Though in truth now composed of a few minor duchies and nearly a dozen baronies, the area that was once the Kingdom of Andros is still referred to by that old name, in private (speaking it in public is not often good for one's health). Among the Baronies found here is that belonging to Baron Karm, the man responsible for the fall of this, once the finest of the Southern Kingdoms.
Outside of Kolvirgaard itself, the greatest challenge to Oberon's conquest was the kingdom of Andros. Andros possessed great resources (which Oberon coveted) and an army that was the envy of all the kingdoms. More, the Knighthood of Andros were reknown for their chivalry and their prowess in battle. Oberon looked upon this challenge and, realizing he could not leave the knights behind him, turned his eye upon Andros as his first major conquest. Though the fighting was fierce, Oberon prevailed in the field, hs forces supplemented by allies among Andros' neighbors who had sides with Oberon out of old feuds and jealousies. In time, the Knights were forced to withdraw into their fortresses, which fell, one by one.
In time, the remaining strength of the knighthood had gathered in Bran Brasil, the greatest fortress in the land. A monstrosity, carved from the very stones of the mountains, it was said to be invincible and it held against Oberon's every effort. For a time.
During a lull inthe battle, a column of Androsian knights fought their way through from behind Oberon's army. Barely ahead of Oberon's forces, they cried for succor at Brasil's gates. The commander of the forces in Brasil recognized the banner and the knight leading the charge, Sir Karm, an honored member of the king's champions. The gates were thrown open and Karm and his men managed to enter just ahead of Oberon's forces.
Two days later, the pennant of Andros was pulled down, and the Black Bird of Karm and the Unicorn of Oberon were run up. Karm himself opened the gate to allow Oberon's forces to enter. Of the knights holding the fortress, not a one lived, and the king was dead upon his makeshift throne, as were all his kin, save his daughter.
Andros was not made into a single duchy. Instead, it has been parcelled up and used as rewards for various retainer of Oberon. Those who rule now do not brook even the mention of the kingdom's name, and are the true source of difficulty if one is found to speak freely of the old name. Oberon himself does not speak of Andros, and stays out of any issues concerning the name. In general, the natives of Andros seem to have acclimated to foreign rule, but the threads of national identity still exist, and the occasional rebellion is not unknown.
Andros, before the time of its Knights, was a region of petty warlords. Conflicts were frequent, bloody and destructive. Might made both right and wrong and the two could have been twins in most lights.
The most powerful of these warlords hid their homes in the forested hills and built their fortresses on barren mountainsides. Their gods were dark and brutal ones: Souldrinker, Morgwain War Crow, Duchess Ruin and others who have long faded into dusty whispers. The Highland Gods asked for little and promised much. The best of the stolen wine. The heart of one's enemy. A shrine dedicated with the life of one's firstborn child. All small prices to pay for endless wine, vanquished enemies, and a dozen's dozen of other children to follow one down into the Dark.
Then there were those, peasant and warlord alike, who huddled closer to the land. They worshipped the pale and strange gods of the Lowlands, the fae spirits of dell and vale who took much but promised nothing in return. These did not have Names, nor could they have the same appellation from day to day. (To presume such was more than a mere mortal was permitted.) A prize cow. All of the food in the house. One's untouched bride. All were great losses to bear for the occasional presents of new green grass, a few seeds of magic wheat, or a changeling babe to torment one's Days.
Both dark and pale in time faded. Veronia, both dark and pale, did not, though she is different now than she was then. Only the most learned and the least schooled equate the Lady of Spires with the unnamed river goddess of old. Once, she was both the benefactor and scourge of central Andros, killing as many in winter and spring as she watered in summer and fed in autumn.
Her deepest and most quiet rest was the Veronelle, the rapid-frosted lake that pools at the base of what is now called Lady Falls. In the Veronelle is a large island of green and trees and rock, sacred to her then as it is now. In the once upon a time, it also was refuge to Dorn Ironhelm, Lord of Bayancree. One autumn, late, Dorn's enemies pursued him to the eastern shore of the Veronelle. None dared swim in the treacherous lake, but Dorn did. None dared brave the sacred isle, but Dorn did. None dared -- none could -- survive there throughout the winter, but Dorn did.
