Fantasy The Color Of Royalty (Still Accepting)

[Archie]

@Irianne @Prudentia @Church418 @Semblance


Hewyn smirked when Ardyn made the remark about how Alorei would use any weapon she could which would hurt him. That, in Hewyn's mind, would be only poison, because he thought of himself immune to other weapons form all the scars he had on his body. The regular body cramps he got which kept him up and night were handled by a healthy dose of opium: who was to say he could not just take another to battle?


He chafed and grit his teeth, however, when he heart Alorei's biting reply. It reminded him of a truth he had been tacitly aware of for years, but found no time to rectify: he could kill anyone he wanted with his sword, even groups of five. He used to brag to his trainees and squires that he could fight the next five best fighters in the kingdom combined at one time, and only lose one arm. But that kind of fighting was only useful in tournaments: any of the strongest Red Knights could pull on him magical tricks that would give him a run for his money.


"Gifts, or curses?" he started, meaning to start another sentence before his father walked in. Years ago, he would have continued rambling: made his rant louder, and longer even. But today, his father was the only man he could not banter with and play with. One could say he was the first man in the world Hewyn ever feared, and that was a fear which was nonexsitent just years ago. Previously, the son had thought of the father as an unworthy coward. He had not realized that lying then was a part of politics that was worth something: not everyone could simply be dueled and slaughtered if they slandered a ruler behind his back. Neither had the prince realized that his father did not need to openly show his strength and endurance in public to possess it in private.


Today, all parts of his father were unnerving. That smooth Icelandic accent that implied death and security at the same time, that genuine concern for his family mixed with icy coldness in every remedy he suggested to them. The King was the kind of man who could tell a child to commit suicide and make it sound like a bedtime story.His movements were so smooth, and yet his gaze reeked of death: it was the calm and cold stare of a man who had tortured hundreds to death, and was now totally indifferent to human suffering.


Accordingly, as soon as the King entered the room, Hewyn straightened his back and sat there like a soldier, saying nothing and continuing with his meal in slow, deliberate bites. He didn't even make a last verbal jab at his brother when Daniel left the room twirling his pretty rapier. Hewyn was the kind of man who did not know how to feel properly afraid. Whenever something spooked him, he would lurch out and try to club it to death. Whenever he was with his siblings, his friends, or the Knights, he could joke with them in comfort. Whenever he was with this man, Hewyn just wanted to strangle him out of fear for his life. When his father addressed him, he replied as flatly as he could.


"Yes, father" he reported back in his husky voice, like he was responding to a superior in the army, not the head of his family.


"The vitriol they gave me has restored my strength." he followed. That his strength was restored was obvious: his veins protruded so much that they looked like worms upon his swollen arms. The first part of his statement was a lie. He had gotten good at lying ever since he spent more time in the market, and more importantly, with his family. That disgusting vitriol, by his father's design, he suspected, curtailed his growth. He kept a journal of his weight every week for the past year in a leather bound book. That medicine was keeping him from his slow but steady journey towards a heart attack, and he didn't like it one bit.

 

[DanishKreddi]

Marsh


Yellow Crow Compound



​

Marsh woke with the same sense of unfulfilled presence that he had felt many other mornings. The days of inactivity Marsh had experienced had long surpassed what could be counted on two hands, the idleness starting to wear on him. His body felt tired beyond reason, his mind slow and his senses dull. The impotence he'd been forced too endure at the hand of the idle Grandmaster didn't suit him one bit. What good would a bird gain from a dull beak?


''Nonsense..'' He agreed with himself as he got out of bed, splashing some water on his body before getting dressed. If he'd plan on another day of waiting at the compound he would have worn his usual sleeveless shirt- but today was different. He put on a long-armed coat over his shirt wanting, needing, to let the presence of the Yellow Crows be felt. But before that- Breakfast.


