Hilde moved among her plants, carefully checking their health and muttering to herself at times about her findings. The doors into the greenhouse stood wide open and rain blew in with a gust of wind. While some of the others at task expressed mild displeasure at the weather, Hilde gently shushed a few and reminded them that the plants out doors didn't have the luxury of easy access to water at all times. At her gentle reproving, mutterings about the weather were far quieter. She sat down on the edge of a planter and ran her thumb over some carrots she had pulled from it, brushing some of the rich loam off back into the planter.

As she sat and took a brief rest from her efforts, Hilde's eye was caught by a bird out in the rain. With a hoarse cry, a large black raven landed in the doorway. As it shook the rain off of it's feathers, the stately bird made its way forward over the pea gravel in a series of almost hopping steps. The Green Knight looked at the bird as it pecked at the gravel. The bird lifted it's head and regarded her with keen eyes and gave a croaking caw.

As she watched the bird, Hilde's hands stilled in her lap and a carrot slipped from her fingertips into her lap, spilling a few bits of dirt with it. Hilde felt a vague sense of stillness settling over the world, as though all of her cares and concerns had slipped away like the carrot she had been holding.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
At the fire, Gunnar and his brother laughed at some inane comment he had made when she passed. The smug sense of superiority that lurked in his voice as he said that she made his brother look almost like Baldur when she stood by him earlier made the young woman's blood boil. Gunnar's brother was quite possibly one of the most hideous of the band that Gunnar ran. Multiple teeth missing, his face mildly misshapen from badly healed broken bones, and having a build like an over weight ox could possibly be over looked if it wasn't for the fact that Ivar's laughter grated on her nerves like a blind rooster's crowing in the night.

The pair were her chief sources of irritation since being brought into the Duke's household. The Maragrave had warned her that the Awakening would make things different. Brynhildir was mildly annoyed that it hadn't served to make Gunnar's laughing eyes any less attractive or Ivar's regular implications that she would be most useful in keeping a man's bed warm stop. A pair of ravens squabbled over the offal from the deer that had been slain for their meal. The group had insisted that Brynhildir's 'foolish whimsy' didn't mean she could avoid making the meal for them. While the Maragrave had personally taught her how to skillfully use a bow and arrow, the band she had the misfortune of being assigned to that fortnight said that as a woman she had no place hunting. Ivar was left to guard the camp and 'protect' her honor.

This consisted of Ivar making snide comments about how his lame and half blind younger sister would do a better at all of the tasks Brynhildir was undertaking. It was with great effort that she restrained the urge to throw the kettle over his head and batter it with one of the stout branches she had gathered for the fire. Now, she attempted to find a quiet spot to sit and eat her meal only to have Gunnar and the others laughing at the mocking comments from Ivar. One of the ravens hopped away from the offal and pecked at the ground. It looked up at her with a quizzical eye as she ground her teeth. Gunnar declared that the toughness of the venison wasn't due to the age of the doe they had felled but rather a 'lazy scullon' as his brother and the others roared with laughter.

Brynhildir threw her bowl to the ground, cracking the beech wood cleanly in half from the force with which she threw it. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly up to Gunnar. As she did so, her vision began to take on a scarlet haze and Brynhildir could hear her blood roaring in her ears. She strode up and took hold a fistful of Gunnar's black hair. With a sudden, savage motion, she pulled his head back hard enough to drag him off of where he sat.

Ivar reached for his knife as Brynhildir gripped Gunnar hard around the throat. One of the other's placed a restraining hand on his arm as another hooted with laughter. Gunnar reached up and gripped her wrist, pulling it away from his neck. As he broke free of her hold on his hair, he pulled her down to the ground. Their sudden scuffle caught the attention of a few. A guardsman who was seated near the Duke pointed out the fight and a look of mild amusement came over the Duke's face. What had been an almost painfully boring journey had taken an unexpected turn, though it was truly only a matter of time until the pair conflicted. What was expected, however, was an argument, not to see the blond slip of a woman turning on a seasoned warrior with the intent to visit bodily harm on him.

Gunnar attempted to restrain Brynhildir but soon found himself facing her eating knife. It flashed wickedly in the gleam of the fire and out of reflex, Gunnar pushed her away from him. The pair stood and glared at each other. "Put away your weapon, little girl," Gunnar said, grinning at her. Brynhildir spat at him and snarled.

"Come and take it," she snapped at him. As Gunnar laughed, Brynhildir stepped forward and delivered a solid blow with her muddied left elbow into his teeth before stepping away. Gunnar's laughter turned into a surprised cry as he spat a few broken teeth and blood onto the ground. He stormed forward reaching forward to grab hold of the woman who dug her heels into the mud. Sheathing her knife and dropping to her knee, Brynhildir did as the Maragrave had taught her. She took hold of Gunnar's tunic at the shoulder and his baldric as he rushed her. With a grunt, she lifted him up and threw him over her head to the ground.

Gunnar landed flat on his back in the road, a pile of horse droppings squelching with the mud beneath him. Winded, Gunnar sat up. Brynhildir was stalking forward, her small hands balling up into fists. The Duke's roar of laughter caught her ear and she halted, not taking her eyes off of Gunnar. The Duke looked at the Maragrave and said something but his words were lost on Brynhildir as she looked at Gunnar. His laughing eyes no longer suggested mockery, while irritation and anger were there, something new was there as well, desire. Brynhildir turned away from him and went to fetch herself something more to eat as Ivar opened his mouth to say something. A black look from Brynhildir stilled Ivar's comment immediately as she sat down to eat.

