her chamber's door so that investigations will commence. She will not leave with these men, am I clear?"

Having been sent for by a sworn sword, at the behest of his Nephew, it had only taken Revyn a moment's time to get his horse. Then, he'd set off for the town square, sparring no expense in terms of speed. The prospect of Nayland swords upon Terrick lands is not something that he's fond of and as his horse brings him into the edge of the square, he pulls back a bit on the reigns, easing the speed of the animal down to a mere trot as he angles over in the direction of Jaremy. Brigadine armor in the typical fashion of plates over maile covers his body and it seems to be spattered with mud and dirt, an indication that it was in use before he was called.

Jarod rides up with Revyn (and his trusty squire Rowan, of course), armed and armored on his sturdy brown charger, Symeon. Expression one of uncommon seriousness. And slight surprise, when he sees the heraldry the knights with Rygar are decked out in. A look is exchanged with Revyn, some trace of puzzlement evident on his expressive face, though he questions the scene not. Silent, eyes going to Jaremy first. Then back to Rowan, who he offers a small shrug. The gesture a sort of 'wait and see' signal.

"The authority is not mine, but that of the Lady of Stonebridge which you would tread upon, Ser," Rygar voices in chill return. "This writ is lawful, the wrong is Stonebridge's, and I would hear your cause for thwarting Lady Tordane's lawful warrant, Ser." A slow turn of his eye from Jaremy to the western road and the Terrick cavalry coming to the rescue, before sweeping back down to Jaremy. "Answer, Ser: why do you deny the Tordanes their lawful exercise of authority? Purely for spite of me, or is there some truth your family fears would come out in regards to this theft?"

Its not clear if Amelia could even hear what Jaremy said from inside the Rockcliff's window. Struck stark terrified, the woman is frozen at a table with hands steadying herself there. Her eyes dart between the men assembled. As the numbers grow she looks even more unsure but seems to find the strength to stand more straight. But when three sworn head for the Inn and enter, she turns sharply to them as if she might flee. But there's recognition there and she relaxes a moment later. One can be seen to head for the stairs of the Inn while two more seize her by the arms. They aren't particularly gentle, but she doesn't fight them. Frightened eyes look between them and her feet seem to move under their own power. There's no resistance to them. The whore is brought out side and nearly carried out past the horses towards the tower. Those eyes.. passing near Rygar she shrinks away, utterly reduced and scared witless by the man.

And Rowan comes along in his knight's wake — armed and armored, as well, but far less finely than his Terrick benefactors. The mail he's managed to cobble together doesn't match and could stand to be cleaned and mended. The sword and dagger girded about his waist are probably better suited to practice dummies than real foes. Still, he sits tall in the saddle, apparently proud of his tabard emblazoned with the purple and gold heraldry of House Terrick. It's possible, however, that the lad shifts a bit behind the others at the sight of his kinsfolk. He goes a bit pale and swallows, muttering sotto voce, "Bugger me with a three-headed flail, it's my sodding uncle."

Clad in his riding outfit, Kevan gallops into the town square; he'd just spent some time riding in the wilderness outside town to allow his horse to graze and his hawk to hunt. He frowns, as there seems to be some kind of commotion; dismounting, he continues on cautiously, watching the scene developing in front of the Rockcliff. He places himself so that the greatsword strapped to his saddle is within easy reach, more out of habit than any feeling of imminent personal danger. After all, for the moment, no one's looking at him.

Wherever Tym Rivers was before this, he apparently acquired a tankard of ale, and he brought it with him out into the square to view today's entertainment. He drinks as he watches, looking up over the big mug when Jarod and Rowan ride in, and lifting a hand in a cheerful wave, either oblivious to the tense mood, or just unconcerned by it.

Jaremy turns to see his uncle, half-brother, and the Nayland's squire approach on horseback, and as Ser Rygar levels accusations in his direction, his eyes scan the gathered smallfolk. It seems that their audience is grand indeed. His gaze comes to stop on Tym, the bastard smith, as he slides his gloved hand over his face to pull his long bangs over the top of his head. He glances to the writ of arrest in its waterproofed sheath in his hand, and turns to slip it into his belt. This is, without question, his first true test.

"You do well to speak loudly, Ser Rygar. Loud enough for our smallfolk to hear. Your voice doesn't lack for volume." Jaremy replies, finally leveling his gaze on Rygar. "Allow me to return." He says, eyes cold on the man above him, not concealing the volume of his voice either. "The Tordanes of Stonebridge are bannermen to House Terrick, and while that is so, neither House Tordane nor House Nayland have the right to ride onto our lands and take smallfolk or noble alike without the expressed decision of the lords of our house. These are our lands and our smallfolk, and my men will escort you back to Stonebridge."