The most important meal of the day and what a meal it was. Rat soup with watered flour. Calling the flour mixture bread would be an insult to every baker in Decucis, it was flour and grain about to go stale that was mixed with water and then baked. ''Splendid..'' Marsh said with a slight puff of air escaping his nose. He often wondered what a proper meal would look like. Not commoner stuff- He was thinking the feast of the Rayn family. 'There'd be eggs. And chickens as well, they always go hand in hand.' He started with a slight nod. 'Maybe some lamb or sausages. Definitely proper bread- and wine to top it off.' That definitely didn't seem bad. Marsh would gladly behave as some pompous I'm uncultured if it meant every shit meal he'd have from now on would be a miraculous feast. Filling his mouth with some stale water he got up, happy that -for once- he'd gotten to enjoy his meal in quiet. 'Shit, they'd probably have strawberries too..'





Heading out trough the main door Marsh made a complete turn, heading out for the back of the Compound. They had themselves a little yard here, offering as much out-doors privacy as a commoner could hope for. Considering the sorry state of the Compound's inside it was always surprising to Marsh how neatly arranged the outside was. A few trees, a bench and some shrubs on the brink of flowering. But beyond that was something much more impressive; The making of a great predator. Marsh joined the younger members of the Crows, curious if they'd learnt anything. Among the group of younglings Marsh had always prefered Ciri. Not because she was some great warrior or a strategic genius. Him and her had never had some kind of special friendship or intertwining interests. His likeness to her was based on something much simpler than that. She was the same height as Marsh. ''Morning.'' He let out to announce his presence. That was it. He wasn't very talkative and he didn't wanna force himself into their conversation. Instead he drew himself into his thoughts, finding the current situation laughable. 'Here we stand; A Feather, two Talons and a Beak, -the very foundation of this group of rebels- Yet no Eye to let them see nor a mind to give them purpose. Could the Beak speak his mind?' He wondered, well aware that he wasn't the only one bothered by the lack of direction. 'If only a single mission, could I breath life among my brothers and sisters?' The idea was compelling.


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________





@Mine @Bunny @Shanman411

 

[Bunny]

Hugo Hale


Courtyard


@Shanman411 @Mine @DanishKreddi

​

Hugo's pleasant rest was interrupted by the arrival of his fellow Talon and a Feather. It wasn't particularly a bad thing that it was interrupted, in fact, he could gain from a bit of socializing. Although, the whole reason he came to the courtyard in the first place was to avoid talking to people, especially the rowdy Beaks of the mess hall. At the sound of Nicholas' voice, Audi flew off, back to join its feathered friends in the trees. Hugo rose himself from his slumped position, trying to make himself look presentable. His right leg over his left, his body turned to face the two as they joined him. He was more put together than he was before, but not too professional. Just casual. Ugh, he was over-analyzing the situation again.


"Yea! Um... the Red Knights?" Hugo heard a few words of what Nicholas was saying when they entered, and guessed that they were speaking of the Red Knights. "You think the Grandmaster is actually going to allow us to fight some of them?" As the idea of that popped into his head, Hugo tried to calm himself. He prevented a grin from forming across his face, and spoke normally, although he was excited at the thought of beating up a Red Knight. He realized he was being rude, and greeted the girl behind him.


"Hi, Ciri." It was a quick greeting as his attention turned to the mohawked man, Marsh. "Hello to you, Marsh."

 

[Semblance]

Location: Banquet Hall

@Archie @Prudentia @Irianne @Church418

​

Ardyn rolled her eyes as Daniel accused their family of becoming fat and lazy. "I hope Marcus cuts off your arm," she teased. His wet kiss on Alorei's forehead was followed by her upsetting shriek as he made his exit for the Red Knights. She knew how much time and energy he put into ensuring that his swordsmanship was always excellent. Her piercing light blue eyes watched him go, slightly tinted with concern. She worried about them sometimes. The older they grew, the closer they came to becoming the next rulers of the Kingdom, but Ardyn wanted more than just a life within the castle walls.
​

Her attention shifted over to Alorei once again making jabs at Hewyn's rejection of magic. She admired his defiance against anything the King said, did, or believed. His father considered him the barbarian of the family, but she found his lifestyle rather intriguing and brave. It wasn't easy to be reprimanded by the King of every choice he made. However, she would never understand his refusal to train in magic. Ardyn wouldn't give up her ability to wield fire for anything, and her primary personal goal was to master this element.