During the late Middle Ages and the early Renaissance, there came the development of a more urban centered societies in Europe. This was a direct result of the birth of the 'middle class'. Known alternately as burghers, commoners, or freemen (with various other variations in the respective languages of the different nations of Europe during this period), they provided the 'engine' for the development of what came to resemble modern society in the Western world. Tradesmen, merchants, and artisans, this new 'middle class' was in many respects freed of the burdens that came with being part of the vassalage system and with being a serf.

While the Church still held a marked amount of power, this was beginning to wane with the increase of emphasis within European societies shifting from the pyramidal power structure (which held the Church as high or higher in the grand scheme of things as the Nobility) to a more egalitarian one where the basis of power was not held in title and the hierarchy associated with it but rather in coin and trade. Europe during this period gave rise to a good deal of civil unrest with factions resisting the changes coming about to society. It is no big surprise given that during this period, literacy was no longer the sole province of the clergy and a small population of the Nobility and an increase in leisure time.

These two factors, combined with a growing disenfranchisement with the status quo of the day set the stage for events including, but not limited to, the Protestant Reformation, the Inquisition, and an increase in warfare between nations. Places where violence erupted and the greatest amount of persecution happened were not backward or an indication of flaws in either system but rather boundary areas where both forms of feudalism came into conflict. The older feudalism that did not have this newer class in it resisted it because the newer class removed a significant portion of the workforce and diminished the economic strength of the upper echelons older system.

Interestingly, this lead to a marked sense of wariness that can be detected even today within Europe (and places strongly influenced by European cultures) against anything that blatantly resembles feudalism of the older variety. This wariness is because the 'middle class' is comprised mainly of those who would have fallen under the serf category. Now, given the fact that the intermediate stage between old feudalism and modern society was during a period where a large amount of the work performed was done by manual labor, there was still servitude. This, however, was distinct from serfdom. The closest resemblance to serfdom at the end of this period was indentured servitude. The practice of having servants marked one as wealthy.

This arose from wealthy freemen desiring to imitate the lifestyles of the nobility. With the relaxation of the sumptury laws, these freemen found themselves increasingly able to live like nobility. This, indeed, reached a point where there were nobles looking to have their children married into these powerful middle class families. By doing so, they secured a measure of wealth and the middle class family functionally purchased title.

In the setting of the game, this is not the case. We do see the stress between the older social system and the new one at 'boundary' areas, such as the Duchy of Niagara. This is not because there is a geographic boundary but rather an ideological one that divides the people. This ideological divide is such that it can inspire out right warfare, as can be seen where two cultures clash at any point in time. While it is possible to operate competently in both systems, it is a very taxing thing and requires a great deal of diplomacy and mental flexibility.

Mention the world [url=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feudalism]Feudalism[/url] and the first things to come to mind are the images of European knights in armor, Kings, and, in some cases, Monty Python's [i]Quest for the Holy Grail[/i]. It is important to understand that in the setting of Arthur's Legacy, the player characters are part of a feudal system. To understand the place of the player characters within the context of the game's feudal system, we need to first reacquaint ourselves with what precisely feudalism is.

Feudalism is a socio-economic system where in wealth is based upon land ownership, property rights, real goods, and money. Unlike the socio-economic system of capitalism, which is what the economic system of the United States is most like, there is more then one way to count wealth. Unlike capitalism, however, the feudal society does not allow for ease of motion between the socio-economic classes. Wealth in the feudal society is concentrated most at the upper levels, being a direct cognate to power.

The system is comprised of three general socio-economic classes: Nobles, vassals, and serfs. Nobles are at the top of the system and hold primary land ownership, property rights, and the greatest amount of money. Real goods are included with the property rights, as what is on the property is viewed as part of the Noble's possessions. Nobles hold the ultimate authority over what occurs with respect to their property and the people who are beneath them.

The system of vassalage allows for more efficient use of the property. Vassals are subsidiaries of the Nobles, given rights and privileges (including land ownership, property rights, and money) in return for military service to the Nobles, tithes (payment of a tribute), and compliance with the orders of the Noble with respect to matters regarding the property held in trust. Vassals can have subordinate vassals of their own, distributing wealth and privileges accordingly in return for similar payment.

Serfs are the poorest of the three classes. In classical feudalism, a serf was frequently viewed as chattel and entirely dependent upon those above them for protection, a place to live and a means by which to support themselves. In return, the serf was to give payment of a portion of their product, prove obedient to those above them, and provide manual labor as needed. Often, in classical feudalism, a serf was allowed to 'rent' their home in return for payment from what they produced. The 'rent' was frequently so high that they were unable to pay it off within their life time and the debt is passed down to the descendants, as well as the descendants acquiring their own debt in their 'rent' of their home. In this fashion, a serf served as a bond servant and were frequently viewed as property by those above them.

By extraordinary measures or particularly good fortune, one could purchase their way out of the status of serfdom and either become a 'free man' or part of the lower orders of vassalage. It was more common to find one who was a serf purchasing their freedom, as vassalage was more frequently held out as a right to be taken up by those who were born of the upper echelons of society. With the passage of time, more serfs bought their way into 'free man' status and thus gave rise to the 'middle class'.

