Benedict's player is on GMT, and as such, regular weekly court times are impossible to make. He'll try to have Big Court every 4-6 weeks, or shortly after any major event such as an earthquake. However, 'court' is always open. The King processes around the Palace daily, diverts into the grounds, and can occasionally be found alone. His appointment book is accessible with appropriate bribes to the heralds. So if you want a court scene, you can grab him any time he is free, and ask. If you want a private audience, to to stumble over him trying to grab a moment's peace, the same applies.

I'll repeat one bit from above - court is always open. You don't need to have come to meet the King, and you can always meet other important people there.

Benedict has the usual two guards and a herald, and the herald announces Celeste and closes the door behind her, if she will allow it. The King is pacing as he reads a book with a runic inscription on the outside.

Celeste pads in at a casual saunter. She turns her head and watches the door close before pacing forward and curtseying, "Good Day, Your Majesty."

Benedict says, "My apologies. Not now. The man outside will reschedule." He does not look up from the book.

Celeste blinks shrugs and turns on heel, ambling out.

Krieger's breath fogs in the painfully cold air, and from the dark recesses of his rather intimidating helm ice blue eyes peer through narrowed lids at the scene before him. He heard the story a mere moments ago, and now he stands staring at the scene where Loki himself reportedly stood and laid fire upon Kri's soil. Yeah. It's his North. What of it? Beneath the weight of the fur the giant is immobile, still as death as he continues to stare at the scene as if by looking hard enough he can simply summon forth something upon which to vent his unquenchable rage. In his hand an axe of crimson and ebony glints in the morning sun, the glass scattering a million blood red drops of light upon the snow.

There is evidence of fire in the snow here, and several charred pines, and many footprints blurring the area. Ice here and there indicates where creatures of fire fell and burned their last, and were extinguished.

Krieger's lip pulls from his teeth in a small snear. Magic. He'd never tell his King of his lover, but he's never been fond of those that do battle with mystical forces. It seems... unworthy of great beings. Slowly he begins to pace the area, starting outward and working a spiral pattern towards the center, his eyes seeking clues and information that will help him pick truth from exagerated camp rumor.

RPG: Krieger challenges a difficulty of 6, using his Wits. Krieger fails.

It looks like a whole army has been here, back and forth. They must have scrambled out of the camp and rushed over here, so there was some degree of panic. Several trees are burned, and others have the snow knocked off them. That must have happened in the fight, of course. There are odd bits of ice here and there, but no apparent reason for them.

Krieger takes a knee and lets a bit of the ice play through his fingers for a moment before tossing it away. He frowns. Not so long ago he was a great hunter of his people, though he has to admit it was more the killing then the tracking that was his forte. It's never been that hard to follow the tracks of a dire wolf or dire bear through a foot or more of snow. They're not big on stealth. He sighs heavily, once more realizing his limitations. If only he had a good tracker here, they'd be able to make sense of what, to him, is merely chaos. Then he smiles, it's all good. It could be worse, he could suck in battle. He circles a few more times, looking to see if anyone wandered off from the fight, wounded or not so wounded.

The army itself is not far away, and so probably dealt with the wounded. If there are any, they have crawled under snow to die. However, Krieger hears the sound of hoofbeats.

It's a large horse, at a trot, probably.

Krieger hasn't released his weapon yet and he has no intention of doing so. Besides, it strikes quite the impression and he likes that. It's big and scary looking, he likes to think it fits him. He turns towards the sound of the horse and waits. He's a much better waiter then a tracker.

The horse trots closer, and then stops. Astride it sits an old man, in the armour of a generation long gone. He gives Krieger a look filled with bile, eyes narrowed.

Krieger has an axe several generations old, he knows age when he sees it. He meets the baleful glare evenly with an unshakable stillness of his own. Krieger really does have phenominal patience.

RPG: Krieger challenges a difficulty of 7, using his Resolve. Krieger succeeds.

After some minutes the old man looks away, back to the north. Then he speaks. "Rude little youth. Why do you not greet your betters?"

Krieger's lips pull a bit at one side, "Because my betters are so far and few between they are hard to recognize once they are stumbled across." he says with a bit of Kite flare. Sue him, he's stressed and it's humor and anger, he's opting for the friendly approach. "What do you seek Grandfather, that I might aid you?" his tone is respectful now, but not overly so.

The man says, "I seek restitution and apology. I rode here seven days past, and was attacked by spear and fire. Is this the way to treat an old man who has been a soldier?"

Krieger tilts his head to the side, "That would depend for whom the old man faught and who's hand weilded the spear and flame." he points out. "I hold some authority here, from whom are you seeking your appologies Grandfather? It may be I can help."

The old man says, "A small woman and a big man. They are of Kitezh, and it is enough that it is known in the South that Koshchei was attacked, and repays his debts threefold."