As a result, she respected the King in almost every way. The Dragon had taught her knowledge and skills beyond anything she could have ever imagined, starting from her early adolescence when she first specialized in fire and air. However, she disagreed with all the torturous tactics he utilized in punishing the prisoners, his employment of child abduction to aid his own causes, and his malicious intentions towards the Yellow Crows. Regardless, the man was probably the best fire mage on the entire island, and she felt honored to have him as her mentor. The way he was able to command respect just by his presence put her in awe each time he entered the room.


"Cadmus," she spoke up, interrupting his conversation with Hewyn. It's not like either of them particularly enjoyed the small talk, in which the defiant prince would just smoothly lie his way out of. Plus, she and the King were past the formalities of any grand titles, given that he had practically raised her. "Forgive me for my blunt curiosity, but I ran into Alvin today," she began, referring to the boy who had almost struck her with his arrow. He was the most recent child born with markings and taken from his family to be raised into a Red Knight. "I couldn't help but notice how old he has grown. There have been no additions since him," she stated her observations, facts that have been practically taboo in recent years. "Do you know why?" she finally asked, her curiosity getting the best of her, as she met his clouded dark eyes.
​

​

 

[raspberryrose]

Tristan Vance


Mess Hall @QuestingBeast



​

Tristan had never met such an excitable fellow among the Red Knights. He seemed a very physical person, expressing himself through wild gestures. It was quite a contrast to the somewhat somber atmosphere of the Swordhands. It was getting more and more likely that the pair were Shields, though Helmets were not entirely out of the equation.


As Bernard hit the table, Tristen leaned back slightly; it would not have been the first time that he was hit by a person who forgot that they were moving their hands. In fact, the last time it had happened, he had gotten a slap to the face and an elbow to the shoulder. After that, he had received odd looks from his fellow knights for the rest of the day and had to explain multiple times that he had not gotten into any fights or offended any women. It was somewhat embarrassing and he had resolved to keep a wider berth around others in a conversation from then on.


As he listened to Bernard's explanation, it seemed a bit too in depth for a simple child's tale. Unless it had been started by another knight or a royal, it seemed unlikely that it was actually referencing the Yellow Crows. Most of the populace seemed to be unaware of the battle and thought of the crows as simple thieves. However, it did not hurt to simply go along with the interpretation of the tale.


"I would not consider the workings of beasts to be justice per se." As Bernard continued on, it seemed increasingly clear as to what he was trying to discover. He supposed that it was normal, even those among the Red Knights watched each other.


"It seems rather early for such a philosophical conversation, though, to answer your question, whether I believe I am acting justly is inconsequential." He didn't agree that the Crows, no matter how rebellious, deserved cruel deaths. It was easier, however, to simply not mention it, especially surrounded by other knights. He tapped the hilt of his sword as he continued to speak, "My sword is pledged to the crown and as such, I do whatever I am ordered to do." Tristan smiled, though he felt that the methods used by the royals were distasteful, he had long since been resigned to his fate.


He looked down at his empty bowl before sighing. He could not linger in the Mess Hall forever and idleness was generally discouraged. Standing up, he passed the tableware to a servant and turned back to his companions. "I apologize for my rather abrupt departure but as I've finished my meal, I cannot linger much longer. Once you are both done with your own, perhaps you might like to join me in my training?"