Jaremy turns, stepping towards his horse. "As lords of these lands we will extend the lord's justice to investigate this manner and serve the writ of arrest on behalf of Lady Tordane." He turns, looking over his shoulder at Rygar. "On the chance that you may ride faster than ravens fly, Ser, you may wish to inform Lady Tordane that her lords will be calling on her for audience."

Angling his horse off to one side, Revyn doesn't bother intruding on the conversation at hand. Rather, his attention flits between those that have gathered, green eyes lingering over each for a moment and when he comes to the Knights of Tordane, there's a slight scowl that cross his features, one that's accompanied by a shake of his head. Then, he's casting a look towards Jarod and his squire, Rowan, before finally looking over towards Rygar, a faint smirk hinting upon his lips as he offers, "I'd be glad to show you the way if you've forgotten, Ser Rygar."

Amelia is all to happy to get the hell out of there. She's whispering thanks to the sworn as she disappears through the crowd, boths arms still held tight. Likely it is to the dungeons for her.. for now.

Jarod notes Tym's wave, but for once it's not returned. Nor does he offer any other merry greeting to the looky-loos. He just sits tall in the saddle, a sort of readiness about his posture. It gets several notches readier at Jaremy's exchange with Rygar. He doesn't look at Rowan again though, with the way his eyes rest on Rygar Nayland, the man is certainly recognized. He continues to keep his mouth shut, and follow the lead of his half-brother and uncle.

"If it were the Young Lord's intention to offer insult to Stonebridge, you could not have played the part better, Ser," Rygar returns cold and calculated. "The Terricks extend their protection to a common whore who has confessed to a role in the theft of the Tordane treasury, rather than let justice be done." As Jaremy offers him advice in parting, Rygar returns a measure of his own, "Tordane treasures stolen away to Terrick's Roost, and the noble Terricks riding hard to a whore's defense. You shall be answered, Ser." Then Revyn is riding up and smirking, and Rygar's keen and hard eye settles upon the elder Terrick. "There was a time not so long ago when your kin would pursue confessed thieves, rather than protect them, Ser. I mourn the passing of those days."

Rowan is busy. So very, very busy. Adjusting his armor, grooming his horse's mane, examining a small tear in his tabard. Very, very conspicuously attempting to be inconspicuous. He does, once or twice, cast an puzzled glance at Jaremy. Otherwise, don't mind him. …Please?

Heraldry isn't Kevan's strong suit; it takes him a few moments to identify the various crests and arms being presented by everyone involved. Luckily, the conversation fills what gaps his mind is unable to. He utters a low whistle, shaking his head slowly. The Naylands must have balls to try and pull something like this, if 'this' is what it seems to be to Kevan. His eyes fix a moment later on Jarod, the only other familiar face in the crowd now that Amelia is being marched away, but there are no jaunty greetings from the hedge knight, only cold, restrained interest, akin to what he might show while watching two jousting knights pounding inexorably towards each other.

Spurring his horse forward a bit, Revyn's casting a look over towards Jaremy, giving the Young Lord a shake of his head as before he's looking back towards Rygar. That smirk remains firm upon his lips and as he leans forward a touch in his saddle, he's offering, "And there is a time, Ser Rygar, that a Lord of Nayland would have come to meet with a Lord of Terrick to discuss such things, before showing up with Knights and trying to take one of our smallfolk." There's a slight pause and a shake of his head, followed by the softest of chuckles before he continues, "And as such, I mourn those days, my friend. You have played your hand, Ser Rygar, but you have not played it as well as you thought. This reeks of my sister-in-law and not of my neice, the Lady of Stonebridge. Return to Valda and tell her that the whore will be judged here at Terrick's Roost and that the House of Terrick gladly invites them to participate in such a thing."

The run-down of this little adventures from Rygar brings a frown to Jarod's face. Though the situation in general is enough to prompt frowning. Still, he stands his ground with his family, looking yet-more-generally ready as the exchange escalates between Revyn and Rygar. No smirks from him, however. He's all of rare sobriety today.

Content to allow his uncle to finish the conversation, Ser Jaremy allows Ser Rygar's accusations and grandstandings to go unanswered and ignored as a series of taunts fired at his back. Nodding to his sworn sword, Berek, Jaremy takes the reigns of his destrier, Orvus, and grips the pommel of his saddle. With a grunt, he pulls himself into the horse's saddle. Once again, he scans over the assembled crowd, judging their facial expressions.

"No writs of arrest are to be served in Terrick lands without being expressly supervised by those of House Terrick." Jaremy states over Rygar's shoulder, meant more for to calm the nerves of the smallfolk. His eyes turn to Rygar, nodding quietly to the man before he makes a few clucking sounds to his horse, leading the reigns in the direction of Four Eagles Tower. "Ser Revyn." He nods to his uncle, passing the torch on the situation. Once again, his back is turned to Ser Rygar's retinue.

