Cardonaccum, The beauty of a thistle. Options

[haute ecole rider]

A/N: Hello all. This is a story I began writing for NaNoWriMo in 2011. Now that Julian has finished telling her story, Cora is impatient to take her turn. So without further ado, I will allow her to introduce herself and begin her story. Hopefully it won't be as long in the telling as Julian's. It is not as epic, nor does it have sweeping consequences, but as I see it, without Cora we would not have Julian's story at all.

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Chapter One

“Milady!” The lean form darted through the tall panels, the storm following hard on his heels. The doorkeepers struggled to close the doors against the pelting rain. For a moment, I could not see the courier’s face against the lightning flashes that limned his figure.

Finally he halted before me, bedraggled and breathless. Rain dripped from his sodden clothes, and plastered his black hair to his forehead. As my vision readjusted to the torches that lit the main hall of the donjon, I could recognize the young man. I stepped away from my comfortable chair and nodded at Jannet, who turned and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

“Please sit down, Tavish,” I took the courier’s cloak and removed it from his shoulders. He reached for it reflexively, but I shook my head at him as Siné took the fabric from me and draped it near the fire to dry. I led him to my chair. He resisted briefly, but exhaustion enforced my quiet command, and he fell onto the soft cushion with a groan.

“I h- have n- news,” he met my gaze as I picked up the wine flagon and poured the mulled liquid into my goblet. I handed it to him with forced calmness. Around us gathered the thistlemen who had remained behind to defend the donjon, and those of our crofters who sought refuge from the oncoming winter in our snug shelter.

“I’m sure you do,” I answered quietly, gesturing for him to drink. “But partake of the wine first. You are shivering so much all of us can hear your teeth chattering!”

Jannet returned with more of the heated wine and warm blankets. She set the flagon down on the warming table beside the fire and turned to wrap the dry wool around Tavish’s shaking shoulders. He gulped at the goblet gratefully and snuggled deeper into the blankets before speaking again.

“Milord is at the Bluestone Tower,” the courier cradled the wine in both hands, seeking to warm his fingers against its heat. “The Colovian forces are there.”

“Who arrived first?” Robert Whitearm, the burly castellan, shouldered his way through the growing crowd to take his place at my right shoulder.

“Milord did,” Tavish responded. “But before he could take the high ground across the river, the Legions arrived. They possess the bluffs.”

I could see the dismay in Robert’s stony face as he absorbed the implications. From my own studies in milord’s library, I understood that Wallace had just lost the first battle. It would be far more difficult to take on the foe from downhill.

“How many are there?” Robert continued his line of questioning after a moment. Tavish met his gaze unhappily.

“There were three thousand there when I left,” he muttered into his wine. “Five cohorts worth. With more on the way.”

“Damnation!” Robert’s barely suppressed explosion lifted his heavy mustache away from his lips. I shook my head warningly at him. He fell silent, grumbling to himself like a cranky bear roused too early from his winter sleep.

“How are milord’s men?” I turned back to Tavish. He smiled bravely at me.

“They are in good spirits, m’lady,” he lifted the goblet at me. “The stores are full with provisions and arms, and their blades are keen.”

“Does milord require anything from us?” He shook my head at my question.

“M’lord asks that you see to the donjon.” His gaze shifted to Robert. “keep the men alert, and the crofters safe. Winter comes, and promises to be harsh this year.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I murmured, then turned to Robert. “Please send the patrol out one more time, to try and bring in the rest of the crofters. Things will be very hard for them this winter.”

“You know how they don’t want to leave their livestock,” Robert began. I drew myself up to my fullest height, though the top of my head still fell short of his broad shoulders.

“Then we must find room for all their livestock within the bailey,” I answered. “With so many men away, it’s the only way to keep them safe with the limited manpower we have.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Robert inclined his head in gruff acquiescence. He turned and stalked through the throng, shouting over their gathered heads for his lieutenant. I searched the surrounding faces. A lean man with a hatchet face stepped forward and bowed to me.

“Niall,” I said to the steward, “please see Tavish settled into the thistlemen’s dormitory. Get those wet clothes off of him before he catches bloodlung. And feed him something hot and filling before he falls asleep.”

“As you will, milady,” Niall inclined his upper body again and motioned for Tavish to follow him.