 

[MassProdigy]

Nicholas Rat


Yellow Crow Compound, Courtyard


@Mine @Bunny @DanishKreddi


"Bah forget the Grand master, don't even remember the last time I've seen the man," Nicholas insisted to Hugo with a scowl, waving his hand as if shewing off the notion. Whether or not it was because he rarely resided in the compound did not matter, the fact that Nicholas answered to some old man in a study always irritated him. Even if the man aided him in his youth, his lack of presence made him just a figure Nicholas would hear of rather than something to follow.


Turning to Marsh he smirked, taking one of his daggers from his belt, admiring it's razor sharp edges, as well as the tip that he knew would prick the skin if touched.


"I don't need no eye to guide my blade, nor a man to give me a man in which to leave it in, with this I have all the freedom I need to go find a mission," Nicholas insisted, twirling his dagger in hand, through finger from finger and taking it by the hilt without a cut when done.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Hilda Min

Location: Yellow Crows courtyard Interacting with:

@Shanman411 Mood: Irritated, tired
​

Hilda stared at the blazing sun as it peeked over the horizon, spilling its light into one of the only windows in the stone building she claimed as not her home, but her resting place. She stared out at it, allowing it to sear itself into her eyes for a moment before tearing her gaze away and padding across the cold floor, her shoes still hidden by her bed. Wandering over, she picked them up from the floor and slipped them on, flexing her toes to warm them up. She had kept a silent vigil for half the night and it showed; there were dark circles under her eyes and the bags sagged. There was no lost grief over her appearance, however; she was a killer in a certain vein. Not as bad as the Red Knights, perhaps, but a killer nonetheless, one with deadly hands and markings that branded her as one.


Hilda made her way down the steps, smoothing out her hair and wrestling it into something resembling a tame ponytail for a time. There was the sound of feet moving, of the door opening and closing as more people entered and exited the compound, driven by something she had long lost. She blinked slowly at the younger ones, nearly teenagers now (and she remembered that sort of rebel innocent, that sort of dream of invincibility and hope that had been snuffed out too soon) that ran amok like stray dogs.


In a way, she supposed they all were.


Sliding past them, she picked up an apple left behind by someone else, clearly more interested elsewhere. Biting into it, she allowed herself a moment of pause to stare at the door as Feathers entered, picking out ones she knew and ones she did not. Some were older than her and just as exhausted. Some were newer and full of vigor. She counted them in her head (one, two, three, four, five) and found no more and no less.


Even though Hilda told herself she had stopped caring, that the dead were dead no matter what, she still counted them off, ensuring that there were no more she needed to add to her mind. Though she might not know some, her vigils were held for all that fell in their hopeless quest, a quest made possible by some old Grandmaster, holed up in some room bent over dusty books with only Eyes to guide him. Eyes that seemed intent on keeping whatever hellish plan the Grandmaster was creating a secret.


It irritated her.


Wasn't the Grandmaster responsible for the shambles that her life was? Wasn't he the one that had commanded they bring her here, to the stone fortress that imprisoned her and stole from her a just life? Wasn't he the one that had sent her on that damned mission full of blood and the stench of death and failure? Wasn't he the one that was supposed to teach them all, hold up hope, give them a chance to fight?


He was not present among their number.


Of course.


Bitterness rose in her throat, the only emotion she had felt for eons and she made her way outside, not eager to dwell on it. She instead moved her feet outside, outdoors, towards the courtyard where no doubt some of the older ones would be, their eyes as heavy as hers and their hearts as full of dark grief and a certain type of madness to stay.


The sun was bright, far too bright for such a dark night, and Hilda raised a hand to her face to filter out its blazing rays. There were voices already speaking and she turned towards them, the apple still half eaten in her hand.


One word in particular struck her.


Mission.


"A mission?" Hilda shouted over, turning to stare at the individual that had spoken, a man she had seen perhaps once or twice and counted a few times in her mind, "Perhaps one after the Red Knights?"

