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A Quest for the Crown [Mordecai]
- Thread starter Okami
- Start date
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
{Ooc: Double post. Sorry.}
Okami
Hit Me!
The sunlight of the morning, dulled only by the leaves and branches of the great oaks that cradled the Aldguardean capital’s outskirts, bounced off of every reflective surface until it filled the room with a glowing intensity that would have disturbed even the dead. Then came the jaunty music played by competing troupes of musicians, swelling in volume until the raucous cacophony overcame even the massive crowds who celebrated the royal family with an unparalleled vigor. A gentle breeze blew through the window, open merely a crack, carrying with it the complex yet satisfying aromas of a feast not yet served, though the stomachs of the masses growled nearly in unison; even the hounds, the insatiable beasts that they were, whined for the scraps they were sure to get as an afterthought to the morning’s festivities. Despite the mass of energy that flowed through the air, Oraenaril was pulled from her preparations only by her own thoughts.
The excited commotion of the crowds outside was meant as a send-off for the beloved Prince Sharlemange, who was meant to prove the caliber of his boldness through the slaying of an ancient beast in a faraway land; the elf was meant to go with him. Only a few days prior to the grand event, she had been summoned by the King and was asked to accompany the Prince on his journey, though only to ensure that he returned in a timely manner and to make sure he followed the rules that had been laid out for him. Prince Sharlemange was to follow all of the traditional rules that his ancestors had observed if he wanted to inherit his father’s crown. Though an elf, Oraenaril was still a subject of the mighty kingdom of men; it was expected that she, too, would partake in all of the traditional rites of succession alongside her Lord and companion, the Prince.
The sun was just crowning above the treetops by the time she had made it out of the cozy house she called home. Being a glorified servant to the royal family did have its perks; she did not have to worry about food or shelter, though the amenities she was offered in return for her service could not compare to the days when the elves were still a proud race, fearing neither war nor plagues. Now, though, she was the sole blonde head in a sea of shades of brown, her pride diminished by the looks of ire she received from the good subjects of the King. Her ties to the royalty afforded her invaluable protection from those who would otherwise wish her ill. The pockets of elven society scattered across the kingdom, she knew, were not so lucky.
Characteristic of her sightseeing habits, the elf had gone much of the morning without laying an eye on the Prince. His travels, it seemed, had not brought him into the same parts of the city as those she walked through. Had he seen her, he had chosen to ignore her rather than to acknowledge so early in the morning that she was to travel with him; like most elves, she stood nearly a head taller than the average person, offering little privacy in the communal solitude that was a public gathering. Even so, few paid her any mind unless she first initiated conversation, of which most were cut short. The more discerning of the Aldguardeans may have assumed from her clothing that she was to accompany the Prince; a light cloak of earthy cloth draped from her shoulders and covered traditional riding attire she had received as a gift before the trip, in light colors and padded well in hopes that long journeys would be found less grueling.
Even as she longed for the times when she could enjoy the simpler pursuits in life, Oraenaril found herself dreading the upcoming trek. Her people were widely considered to be skillful riders, yet this particular ride had a particularly human taint. Perhaps it was because they were to ride towards the Prince’s crowning, but she found that the influence of man had very quickly spoiled that which once belonged to the elves. Even her name, which, when she discovered that it was too much of an unfamiliar mouthful for most, she shortened to Raena in hopes that fewer people would encounter trouble. Her efforts, she learned quickly, had largely gone to waste, but the perversion of her name stuck with a select few.
Distant bells rang a pensive tune from atop a temple to a god she did not worship, echoing faintly above the commotion produced by the crowd. It was a call to worship that meant little to her, though it did remind her of the time. She and the Prince were to depart from the King’s stables as the sun reached its apex. It had not, yet, leaving her enough time to retrieve her belongings and meet her companion before they were expected to leave.
Raena’s first reaction upon reaching the stables was to poke her head inside and admire one of the destriers kept by the king; if nothing else, she found the warhorses bred by man to be of impressive stature, though unnecessary. She found instead the stable master tending to and feeding the animals, driving her to walk by more quietly, thinking that it would be best to not draw the attention of such a large man. Hastily rounding the corner, her gentle green gaze fell upon the Prince, who seemed ready to leave.
