With at least a few years as an international courier under her belt, Shiloh figured that she could officially call herself a 'business owner'. She had started small, working odd jobs and moving up to making package deliveries great and small. She had done almost everything: monster bounties, errands, finding missing pets, sending love letters, stealing personal property and putting them back in the hands of rightful owners. Everything except assassination, which was always nasty business. Some could argue that she could have taken far less time to build up her resources if she had been a bit less picky with what she did. But Shiloh knew better. The 'easy' way typically meant more grief after, and she wanted things to be as painless as possible. 

Today she was taking her time to think over her latest decision. Normally she wouldn't do something like this, but she wanted to at least see how things would go. For the first time, she would be doing something most people would frown upon–but was far less shady than being hired to gut strangers for coin. Somebody wanted to borrow a sum of money, but not just anyone. She said she wouldn't make any promises until after they sat down and had a talk on the terms and conditions, as she did with every client before signing a delivery order. The Winking Mermaid was the agreed meeting spot; it was well-known and she knew what typically went on here. Every few months she'd drop in to pick up a few errands or bounties, just like in the old days. Also, she knew most of the bounty hunters and odd-jobbers around. It was an ideal place with all things considered.

She had paid the servers to give her table privacy for time being, unless she called for them. Partially because she didn't want them to waste their valuable time serving somebody who only asked for water once every visit, and partially to give her and her client time to speak without interruption. She was dressed plainly, with a cloak so she wouldn't seem too odd. Something about first impressions having a strong impact on people, as Erasmus had said. 

For such a crowded street, they make way quite well, Simon observed as he rode up the boulevard. Here in Adeluna City the smallfolk were used to the sight of nobility passing through, especially here near the port, and they cleared the path well ahead of him. For once, it is easy to move through these streets. They likely gave most nobles hardly a second look down here, though in Simon's case the peasant's looked on in awe. "Don't worry, Regio," he reassured his mount, reaching down to pat the unicorn's white neck, "they've just never seen a unicorn before." He smiled politely as they passed by.

Regio was a lordly steed - larger, stronger, faster, more intelligent and surer of foot than any destrier. He also knew how to use the long pointed horn which sprouted from his forehead. Simon hadn't caught or tamed him: Regio had come to him, helping him one dark night when he faced down werewolf and warg alone. The two had been fast friends ever since. The mount's fur, mane, tail, horn, and even hooves were pearl-white. The unicorn wore full barding of white-enameled steel plate and a navy blue caparison bearing the silver moon-and-stars sigil of his house on either side.

Atop a high-backed, military style saddle of bleached leather sat a man who looked every inch a noble warrior. Count Simon de Montefort sat with a straight back and chin held high. Kind blue eyes shone from under well-kempt black hair and over a strong, freckled jaw. He was a tall man at six and a half feet, broad of shoulder and muscled like a maiden's dream. Over his body he wore a fitted woolen tunic, breeches and cloak all of white and trimmed in navy blue. In the stirrups were a pair of knee-high boots of bleached leather, matching his sword belt and shoulder pauldrons. The broadsword at his hip was hilted in ivory, a dark sapphire set into its pommel. Upon his back was a white kite shield, trimmed in blue tourmaline and polished to a mirror sheen. Stitched onto the breast of his tunic and emblazoned upon his shield was the sigil of his noble House: a waning crescent moon opening into a cluster of three seven-pointed stars, all in silver. 

The White Knight of the South reared up before an old multistoried wattle and daub building, its sign illustrated with a faded smiling mermaid. Simon dismounted, handing the reigns off to a young stable boy. "Have a care, lad," he warned, "if treated kindly unicorns are amiable creatures, but if dealt with harshly they can be fearful dangerous." The boy looked at the creature in awe and nodded slowly. With a smile Montefort turned for the door.

He paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the handle. Did he really want to do this? Usury was a low trade, and to be in debt was akin to being in servitude. Was this truly the way? Simon hesitated a moment, but in the end he swallowed his pride. Without outside investment there was no way he could rebuild his life. The Knight didn't see another choice.

