Two Cards for A True Kingsman

He who on conviction does and pursues and chooses what is pleasant would be thought to be better than one who does so as a result not of calculation but of incontinence; for he is easier to cure since he may be persuaded to change his mind.


Travelling from the Forestlands towards the realm of the riverlords had been exhausting. Seeing Ravenwood brought relief to both the knight and his squire. Stinking like every swamp, the surrounding Blackmarsh carried all the carrion of the realm. Acting as a crossroads between the Crownlands and the Ironlands, Ravenwood had been built upon the nasty rivers and was consisting of interweaving bridges and blocks of wooden houses. The City of the Crossing is… Smelly as the Nether. Struggling to contain his disgust, Borothar remained amazed, just if he were a young hero from a chivalric fable.

Approaching the Widowed whale, Borothar feared what outrageous drinking his master would perform today.

“Fetch me some ale, wench’ the large knight ordered a fair lady as he stormed in, smashing his fist on the first free table on his way.”

Following Master Melrag’s lead, Borothar sat down in front of him, awaiting the famed Ravenwood ale. However, the tavern girl looked at both of them with an annoyed stare. Unwilling to displease the lady, Borothar tried his best to give her a friendly smile. Unconvinced, she bluntly said:

“Dogs aren’t allowed, my lords’, she complained.

Lowering his eyes to his jovial wolfdog sitting below his chair, Borothar felt his annoyance strengthen as well. However, he reminded himself that a true knight never rose his voice over trivialities. Master Melrag says it himself.

“You wench better serve us fast,’ Melrag almost yelled, raising his gauntlet before smashing it again. ‘I have been travelling to this shitpile enough times to know which inns accept dogs or not!”

Master Melrag also says to do what he says, not necessarily to follow everything he does. He is a walking contradiction, but a great man as well. Looking at him, Borothar felt his admiration gripping his chest, as his large master with greasy hair was shaking the Widowed whale with his will.

However, the lady didn’t shiver, not backing off her position as she kept complaining.

Throwing three silver coins at her, Melrag added as she skillfully caught them:

“Will this help you serve us your finest ale, and could you bring some leftovers for the dog?”

Surprisingly, her face gained a sudden joviality, and her voice softened:

“Of course, milord, at once”.

Offering an innocent smile to Borothar, she left before he heard his master comment:

“If words don’t work, coin is more efficient than an insult, remember that Borothar lad,” he turned his attention towards the lady: “Wench, bring us some cards as well!’ He turned to the squire. “Don’t get fooled by her smile, she is like the rest of them. Know a lady, command a lady with subtlety but respect a lady despite her wretchedness!”

Suddenly, a laugher rose, and Melrag’s face twisted itself in an offended grin. It begins.

“Hello, Son of the Wolf,’a odd androgynous individual said, smiling under his black rabbit hat, waving a fan and dressed like… Whatever he was.

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