“No,” Tavish rose unsteadily to his feet. “I have a message for m’lady’s ears only.” He turned to me. “Please let me say it before you send me away.”

“Then we will go to milord’s study,” I turned toward the stair set into the wall at the north side of the donjon. “Niall, Jannet, with us please.” I caught the breath of protest the young courier drew and shook my head at him. “Come,” I waved him ahead. He moved forward and fell in behind me obediently.

Wallace’s study sat on the second floor, at the south wall of the donjon. When we reached the entrance, I waved Tavish through, and paused in the doorway. “Niall, Jannet, wait out here. I’ll not keep you long.” They nodded their acquiescence and I closed the door before them.

In the center of the book lined room, Tavish turned uneasily toward me. “This is a message from milord,” he spoke quietly. I stepped forward so we were mere inches apart.

“Tell me.” I said softly.

“Milord says to make the donjon ready to receive wounded,” Tavish’s blue eyes grew unfocused as he recalled Wallace’s exact words. “He expects massive casualties at the blades of the Legions.”

“Does he still expect to defeat the Colovians?” I asked. Tavish looked down at me. Not quite as tall as Sir Robert, he still had height on me, as did most of the residents of Cardonaccum. “Tell me the truth,” I demanded softly.

“Yes, m’lady,” Tavish answered. “Though Sir Laird and Sir Rodric do not agree. Sir Broc sides with milord.”

Of course he would. I kept my initial response silent. “How soon?”

“As soon as their General brings up the rest of his Legions,” Tavish responded. “Milord expects tomorrow or the day after.”

So soon? I hid my dismay and nodded thoughtfully. “Anything else, Tavish?”

“That is all,” the courier ducked his head and swayed slightly. “Milord said you would understand.”

“Thank you, Tavish,” I returned to the corridor door and opened it. “Niall will see you settled for the night. Sleep well.”

“Milady,” Tavish bowed deeply to me. For a breath’s space I feared that he would pitch forward onto his face, but he recovered his balance and shuffled to the door and the waiting steward beyond. After the young man departed, I crossed the corridor to the sleeping quarters I shared with Wallace. Jannet followed me into the sitting room and closed the door behind her.

“I will make it an early night,” I said, turning for the connecting door that led to my sleeping room. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Jannet banked the sitting-room fire and tidied up the reading table while I changed into my nightdress. She peeked into the sleeping room as I pulled the bedcovers back. “Will milady be needing anything else?”

I shook my head at the older woman. “No, thanks very much. Sleep well, Jannet.”

“You as well, milady.” She closed the door after her, and I listened to her footfalls as she crossed the sitting room to her sleeping alcove at the opposite side.

I slipped into the bed and drew up the thick pelts over my lap. Leaning back against the stead, I picked up the book resting on my nightstand. One of Wallace’s volumes, it detailed the attempts of King Vrage of Skyrim to free the Bretons of High Rock from their supposed enslavement. As I opened it to the place marked by a dark green ribbon, something landed on my feet. I looked up as the big black-striped brown moggy padded along my legs to settle beside my right hip. She curled up contentedly and began purring squeakily.

I smiled at her attitude and reached my hand down to stroke the soft fur of her back. The purring rose to thunderous proportions, and she adjusted her position slightly for better gratification. “Cinnie, let me read a bit,” I whispered to the cat. Then I returned to the book. Crossing the River Bjoulsae. I had read it once before, when I married Wallace ten years ago. I had found it difficult to understand then. Not so much now, thanks to my husband’s guidance.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” Wallace’s gentle voice reached me from the doorway of his study. I jumped guiltily and clutched the heavy book to my bosom, afraid of dropping it. The sun shone warm on my back as I turned away from the window to face him. Instead of the wrath I expected to see, his weathered face held only surprise.

“I- I was c- curious,” I stammered, bowing my head in shame. “Forgive me, milord.” I moved to return the book to its place among its brethren on one of the library shelves. In a long stride Wallace placed his sword hand on my wrist, the calluses of its palm hard against my skin.

He plucked the book from my hands and glanced at the cover. “Crossing the River Bjoulsae?” He turned to me. “Look at me, Cora.” Hesitantly I obeyed, looking up into his lean visage. “Why are you reading a military history book? My first wife’s romances are over there.” He gestured to the opposite side of the room. I flinched at the reminder of my predecessor.