Stepping in he was confronted with the familiar sights and smells of a mead hall: glasses clanking, people talking and laughing, smoke from hearth and pipes mingling in the rafters above… The cheery sight immediately put him at ease. Hopefully it did the same for the woman he was meeting.

Simon had asked around his circle of sellswords and traveling merchants, and had been pointed in the direction of a certain woman known as a rising star in continental trade. If anyone was to sponsor him, it would be her. He found her in a corner near the hearth shunned by patron and servant alike. Along the way he made sure to tap a wench's elbow and order a glass of wine, using the extra time to gain the measure of the woman he was meeting with. She was tall and lithe, her eyes sharp and discerning, and everything about her look and mannerisms suggested that she knew how to use the sword and dagger at her hips. She was younger than he'd expected. Her clothing was of high quality, yet simple and utilitarian. Hers was an air that Simon looked for when he was recruiting officers: capable, reliable, professional. Simon nodded approvingly, grudging her some measure of respect, though he remained cautious. If the whispers were to be believed, she had great powers. Simon had no interest in finding out the truth of that, he decided.

The Count approached from the other side of the table. With a flourished he proffered her a low bow, and came up with a polite smile. "My lady, I am Count Simon de Montefort. Around here they call me the White Knight of the South. I am honored that you found the time to meet me. Your reputation proceeds you, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He remained standing beside an empty chair, awaiting an invitation to be seated like a proper knight. Simon never forgot his manners, even outside of Court. Etiquette is an armor of another sort, his father had once told him. Whatever was said of Simon of Montefort, he determined that he would never be called impolite. 

"Good, you've made it. Have a seat, no point standing around." She gave him a nod, and folded her hands together with elbows on the table. She'd been tapping her foot below the table, and now the client was here she wouldn't be fidgeting. The client was…lordly. Yes that was a good word to use. Shiloh could read uneasiness in his arms and probably some reluctance by the tension in his neck. It was a very awkward situation for both of them. Once he was seated, she straight to business. "Alright, Sir Simon de Montefort. I believe you inquired if I would be willing to give you a small loan? Not to be disrespectful, but could you tell me what you will be needing this for? It's nothing personal, just standard procedure." Like all her business dealings, she wanted to make sure they were all on the same page. Also this would give her more to go off on in determining whether or not she would agree to set up a contract. You didn't just loan money to anybody, just like how you wouldn't give the shirt off your back for any old person.

To the noble, Shiloh was not exactly the image of a typical moneylender. In fact, most people wouldn't even consider picking her pockets due to how plain and unassuming she was. And unlike the Egjorans, she had certain standards she held herself and her clients up to. Compared to the count's attire, to an outsider it would seem that she was the one asking for a loan, not the other way around. Upon taking in Simon's appearance, she was already regretting choosing a public space to talk over the deal. That symbol of a noble house and glaringly bright armor was like a beacon for attention. But, she had to be professional. Even if he did stick out like a sore thumb, she wasn't going to waste his time. By the Conclave, this scene was awkward.

She had gone under a pseudonym of 'Salem', for privacy reasons. Luckily nobody who knew her was around, so she could do as she wished. Unfortunately she didn't have the time to do an extensive search on this count's background with it being peak delivery season, and she had just managed to rearrange things so she had the entire day free. Today she would have to rely solely on what she could glean from him, and probe his past history later. Looking down, she continued speaking. "Now I don't normally go out of my way to take on requests like this, but it's not everyday that someone with a family name of renown comes asking. I like to give everyone an equal opportunity, regardless. You can call me Salem, by the way." She should've brought her mask today. Even if it made her look suspicious, it would likely save her an awkward accidental meeting somewhere in the near future. 

Simon nodded and took his seat. Her directness made him smile. "To the point, I like it." He listened to her line of questioning intently as the serving wench brought him a cup of wine. Simon accepted with thanks and a smile, and took a long sip. It was a bit cloying for his taste, and paled in comparison to the fine vintages of Montefort, but he smiled graciously at it nonetheless. It was poor form to talk ill of a place's food or drink while under their roof. 