In the context of the Arthur's Legacy, the player character is part of the lower orders of vassalage. They are obligated to the Nobility to serve in a military fashion and to comply with their orders. Some may choose to pay tribute to those above them, but this is currently not the norm. The non-knights (support staff at the Embassy & people outside the Embassy) are of the Serf class.

This, however, is additionally confused by the social classes present within society outside of the Avalonian context. In part two, we'll take a brief look at how these two social systems interact. I also will be giving a more detailed description of how the social classes within a feudal society interact.

Hilde woke slowly, like a diver rising from deep water. At first, she became aware of the warmth wrapped around her and the cool breath of air against her face. A dull ache was in her right shoulder, as though a half healed bruise was there. The feeling of her hair across her cheek was like a spider's web, but the sleepy Knight couldn't muster up the energy to brush it away as the light draft toyed with it. Her limbs felt heavy and pliant, as though she was made of water and about to sink into the bed beneath her. Luxuriating in the comfort of deep relaxation, she lay still.

Against her back, she could feel the warmth of Gunther's body against hers. The quiet sound of his breathing pulled at her heart. The paradox of a feeling of deep gratitude and sharp heartbreak ripped Hilde into full consciousness. Tears pricked at her eyes and she closed them tighter. An arm wrapped about her and pulled her close against Gunther's chest. "Shhh," he soothed, lightly running the fingers of his right hand thru her hair and brushing it off her cheek.

"I... I should go," she said, feebly attempting to sit up. Gunther smiled, amused by her half hearted attempt to leave. He tightened his hold on her as she opened her eyes. "G..." she started when he placed a finger over her lips.

"Stop. You're confused and troubled," he said softly, looking at her tenderly, "What is wrong, Brynhildr?" She started to look away when Gunther's right hand moved to cradle her cheek. "There is nothing that stands between us here. Nothing, be it all the powers of the world, the King, or even Gods, stands between us here in this bed. Don't build a wall here, don't push me away, Brynhildr," he said quietly, solemnly, "I have fought too long and too hard to come here, to your side. Now, tell me."

Hilde looked over at Gunther, the pain of heartbreak inspiring fear even as the confusion of the mixture of feelings grew stronger. "I... I don' t know how to say it," she said quietly, feeling her throat tighten. Hilde swallow hard as he continued to gaze calmly at her. "I hurt, Gunnar, and it frightens me. This whole situation... it scares me," she continued, sounding somewhat ashamed. Gunther smiles again, his concerned look giving way to a tender expression.

"You, Brynhildr, take on too much and get upset when you must deal with what is in front of you rather then all of the work you pile up. You always have. Your pride, love, really isn't what is at stake here. It's your health and wholeness," he answers. Hilde starts to open her mouth to protest when Gunther places his fingertips on her lips again. "Close your eyes, Brynhildr," he says softly, "close your eyes and simply be aware of where you are right now. Be aware of what is here. Don't think about it."

Hilde looks uneasily at Gunther and he waits. Hilde closes her eyes and attempts to ease the subtle tension from her body. Her mind refuses to still and quiet, whirling madly with questions, concerns, and fears with regards to almost everything. Gunther lowers his head and places a kiss on her bruised shoulder. Heat moves from his lips to her healed wound, getting a small gasp of surprise. Her attention became tightly focused upon where his mouth lay against her shoulder and the thoughts of earlier fall away.

In that moment, Hilde felt as though a swirling storm settled around her and all the world took upon itself it's correct order. The tension in her body changed from a bird ready to take wing to something more akin to a bowstring pulled taught. All questions of who and what she was fell away to leave only herself and a soul deep yearning for the one who held her. "That," Gunther whispers in her ear, "is who you are, Brynhildr. The rest are parts of you, like your shoulder, the nape of your neck, or your cheek. If you focus too much on your parts then you lose the rest."

Gunther pushed the button for the floor where his apartment was located. Hilde leaned against the back of the elevator, her head bowed slightly. It was clear that she was quite weary and despite her pride, she was close to the point of exhaustion. He looked at her reflection in the mirrored finish of the doors before they opened. Her stance no longer suggested she was still fuming over Wolfgang's behavior earlier. Instead, it appeared as though she was allowing herself to express how worn out she felt. Gunther gave a dark smile and chuckled.

Hilde looked up and regarded him suspiciously just as the doors opened. She pushed away from the back wall of the elevator and started to walk forward. Her apartment was a stone's throw away from the elevator but on the floor below. As she got out of the elevator, she reached into her pocket and started to get her keys out when she looked about. Realizing she was on the wrong floor, she sighed and resignedly turned to walk back on to the elevator when she bumped into Gunther. "Come with me," Gunther said, taking hold of her right forearm, his grip pressing down on a cut beneath.

Hilde's eyes widened slightly as Gunther smiled at her. "Come along, Fair Shield-Breaker, before you rest, we have something to ... deal with," he said, unable to hide the amusement and anticipation in his voice. Wincing at his grip became more firm as he wrapped his left arm about her back to lend greater support to her as they walked, Hilde gave him a suspicious look. Gunther laughed and increased their pace. Hilde could feel sweat beginning to bead up on her shoulders with the effort of not stumbling. Just as she was beginning to think that she wouldn't be able to keep up for much longer, Gunther was opening the door to his apartment and helping her in.