Dorn dared even more than this. He dared Name a goddess. Once. Twice. When she had not killed him by the second time, he dared the third. Veronia, he named her, for the hard-won shelter she had given him.
By that time, Veronia dared to do what no god had done before; become mortal flesh and blood. She and Dorn celebrated their marriage in a new town: Spires of the Glass Towers, Spires-On-The-Lady's-Isle, home to the remnants of Bayancree. There, they mothered and fathered the future of Andros.
The pale gods fled into hiding before the bright children of the Lord and Lady of Spires as they carried their parents' colors into the Lowlands. Colm the Brave, Darien the Bold, Nilon the Builder, Hannah of the Gentle Hands, and the others, all initially feared and eventually revered, as the banner of Old Bayancree began to become known as the flag of new Andros.
The dark ones were more difficult. They continued to be worshipped openly for quite some time, and intensely so during the ages-long war between the united Lowlanders and the remaining Highland warlords. Some say that they have adherents still, despite the long and once-blessed hold that the Lord and Lady's spirits have had on the land.
These adherents (and those who still honor the pale gods) have likely only grown stronger in the wake of Oberon's invasion. The worship of the Lord and Lady and their children is now officially tolerated but unofficially discouraged by the King of Amber -- a discouragement that developed substantial teeth in the wake of the Armenguil uprising. All of the Church Knights that were involved in that uprising were executed, and the foreign garrison that had been withdrawn from Spires ordered back there. The garrison remains there still, to the consternation of the nuns who tend the Holy Family's tombs.
As they appear in present times, the Glass Towers (the Spires) are natural crystalline rock formations, and are home to no living soul, save the soldiers of Oberon who are encamped at the banks of the Veronelle, and the convent nearby (this is the same convent that Lady Karm spent her time in prior to Oberon's invasion).
Along the eastern reach of the Aesens, tucked in among their rocky, heavily forested foothills in the far reaches of Upper Andros, is the tiny area known as Altaverde.
Altaverde is unquestionably lovely: the grass really is greener (limestone deposits in the soil), the Lake's water is astonishingly blue and the snow - present for seven months of the year - is piercingly bright. Stone farmhouses and weathered barns dot the countryside; low stone walls ramble across fields for no reason at all, only nominally containing the endless herds of sheep. The people are friendly and hospitable, if few of words and legendarily stubborn and independant of spirit. It may take a traveler some time to realize that they are not slow of wit. Rather, they're resourceful and cunning. This is not made clear, it should be noted, unless the traveler has done something to deserve it, such as steal a man's horse or try to collect taxes.
This is not loving country by any means. It grows bitterly cold over the winter season, and the ground does not yield easily to farming due to a mythic degree of rock content. While the Lake is vast, Altaverde does not lay claim to all of it, although the fishing is solid. They make their way on sheep farming, on maple syrup and on sheer, unbending, seemingly endless cussedness.
The folk who live in Altaverde are not the native population (although if a traveler says that, he'd better duck: they have plain methods for dealing with disagreement in this peaceful land). They came largely from Sabine or from Lanksnew, seeking a new life and willing to work and fight for it in that rarity known as unsettled land.
Altaverde was not originally its own entity. Fifty years before Oberon, it was initially a wilderness preserve of Lanksnew, kept as an enormous, hilly park let run to wild by princes. This was an object of some contention, since the other bordering province, Cartersland, also claimed it as a hunting and fishing preserve. To isolate their possession of it, Lanksnew hit upon a scheme to occupy it with folks inclined towards Lanksnew. Lanksnew 'opened' it up to settlement. Cartersland objected, predictably. They set out to beat Lanksnew at their own game.