“Th- they’re n- not in- interesting.” I managed to get the words out. His grey brows rose, startled.

“Not interesting?” he repeated disbelievingly. “And this is?” He hefted the thick volume and regarded me thoughtfully. Silently I nodded. “Do you understand any of it?”

I had to shake my head. “I- it’s not e- easy, milord.”

He touched my lips. “It’s just the two of us, Cora. You don’t need to address me so formally.”

Again I lowered my eyes. “Yes, mi - Wallace.”

My husband set the book back on the shelf with greater ease than I had in obtaining it from its high perch. “Come, sit down a moment, Cora.” He drew me to one of a pair of leather upholstered chairs placed near the fireplace. “Why do you want to learn military history and tactics?”

I looked up at him as I took the indicated chair. He met my gaze when he had seated himself in the twin. When I didn’t answer, his brows rose. I found myself still fascinated by them. Wonderfully expressive they were, as were his stormy grey eyes. For all that he was so much older than me, by a good thirty years, Wallace was still clean-jointed, still limber and trim after years of fighting and training. Once again I saw the sadness in his gaze, the sadness that never left. Once again I renewed my private vow to dispel that private grief.

“When I sit with you and your men at dinner,” I made myself speak slowly. I didn’t stammer, and felt proud. “I want to be able to understand your conversation.”

He leaned back, his eyes steady on me. “Really? Even when their wives discuss things with you?”

I shook my head. “Talk of spinning and dyeing wool, of crocheting, of pickling and salting food for the winter doesn’t interest me.”

“They should,” he shook a callused finger chidingly at me. “The work of women are just as important as that of men. More so, even. For without their hard work, we’d be too hungry and too cold to fight!”

“And without men who know how to fight, there’d be no women to feed and clothe them!” I countered with some heat before I caught myself. My eyes sought the fire. “I’m sorry, mil - Wallace.”

“Don’t be,” Wallace’s tone turned gentle again. “Cora, are you truly interested in our conversations over dinner?”

I peeked warily at him. Unlike my guardian, who had scorned and ridiculed my interest in military tactics, Wallace seemed genuinely accepting. I nodded.

“Very well,” he set his hands on the arms of his chair. The leather-covered wood frame creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. “Then it would be wise to begin with this,” he moved back to his collection of military books and ran his finger along their spines. Finding the one he sought, he pulled it out. “This book is the first book I ever read. It will explain the basics you need to understand everything else, including Bjoulsae.” He tapped my ambitious selection with a knuckle, then returned to the hearth with the slimmer volume. “Start with this one, and work your way up to that one. We’ll talk about it some more after you finish reading it. Understood?”

I looked at the cover of the book he handed me. Art of War. Breathlessly, I looked up at him. He smiled, that sadness not quite disappearing, and waited for my answer. “Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I managed to whisper. He touched my cheek with his fingertips before turning and leaving me alone in his study.

“Yes, I understand, Wallace,” I whispered as my eyes refocused on the book in my lap. Cinnie picked her head up at the sound of my voice and yawned, before shifting back into sleep.

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Jul 1 2013, 03:03 AM

[haute ecole rider]

@SageRose: Thanks to Destri and his Interregnum I was able to find a terrific character in Titus Aloris. How can I resist taking on such a mysterious character? According to the Lore, he was one of the few people who reported directly to Emperor Tiber Septim, as Governor of the Reaches. I wanted to explore how he got to such an exalted position, both as governor as well as in Tiber's trust.

@McB: Thanks for your affirmation for this "not-as-epic" story as something truly special! As Lady Cora told me her story, I became fascinated by her ability to build such strong relationships with such a diverse group of people without resorting to sex. In her own small way, she expects and demands respect from those around her. As we shall see, those who don't give her the respect she deserves will meet rather grim consequences.

@ghastley: I think Talos was showing Lady Cora only some of his cards, namely that he is very well-informed and that she shouldn't waste her time trying to deceive him. Her only question is, is he trying to deceive her? As for Laird's reaction, we will see soon enough! (or maybe not soon enough . . . )

@Acadian: First, let me thank you, thank you, thank you for catching that nit! I'm flattered by your evaluation of my writing and editing. To be honest, the first twenty five chapters or so were written during NaNoWriMo and have not been edited all that much (just for typos). Thanks to all the lessons I learned writing OHDH, my writing has improved to the point where my first draft pretty much equals my final draft. While this story is strictly from Lady Cora's perspective, I suspect that General Talos sees first her courage and strength - she doesn't wilt like many a sheltered noble lady, but instead looks him in the eye and challenges him. In turn he is very careful not to underestimate her, as we shall see.