"Now, you are going to sit down on the couch for a moment. I need to get a few things. Then we're going to have a little talk," he said, maneuvering Hilde over to sit on the slate gray colored couch. As he left the room, Hilde looked about. This was the second time she had been in his apartment. Spartan was a good adjective for it. The colors of the living room were austere and much of the furniture, while high quality, was of a very 'functional' appearance. Like her own apartment, there was a fire place in the living room. Unlike her own, however, his had evidence of a recent fire and a small stack of the wood she had cut and made available to others at the Embassy for use sat waiting to be lit.

On the mantle was what appeared to be a rack for holding spools of thread, however it held spent shells. Of the fifty pegs, fourty-seven of them held a shell casing. Where any other metal item in the room, be it part of the lamp on the table or the twisted metal piece of what was presumeably artwork hanging on the wall, was polished and gleamed in the dim light from the kitchen, the shells were smudged with evidence of their having been shot. "What is that?" Hilde asks gesturing to the rack as Gunther walked back in with a cloth covered tray.

Gunther kept his attention focused on the tray, where Hilde could see a glass of water sat and presumed there was some sort of food beneath the cloth, as he answered, "Those are trophies." Hilde arched an eyebrow. "One shot..." he started when Hilde nodded in sudden comprehension. "That, however, isn't why you're here right now. We're not going to talk about me," he continued as he took the cloth off of the tray and set the tray down on the low coffee table before the couch.

Hilde saw a small pile of alcohol wipes sitting beside a small bowl of ice cubes. A slender paring knife rested beside a lemon and a bunch of grapes. She looked at the assembly of items with a confused expression. Gunther, in silence, walked out of the room and returned with a shaker style chair with arms. He set it before the hearth and then left to return with a coil of black rope. He set this beside the chair and looked over at Hilde.

"Come here, Jordsdotter," he says softly, "And sit in the chair." Hilde's look of confusion turns wary. Gunther frowns sternly and Hilde makes her way to her feet. She walks over to the chair and looks at him. "Sit," he says, "Hearth-keeper of mine, or we will proceed with you standing. I am quite sure that you are going to prefer to sit." Cautiously, Hilde sits down in the chair. Gunther then takes the paring knife in hand. With a calm expression and great precision, he cuts the shirt off of her, careful not to disturb her injuries.

“Now, you have broken our agreement,” Gunther proceeds, setting the knife back on the tray and picking up the rope, “I am certain it was not your intention to do so, however, so I will be… kind. You must, however, pay penance. Then, you will think about why I had to do this and then rest.” Hilde starts to open her mouth to argue with him when Gunther gives her a hard glare. After a moment, his expression softens some and he lightly places a hand against her cheek. “I see you don’t understand what I’m referring to,” he says soothingly, “That simply will not do, love.” Continuing in the same soothing tone, Gunther speaks as he binds her to the chair, restraining her with a skilled hand. “You lied to yourself again, Green Maiden. You told yourself that you could continue to spar despite how tired you were. In refusing to yield and acting according to your pride, you lied to yourself. Additionally, you put yourself in significant danger doing so. This is not allowed, not by me or those you serve. If one of your men did so, you’d correct them for such foolishness. And so, I correct you.”

Hilde stared at Gunther in silent amazement. “You can’t…” she started, unable to hide the sudden blush at his words, when he chuckled.

“Yes, I can actually,” he said in a richly amused and suggestive voice, tapping the hilt of the knife at her back, “wife. And don’t bother arguing you didn’t know, because you did. Now, we’re going to begin. You are going to be no louder then a speaking volume but you can say what ever you wish. This is going to hurt. A lot.”

Gunther then removed a few of the bandages on her arms, revealing the shallower wounds that had begun to reknit themselves closed. Taking the paring knife, he lightly scored a mark down the center of the wound opening it again. Hilde gasped at the pain. “You may weep, if you feel it would help,” Gunther said calmly, turning to pick up the alcohol swabs. As he pressed the damp towlette between his fingers, a few drop of rubbing alcohol fell from the fabric into her wound. Hilde bared her teeth at the pain and glared at Gunther. “Now, tell me, what did you do wrong, Jordsdotter,” he said calmly, almost meditatively as he moved to another shallow wound on her other arm.

Hilde, unable to contain the insult she felt at his actions said nothing. Gunther opened a second wound and repeated the application of alcohol. He watched Hilde’s face out the corner of his eye. Jaw clenched, she glared at the logs resting on the hearth. Gunther smirked and applied his Essences to bring the logs into a roaring burst of flame. Hilde flinched away from it despite herself.

“Damn it, Gunther,” she snapped before gasping in pain as he applied more alcohol to her wounds. “I was an idiot, ok, I admit it,” she continues, still sounding quite irate. Gunther shakes his head, chuckling. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” she starts when he drags the edge of the paring knife along an uninjured spot on her right arm. Her sudden, sharp intake of breath makes him smile.

“Jordsdotter,” he says with a warm, loving tone, “You are very proud. I love that about you, but pride is not helping at this moment. Now, truly admit your error. What did you do wrong?” Hilde pulled weakly against the restraints and Gunther’s smile widens. In the same tone, he says, “Ah, I see you’re looking for more. Such a proud and willing girl, how could I tell you no?” Hilde’s eyes widen as he picks up the lemon and returns to her side.