Lanksnew was offering parcels of land in the preserve to settlers for reasonably cheap terms: if they could settle the land, agree to farm it and make it productive, their expected taxes would be deferred for five years. For a rather nominal fee up front, they were offering 10 acres apiece to anyone who was willing to try. Cartersland, claiming the exact same tracts of land, decided that this was an excellent idea. They deferred taxes for seven years and gave the land away for free.
Settlers flocked. They flocked, unfortunately, not just from Cartersland or industrialized Lanksnew but from western Sabine and Barre. Sabine and Barre were at war (again); locals were fleeing the constant conflict of the Iron Kings and seeking a life elsewhere - anywhere else, although it would be lovely if it did not involve a mine. Cartersland and Lanksnew both happily sold all these settlers land. Often, they sold the same piece of land to not one, not two, but three separate people. Wagons, livestock and families would travel vast distances, hauling the entirety of their worldly possessions with them, to discover that someone else was squatting on their dream.
Now, the folks from Lanksnew and Cartersland were reasonably civilized and initially willing to fight it out in court and wait to be told whether they had a right to the land they farmed. The folks from the Iron Kings, however, solved problems their own way back home, and did not believe in being told anything. While they were a contentious lot, ready to throw down at the drop of a hat, they never abandoned a neighbor or a child to the elements and the harsh realities of settled life. It was their presence, the unfriendly climate and good old fashioned human nature, that created the unique approach to settling the matter of property possession in Altaverde.
Cartersland and Lanksnew fought it out in legal summits and vicious, loud arguments with military posturing (inasmuch as the King of Andros would allow it) for the next ten years. They were ignored entirely by the actual settlers, who came to the simple conclusion that if a man could hold a piece of land, it was his. However he achieved this was fine with them so long as he held the land and didn't steal cattle or sheep. Sabotage, fist fights, gambling for the property, marrying the families to each other - all these things were options, but there were some things a man just did not do if he didn't want to leave town, tarred and feathered, on his own personal log on the lake.
When the dust settled a decade after the land was opened, Cartersland and Lanksnew agreed to split the Altaverde country - the land in question - directly in half, with the lake going to Lanksnew and Cartersland acquiring the majority of the land. Within the bounds of those property lines, only the settlers assigned by Lanksnew could live on Lanksnew property and only those granted land by Cartersland could live on Cartersland property. Everyone else had to leave. As it was, taxes were not being paid by the settlers. Nominally this was because no one had collected the taxes. The two parent provinces were about to discover differently.
Now, if Cartersland and Lanksnew had just agreed to this and not mentioned it or enacted it, they would have been fine. The decision certainly did not reflect reality, as much of Altaverde had been settled on in one way or another and the land understood to belong to folks in their own right by their neighbors. The locals felt that they had settled the matter sufficiently, thank you.
Oblivious to this detail, surveyors were sent into Altaverde to assess the land, determine who was farming what land, whether they had paid taxes and what country had given the occupying family the land-grant. They brought documents to demonstrate their legal rights, the law, tables to chart the lay of the land and the value of each farmstead. They should not have mentioned taxes, and above all they should not have explained the arrangement that Cartersland and Lanksnew reached. When word got out, it got around. It was amazing how well the Altaverde folks communicated with each other. It took the tax collectors and surveyors a while to catch on, unfortunately. The Altaverde settlers were polite folk. They'd hear the man out. They'd invite him in for some refreshment, and then they'd set about 'discouraging' him.
The dispatches home grew increasingly absurd. Some of the methods were quite direct - nothing says 'go home' like tarring and feathering, or being covered in rancid butter and slid down a tree - and some of them were not. There was a vast and creative conspiracy of incorrect directions deliberately given. Some of the tax collectors were stranded, naked, in the woods - by a beehive, smeared with honey, or surrounded by nettles. They'd leave his horse with him - because you wouldn't want to steal a man's horse - but the bridlework would be down a hole somewhere. Surveyors ended up face down in hogsheads, discovered that the locals found interesting things to do with manure, and that deer lure is vile smelling stuff - and that male deers are determined suitors. One unhappy fellow from Lanksnew wrote that 'if only we could bridle the energy and industry that these people put into tormenting the lawful agents of their Prince, we should be the wealthiest province in all the Kingdom. I do believe they hold town meetings and have set the children up to pass word when we ride into a village. A more cussed and stubborn people I have never met."