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Chapter Nine

“I am doing rather well, thank you milady,” Rodric beamed from his chair. The splints were gone today, and pain was less obvious in his features. “Between your potions and Siné’s care, I am well on the mend.”

“Good,” I sat beside the hearth. “I’m certain your wife is happy about it as well.”

“Ach, she is torn between delight at my recovery and worry over our son Torquil.” Rodric waved his hand dismissively. “But I trust you, milady. You’ll not throw him to the wolves just yet, would you?”

“Not until he is capable enough to hold his own,” I answered with a smile. Rodric peered closer at me.

“You’ve made your decision, then.” It wasn’t a question. I merely nodded. “Good.”

Footsteps stomped down the corridor outside Rodric’s door. I rose to face the panel as it was flung back against the wall. Sir Laird held it back as rebounded from the plastered surface. His blue eyes were icy, his face reddened. Sir Broc appeared just behind the older man’s shoulder.

“Is it true?” He glared at me. “You let the prisoners go?”

“Prisoners?” I repeated. “No, they were merely guests. Not honored ones as you or Sir Rodric, but still guests nevertheless.”

His eyes narrowed as his lips pinched white. “Guests?” he roared. “Foolish woman! We had leverage! Now that’s gone!”

“Now, now,” Sir Broc gripped the older knight’s wide shoulder firmly. “I’m certain milady has her reasons and intended well, misguided as her decision may be.” He turned to me and bowed. “But all is not lost. Not yet.”

“Bullcrap!” Laird retorted, shaking Broc off and striding into the room. “This has gone too far!” He stopped before me, forcing me to tip my head back to maintain eye contact. “Lord Wallace should have never married a barefoot Witch from the Reaches! I warned him it would go ill for him. Warned him!” He shook his finger in my face. “And now I warn you, Witch, make another unwise decision, and I’ll boot you out myself!”

“You will?” I forced myself to speak slowly. “With what? I possess the Cirsium and Thistlethorn. I have the right to make the decisions for Cardonaccum, not you.”

“We’ll see how long you can hold this donjon without my men,” Laird grated between his teeth.

Make the decision now. Hold Cardonaccum, or give it up? Accept General Talos’s proposal, or leave my home? All the remaining doubt I had dissolved in the face of Laird’s anger, and fear stimulated my own rage. “I will n- not have unfaithful knights under the b- banner of the Red Thistle,” I kept my voice quiet. “Go ahead and leave, Sir Laird. But l- let me warn you, once you leave this donjon, there is no welcome for you or your sons here for as long as you shall live.”

Surprise warred with anger in his face as Laird spluttered, unable to think of a response. “I will be back!” he said finally. “Whether you welcome me or not, I shall take Cirsium and Thistlethorn for my sons!” He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, shoving Broc to one side.

The younger knight watched him disappear through the doorway, then moved to close it. He turned to me and bowed again. “Such a pity to lose a strong man like that,” he remarked. “Have you given consideration to my own proposal?”

I forced myself to meet Broc’s gaze. The familiar revulsion raised bile in my throat, but I managed to swallow it back. “You have the same answer as Sir Laird,” I kept my tone even. “I will run C- Cardonaccum as Wallace’s widow, not as a wife to another man.”

The slightest flicker of cold calculation passed through his dark eyes, then Broc bowed again. “I propose a union only after an appropriate mourning period, of course,” he said. “After a year, perhaps, you will be lonely for a man in your bed?”

“Sir Broc!” Rodric’s voice exploded from the chair. “That’s enough of your impertinence!”

Broc’s brows rose at Rodric’s words. “Impertinence? Seems to me that milady rather favors impertinence. After all, she granted audience to General Talos this morning. He certainly was impertinent to her two days ago. And what was his reward? His freedom?” Now he smiled, the smile of the fox in the chicken coop. “If it please milady, I’ll stay. After all, women are entitled to change their minds, aren’t they?”