 

[Irianne]

ALOREI MIRALISA RAYN


THE ROYAL PALACE :: DINING HALL

@Archie @Prudentia @Semblance

​

​

Alorei smiled, taking the proffered napkin from her father and thanking him quietly. She couldn't help but watch Hewyn under the king's gaze; his stiff posture and obliging tone would have been completely foreign on him two years past. Even now it was unsettlingly out of place. She almost felt bad for him -- almost -- but he had brought it on himself. Their father was not a man to be baited or challenged and Hewyn had spent nineteen years doing little else. Eventually the Dragon had put this disobedient hatchling in his place, it had only ever been a matter of time.


She had almost finished her breakfast (minus the stolen apple) and returned her attention to it as the two spoke, tearing off bite-sized pieces of bread. It was true that Hewyn's strength had recovered remarkably since his return from his self-imposed exile. It was a pity he had gotten his face mutilated, she mused, or he may have actually been pleasant to look upon (so long as the rest of his collection of scars was covered, of course). She could still remember the tourney where he'd lost his eye with crystal clarity, though she wished the memory would fade. Hewyn had been like a man possessed, still fighting with a dagger lodged in his eye socket, blood streaming down his face and staining the Rayn green of his surcoat in a deep red. She had almost fainted just at the sight of it, but Hewyn had stayed on his feet long enough to win the bout, pummeling his opponent into submission until his hand was almost as bloodied and mangled as his eye. She shuddered, watching his right hand as he ate. That injury had healed at least.


She was momentarily grateful for Ardyn's interruption, but the topic she had brought up was near as unpleasant as Hewyn's eye. The drought of magical births had been a cause of increasing concern the longer it lasted. She wondered, as she had wondered many times before, what this meant for the inevitable child Ardyn would bear Daniel. The marked children born among the commonfolk appeared at random, manifestations of a gift that had long been dormant in their lineage. Maybe they had simply pruned all magical blood from the populace in the recruitment of their soldiers. Or, as everyone silently feared, maybe there was something else entirely at play, something beyond even the understanding of the royalty with their extensive knowledge of the arcane, something actually preventing a child being born with the markings of the gifted. An heir to the royal bloodline who couldn't wield magic... it was unthinkable. It could be their undoing. She had not dared even give voice to her fears, but she was sure she wasn't alone in this concern; her father at least would have worried over it.


She stared blankly at her empty plate. There was nothing quite so heavy as feeling powerless to the whims of a force unseeable and unknowable. She pushed it from her mind; she would not dwell.


"If you will all excuse me," she said suddenly, getting to her feet. She had been still long enough, she needed distraction and fresh air. She curtsied deeply to the king, murmuring a respectful, "Father," before turning to leave.


She paused at Ardyn's side, forcing herself back into cheery playfulness. "You will join me in the Compound when you finish eating, won't you?" She made no attempt to hide an impish grin, "I've a mind to watch our dear Prince getting taken down a notch this morning."

 

[MassProdigy]

Nicholas Rat


@Mine @Bunny @DanishKreddi @FloatingAroundSpace


At the women's calling Nicholas eyes snapped to her instantly, her face was at the back of his mind as he tried to recall her, but when he saw the height he knew all he wanted. He could tell a member's rank at a glance, the timid ones, those who rather blend in and disappear tended to be the feathers such as Ciri, he could always tell one of his fellow Talons like Hugo, that roguish look to them gave it away. The beaks to, while they do not all have to be tall such as this newcomer, but you could tell who've been a fight or two, possible twenty. He saw it in her to, the way she walked, the look in her eye that showed all the blood she has spilt and the gore she had made. Two beaks, Two Talons, and a Feather, a perfect team to bring some damage for sure Nicholas thought with a grin spreading across his face.


"Aye a mission! And why not a Red Knight! Hell, what about a Royal!," Nicholas answered her, picking up his voice making sure to get the attention of any other Crows lingering by.