Once she was finished he set the glass down and leaned forward. "Well, my lady, the short of it is that I need to properly arm and armor myself for the Queen's tourney on the moonturn. The long of it is, well, quite a bit longer." Leaning back, he steepled his fingers together. His brow furrowed as he hesitated. Dare he tell her the whole truth? Would she believe him? If the rumors were true, and this moneylender really was divine, then he dare not leave anything out. 

"Back in my homeland, in the world of Dae Luin, Montefort is an ancient House great in honor. My lands were vast, my coffers full, and I commanded an army and a fleet in the name of mine King. In my decade and a half as a Knight I fought in many a war in His name. One day, he called me to gather my fleet and set sail to deal with a particularly prickly pirate lord. As we sailed a great gale took us in the night. I lost consciousness as my ship was torn asunder. When I woke I was on a strange beach, under a firmament of unfamiliar stars. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and was little had washed upon the shore. I found my son, the only other survivor, and set about finding a way home."

Sighing, Simon took another draught of wine. "I signed on with a merchant caravan as a guard. Unsavory work for a Lord, yes, but the best I could hope for. I had only a sword and a shield: no armor or mount, so no Lord would take me into his service even if he believed me a Knight. For what is a Knight without horse or armor or lance? This caravan wound its way across the continent from Adeluna City to Sularia and back. I made quite a bit of silver and learned much of Canelux and its people. I heard many tales of folk brought to this world through a hundred strange ways, from mine own world and others as well. Never did I hear tell of someone going the other way. I fear I will never know home again." He finished with downcast eyes, downing his cup in a bid to hide a tear. The thought of losing everything and everyone he had ever known was hard to bear, especially while attempting to maintain his dignity intact.

The Knight took a deep breath, and looked back up to the woman he'd come to beggar himself before. "I may never see home again, but I've a duty to my son. I want to give him the life he deserves. We may never be great lords again, but I can at least give him land to farm and a stout holdfast to guard it. The only way to do that is to be taken into the service of the Queen or one of her great Lords, but in order for that to happen I must first capture their attention. That's where the tournament comes in."

Simon raised a hand, capturing the attention of the serving girl and signaling for another glass of wine. "The long caravan journey left me with a substantial sum of silver," he said, refocusing his attention on the woman across from him. "Enough to pay for the clothing and weapons you now see, and to fully bard and equip my mount. Now, however, my funds run low. In order to be eligible to compete in the tourney I need more equipment. That is why I come before you now, my Lady." 

Reaching into a pocket, he withdrew a roll of parchment. Unwrapping its ribbon, he smoothed it out on the table and passed it across. "This is a list of the gear I plan to have commissioned for me. A suit of plate, lances, javelins, a morningstar, and courtly attire." Simon plucked at his woolen tunic. "While these rags might suffice for the field, I would look a pauper in them at feast or at the ball. To the gentry, appearance is everything. I mustneeds a proper doublet, cape and hose to treat with the Lords at Court."

Simon watched her go over the list, his nervousness rising as she perused. "As you can see, I have already found quotes on each item. A sum of a thousand silver pieces will suffice. It may seem a large sum to you, but if you think about it I do not even have to place in the lists. I only need to unseat two opponents. One ransom of horse and armor to pay for my ransom, and another to pay you back in full plus interest. And that is just the jousting. I compete also in the melee, javelin throwing, horse racing, pugilism, wrestling, and even pankration. Making it to the podium in any one of those would see you paid. I have competed in a great many tournaments in my time as a Knight, and placed in most of them. A worthwhile investment, wouldn't you say?" The nobleman spread his hands and offered her his most disarming smile.

An idea suddenly came to him, and he decided to air it out. "My Lady Salem, I am told that you run a very lucrative shipping business. Perhaps we could even call you my sponsor? I could plant your company's flag outside my pavilion alongside my own, and I could mention your great company and my thanks for its support at the feast, ball, and any acceptance speeches I may give. Would such exposure be of any interest to you?" 