Leaning against the arm of the chair, putting subtle pressure against another injury and making her groan with discomfort, he peels the lemon with the knife, making sure that Hilde can see quite clearly what he is doing. With the same deliberate care he used in binding her and opening her wounds, he separates the lemon into segments. He then slices the segments and squeezes some of the juice into her open wounds. Hilde yelps despite herself and struggles feebly against the restraints. As her other wounds continued to heal, she found herself feeling dizzy.

“Alright,” she said as Gunther picked up the alcohol swabs. He looks over at her, having placed the partially squeezed lemon segments into the glass. “I was thoughtless,” she said, eyeing the swabs and the remaining pieces of lemon on the tray, “I was frustrated and angry. I didn’t think and I was an idiot.” Gunther gestured for her to continue. When she didn’t immediately add anything, he began to open up one of the packages. In a rush, Hilde added, “Yes, I was arrogant. I refused to pay attention to how tired I was. I’m sorry.” Gunther chuckled at her and opened the package.

Hilde stared at him, dread in her gaze. “Are you going to do it again?” he asked, smiling. Hilde shook her head, a small nervous gesture. Gunther’s smile turns predatory. “Good,” he said, “But we’re not done yet.” Hilde’s eyes widened and she paled. “Your wounds need cleaned, Green Maiden,” he said, “All of them. These wipes, however, are not going to be sufficient. They will, however, work for your forearms.”

Hilde whimpered despite herself and couldn’t help cringing away from him as he leaned close to her. Pressing his lips against her neck just below her ear, Gunther smiled at how she shivered. The scents of rose, lavender, and sandalwood blended together in an exotic perfume with the sharp scent of rue as he inhaled deeply. “You’re tired and we haven’t enough time tonight,” he says softly, “But we will play sometime soon. Then you’ll have to be very quiet. Now, however, you can swear to your heart’s content.”

Gunther leans away from her and begins to clean out the long, shallow cuts on her forearms. As he does so, Hilde hisses and makes several inarticulate but low noises of pain and displeasure. Gunther chuckles, amused by her efforts not to swear and her obvious discomfort. After a time, he unties her from the chair as she glares at him.

“Now stop that,” he says with a laugh, “Keep it up and I’ll just send you to bed with no supper.” Hilde’s eyes widen in disbelief and Gunther laughs louder as he walks off to get his supplies. When he returns, he hands Hilde the glass of lemon flavored water. “Drink. I’ll work on your back in a moment. After this, you’re getting broth and then you sleep,” he said, chuckling at her as she wrinkled her nose at the mention of broth. “You’re the one who insisted on acting childish. That’s what you get.”

It had rained all day. After her walk in the rain and cutting wood, Hilde spent the day in almost constant motion. Engaged in some assigned task here, helping a junior Knight there, or continuing another project elsewhere, she never spent longer then a few minutes still. Her demeanor was quiet, solemn, and she seemed to have misplaced her sense of humor, greeting the attempts of others to cheer her up with a blank expression. She skipped breakfast and ate a hurried lunch as she reviewed reports.

The time she usually had dinner had passed a few hours ago. Alone in one of the sparring facilities, Hilde practices maneuvers with her spear. The spearhead catches the ruddy light of the setting sun as it is reflected off the clouds and shines in the high windows of the western wall. Bruised and visibly uncomfortable from an earlier session, Hilde moves with her eyes closed. The spear haft whistles thru the air as she changes stances and her grips accordingly. The sound of something akin to a heavy jacket or a fabric bag with something inside it falling to the ground caught her ear from near the door.

Hilde opened her eyes and looked over. She saw Gunther at the door. "You didn't eat," he said in a blunt tone. Hilde shrugged and moved her attention back to the head of her spear. She had noticed that he had dropped a bag of some sort on the floor but then put it out of mind. "What's bothering you?" he asked, opening the bag.

"Nothing important," she answered, turning away from him as she began another portion of her drill. Behind her, Gunther pulled out of his bag a short sleeved chainmail shirt. He made a non-committal noise and took off his slate colored t-shirt. As he folded, he watched her out the corner of his eye. She looked tired and on edge, as she had several other times before arguing with him over some pointless thing. Gunther pulled the chainmail shirt on and picked up a spear for himself from a nearby stand.

"That's not an answer," he said and she looked over at him. As the sunlight streamed in thru a break in the clouds, it fell on him standing there dressed in his light armor and leather slacks. The armor glittered dazzlingly as did the spearhead at the end of the burnished white colored ash haft. Hilde froze in place and stared at him. He reached back, with a wicked smirk, and pulled his hair free from the low ponytail he customarily wore it in. As it fell in silky dark waves about his face, Hilde swallowed and for a moment felt a touch weak in the knees.

"What are you doing, Gunther?" Hilde asked, a part of her already knowing the answer as he walked forward. He hadn't needed to exert even a minor touch of Royal to captivate her. It was something that made his wicked smirk turn into a positively evil grin. As he came closer to her, Gunther's exertion of Royal mingled with her distraction to render her, for a moment, unable to anticipate his actions.

"Improving your day," he answered, swinging with the spear. As the tip of the spear came down, it cut thru the fabric of her shirt and left a welt behind. As he began the return stroke with the spear, Hilde fell back and took up a defensive position. He grinned wider and began to press his attack. "Why are you resisting? I don't think anyone's going to be bothering us for a little while," he said casually, "I'm actually fairly sure ..."