Lanksnew and Cartersland send escorts of militia with the tax collectors and surveyors. This did not help. They tried conciliatory meetings. They were listened to, and then ostracized universally. The resistance was quiet but pervasive. A man had to get off his horse some time, had to sleep at some point, had to change clothes from day to day. The hospitality of Altaverde was warm until a man's livelihood was threatened. Then it developed a sense of irony.
Altaverde escalated matters by declaring themselves an independent republic (because no one could have gotten away with Prince). To their surprise, neither province argued; they simply gave up -- and the King of Andros, who had come to see Altaverde as a useful distraction for his more contentious Princes -- saw no reason to correct them.
To the contrary, the endless competition attempted a solution the Altaverdians might have appreciated: they offered each other complete rights to the Altaverde property. Neither would accept for some reason. Altaverde had their sovereignty (within the larger Andros) unchallenged as a result. Admittedly, Cartersland and Lanksnew did try to impose import taxes on Altaverde syrup and farming products coming across their borders; they should have known better. Every inventive, the Altaverde folks took to setting up cabins of goods on rolling logs and slowly sliding the cabin foot by foot across the property border. They designed floating docks that seemed to gradually ease back and forth across the lake. To tax collectors, Altaverde became a dirty word.
This arrangement - inventive smuggling and cussed independance - was the status quo when Oberon came through. Not exactly wealthy and certainly not large enough to garner notice, Altaverde was given the same amount of attention from Oberon that they gave him: exactly none. The entire war went unnoticed until Oberon declared all of Andros to be his. Then Altaverde had a problem. No one man ruled them; they declared, once again, that they were an independant republic. They were smart, however: they did not go to Oberon's court to announce this. They simply continued the attitude and manner of an indepandant republic. Amber's currency was not recognized - they reverted to an older barter system. Amber's taxes were not recognized. King Oberon and the Lower Andros baronies were the butt of jokes in hardworking, green Altaverde.
It really wasn't an issue until Oberon sent tax collectors through and Altaverde applied their by-now refined tactics. He appointed as Baron an unlucky war hero who had made a small success at one of the battles in Lower Andros; the fellow was never physically assaulted but he discovered very swiftly that he carried absolutely no respect or authority. He couldn't even get directions from one end of Altaverde to another. Taxes were beyond his reach. Oberon, quick to learn, sent out a small posse of 'tax collectors' whose purpose was not, in fact, to collect taxes. They were there to find the most stubborn, cussed, inventive and uncooperative man among the whole barony/republic, largely by playing target.
Play target they did. Dispatches once again flowed from Altaverde to the east - and some of them even made it out of Altaverde. They dripped (literally, in certain cases) with unhappy tales of silent and clever resistance. Oberon read through them and waited for the loudest complaint from the staunchest agent. When it came (my horse has hotfoot, I'm covered in a rash and my lungs itch like the devil and I've never gotten delayed, turned round and just plain harrassed so often in such a short distance, endless pages ending with 'please can't I just kill him'), Oberon sent another messenger, well-armed, to declare the fellow Baron. The messenger spent some time in a cow-byre, and the Baron ignored the appointment. That was just as well. Oberon doesn't bother taxing Altaverde these days. He's found another use for their natural spirit. The man who annoys Oberon, wants something from him or nags Amber's King just enough to be irritating gets to convince the Baron of Altaverde of his point of view. The Baron may or may not be at Court; Oberon doesn't care. It's a simple thing: just keep him company and bring him round to your argument, right?