Krieger's head tilts to the side, "Small women and large men abound." he points out. "Ah. So then this is a warning." he says with a small smile on his lips, a smile hidden in the shadows of his helm. "It does not sound as though you seek appology after all Grandfather."

Koshchei says, "Thricefold will the spear fly, and thricefold the flames be opened, ere my wrath is passed, or the villains are given over to me for punishment."

Krieger's feet plant, "I will bear your request to my king Undying One." Kri says, his teeth grinding once as he bites back a speech built of bravado and the still present anger aimed Loki's direction.

Koshchei says, "You are young, but you learn quickly. Koshchei thanks your wit, and your indulgence, and wishes you well on the Road."

Krieger eyes the Immortal for a long silence, "My indulgence comes at a price, or do you not follow the ways of etiquette?" he asks, "A messenger is paid for his services, and I would have mine purchased with an answer to a question."

There is a pause, and then Koshchei nods. "Ask me not about my life, nor about my death. All else, I will answer."

Krieger smiles impishly, "As you wish. I will not ask about your life nor your death, but instead about something that is both and neither." Krieger has been hanging out in Amber to long, he's starting to like riddles and quips. "Who holds the soul of Koshchei the Undying now?" Krieger is of old blood and he knows the tales, especially those of his North.

Koshchei says slowly, "Koshchei has no Soul. He is beyond such things, and so nobody holds it. It is not in the wind, or in the waters, or on the land. No death will afflict me until the skies burn and the Old Witch eats the bones of her chicken-legged hut."

Krieger nods once, knowing that despite the fact that his tales were not entirely true, he's learned something new none the less. That he needs to learn more. He continues to stand there and wait, allowing the Immortal to leave first. He said he'd take the message and he means to, just... after the old man leaves.

Koshchei turns his horse, itself said to be a magical beast, and walks it away.

Krieger waits until he can not even hear the hooves before heading back into camp. He has much to speak to Viktor about and he's not sure where to begin....

New Year's Resolutions for Benedict:

Grow hand back
Heal Amber
Protect Golden Circle metaphysically
Less tea


New Year's Resolutions for Scholastica:

Burn more PCs in the face
Crush hopes
Destroy at least one civilisation
More +tasks (crushing of own hope does not count, alas)

New Year's Resolutions for Vlaaaadimir

Lower Necklines on Amber
Find cure for anaemia
Sharper straws
Repair roof, such that mobs no longer fall through it

Bastard sons: 2

Hands: 1

Beatrice knows about the hand already. Maybe I should open with that.

I'll be off over most of Christmas-tide and the New Year, with nothing but cheap scotch, my laptop, and bitter, bitter memories. And this scar in the shape of a holly-bush.

I will be around, but it will be irregular. If you need me, please +mail and ask to arrange a time. I'll reply as and when the headache stops and the pain comes back.

Gossip ACR: Sun Dec 13 03:18:51 2009 by Benedict (public)
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The salons and halls and chambers of the palace have it from people who have it from other people that the King wonders why Bleys chose to ignore his Royal Heritage to have a wedding to the Duchess of Karm take place off Crown Property. The King firmly supports his brother in his good endeavour and wishes him well in his marriage, and utterly refutes that it is a sign of weakness on Bleys' part to marry the Duchess under such circumstances. Yes, the Palace was available to his brother. Of course.

Gossip ACS: Sun Dec 13 05:44:59 2009 by Bleys (public)
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The better-informed gossips in the palace believe Prince Bleys to have been prudent in his choice of venue for his wedding, for when the wedding was announced, and invitations sent and the logistics arranged, it was Julian who was upon the throne and not Benedict. Given the only-tenuous truce and lack of warmth between His Previous Majesty and His Royal Highness, and the disarrayed state of the court and palace in the absence of Princess Flora, it seemed wise of Bleys to have chosen a venue less subject to mishap, whether deliberate or intentional. And besides, who would have dared plan a wedding in the palace at a time when Flora was absent?

To the image of Bleys, Benedict is looking at an oil painting that hangs in the Dining Room in the Palace. He looks from a painting to an image. "Prince Bleys."
The image of Bleys is in a place with a grimly ugly sky. It is raining fur, lightly. "Brother," he greets. With cold irritation he says, "I would rather again the logistics and bloodshed of moving a starving batallion of iron-turtle knights and their damnable mechanical contrivances through the haunted mountains of Ygyrystan than to attempt to move my wedding from one venue to another." He points at the roiling, varicolored sky. "A shadowstorm is coming. Beware of monsters. That is all." And like an elastic band snapping back abruptly, he withdraws his mind from the contact.

The image of Bleys turns his attention away from the Trump, and vanishes.

You paged Bleys with 'That one where we had to blast our way through rocks with boiling vinegar?'.

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To: Bleys
Subject: +sending/PAT-BD: Bird with orange plumage
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The bird carries a very small vinegar vial. Inside is a rolled note: /Was/ available. When nobody asked. Benedict Rex.
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