I considered him a moment longer. He doesn’t see me as being strong enough to fill Wallace’s role. What can I say to shake him of this odious misconception of his? “True, I might ch- change my mind about you, Sir Broc,” I said finally. His eyes gleamed in avarice. “I might d- decide that you do not have any place here at Cardonaccum.” The smile fled his face. “If I do, I’ll escort you to the borders myself and let the Legions take care of you.”

Now his eyes narrowed at me. “What did General Talos say to you?” he demanded. “You would become his doxy?”

“Enough!” Rodric shot to his feet, then wobbled as his injured knee failed him. I caught him in time to ease him back into his chair.

“Be at ease,” I whispered to him. “Let Sir Broc show his t- true colors now.” As he muttered to himself, I straightened up and faced Broc again. “Be careful what you say, Sir Broc,” I warned him. “I can have you executed for speaking of treason.”

“And you haven’t already spoken treason yourself?” Broc’s expression turned serious. “Meeting with the enemy and letting him go, what do you call that?”

“Survival,” I answered simply. We stared at each other for long seconds.

“Milady!” A breathless young boy, clumsy in the leather armor of the thistlemen, burst through the door. He stopped in the center of the room and his eyes scanned the chamber. When his gaze fell on me, he stumbled to stand before me. “Robert sent me -"

“Easy, catch your breath first,” I said, taking his elbow when the youngster wobbled on his feet. When he steadied, I squeezed his arm. “Better?”

“Yes, milady,” he answered. Taking another deep breath, he met my eyes. “General Talos is on the march. The Legions are surrounding the castle!”

“Really?” I asked. The man certainly wasted no time. And what of Laird? Will he leave the safety of the donjon? “Where is Robert?”

“I left him in the bailey,” the boy responded. “I - I think he was heading for the gate towers.”

“Go b- back to him,” I turned him toward the door. “Tell Robert I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, milady!” He was gone as quickly as he had arrived.

I turned to look at Broc. Consternation reigned in his face as he considered the implications of the runner’s announcement. “I think this discussion is over, Sir Broc. Are you going to c- call your men to the walls?”

He shook himself and bowed to me. Without a word he was gone in a swirl of purple cloak. Now I returned to Rodric, who was already struggling to rise again. “You need to rest, Sir Rodric,” I said, pressing him back into his chair. “I’ll have your c- captain sent to you for orders.”

He collapsed back with a groan. “Is that all you’ll let me do?” he groaned. “I guess that’s all I’m good for!”

I smiled reassuringly at him, then turned and left the room.

As I made my way down to the great hall, I encountered Padriac, Rodric’s captain, on the stairs. He stepped to the edge to let me by. I stopped a few steps above him so our eyes were level. “Captain,” I brought his attention up to me. “Sir Rodric has need of you.”

“Yes, milady,” he nodded deferentially. “I am already on my way to him.”

“Good,” I leaned against the wall to give him room to pass. “Go, don’t let me d- delay you.” With another bow he was past me without a word.

Instead of running out into the courtyard to join Robert, I ran to the chapel instead. There I had placed Cirsium and Thistlethorn in Arkay’s care. Cirsium is too big and heavy for me, but I can carry Thistlethorn on my back. I will need all the authority I can get.

Onchu appeared out of the shadows as I approached the memorial niche where the names of past Lords were carved. One part of my mind noted the empty tablet that rested at the end of the lowest row. Waiting for Wallace’s name. Ignoring Onchu for the moment, I ran my gaze over the other names already carved: Cedric. Blane. Malcom. Lachlan. Ewan. Please give me your blessings as I try to take Wallace’s place. My hands reached for the great sword resting on its rack beneath the shield.

“What do you think you are doing, Witch?” Onchu’s voice arrested my actions. I glanced over my shoulder at him.

“Cardonaccum is surrounded by the Legions,” I answered more curtly than I intended. “A strong leader is n- needed at this time.”

“Laird is that leader!” Onchu protested, moving to block me from the memorial niche. He gasped in surprise when I shoved him back. As he staggered to keep his balance, I grasped the scabbarded sword and lowered it from its hooks. The leather baldric swung from the sheath as I stepped back. Swiftly I slung it over my left shoulder and turned to face the spluttering priest.