Altaverde continues to run itself as a republic with no clear ruling body - lots of town committees but no one really in charge. This suits McCavey and all of Altaverde just fine. They continue to refuse to acknowledge the whole of Amber, and seem to be doing a decent job of it. They do not have currency; the entire economy operates on a barter system and heaven help the traveler who tries to use coin in Altaverde or invoke the law of Amber. They recognize no one's rank and they have no patience with beaurocracy. These are plain dealing people... with a great sense of humour.
Most, if not all, of Androsian baronial names take their names from places or from the name of their first lord appointed by Oberon, as opposed to being given a "real" name. This is intended to represent the removal of a clear sense of old Androsian identity.
Geffen, the Decadent, Lord of Griffin's Reach
Baron Geffen is the son of one of the Baron Griffin, one of the greatest knights Amber has ever known. Baron Griffin was one of Oberon's most loyal knights, a younger son from the south who joined up with Oberon shortly after the beginning of the conquest. A valiant, heroic man with a knack for cavalry tactics, he rose to general's rank before retiring. Oberon rewarded him with an estate in Andros, and a wife, Chiara, daughter of one of the richest of the Androsian merchant families, the Tion clan. The Tion saw towards the end of the war that little benefit was to be found in fighting to the bitter end, and came over to Oberon's side. The marriage secured their loyalty -- so to speak.
Griffin was unprepared for the wife he received. Chiara was a strong-willed schemer with a sharp mind, who did little to disguise her blatantly unethical tactics. She appeared harmless, though -- a short, slightly plump blonde with an amiable and gracious manner; it was only in private that she seemed to feel free to express her cunning plans to her husband. Still, Griffin always wanted to believe the best of her, and he gave her far more free reign than Oberon had anticipated (or expected that he'd need -- Oberon, too, had underestimated the woman). They raised a son together, a devastatingly handsome swashbuckler of a lad: Geffen. But Griffin longed to be in the field again, old as he was, and when Oberon relented and let him go, he was killed on the field of battle.
Geffen had been a spoiled child, and he has been a rather indolent, indifferent Baron. He prefers to drink and wench, check out the latest fashions, and hang out with his rich wastrel friends in the city, rather than attending to his responsibilities. Thus, much of the business of the barony falls into the hands of his steward -- which is merely a polite way of saying that it really falls into the hands of his mother Chiara. Meals at his castle are always splendid, though, and the uniforms on his guards certainly look sharp.
Geffen is unmarried. A steady parade of marriageable young women come through the castle, at Chiara's invitation.
Baron Selqas Karm, The Black Baron
In the kingdom of Andros, the king stood protected by 12 Champions, the finest and bravest of the reknown knighthood. Legends spung up around these heros, and everyone knew the tales of Thaelyn Tree-Tall, whose strength was that of 10 men, or Lyam Whitemane, the flower of Androsian Chivalry. There were no legends about Sir Karm. While for many, the honor of being one of the king's champions would be enough, and in truth, that his name was not one songs were sung about only irked him some. He was, ultimately, a practical man and content to do his job.
All that changed when he met the King's daughter, Lise. Fresh returned from the convent where she had received her education, she was a vision, and filled Karm's heart with the kind of feelings he had always quietly sneered at in the poetic carryings on of his fellow knights. He courted her, successfully, and secret promises were made to each other. However, her father forbade the marriage. Sir Karm was a noble and respected knight, but his daughter was suited for better things.
Karm hid his feelings for a time, considering various schemes until opportunity presented itself in the form of Oberon's invasion. He secretly treated with Oberon, and provided key information that allowed him to handily defeat the knighthood. His masterstroke came with his betrayal of Bran Brasil, the final stronghold of Andros. He personally killed the king and his family, and was shortly thereafter married to his love, who had been traumatized into near catatonia by these events.
