Tales of Irdu: Mikael's Story

Chapter 1: Will and Testament

Mikael Jonathan Pelegia Travis VIII gazed out the window of his carriage. It was something he had taken to doing on the way back to his family's estates. His father was dying and Mikael wasn't sure how to feel. It wasn't that he hated or disliked the man, but he had never really connected with him. It wasn't surprising, not really. Mikael was the sixth son of nine siblings in a noble family and as such was taken care of by high-ranking servants rather than his mother and father.

Mikael shook his head. He never came to any conclusions when he thought about his father dying. Best to distract himself. It had been several days since he had started his journey and he wanted to know if he would have lodging tonight or not. He studied the terrain carefully while doing some calculations. It would be easier to do it with paper but a carriage was hardly ideal for writing. He smiled as he finished. They should be near the village of Borron, a large one as villages go. The village elder would have room to house a noble. Not the finest of lodgings but better than sleeping out on the road. The sky had turned a vibrant pink color when they entered the village. Many eyes were drawn to Mikael as he exited his carriage. This was unsurprising given that most of these people had never seen a noble before; although Mikael wasn't that important as nobles go, even the Elder probably hadn't seen a noble as high ranked as him. The Elder- an older man with graying hair and piercing blue eyes -gave a deep bow to Mikael- probably too deep if Mikael had been accompanying someone more important -and Mikael returned the gesture with a much more moderate bow, only a slight inclination of the body.

"My Lord, what might these humble servants provide for you this evening?" the Elder asked.

Mikael gave a comforting smile to the man, "I merely need lodging for the night, good sir. I am traveling to my family's estates beyond here, a guest only."

Many people relaxed visibly, though some were befuddled. The smaller villages often had a tradition of hospitality and by invoking it Mikael showed that he did not mean to impose as many nobles might. Not that Mikael would entirely respect the tradition. Usually, the village would feed the guest as they were most often traveling from one village to another with nothing but some dry rations and water. Mikael was in a much better position and intended to share a much better meal with the villagers than he would get from them. The atmosphere was warm that night. There was singing and dancing as a rich stew was made from the provisions Mikael provided. Mikael could only give slight instruction on any cooking done as it was not an area he was very familiar with. He had learned only by observation some very simple dishes and techniques and had never had the time to practice them. He smiled as the children marveled at the stew. He hoped that one day such food would be regular among the common folk of Rocca. It might happen soon, if the high nobles could ever reach a decision on whether to ally with Frestal.

"Wishful thinking." Mikael muttered to himself. Politics was the same everywhere, from what Mikael had heard. The council of Frestal took just as long- longer, sometimes -as the nobles of Rocca or Velt to come to any decision. The Aldir were arguably worse. They seemed to relish in taking their time, though those of Cirfen seemed much hastier so maybe it was a good thing. But those were idle thoughts. Mikael returned to his meal, savoring it and the joy of the villagers before he went to bed. The Elder gave Mikael his bed to sleep on, which Mikael did not protest. Though it wasn't required by the guest tradition. Mikael suspected the Elder felt awkward treating him as an equal. He got as comfortable as he could on the bed and went to sleep.

Mikael felt good the next morning. Sore, but good. He had left a small token of thanks in form of a few <silver pieces>. More than most of the villagers had ever seen, but a small enough sum to not be suspicious. It would either go towards a festival or be kept for an emergency. The lord of these lands, Sir Mattera, was fair as nobles go. Even if word of the extra silvers reached his ears- an unlikely occurrence -nothing would be done to the village.