“Prince Shar,” her soft voice carried through the air, and she bowed her head slightly as a formality. Even though they were to ride together, she was still his subject—at least until they departed, at which point the journey would truly begin. “I have not kept you waiting long, I pray. As you surely know, it is difficult to move through the crowds when they are so dense. Is this your horse?” she queried, gesturing to the gray mare with the exquisite saddle. “She is a magnificent creature, of course.”
Setting her few bags down on the ground near where they stood, Raena glanced around the stables with uncertainty. “I do apologize, Prince Shar, but I do not believe I was ever informed which horse I am to take. Did Mister Grimes mention anything to you?” she asked, believing that the marshal would have said something to the Prince long before speaking with her. “Otherwise, I am ready to leave, at your convenience.”
The excited commotion of the crowds outside was meant as a send-off for the beloved Prince Sharlemange, who was meant to prove the caliber of his boldness through the slaying of an ancient beast in a faraway land; the elf was meant to go with him. Only a few days prior to the grand event, she had been summoned by the King and was asked to accompany the Prince on his journey, though only to ensure that he returned in a timely manner and to make sure he followed the rules that had been laid out for him. Prince Sharlemange was to follow all of the traditional rules that his ancestors had observed if he wanted to inherit his father’s crown. Though an elf, Oraenaril was still a subject of the mighty kingdom of men; it was expected that she, too, would partake in all of the traditional rites of succession alongside her Lord and companion, the Prince.
The sun was just crowning above the treetops by the time she had made it out of the cozy house she called home. Being a glorified servant to the royal family did have its perks; she did not have to worry about food or shelter, though the amenities she was offered in return for her service could not compare to the days when the elves were still a proud race, fearing neither war nor plagues. Now, though, she was the sole blonde head in a sea of shades of brown, her pride diminished by the looks of ire she received from the good subjects of the King. Her ties to the royalty afforded her invaluable protection from those who would otherwise wish her ill. The pockets of elven society scattered across the kingdom, she knew, were not so lucky.
Characteristic of her sightseeing habits, the elf had gone much of the morning without laying an eye on the Prince. His travels, it seemed, had not brought him into the same parts of the city as those she walked through. Had he seen her, he had chosen to ignore her rather than to acknowledge so early in the morning that she was to travel with him; like most elves, she stood nearly a head taller than the average person, offering little privacy in the communal solitude that was a public gathering. Even so, few paid her any mind unless she first initiated conversation, of which most were cut short. The more discerning of the Aldguardeans may have assumed from her clothing that she was to accompany the Prince; a light cloak of earthy cloth draped from her shoulders and covered traditional riding attire she had received as a gift before the trip, in light colors and padded well in hopes that long journeys would be found less grueling.
Even as she longed for the times when she could enjoy the simpler pursuits in life, Oraenaril found herself dreading the upcoming trek. Her people were widely considered to be skillful riders, yet this particular ride had a particularly human taint. Perhaps it was because they were to ride towards the Prince’s crowning, but she found that the influence of man had very quickly spoiled that which once belonged to the elves. Even her name, which, when she discovered that it was too much of an unfamiliar mouthful for most, she shortened to Raena in hopes that fewer people would encounter trouble. Her efforts, she learned quickly, had largely gone to waste, but the perversion of her name stuck with a select few.
Distant bells rang a pensive tune from atop a temple to a god she did not worship, echoing faintly above the commotion produced by the crowd. It was a call to worship that meant little to her, though it did remind her of the time. She and the Prince were to depart from the King’s stables as the sun reached its apex. It had not, yet, leaving her enough time to retrieve her belongings and meet her companion before they were expected to leave.
Raena’s first reaction upon reaching the stables was to poke her head inside and admire one of the destriers kept by the king; if nothing else, she found the warhorses bred by man to be of impressive stature, though unnecessary. She found instead the stable master tending to and feeding the animals, driving her to walk by more quietly, thinking that it would be best to not draw the attention of such a large man. Hastily rounding the corner, her gentle green gaze fell upon the Prince, who seemed ready to leave.
“Prince Shar,” her soft voice carried through the air, and she bowed her head slightly as a formality. Even though they were to ride together, she was still his subject—at least until they departed, at which point the journey would truly begin. “I have not kept you waiting long, I pray. As you surely know, it is difficult to move through the crowds when they are so dense. Is this your horse?” she queried, gesturing to the gray mare with the exquisite saddle. “She is a magnificent creature, of course.”