The Knight took a sip from his fresh-delivered glass of wine, hoping his pitch had come off well and nervously awaiting her response. 

She was definitely regretting not bringing the mask. As the lord seated himself, he began a very long and winded explanation on why he needed this loan…starting from the very beginning. It was a good thing she had a poker face, but that meant she had to keep this expression for the entire speech. To summarize, he came from another world much like most people. Even she had entered from another world, but through less pleasant means. He got in a shipwreck, washed up on a beach with his son, came to and realized this wasn't 'home', and was trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. It was a completely reasonable line of thinking. Naturally he took up a job that he could do, and was at least not destitute. When the count voiced his feelings on being unable to return home, it struck a rather painful cord. Yes, she'd been spending her years working hard and staying alive since her own fall into Revaliir. However she remembered the memories of why and how she had came, things she had been trying to repress for a long time. 

Deity or not, she knew what it was like. And for a while, she had tried to find a way back too. That was the reason why she had driven herself so. She had almost forgotten. Simon however was holding up well, likely staying strong for his son's sake. He was quite lucky, not having arrived in a new world alone. It gave him something to live for, and that was good. Listening to his future plans, she was pleased to hear that he wasn't somebody who shirked responsibility. But something she didn't quite understand was his desire to serve the Adelunian queen, or somebody with a high enough station. It must be a 'nobleman' thing, probably. Most people naturally gravitate towards being in situations that are familiar. He lived his life as a noble, so naturally becoming one again would give himself a sense that order had been restored in his life. At least that was what Shiloh was gathering from this situation. He then asked for yet another drink, and she was wondering why he didn't just ask for them to leave the bottle at the table. Calling someone over every single time seemed like a hassle.

In short, he needed the loan to enter a tournament. In addition to winning the grand prize, he wanted to gain publicity. Count Montefort produced a list of the things he wished to buy with said loan–a very good move in establishing trust–and outlined a rough estimate of how much he would need. She raised her eyebrows slightly at the plate armor. Those had to be custom-made, and they did not come cheap. She considered the amount he was asking for and considered the chances of him winning. A logical offer, but she had to prepare for any unexpected events. But when he suggested calling her his sponsor, her face stiffened. Pushing back the parchment with the list of items, her lips were drawn into a thin line. "I see you have written up a detailed proposal, but what do you have in mind should you fail to place in the top competitors? Instead of talking about interest, I want to begin with how you plan to pay." Seeing that this probably was too direct, she changed the subject.

"I am honored that you would consider naming me as a sponsor, however I would strongly advise against it. You stated yourself that you were entering this competition to prove your worth to the queen. If word was to spread that you were being backed by a business, that could very well work against you. Even though I am merely lending you the coin to purchase your weapons and armor for the time being, people will find ways to make it sound worse than it really is. It's no secret that wealthy owners of businesses often have the ear of the nobles and gentry, but that is not the kind of business we run here." Her tone was serious, and her gaze had hardened into a steely glare. "I have no interest in getting involved with the governance of kingdoms, or the nobility. And I will not tolerate the gossip of idle men." 

Closing her eyes, she took a moment to put her emotions under control. "You are entering this tournament to display your skill, so you should earn their respect by your own effort alone. That way you won't give others the chance to tarnish your reputation with rumors, and it will prevent my business from being slandered as well. This transaction is to be kept between the two of us, period. Now, about the terms of your loan…" Her voice trailed off as she reached into her cloak for a copy of a written contract.

Simon inwardly winced as her expression grew hard at the suggestion of sponsorship. That was a misstep. They said fortune favored the bold, but there was something to be said for caution as well. She followed up with a direct line of questioning as to what he would do should his plan fail. Simon nodded as he listened, sipping his wine here and there along the way. She may not look like a businesswoman on the outside, but she had the mind for it, that was clear. She was sharp, discerning, and to the point. Those were qualities Simon respected, though it was disconcerting to be on the receiving end of them. 

