[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

"Because, my dear" he sighed in exasperation - mock-exasperation; it was all for show anyway, such was the duty of the nobility, he inwardly sighed - "niceties have to be maintained, and besides, it will do you good to get out of that stuffy cart for a while. Come, ride with me."

...And that really was that. So the night darkened and guards went around doing whatever it was those useless layabout loafs did - probably wenching, drinking and pissing all over hedgerows, too drunk to find the latrine; such filthy creatures these peasants, he commented to his lady, as was expected. Appearances and all that.

So they had rushed off and dined, had a simply marvellous meal with the old woman who had been more than delighted to cook for them; after all, it was an honour to have such esteemed guests, and to hear tales of faraway lands, daring exploits, dashing heroes and hapless heroines, not to mention ruthless cut throat brigand scum and those tragic, but suitably trying-to-be-noble dark figures who invariably have suffered some great loss and wind up on a quest of revenge only to get themselves killed in a most unheroic fashion since death, no matter how dramatised and trumped up is never pretty, and to glorify it really is the height of stupidity and ignorance that only a fool peasant would believe, but since there were no fool peasants around - peasants, yes, but not fool ones - at least here, in the wagon-caravan-whatever the old woman called her travelling home - they all laughed when the dark, tragic hero got himself castrated after trying to charm the wrong heroine with his wily ways and not-so-silver tongued wit. Then she'd stilled his heart using some sort of herb and tricked the rest of his companions (who didn't like him anyway) into believing that it was a 'mercy killing' and nothing else could be done. She later became known as the 'Wicked Witch of the East', and was said that there were no fairer maidens than she. Except she wasn't technically a maiden, but eh, details.

So while entertaining his hosts and sending the boy into squeals of delighted laughter, and no doubt earning more than a few indulgent smiles from his lady, the nobleman eventually took his leave, dropping a small amount of coins into the boy's hand as he left; leaving the child wide eyed. His way of saying 'thank you'; word would get around that he was a most generous man, and not only would this win the approval of the ladies, - and older women - but also of the peasants. Which meant that hopefully the grumbling would be reduced and there would be not spitting in his food, sabotaging of his wagon and the commonfolk would go out of their way to earn his favour. On the flipside, it meant that some might try to raid his cart while he slept, but that's what his wagonmaster-cum-driver was for. They slept in shifts, after all. Besides, he had little to fear since he had already befriended most of the convoy. A flash of a smile here, a benevolent gesture there - oh yes, all that was expected of a handsome, young, successful upcoming noble. He was the perfect image of a man destined for great things.

So it came to pass that on the way out, with his lady, as they rode gently beneath the starry sky - as one was want to do, to increase the illusion of enchanting romance and make the women weep as they recounted the soppy tale - that they came upon the prison cage.

*RATTLE*

There was that damned noise again! It had been disturbing him all afternoon!

*RATTLE*

Always *RATTLE*. By the sky and sun above, what the blazes did those useless guards think they were doing? Poking the poor fellow with sticks?

So it was he came upon him; not the Caged One, but the rider. Awfully suspicious fellow; what was he doing out here at this time of night, and one to toy with his sword too. ...And then he saw it. The hooded cloak, revealing only the eyes. Great Spires and Steeples of the Seventh Realm! Could it be? No... surely not! Not a dark hero?!

"You there! Halt! I would speak with you a moment;" Called our hero; silently reassuring the lady with a hug. Daintily perched on his horse in classic fashion, both her legs leaning out to one side, he was in no real position to charge the strange fellow. "What are you doing dressed up like that?" He continued, "Someone might mistake you for a bandit, or worse, a figure out of a ballad! I would ask you identify yourself."

Of course, our hero was well in control of his horse which he guided by his knees, and his hand supporting the small of his lady's back, and his other hand causally resting on his hip, he struck a dramatic pose as his own sable cloak (of black, of course; what other colour would a sable be to match his raven hair?) rippled gently in the breeze, he waited. These things had to be done with a certain about of style. The guards would be talking of this to the teammasters who in turn would tell their women... the only thing worse for gossip than a woman was a teammaster, or a man down the tavern.

*RATTLE*

There was that damnable noise again. Someone really ought to thrash that fellow. The Caged One. Sigh. Tonight was only going to get longer... at least for a while. Our hero ran his gloved hand through his lady's hair as it trailed down her back in a silken waterfall of rusty-red, (well, given the light, it was hardly its usual coppery hue due to the various torches that lay scattered around) and smiled. Time for that... later. First, deal with the strange cloaked fellow who seemed intent on drawing attention to himself in the worst possible way, and then Caged One - quickly becoming known as 'the Rattler', or perhaps 'Rattle Man'. That'd make a terrible novel: 'Rattle Man Strikes Back'.

*RATTLE*

Our hero gritted his teeth. These little trials were to be endured; they built character.

(OOC - DAM, my character is of course, addressing yours. Also, @ Dplax, "stealing" your rattle for the post. Hope you don't mind too much )