Setting her few bags down on the ground near where they stood, Raena glanced around the stables with uncertainty. “I do apologize, Prince Shar, but I do not believe I was ever informed which horse I am to take. Did Mister Grimes mention anything to you?” she asked, believing that the marshal would have said something to the Prince long before speaking with her. “Otherwise, I am ready to leave, at your convenience.”
Mordecai
the traitorous queen
{ooc: Sorry, this post is a bit uninspired. I wrote it at, like, 1:00 am this morning with the full intention of rewriting it when I woke up, but decided against it because I am lazy. So sorry.}
The mid-morning sun was generous with its warmth and all the sounds that were dear to the young prince enclosed him. The gentle snorts coming from the grey mare as she breathed, the soft swish of tails, the tinkle of horseshoes working against the cobblestone pathways—they were sounds of no importance, but Shar steeped in them. He pressed his nose against the mare’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent of horse and leather, letting it exude through him and calm all of his distressed neurons. For this first time since receiving his task days prior, he felt entirely at ease. There was nothing quite as appeasing as the presence of a good horse and with the weight of his journey bearing heavily on his shoulders, he took a few moments to forget about his destiny and focused on the emotional experience of his horse. He contented himself by blowing small puffs of air into the mare’s nostrils as he waited. He wasn’t really sure what he was waiting for, if he were being honest, but he knew he would know it when it happened.
The sound of his name being called was what he had been waiting for and he let his hands slip from the mane of the dapple-grey mare, running across her muscular neck before ending in a soft pat on her shoulder. “Oh, good day,” he replied in an unassuming voice, turning his full attention to the young elven woman who approached him. Her arms were full of bags and she seemed a bit flustered, but in relatively good spirits. “You haven’t kept me waiting at all,” he replied, nodding his head in a cordial manner to acknowledge her apology. Her next comment, however, caught him by some surprise. The worth of a horse was usually determined by its success in battle and Tencendura had yet to see the inside of a battleground. Often, Grimes tried to convince him to take one of the war-hardened stallions as they were more suitable mounts for a Prince, but Shar had grown quite fond of the little grey mare who looked more like a plow-horse than a royal’s noble steed. “Well, thank you,” he responded a sincere smile crossing him, “She’s quite lovely, isn’t she? I would very much like to say I trained her myself, but that wouldn't be the truth. I didn't break her at all, we simply came to an understanding.” The mare had been bought as a filly to be used as a knight's horse, but had been too unruly for anyone to want to deal with, save for the Prince, who seemed to relish the challenge. Several years and many bruises later, they seemed to finally understand one another, as much as a horse and a human could, anyways.
“Nevertheless, there are no needs for formalities. It’s just Shar,” he assured her. His informality was a trait that his father had so desperately tried to hammer out of him. Catching what he was saying, Shar could only imagine what his father would have to utter about a mere companion being allowed to call a royal blooded prince by a colloquial nickname. Preposterous! He could hear the king’s voice echoing inside his head No prince should act like a pheasant. It’s unbecoming to your bloodline!
It came as a surprise to hear that she hadn’t been assigned a horse yet, “Well, I don’t know what Mr. Grimes has to say about that, but I think you and Thestral will get along. Gather your bags, I’ll introduce you two,” he explained, collecting up Tencendura’s reins in to one hand and leading her along through the seemingly endless corridors of the royal stables. The stalls were lavish and carved from imported oak that was filigreed with gold and silver embellishments to add colour and regality to the structure. The horses that the stalls housed were equally as impressive—large, glossy creatures that peeked their heads over the wrough iron bars, snorting happily and stretching their heads out towards them as they passed, just begging for attention.
Arriving at the last stall on the right, Shar came to a stop and pulled open the door. The big, bay gelding ambled over to the now open door, poking his nose against Shar’s chest and blowing warm air through his nose as he investigated with an interested nicker. The horse was saddled, but not bridled, causing Shar to pull the horse’s bridle of the stall hook and handed it back towards Raena, “Thestral, Raena. Raena, Thestral. Good, now that that’s in order, here,” he said, offering the horse’s bridle out to her and stepping aside so she could load her bags and harness her horse.