The butt end of Hilde's spear struck him hard in the solar plexus and winded him. "Since when am I supposed to make your life easy, Morgansonne?" Hilde taunted him. As they proceeded to exchange a flurry of blows, they said nothing more for a few minutes. Gunther watched her, he could see that Hilde was tiring as they continued their sparring. As she rendered his attacks ineffective, Gunther chuckled. He dropped his spear and pulled the knife he wore at his hip free.

The Avalonian blade was clearly a masterful work and if it wasn't the middle of the sparring session, Hilde would have asked to take a good look at it. As it stood, however, she was busily working to keep Gunther away so she wouldn't have to get a personal introduction. The silence built as Hilde strove against her tiredness and the fascination that was a result of both her attraction to Gunther and his use of Royal.

As they engaged each other, fell back, and engaged again, it was possible to see how a duel could be described as a sword-dance. In the ruddy light that slowly died away to the blue-gray of twilight, Hilde and Gunther wove a complex pattern of steps on the floor. Her strength and increased gifts with her rise in rank were matched well against his experience. Gunther’s persistant and merciless attacks landed several blows, as had Hilde’s responses.

Blood mingled with sweat to make Hilde’s hands slick as the cuts on her arms burned. The heat that was transmitted down the blade from Gunther’s hand left burns at the edges of the wounds. Her motions that had been fluid began to bear a tremble in them. Her eyes began to take on something of a hooded cast as Hilde’s tiredness began to show in her face. He arched an eyebrow, silently asking his question. Hilde gave a fierce smile, lunging forward in a bold attack that nearly threw him off balance.

Gunther threw back his head and laughed as she fell back to a defensive position. “You, Green Maiden, are …” he started when Hilde threw another hasty attack at him.

“I’m what? Difficult?” Hilde says breathily, grinning at him as he struggled to turn away her blows. Suddenly, Gunther braced his feet and caught the blow from the haft of her spear on his left forearm. With a grunt, he turned it away, feeling the bruise forming deep in his arm as he came forward inside her defenses. He quickly swept her feet out from under her and dropped to pin her with the knife edge against her throat.

Tired from her exertions, Hilde realized she had little more then the strength of an ordinary woman. Gunther, while fatigued, was at a considerable advantage. “A fool at times,” he said with a smile as she looked up at him. Gunther stands and as he does so, he exercises his Knightly gifts to make his bruises and injuries heal themselves. Hilde sits up and starts to move to stand when Gunther suddenly drops to his knee behind her and wraps his formerly bruised left arm tightly around her neck.

Hilde’s eyes widen and she gasps as the icy kiss of the Avalonian long knife is at her pulse in what felt to only be a heartbeat. He whispers in her ear in a low voice, “Brynhildr Jordsdotter, you once said you’d have no man that couldn’t defeat you. I’ve waited and bided my time. I have watched and hunted you for many lives. The life we wedded, neither of us had Awakened when that day came. It was the laughter of Gods that drove us together then. Now, however, I have not only driven you to your knee, Green Maiden, but I hold your life in the palm of my hand.”

To punctuate his final statement, Gunther turned the blade so it was no longer the flat against her skin but the razor sharp edge. Hilde shivered, dizzy with the storm of emotions raging in her. Anger warred with excitement. Lust, instinctual terror, and the urge to fight free buffeted against a soul deep sense of trust and love. As Gunther pressed the tip of the blade against her throat hard enough to draw a single bead of blood, he said, “Yield and be mine until Jord takes you in her arms at the End of Days.”

“And if I do not yield, Gunnar Morgansonne?” she asks quietly.

Gunther smiles and says silkily, “I lay claim and kill any man who challenges it. Your Urban Knight walked freely and unchallenged because you still slept. The false Knight who you were infatuated with was never a challenge to me because he didn’t return your affections. And in the event the Nobles deny me, I’ll call on the Magi to remind them of your oath of blood that Winter Finding before Prince Mordred himself. And I will call on Jord, Freyja, and Frigga to wound you in a fashion that will never heal to remind you of the greatest lie you had ever told. A wound that will only heal by a death blow from my hand, love.”

In a droll tone, Hilde says, “Ask a stupid question…’ The blade presses deeper, drawing the beginnings of a thin rivulet of blood, stilling her sardonic comment instantly.

“Your answer, Brynhildir Jordsdotter,” Gunther says, his tone turning formal and cool.

“Stay your hand, I yield, Gunnar Morgansonne,” Hilde replies, her tone equally formal, though weary. The knife flicks away from her neck and the drops of blood on it fall to the ground before Gunther put it in the empty sheath at her back. He leaned down and helped Hilde to her feet. As she stumbled slightly, he wrapped an arm about her. They walked across the room to where his bag lay beside the door. Carefully, Gunther guided Hilde to sit beside the bag.

Mildly woozy with blood loss, Hilde sat patiently as Gunther removed her ruined shirt. In silence, he tore it into strips and bound her injuries. Gunther then gently slipped his own shirt onto her, remaining in the chainmail. “Next time, don’t let your annoyance with the world make you a fool,” he said gently, “Even if you’re sparring with someone you believe is a friend. The false Knight …” Hilde’s eyes widened slightly at Gunther’s implied statement and she looked up at him.