Karm's actions earned him a Barony and a black reputation. He remains a practical man, and is well aware that Oberon has every reason to expect treachery, so he has established himself as a firmly loyal hatchet-man of Oberon. Karm and his Black Lancers (The 50 knights who rode into Bran Brasil with him) have been known to visit those who have earned Oberon's displeasure. While this has done nothing to improve his reputation, few are willing to confront him directly. It is known that he has the king's backing, and those few foolish enough to challenge him tend to end up dead in duelling squares or in ditches, depending.
Karm himself is a solidly built man with a hawk nose, deep set brown eyes and black hair starting to grey around the temples. His manner is perpetually businesslike, and he is well known to be one of the most dangerous combatants in the realm. Some of that stems from his martial training (he was, after all, one of the best of the best knighthood in the world) but more from his cold, ruthless efficiency. At some point, Karm stopped being a soldier, and became a killer, and he has never gone back.
The only time he behaves any differently is in the company of his deranged wife, who he dotes on, coos over, and treats with all the affection of a lovestruck schoolboy. For her part, she is one of the walking dead, for all intents and purposes, much of the time. She is known to have fits of raving mania, but considering her situation, those may well be her periods of lucidity. Karm does not hide his wife, though he does not bring her to social events outside his castle. The Baroness Karm has been "Feeling under the weather" for man years now, and everyone with an incination to comment aloud knows better, or is in no position to comment. (Aside: He generally kills such offenders in proper duels. In general, he only assassinates for the crown, though those who see him fight observe (quietly) thatthere is little difference)
His Crest is a Black Hawk on Red.
Kelwyn the Champion, Lady of the Two Rivers
Kelwyn ran away from her noble family's home as a teenager, dressed as a man, and enlisted in Amber's army. She distinguished herself in battle, rose to command, and eventually came directly to Oberon's attention. By the time her gender was discovered she had already established herself as a courageous and determined warrior, and an excellent tactician with a talent for clever manuevers and ambushes.
After the war, Oberon rewarded her with a parcel of land in Andros, a pleasant and fertile river delta. She has ruled it wisely and well, though if the opportunity arises to return to the field of battle, she takes it whenever possible, finding that she can trust her underlings to keep things running with reasonable efficiency when she is out on a campaign. She has won the respect of her people, and may, over time, win their love; the old Androsian sentiments are still there but fading, given the skill and genuine concern exhibited by their current ruler.
She is not yet married. Her features are rather too strong and masculine to be considered beautiful, though in the right light she might be considered a handsome woman of middle-age. Yet, given her position, she has no shortage of suitors, though there has yet to be one that she seems to have devoted serious attention to, or even found worthy.
Malek, the Ancient, Lord of the Fields of Flame
A long-time courtier from the near south, Malek is one of the oldest men in Amber. He is a treasure-trove of history, an old man who has seen and done much and is now just a little tired of it all. He was a persuasive advocate for joining up with Oberon, early on, and was a fixture in Oberon's court for some time, before being rewarded his barony as a retirement present -- his loyalty purchased, essentially. By and large, Malek stays out of politics, though he is sometimes called upon for matters of precedent and a history of who did what to whom and why this has any bearing upon the present isue. He also looks out for the best interests of his people, and so he is inevitably drawn further in than he intended to go.
He is not a warrior. He spent his life in comfort and would like to continue to do so; he is capable of manipulating others to suit himself when the need arises, but he does so with subtlety and no special relish. He is almost always pleasant and calm. His lands serve as a buffer between the more contentious of the Androsian lords.
The Fields of Flame are a great stretch of meadow and agricultural field, overgrown by a brilliant crimson-red and glowing-orange and golden-yellow flower that looks, in the evenings, as if the entire ground were aflame. The flower has a heady, intoxicating scent. It has medicinal properties, and is used in perfume. Massive doses of the scent have opiate properties. It is sometimes smoked, for an opium-like effect with hallucinogenic side-effects. For practical purposes, it is a weed, and the farmers of the area do their best to kill it off in their fields, though there are meadows of it where the flower is cultivated for perfume and medicine. Smoking it is not technically illegal but tends to be frowned upon by society.