The Knight listened dutifully as she elaborated at length on her feelings regarding the sponsorship plan. It was all Simon could do to wash his embarrassment down with a gulp of wine. You damned fool, you sank this deal before it ever left port. He felt his hope turn to ash in his belly, but it soon rose again like a phoenix as she began to rifle through her paperwork. She's going to go for it after all! His heart leaped. 

Smiling, Simon began to pick up where she trailed off. "Of course, my Lady Salem, you have the right of it. It was a foolish proposal. Politics is a wretched game even at the best of times, it was not my intent to draw yourself or your business into that world. Rest assured that I will treat our arrangement with the utmost discretion." As if to emphasize the point he raised his glass to her and took another drink. 

"And no need to fear for my performance, my Lady," he continued on as he set down the glass, "should I fail to place or to win a spare ransom I will return to sellsword work, only now I will be able to command a hefty price as heavy cavalry. I will pay you back in due course. After my caravan journey, there are multiple employers who would hire me on to their crews. But let us hope it does not come to that. I'd prefer the more glorious outcome." He gave her a wink and a smile, waiting for her to go on about the loan agreement. He hoped the interest rate would not be too steep: interest amounts could run away on sums of this size. The date to maturity would be something to watch as well. Divine or not, he would not let this woman shark him. 

"Tell me, how did you come into the loan business in the first place?" Up until now it seemed he had been doing all the talking. He yearned to find out more about the enigma sitting across from him. 

Shiloh gave a nod of approval when he reaffirmed that he had a possible avenue of a steady income. Unless Count Simon already had the information and details of his potential competitors in the tournament, she didn't expect his words to hold water. Unless you were absolutely sure–with all things considered–that you had more than three-fourths of a chance of success, then she considered it a gamble. And she absolutely hated gambling, because it was unreliable. The investment of better equipment would indeed increase his value in being hired, but not every person was willing to start by paying such high costs. Different levels of hired swords appealed to different levels of customers. It was very costly to appeal to all ranges, but if you could pull it off you would reap great rewards. Taking all these factors into consideration, Shiloh laid out a contract freshly written in ink. Fanning it, the clear lettering dried quickly and there was no worry of it being smudged. "I've done a bit of studying in my own time. Luckily for you, you're my first client for a loan. We've only added this service to our business rather recently. It would be terrible if my first case wasn't a success." She then quietly laid out a quill dipped in ink beside the parchment on the table.

"Alright then, now as I do for all of my customers I plan to review the terms of your loan as of this moment. Read carefully, and take as much time as you need. There's no hurry. Keep in mind that until we both agree that these terms are acceptable, the writing on this contract is not considered final. Now there are a few blank spaces, if you look below. I have already filled in the amount you wish to borrow, and I will fill the other blanks in with the appropriate figures after we discuss." The contract's first lines read: 

'I, Count Simon de Montefort, request a loan of one-thousand silver crescents from the lender, [redacted]. This lump sum is to be designated for the purchase of weapons, armor, and other additional equipment for attendance of a tournament held by Queen Qendresa I, of the empire of Adeluna.'

There was something unusual about the space where his lender's name should be. For some odd reason, when he looked at it it would read 'Salem', but the ink on the entire parchment seemed to be shifting around as if it were alive. This was one of the additional precautions Shiloh had taken in creating this document. Knowing that it would be all too easy for prying eyes and scrying magic to catch a glimpse of the contract details, the ink used to write these words was designed to distort when anyone other than the writer looked at it. To anyone not at their table, it would look like gibberish and nonsense. Shiloh herself had intentionally distorted the portion where her name was, not wanting to give our her own name to a stranger. "If everything seems to be correct, then let's move onto the matter of interest." She continued after giving him some time to review the document.