Gunther ran a hand lightly over her hair and shook his head with a rueful smile. “Let’s get some food into you, Hnoss of Jord’s Blooms,” he says. Hilde looks over at the weapons and Gunther shrugs. “I suppose roses require their thorns,” he adds with a chuckle, walking over and picking the spears up. He returns his to the rack where he found it. Briefly, Gunther gives Hilde’s spear a swift twirl, feeling out its balance. He nods, impressed by the workmanship. “The man who made this should be apprenticed to the blacksmiths here,” he said, looking closely at the spearhead, “Is he local?”

Hilde shakes her head. “He is in Hel’s house now,” she says quietly. Gunther looks back at Hilde.

“I see,” he says, “Then we shall have to arrange to send the traitors to him for a proper beating.” Hilde sighs and begins to attempt to stand. Kneeling, she bows her head. Gunther walks over and picks up his bag. Slinging it on his left shoulder, he hands Hilde the spear to support herself as he supports her on his right. She starts to open her mouth to say something, stumbling slightly. Gunther shakes his head. “Infirmary first, then food,” he says firmly.

Hilde shut the door behind her as she walked into her apartment. She leaned back against it and willed her hammering heart into a slower, calmer beat. In the weeks following her son's death, the rooms of her apartment became spartan. Her spinning lay untouched as had her other small projects. Only the weaving in the empty conference room really had any progress made on it.

The old cat lifted her head and looked at it's mistress with half blind eyes for a moment, and then curled back up to fall asleep again. The cheerful splashes of color that had come from her son's toys were now gone. There were virtually no signs that a child had ever been in the apartment, except for a small basket of clothes that were neatly folded. On the mantle over the empty fireplace, sat a small antique wooden box. After a long moment, Hilde left the door and walked over to the box. With gentle and cautious hands, she lifted up the top of the rosewood box.

Within were various little items that served as touch stones for Hilde, keys to memories of people she loved and places that were important to her. She reached in and picked up a heavily tarnished silver baby's spoon. As she held it in her fingers, she remembered her Great-grandfather handing it to her over her Grandmother's protests. While she hadn't understood what he had said in German, the smile on his face made clear that Hilde could have the precious item. Later, she learned that it was something that he had sent to him from the Old Country by a friend as a wedding present, a spoon made by the same person that had made the good silver used by his own, wealthier grandparents.

Hilde smiled, remembering how his hands, which seemed huge to her, engulfed her little toy tea cups as he pretended to sip and said, "Sehr gut, Brunhilde." She replaced the spoon in the box and picked up a costume jewelery pin with pink rhinestones in the shape of a tiny dog rose blossom. Looking down at the pin, she remembered her Grandmother fussing over her and pinning it to her jumper before the school's Christmas concert as her Mother was getting her coat ready.

Gently, she set the pin back into the box and picked up a smooth water worn stone roughly the color of a pearl and the size of a robin's egg. Her father had founded when out with the horses. He had tossed it to her and told her it was lucky. Hilde chuckled at herself as she remembered carrying it in her pocket for tests at college. Beneath the small stone was a photograph of her parents, standing together beneath the blooming apple tree in the sunset. A boyfriend in high school snapped the picture, and while the relationship lasted no longer then a week, he still gave her the best shots of the roll, including this one.

Lost in her reverie, Hilde didn't hear the noise of the door unlocking or see it open. Gunther had followed her after she had insisted that she was relaxing by doing paperwork. That resulted in a quick and nasty verbal spat where Hilde was forced to concede defeat as Gunther smiled in that sly, sadistic and amused way that set her heart aflutter and made her knees weak. Flustered and annoyed, Hilde left the break room and beat a hasty retreat to the last place she figured he'd expect to find her. Little did she realize that he was following and chatting with another Knight, one who was more then happy to use a touch of Obscurity to assist Gunther in following his quarry and insisted that Hilde's suitor should use his advantage to startle her.

Little did Hilde understand that the amusement of men at seeing a woman flustered and fleeing their attentions would encourage unlikely assistance at times just for the sake of a chuckle.Thus it was that Gunther was able to slip into the room to find Hilde at unawares. He knew what was in the box. One of the few times that Hilde had brought him to her apartment for dinner, he discreetly looked into the box as she busied herself in the kitchen. The memory of that peaceful moment made him smile. Hilde had been singing a little song to her son as he thumped on a pot and for a brief moment, Gunther allowed himself to imagine what could have been if Claire and the boy had both survived.

Now, she stood gazing into her small horde of treasures and Gunther crept slowly up behind her. As he crossed that invisible boundary of her personal space, Hilde looked over her shoulder. She knew by scent that it was Gunther before she saw him. "Put it away, Brynhildr," he says softly. Hilde looks back at the box. Gunther reached around her and gently lifted it out of her hands, setting it on the mantle. "You and I have some very important matters to deal with," he says quietly, stepping close and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Holding her firmly against him, Gunther murmurs in her ear, "You've been lying to yourself. There's a penalty for that." Hilde shivered despite herself. "That is what we're going to deal with, love," he says with a smile that she could nearly hear. Hilde set her left hand against the edge of the mantle when he took it and brought it back to her side. "Now, we both know what we want," he continues softly, "Even if you don't care to admit it. That, however, isn't going to happen unless you play by the rules."

Hilde closed her eyes and tried to will herself into calmness again, failing horribly. "You, Jordsdotter, are going to resume conducting yourself as a model of feminine decorum. That is rule one. Rule two is just as simple, you are not to raise your voice with me in anger for any reason. Not to me or any one else of authority," Gunther continues, lightly running his fingers thru her hair.