While he stood back, he gazed out over the open barn door that overlooked the town. The city was alive and a continual parade of people in vibrants costumes ribboned through the streets, all cheering for their prince, for him. Any sense of serenity he once possessed flew out the window as panic broke down the door. The colour drained from his face and his heart slammed with uncomfortable tempo in his chest, making him feel winded and ill. While he'd never admit it to anyone, Shar had doubt in every ounce of his being that he'd be able to accomplish his task.
The mid-morning sun was generous with its warmth and all the sounds that were dear to the young prince enclosed him. The gentle snorts coming from the grey mare as she breathed, the soft swish of tails, the tinkle of horseshoes working against the cobblestone pathways—they were sounds of no importance, but Shar steeped in them. He pressed his nose against the mare’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent of horse and leather, letting it exude through him and calm all of his distressed neurons. For this first time since receiving his task days prior, he felt entirely at ease. There was nothing quite as appeasing as the presence of a good horse and with the weight of his journey bearing heavily on his shoulders, he took a few moments to forget about his destiny and focused on the emotional experience of his horse. He contented himself by blowing small puffs of air into the mare’s nostrils as he waited. He wasn’t really sure what he was waiting for, if he were being honest, but he knew he would know it when it happened.
The sound of his name being called was what he had been waiting for and he let his hands slip from the mane of the dapple-grey mare, running across her muscular neck before ending in a soft pat on her shoulder. “Oh, good day,” he replied in an unassuming voice, turning his full attention to the young elven woman who approached him. Her arms were full of bags and she seemed a bit flustered, but in relatively good spirits. “You haven’t kept me waiting at all,” he replied, nodding his head in a cordial manner to acknowledge her apology. Her next comment, however, caught him by some surprise. The worth of a horse was usually determined by its success in battle and Tencendura had yet to see the inside of a battleground. Often, Grimes tried to convince him to take one of the war-hardened stallions as they were more suitable mounts for a Prince, but Shar had grown quite fond of the little grey mare who looked more like a plow-horse than a royal’s noble steed. “Well, thank you,” he responded a sincere smile crossing him, “She’s quite lovely, isn’t she? I would very much like to say I trained her myself, but that wouldn't be the truth. I didn't break her at all, we simply came to an understanding.” The mare had been bought as a filly to be used as a knight's horse, but had been too unruly for anyone to want to deal with, save for the Prince, who seemed to relish the challenge. Several years and many bruises later, they seemed to finally understand one another, as much as a horse and a human could, anyways.
“Nevertheless, there are no needs for formalities. It’s just Shar,” he assured her. His informality was a trait that his father had so desperately tried to hammer out of him. Catching what he was saying, Shar could only imagine what his father would have to utter about a mere companion being allowed to call a royal blooded prince by a colloquial nickname. Preposterous! He could hear the king’s voice echoing inside his head No prince should act like a pheasant. It’s unbecoming to your bloodline!
It came as a surprise to hear that she hadn’t been assigned a horse yet, “Well, I don’t know what Mr. Grimes has to say about that, but I think you and Thestral will get along. Gather your bags, I’ll introduce you two,” he explained, collecting up Tencendura’s reins in to one hand and leading her along through the seemingly endless corridors of the royal stables. The stalls were lavish and carved from imported oak that was filigreed with gold and silver embellishments to add colour and regality to the structure. The horses that the stalls housed were equally as impressive—large, glossy creatures that peeked their heads over the wrough iron bars, snorting happily and stretching their heads out towards them as they passed, just begging for attention.
Arriving at the last stall on the right, Shar came to a stop and pulled open the door. The big, bay gelding ambled over to the now open door, poking his nose against Shar’s chest and blowing warm air through his nose as he investigated with an interested nicker. The horse was saddled, but not bridled, causing Shar to pull the horse’s bridle of the stall hook and handed it back towards Raena, “Thestral, Raena. Raena, Thestral. Good, now that that’s in order, here,” he said, offering the horse’s bridle out to her and stepping aside so she could load her bags and harness her horse.
While he stood back, he gazed out over the open barn door that overlooked the town. The city was alive and a continual parade of people in vibrants costumes ribboned through the streets, all cheering for their prince, for him. Any sense of serenity he once possessed flew out the window as panic broke down the door. The colour drained from his face and his heart slammed with uncomfortable tempo in his chest, making him feel winded and ill. While he'd never admit it to anyone, Shar had doubt in every ounce of his being that he'd be able to accomplish his task.
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