"Now my rates of interest will vary depending on how long you intend to borrow. Naturally the longer period of time before you begin paying back, the lower the interest rate. The same goes for the opposite. The idea is with a shorter period of time before payment is required, the greater the risk the borrower runs of being unable to pay. This rate of interest will also be adjusted accordingly based on the amount of principal you borrow. From what you have told me, I would give this loan an interest rate of two percent for a year. That would mean you should expect an additional twenty crescents for every hundred you owe to be added to the amount of unpaid principal a year from today. A thousand crescents is a sizable sum, so I would give you…five years as your loan's maturity date. But I'm getting ahead of myself here." Pausing to let all that sink in, she moved onto the next important detail for their contract.

"Next, is the issue of what payment schedule you will be choosing for your loan. We have several options here, and you can choose one that best suits your needs. However, once you choose a schedule you are expected to abide by it until you pay off all that you owe. Here are your options: you can opt to pay off your loan in installments–specific amounts on a monthly basis, or you can choose to pay it all at once including interest when your loan maturity date arrives. There can be adjustments in between, of course. You could choose an installment payment plan that requires payments on a yearly basis instead of by the month. I'll write it down in the blanks and we'll call that settled."

Simon listened closely as his lender dove into the details of his loan. I'm her first debtor? he thought, his eyebrows raising. Interesting, I wonder why she chose me. Though in the end he had little trouble imagining why: a man of his honor and birth would be certain to repay his debts in a timely manner. Even if he were to perform poorly in the tourney, with the new equipment he could ride as heavy horse in war, and on this continent there was always war. There would be no shortage of work for a sellsword here he knew. The new Queen was beset by enemies on all sides. One of her lords would be looking to bolster his ranks, no doubt. But that was if worst came to worst. Simon had no doubt that he would win this much and more in the lists at the Queen's tourney next month.

The Knight took a sip as the woman went on, hiding the smile that came to his lips. At an interest rate of two percent and a five-year maturity her terms were more than favorable: the were outstanding! He could not believe his ears. Simon resisted the urge to ask to sign the contract straight away. Instead he forced himself to lean back and keep a straight face. "I find the terms you propose favorable. I would agree to monthly payments, however mercenary work is by nature far afield. Do you have some method for me to get you your silver while on campaign? I suppose your company has many field offices throughout the land, could I drop my payment off at any such location?"

Simon looked up a moment, trying to decide if they had left anything out. "That would be all the concern I have," he said, once again meeting her eye. "Though I do have one last request: I would be honored if you were to bestow your blessing upon me before I ride in the lists." He flashed her a broad smile.

"With your favor, my Lady, I am sure no one can stand against me. I would be even more honored if you were to come watch me compete yourself. Tournaments are a grand spectacle, even more so the feasts and the ball. It would be remiss for a beauty such as yourself not to experience such an event at least once in your life. Were you to grace us with your presence, you would surely have to save a dance with me. You would make a fine dancer, I am sure. I have an eye for grace," he insisted with a wink. 

"A toast!" he proposed with a grin, lifting his cup toward her, "to our newfound partnership! May it bring prosperity to us both."

She was about to add the preferred details to the blanks when the man raised a very important question. Come to think of it, she hadn't prepared specific procedures to accommodate for payments not done in a formal, face-to-face setting. Taking the quill in her hands and holding it horizontal so the tip and the nib were touching her index fingers, she thought things over. "…While I do not have official locations on the continent, I do have a way for you to send your payments to me without having me come see you in person." Taking out a blank parchment she drew a quick sketch of a small obelisk with a metal plate bearing the symbol of Antikythera.

"Personally I prefer checking on my customers' progress from time to time, but if you insist, there are these small stone monuments made of howlite that you can find if you look hard enough. When you want to make a payment, simply place it in a wrapped package with a symbol matching the one on the obelisk there and I will collect it. I have no objections to payments in advance, though do keep in mind that doesn't mean you can use that as leverage to bargain your way out of a penalty if you miss one. You won't need to worry about having it stolen if you drop your payments off–if someone were to take what isn't theirs, I'll find them and convince them to give it up."