"Authority? I believe I out rank you," Hilde says, her voice husky despite her wishes to sound mildly sarcastic.

"True, you do out rank me out there. But when we're alone, you always yield to me. Now, stop being contrary for the sake of being difficult," Gunther murmurs, "Keep it up and you won't have a chance of getting what you want. And I don't need Scheme to tell me that you're thinking of something cute to say to avoid what you're feeling. That brings me to rule three. Stop lying to yourself. Do it again, you'll find out why it is that most people don't think about bedding a Morganite of more... intense proclivities."

"Oh?" Hilde said lamely, doing her best not to be intoxicated by his presence or the warmth in his voice.

Again, he toyed with her hair. His touch was light and delicate. In a tone that was both erotic and terrifying, even as it was lovingly gentle, Gunther said, "Ah, Brynhildr, did you forget what the poet said? 'The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war.' My sweet Green Maiden, you really should keep that in mind. It would serve you very well in love and warfare."

Hilde, who had relaxed against him, couldn't help but ask, "Why do you say that?"

Gunther nuzzled Hilde and held her close, taking a deep breath of her perfumed scent. "Because you are too much of Brunhilde Burroughs, her father's daughter, and it is blinding you to the real you, Jordsdotter. Brunhilde is a part of you but not the only one. You are a proud, uncompromising spirit who is fearless in the face of the Enemy and compassionate to the wounded innocent. You are a terrifying warrior in your rage at injustice. You bring healing balm to the sickly and ailing. Your actions, when motivated from the depths of your soul, are true acts of beauty and wonder to behold."

"Claire risked everything to aid people dying on the battlefield at Manassas, despite her own injuries and early pregnancy. Erik and his men held off a superior force for nine days, allowing for others to flank the enemy and deliver a crippling blow, which then proved a decisive victory in that conflict. And then ..." Gunther sighs, "Then there is at the beginning of this long line Brynhildr Jordsdotter. A proud woman, terrible in her rage, lovely in her joy, and blessed by all who loved her for her kindness. Those who had the honor of her love, Freyja would smile upon them. Brunhilde Burroughs is much like Brynhildr. A very confused, Brynhildr, who is angry, hurt, and lost.

But I see the same woman who the Maragrave found ill and unconscious as he returned to Duke Saxon after some task. The one who, when she had Awakened, fought with me because she decided that I was irritating and my jokes about her culinary skills deserved a few loose teeth. Brynhildr served the Duke as a daughter would and that has echoed forward. I don't think you recall how things stood between the Maragrave, however that is something you must discuss with him. It is not my place to remind you. If you remember it yourself, I do not break any geis."

Let's play 20 questions with our characters. You may learn something you didn't expect! Consider these questions to be a launching point. The objective of playing 20 questions with your character is to get to know them as you would a new friend. Adapt the questions to something you would be interested in learning, if you wish. Either way, this exercise serves to help you, the player, to understand at least part of your character's personality.

Let's begins!

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1.) What is your favorite food/beverage/color?
2.) What food/beverage/color do you hate?
3.) What is your favorite type of music?
4.) Name one place in the world that you wish to visit and why.
5.) Who was your biggest inspiration as a child? Why?
6.) What is your best childhood memory?
7.) What is your worst childhood memory?
8.) Of all the jobs you had, which one did you hate the most? Why?
9.) What is your most prized possession?
10.) Name your three biggest accomplishments?
11.) Name your three biggest mistakes?
12.) What was your biggest childhood fear?
13.) What subject did you excel at in school?
14.) What subject did you do the worst at?
15.) When is your favorite time of day? Why?
16.) If you had one day left to live, what would you do?
17.) What types of things stress you out?
18.) What do you believe is your best physical feature? Why?
19.) What do you believe is your worst physical feature? Why?
20.) What do you do to relax?

So, you've got your character sheet and all your stuff together but you're stumped for just how to express what you're character is like? It's challenging to "get into character" for a scripted role and even more difficult for an improvisational one. Role-play gaming is a variant of improvisational theater* that is perhaps one of the most challenging because you don't have an audience to give you cues or input to help you develop the character.

It may sound odd to call this gaming experience theater, because there is no clear distinction between audience and participant in many cases. It may also feel counter-intuitive to say that players are actors in this form of game, but it truly is the case. Improv. theater and other forms of theater has many different techniques to help actors to become comfortable with their characters. What is arguably the most popular set of techniques is the collection referred to as Method Acting.**

Method acting draws off of ties that the actor can find between the character and themselves. As such, the character becomes a vehicle for self-expression, self-exploration, and (in some cases) catharsis. It is a set of acting techniques that are particularly well suited to role-play gaming. Writing a detailed background and spending time mentally conversing with your character can prove quite helpful in making it more comfortable to play the character. Familiarity with the character's history and the different ways the character will interact with others makes it much easier to portray the character with depth and substance, making your role-play experience all the more fulfilling.

Look to Getting into Character (pt.2) for a list of questions to consider and answer for your character prior to session. Consider listening to music that assists you in envisioning the scenes you are responding to on the message forum or that you anticipate at session.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Links & Footnotes ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
* Wikipedia's entry regarding Improvisational Theater: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Improvisational_theatre

** Wikipedia's entry regarding Method Acting: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Method_acting