Baron McCavey is a middle aged fellow who has an amiable, friendly air until you upset him. Over six feet in height, he is made up of hard muscle covered in comfortable padding, fluffy red-brown curls, a loosely trimmed beard and bright, vastly interested blue eyes. He dresses with a complete lack of refinement, even at - or rather, particularly at - Court. Cotton, workboots and overalls suit him fine. He will haul strangers out of ditches and set to physical work to help a man out without hesitation; he is also surprisingly well read and a quick head with higher mathematics. He will argue anything with anyone, take the Devil's Advocate position for the hell of it, take orders from none and seems particularly oblivious to the fact that he's a baron or that anyone has rank. He comes to Court occasionally for the sheer pleasure of people-watchin' and because they don't expect him to (and most of the Dukes and Barons would just as soon he didn't).
He ought to be hen-pecked but he is not. His wife, Bess, is certainly an argumentative woman, aging poorly but full of verve. As thin as he is broad, dressing much the way he does, she helps her husband out on their farm, and harries the small pack of too-inventive adolescents that they have produced together. That she has rank seems to have evaded her notice, although she will boss and mother anything that doesn't sensibly flee. This includes the local town council and committees, which interest her much more than they do him. The few arguments she gets into with her husband he seems to cheerfully and consistently win without much effort. She has complained that it's like arguing with the weather, but the complaint seems a happy one and the couple is clearly pleased with each other. Theirs is a hospitable, overflowing household of chaos (she tries to organize things, but it's a lost battle that she surrendered years ago). Just don't try to get them to collect taxes.
Their oldest daughter, Daniela - called Dannie by everyone - is a handful and a half. She's a good hand with the horses, can run a farm efficiently, cook the books with the best of 'em and drink half her boyfriends under the table. Thoroughly spoiled, definitely of marraigeable age, Dannie seems inclined to test how far she can go before her father puts his foot down. She is close to the line: he has threatened to systematically beat the crap out of every young man in the town if she doesn't settle down and pick one. This threat is going largely ignored. Dannie's respect is not easily won. Rowdy and unconventional by the standards of other ladies, she seems to have grudgingly conceded that Dad might have something on her. The rest of the world still has to prove itself. She is potentially marriageable bait, however, if someone wants to attempt to marry into the Barony and enforce traditional rule. If Oberon wants a further handle on McCavey, she would seem to be it on the surface.
Baron Rast is a giant of a man, reknown for his strength, valor and skill at arms as well as his immense beard. He served as one of Oberon's generals during his campaign, and was rewarded a Barony for his service. Rast is far more a creature of the battlefield than the court and has little respect for anything but strength. His Baronial seat is Bran Brasil, an imposing fortress touted as impregnable which Oberon was forced to take by guile. This is a great display of trust on Oberon's part, but it is tempered somewhat by the fact that while Rast's valor is unquestioned, his cunning is known to be somewhat lacking, and Oberon may feel that should it become necessary, he is removable.
In battle, Rast is recognizable by his immense size alone, but also by his blackened iron armor of plates thick enough to turn any blow and heavy enough to leave a lesser man helpless.
Of late, Rast has been starting to realize he is no longer a young man, and has started to look about for a potential Baroness Rast. While it is rumored he has sired numerous bastards, he has recognized none, and is instead looking for a bride who he considers capable of bearing him strong enough sons to receive his legacy. To this end, his eye has turned towards Dolcea, sister of the queen, though to date, his efforts have proven fruitless.
His arms is a Boar Enraged on Red.
This young girl, no more than two years of age, was born recently to Lord Cyrus (PC) and Lady Cynthia Rosewood.
Lady Cynthia Rosewood (nee Boyd)
Betrothed of Cyrus Rosewood (PC), hailing from the disgraced Boyd family, Lady Cynthia is a reserved, distant woman; her marriage to Cyrus and mothering of Aine are no different for this distance. All are kept at a safe distance. If Aine is the blossom of Rosewood, Lady Cynthia is the thorn.