'Convince' was a very, very relative term considering what she was really implying. She did not tolerate thieves or swindlers. With that issue resolved, she wrote down the Count's desired payment plan and reviewed the contract to ensure it was all to his liking. Now all that was left was for his signature. From her cloak she produced a small, thin dagger and set it beside the contract. "In addition to your name, I'll need your mark. Signets and stamps are too easily forged these days, so instead I'll need a drop of your blood to seal the deal. If you find this offensive, I apologize. This is just standard procedure. This won't require much, just a small prick of the finger." 

Count Montefort had one last thing to say before their business was wrapped up. Looking her directly in the eyes, he asked if she could give him a blessing to help him in his upcoming tournament. If Shiloh had been drinking something, she would've choked on it about now. Then she saw that he was unfortunately dead serious. She brought her fingers together to form a steeple as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Good lord, did he really think receiving a 'blessing' from a deity would make things better? He really was a simple man if he honestly thought so. Fortunately for him he wasn't making a deal with the god of darkness or the Reaper, but still. A boon? Really?

Opening her eyes she gave her answer. "As long as you pay attention and don't get carried away, you'll do fine." She waved with a hand. "Make sure you keep your eyes open and your ears alert. That's all I can give you." Seeing that this likely wouldn't leave him satisfied, she folded her hands and placed her elbows on the table before continuing. "You know, in the Teutonic dialects back where I came from, the word 'gift' meant 'poison'. Blessings wouldn't be special if they were just given out like printed pamphlets of paper, and wouldn't your victories be much sweeter if you obtained them through your own sweat and blood? I doubt you would want a gift from me."

The last person whom she 'blessed' ended up cursing her name internally. Then again, that same person also lost a bet and was still sore that he was supposed to pay up. She held her hand up when he began rambling on about suggesting she come see the tournament and attend social gatherings like feasts and balls. "I'll have to turn you down on that offer. If I have time I might see how the tournament goes, but no promises. And on the off chance where I do come, you probably wouldn't even know I was there." After seeing what a fuss he was kicking up just coming to a discussion of a loan contract, she'd rather not be seen with him…publicly. To the toast, she raised an imaginary flagon and emulated the motion, trying to play along. Nobles certainly were odd. Once the procedures were completed, she tucked the signed contract away for safekeeping and prepared to take her leave.

Simon watched with interest as Salem took out a piece of parchment and sketched out an obelisk bearing an unfamiliar mark. Reaching out, he pulled it toward himself as she spoke. The Knight nodded as he inspected the image closely. "Howlite, how fitting for a White Knight. I will watch for these stones while on campaign. Those I do apologize in advance, for I surely will do your symbol no justice. I lack your artistic talent." Illustration had never been Montefort's strong suit. 

The Knight smiled politely in the face of her mildly insulting warning regarding missed payments. "You needn't worry about that, my Lady, I have given you my word. That still means something for an anointed Knight. You will have your pay, and it will be on time. I assure you." Courtesy is a man's armor in civilized society, his father's words rang in his ears through the years. Simon held on to his smile and warm tone, despite how grinding the Goddess' rudeness had become. 

She is truly immune to all charm and fellowship, he realized as she rejected his invitation to spectate at the tournament. His disappointment churned in his gut, souring to disgust as he studied her exasperated reaction at his humble request to be blessed. Look at how easily condescends, Simon thought in wonder as she spoke of gifts and poison, as if I were some dim foolish child. For all her divine power she is blind, unable to see past my smile and my bright clothes. She knows nothing of the scars underneath. 

Simon snorted at her words. "Sage advice, I'm sure, but what do you know of sweat and blood? I have shed much and more of both. Let me tell you of the sweet taste of victory." 

He paused for a sip of wine, he needed the fire in his belly for this tale. "When I was six -and-ten I had just won my spurs at the tourney at Ashford. That summer a highlander clan descended from the mountains to raid our lands. I was still half a lad then, though I was considered a man grown and now an anointed Knight on top of that, so when the call to arms came I answered. Most of the soldiers I served with were boys no older than I, many of them peasant lads conscripted from nearby villages. We were all eager to go off and fight. The glory of it, the sweetness of the victory to comes… We were sure that songs would be sung of our noble deeds."