"Lords may meet and discuss when trust lives between them, Ser," Rygar returns to Revyn, "But today has made quite clear that Stonebridge cannot trust Four Eagles Tower. It is plain that this thief had assistance in bringing the Tordane treasury to the Roost. Your young Lord's rash refusal to allow a legal arrest shall only confirm this, Ser." A snort sniff. "The Young Lord would have been wiser to simply find another whore, rather than deprive the Tordane, your leal vassals of their noble rights."

Tym takes another big gulp of ale as he watches, gaze moving rapidly back and forth between the various parties once again, though he pauses in his rapt attention to crane his neck around his neighbors in the crowd to get a look at the whore in question as she's taken past. His head tilts as he eyes her, and he shrugs as he sets back down on his heels, tipping his tankard back to obviously drain it. Back to the players he looks, and then at his tankard, then back over his shoulder from whence he came. To Jaremy, to Rygar, to tankard, to tavern, to knights again. Hmmm.

Rowan's eyes snap up to his kinsman, the lad's jaw falling agape for a moment. Did his uncle really just say that? For all that the squire was trying to remain out of consideration, he seems to visibly bristle now.

There's a very slight narrowing of Revyn's eyes at something that is said by Rygar and it causes the older Terrick to shift and then slide himself from his saddle. One hand remains on his reigns, while the other comes to settle casually upon his sword, "If the Lady of Stonebridge wishes the whore, Ser Rygar, then we will be pleased to speak with her about such things. If the Lady Valda wishes the whore .. well, I do believe my Nephew has already answered you in that regard." A hand lifts, giving a slight wave to the other man as he shakes his head, "Take your leave, Ser Rygar, before I decide to take offense to things that you imply."

There's a flicker of Jarod's green eyes toward his uncle as Revyn's hand goes to rest on his sword. He follows that gesture, right hand going to his own weapon, though he doesn't draw it. Mostly he just watches Jaremy, expression still uncharacteristically grim.

"There has been no such retrieval of coin to Four Eagles Tower and I've had no such exchange with the prisoner." Jaremy slows his horse, turning to watch his Uncle dismount. He glances to his half-brother and his squire with a cold, expressionless face before he levels his gaze on Ser Rygar once more. "Turn your horse, Ser, and as you wear your filthy mouth hoarse with false accusations, know that I see you. I see you clearly. You will leave. Now."

Jaremy turns to his bannermen, most notably his Uncle. "Don't attempt to silence him from his hawking accusations. Any attempt to silence them would be met with some foolish level of credibility."

Rygar does not so much as stir for his own weapon as mild tensions surface among his escorts. The tall knight's stiff and stern manner unchanged throughout Revyn's commentary. His only motion is a slow unblinking look aside to Jaremy as the younger Terrick bids him be off. "Tordane silver did come to your Roost, Ser. The whore you are so keen to keep from justice has admitted as much." A slowly drawn breath. "I shall do you the courtesy, young Lord, of presuming you have spoken from imprudent youth and ignorance when you name me a liar. Were an older knight- a blooded knight- to speak so, I would expect satisfaction for such a slight." A look back to the pair of Tordane knights with whom he had arrived, "We shall be off. There is no justice here."

There's a flit of Revyn's attention in the direction of Jaremy, enough so that he give the younger man a nod and a quick, "I have no intention of silencing him, Nephew." Then, he's looking back to Rygar, the narrowing of his eyes remaining, "Satisfaction is not something you will gain today, Ser Rygar. Return to Naylands lands and know that if what you say is true, then the whore will be dealt with." Now, his attention shifts to the Tordane Knights and he levels them with a gaze before speaking, "Return to your home and inform the Lady of Stonebridge and her mother that my brother will no doubt wish to speak with them." Then, he's returning to his horse, drawing himself back up into the saddle.

Jarod's hand slips off his sword hilt when Rygar returns to his horse. Not that there's much evident relief from him yet. He does steal a quick look back at Rowan now, offering him the smallest of nods. It's something of an encouraging gesture. They may not have to get bloody today afterall.

Jaremy gazes over the assembled crowd, including Ser Rygar, with a quiet pair of lowered brows. Huffing, he shakes his head and salutes his uncle as he turns his horse back in the direction of the tower. While it seems that no one has truly won the day, there are losers all around. This would come to a head sooner or later, as the smallfolk are seeing the first signs of the Terrick's bannermen, the Tordanes, turning over to the rival Naylands.

Riding past Jarod and Rowan, Jaremy turns to look at them, and issues them a decidedly flattened frown. "We'll have to extend the guard further, brother." He says, riding past. "I doubt this is the last of it."

Rowan looks as relieved as anyone to see his kinsmen depart, letting out a long breath. He nods to Jarod in return. The looks from Jaremy has the lad's eyes skittering away, however. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, moreso, even, than in the presence of his belligerent kin.