The procession of House Manderly was not subtle. It was a caravan of wealth moving through the drab greys and browns of the Wolfswood.
Six heavy wagons, guarded by twenty knights in teal-green cloaks, rolled into the courtyard. At the center was a carriage painted with the Merman sigil.
Ronan stood on the steps of his keep. He had scrubbed the soot from his face and wore a clean doublet of dark wool, though he refused to wear the heavy furs typical of Northern lords. His "Hypocaust" heating system kept the keep warm enough that he didn't need them.
The carriage door opened. A servant rushed to place a step-stool.
Wynafryd Manderly stepped out. She was striking—hair the color of spun gold, eyes like the sea, and a dress of velvet that cost more than Ronan's entire village made in a year. She looked around the muddy courtyard with a polite, practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Lord Ronan," she said, dipping into a curtsy that was technically correct but carried an air of superiority. "My grandfather sends his regards."
"Welcome to Blackwood," Ronan said, bowing. "I trust the road was kind."
"The road was a bog," a voice boomed from behind her.
A Septon—a priest of the Seven—pushed his way forward. He was thin, with a face like a hatchet and robes stained with travel mud. This was Septon Corvin, the man who had been preaching about "Hell Gates" in the village.
"And this place," Corvin spat, pointing a bony finger at the distant blast furnace, "smells of sulfur and sin. You burn the earth, Lord Ronan. You mock the Smith with your unholy fires."
Wynafryd watched with amusement. She clearly tolerated the priest but didn't respect him. She waited to see how the "boy lord" would handle the Faith.
Ronan didn't flinch. "I burn charcoal and iron, Septon. If the Smith didn't want us to use fire, he wouldn't have given us flint."
"You use demon fire!" Corvin shrieked, playing to the crowd of Manderly guards. "Liquid rock! Explosions that maim men! The Seven do not smile on—"
"Enough," Ronan said. His voice wasn't loud, but he activated his ability.
[Ability: Sovereign's Aura (Passive)]
[Effect: Command Authority +10]
The word hung in the air, heavy as a hammer. The courtyard went silent.
"Septon," Ronan said, walking down the steps. "You look cold. You are shivering."
"I... the cold is a test of faith," Corvin stammered, taken aback.
"And dirt?" Ronan pointed to the priest's mud-caked robes. "Is filth a test of faith? Because I believe cleanliness is next to godliness."
Ronan turned to Wynafryd. "My Lady, you have traveled far. You are cold, tired, and dusty. I offer you the hospitality of Blackwood. Not bread and salt, but warmth."
"Warmth?" Wynafryd raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a large fire?"
"Something better." Ronan gestured to the door. "Please. The Guest Wing is yours. Septon, you may join us... if you wash first."
Ten minutes later, a scream echoed from the Guest Wing.
It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a scream of shock.
Ronan waited in the dining hall. The door flew open. Wynafryd Manderly stormed in. She wasn't wearing her heavy cloak anymore. She looked flushed.
"The floor," she gasped. "The floor is... alive?"
"It's warm," Ronan corrected.
"And the water," she continued, her eyes wide. "I turned a brass handle, and hot water came out. Without a servant. Without a kettle. Infinite hot water."
"Physics," Ronan said, pouring two cups of wine. "Not magic. Just plumbing."
Wynafryd looked at him. Really looked at him. The "rustic boy lord" vanished. She saw the predator behind the eyes.
"My grandfather sent me to buy grain," she said slowly, sitting opposite him. "But you aren't selling grain, are you?"
"I have grain," Ronan said. "But you can buy grain anywhere. What I'm selling is Civilization."
The Septon entered the room then, looking clean but suspicious. "Trickery," he muttered. "Devilish tubes in the walls..."
"Septon," Ronan slid a bowl of hot stew toward him. "If the Warrior grants strength, and the Smith grants skill... then surely the Father grants Wisdom? Is it not wise to keep one's people warm in winter?"
The Septon opened his mouth, but the smell of the pork stew hit him. He was weak with hunger. He sat down and ate.
[Threat Neutralized: The Faith]
[Method: Bribery via Comfort]
Ronan turned back to Wynafryd. "Now, my Lady. Let's talk about the price of glass."