Simon paused his tale, looking down a moment at the weathered wood of the tabletop. When his gaze lifted again his face had darkened. "Sometime after we mustered and marched out we came upon a border village. It was nothing more than a blackened shell. The raiders had stolen the villagers' harvest, and their treasures, and put all their homes to the torch. They slew all the men, and then the elderly. They dashed children's heads against rocks while their mothers watched. The bastards raped girls as young as seven, and carried them off with them for another go. There was one woman we found, bleeding and hysterical. She had been pregnant. The highlanders wagered on the sex of her child, then cut it out from her belly. I retched at the sight of it all, and all thought of glory left me with my breakfast. Confronted with so much pain and misery that we could do nothing to heal, we felt completely and utterly powerless. 

"Let me tell you a secret, goddess: a warrior loathes feeling powerless. That is why he becomes a warrior, why he forges his mind and body in the iron furnace of his will. So that he will never have to know the feeling. And when he does feel it, his anger boils inside of him. It did so in us then, and so we set out to bring pain to those savages who had committed such atrocities against us. I had trained all my life for battle, but it was not until then that I wanted to kill. We pursued them into the wooded foothills. It was poor strategy, but our blood was up and we would have nothing but vengeance now. In those woods the highlanders doubled back and fell upon us from all sides. The battle raged for half the day. Somehow in the chaos I came upon their Chieftan and slew him in single combat, and his Captain as well, though it nearly cost me mine life. Finally the highlanders broke and ran. We pursued, killing as many as we could get our hands on. No quarter was given that day."

Simon sighed. The memory of that battle was nearly two decades old, but it was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. "I received my first scar that day. The first of many." Lifting his hand, Simon tugged down on the left side of his collar: revealing a jagged white line of puckered flesh that ran down between neck and shoulder past a crooked collar bone. "I haven't been able to lift my left arm above my head since that day, but I can still hold a shield. That's good enough for a Knight. I remember walking the battlefield after the dust had settled. Seven of every ten of us had fallen. I watched my friends lying there in the mud, holding in their entrails as the cried for their mothers. I watched their lifeblood seep into the clay, until they cried no more. Tell me, how sweet do you think I found that victory?"

The veteran Knight scoffed at the girl who sat across from him. "You think us nobles vapid peacocks, but a divine should know the power of symbolism. We are meant to be seen, meant to be an example of civility and honor and progress. To show the people what a better world looks like. But we are also required to do dark deeds in times of need, for above all we are required to protect those people. That is why they give us their grain and their gold, why they allow us to judge their disputes and issue to them edicts. For when the wolves call, it is us who answer. That is why I truly need these arms and armor. Not to win gold and glory in a tourney, but to get back to my duty: protecting the powerless from those who would prey upon them. That is the duty of the White Knight."

His eyes narrowed. "You know, after that battle I wondered about the Gods. I wondered whether they had blessed us to achieve that victory, or if they had cursed us by inflicting that blight upon us. Now I realize it was neither. Apparently, they were too busy running shipping companies and brokering loans to give a damn." Reaching across the table, Simon took the quill and inked his signature to the agreement. Grasping the dagger, he drew it across his palm and held his fist over the contract. He held the girl's gaze as blood pooled on paper, until he reached down and pressed his signet ring into it. When he pulled away the yellow of the parchment shone through the congealing blood in the crescent moon-and-stars sigil of his House.

"There you go, woman," he declared, all pretense of courtesy vanished, "in a moon's turn I will have won that tourney, and you'll have your silver back in hand. Then I can go back to protecting the people and you can go back to profiting off of them." Dropping the dagger on the table, he pulled out a kerchief and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. Standing, he downed his cup in one last draught, slammed it down upon the table and scooped up the bag of silver. Without so much as a backward glance he turned and strode away.

"M'lord?" The serving girl asked as he walked past the bar. Simon jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "The bill is hers," he declared, and stepped back out into the light.