“Arkay is about b- balance, isn’t it?” I asked him. “Well, Wallace and I have balanced each other for a long time. I intend to keep that balance in his memory and honor. And if you t- try to get in my way, you shall find yourself administering to the wild men in some highland kirk.”

As he stared at me in stunned shock, I gathered my long skirts to clear them from my bare feet and ran for the great hall. Thistlethorn bumped against my back, its weight pulling against my left shoulder. The fat priest started after me, but I easily outran him.

When I re-emerged in the great hall, Niall turned from the gathered castle folk. “Milady!” he called to me across the chamber. I detoured my run for the exterior toward him. “What are your orders for us?”

“Get the m- medical supplies ready,” I answered. “And fill every available container with water. If they attack us with incendiaries, we need to be r- ready to put any fires out.” I glanced around at the folk - mostly women, young children and old men. “I will send more orders to you as soon as I’ve made a f- full assessment of the situation.”

“Yes, milady.” Under the circumstances the normally formal Niall gave me a mere nod of acknowledgement instead of his usual deferential bow. I didn’t delay as he turned and began directing his charges. His light tenor voice filled the great hall as I ran for the door.

Captain Padriac was there ahead of me. He saw my approach and paused long enough to hold the great door open for me. I thanked him under my breath as we moved through together. Then we separated, he for his men quartered in the castle barracks, and I for the gate towers.

I hiked up my skirts to my knees and took the steps two at a time. Men have it so much easier, being able to wear trous! If they only knew how much work running in skirts entailed, they’d have more respect for us! I was completely out of breath by the time I reached the top of the walls. Robert turned and caught my gaze. He left the cluster of officers and strode to meet me.

“One of the outposts on the moor behind us reported movement in the hills,” he spoke curtly, falling into step beside me as I headed for the door accessing the upper levels of the nearest gate tower. “Our lookouts saw more movement in the woods down the valley,” he waved toward the road that led down from the castle through the bottom of the steep-sided defile. “I’ve ordered the crick gate lowered, so our moat should fill within a short period of time.”

I nodded. The castle sat astride a small fast-flowing stream that ran down from the Wrothgarians. Its flow was supplemented by a spring that rose within the castle walls and emptied into the channel. It provided a constant source of water for us. While besieging forces could try to dam the stream above the castle, any attempts to deprive us of water would be unsuccessful. And poisoning the stream would not affect us, since part of our defensive ramparts included a dry moat around all four sides of the castle which could be backfilled with water if we dammed the stream above the spring. Because the crick gate was within the bailey, it was inaccessible to the enemy.

Hours of study with Wallace and a tutor he had provided for me in the early years of our marriage had provided me with all the information I needed to make decisions regarding the castle defenses. The crick gate had been a modification added after I pointed out one weakness - that of poisoning our water supply from upstream.

The spring itself rose from the bowels of the donjon, which protected it from contamination from corpses of animals and others catapulted over the walls. Wallace had discussed its inviolability with me. The only way our water supply could be compromised would be from within. As long as we had no agents working for General Talos, we could withstand his forces from within the walls for a prolonged time.

But the things Talos said to me this morning tells me he has ears and eyes within these walls. I’d have to be vigilant for enemy activity within as well as without. Yet I can’t be too paranoid. He wanted me to know he has agents inside my walls - does he want to sow distrust among us? I can’t let it reach that point. Laird and Onchu will be problematic, whether or not they’re working for Talos. If they ever realize just how much Talos knows, they’ll be creating dissent among the castle folk. I can’t let them know. Whom can I trust? Robert? I need his experience and combat knowledge, as I’m not as familiar with tactics as I am with strategy. Rodric? He’s a good man according to Wallace, but not particularly bright when it comes to anything other than combat.

I shook myself from my frantic thoughts and refocused on Robert’s voice. “- and Sir Laird is mobilizing his men.”

“What?” I snapped myself into focus. “M- mobilizing for what?”

“I’m not certain how he knew before the outpost runner came in the gates, but Sir Laird is calling his men together.” Robert peered at me. “Or was that because of something you said?”

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A/N: For Julian's fans, I've added a new thread to my sub forum! The first post is up in Life Beyond Main Quest!

This post has been edited by haute ecole rider: Aug 25 2013, 09:47 PM