"Enough of this dull idleness, let's go spill some blood to make those bastards in that castle know, that just because of a small drought in magic, that our claws are still sharp," Nicholas ranted on, eyeing those around him, especially the new coming beak, if he wanted to do anything major, he'll need every fighter he could get.

 

[Church418]

Daniel Reana Rayn 1.4


Red Knight Compound(Training Grounds with Marcus Burthael, Red Knight Shield Captain:
​

Daniel exhaled with relief as the cool breeze and warm morning sun met his face. He moved his teeth along his lower lip. Ardyn's comment about him losing an arm was obviously a joke......right?

Daniel sighed. Father was difficult man to be around. Daniel had always viewed him as something more than human, perhaps because he had always carried himself in such a manner. To the ears of many, such a comment would be considered a great praise. It meant something different to Daniel, however. No matter what Daniel did or accomplished, he could always see a vague sense of disappointment in his Father's eye. As if Daniel was missing a critical item to make him the "perfect son." When he was younger, Daniel was fueled and motivated by this. He trained and studied for hours. Mastered two areas of Magic. Tended to every Royal duty. And still it didn't seem to be enough. On days when he felt like giving up, his Mother would be there to get him back on his feet and motivated again.

..Of course....she was gone now....

The day finally came when he realized he and his Father had very different hearts beating in their chests. His Father was a fierce Dragon, roaring upon the fiery alter as his subjects worshipped on their knees.Whereas Daniel had a different vision: His Dragon was that of a Guardian, who lay coiled around it's clutch. Protecting it's weak, and providing their needs until they were self sufficient.


These ideals were what separated he and his Father, and was the missing "piece" Daniel could never inherit.

That's not to say Daniel had given up on his Father. He was loyal and still did his best to fulfill his Father's wishes as an Heir should. The difference now is: Daniel accepted who he was and considered it a strength. An edge that the rest of his family didn't have. Luckily, Daniel had not yet been put into a position where he would have to sacrifice loyalty for values, and he hoped he never would.

Daniel froze as he felt the cool touch of steel at his neck. "Dead" came the voice of Marcus Burthael from behind as he let the blade fall away. "A tragic day for the kingdom indeed."

Daniel turned and the two exchanged a shake of hands. Daniel looked upon the ashen haired man with admiration. Age and wisdom tugged at the edges of his eyes. Gray stubble about his chin and neck that seemed to be graying faster than his hair, which was still partially black. Truly unique, was that the man bore no outstanding scars. Very rare from a man who had seen so much combat. "Yes, it would seem so. Although it might've been seen as a favor to my Father on this day. Perhaps a few others as well.." Daniel's gaze remained on the ground as he and Marcus continued on toward the training ring where, in the distance, he could see a few Red Knight's already doing their morning rituals. Daniel never spoke in such a poor and dark manner with any one else. Marcus was the one person he could open up to.

With the flick of his wrist, Marcus brought the tip of his blade to pop Daniel in the chin, bringing his head back up. Their eyes met, and Daniel could tell Marcus had heard and understood him. But Marcus wasn't a man to bottle feed anyone. "The world doesn't care about your hurt feelings, future king..." Marcus stated that last line with an emphasis. "...If you can't stay sharp and focused with only your own problems, how do you expect to carry the burdens of the world?"

Daniel let those words sit in his mind for a moment longer, before his confident smile returned. Marcus always had the exact words he needed to hear. Daniel nodded and unsheathed his Rapier. As they walked, Daniel balanced the haft of the weapon on the tip of his index finger. He watched the Rapier remain perfectly still, remembered the countless, infuriating days spent with Marcus as he mastered this seemingly simple technique.

Marcus would backhand his stomach. Take him out during a storm. Have multiple Red Knights surround him, screaming threats and profanity in his ear. All in an effort to break his concentration and balance. If the Rapier fell or wobbled, Marcus forced him to do it all over again. Sometimes, that was the only thing he would do in a given day. As a kid, Daniel remembered crying from frustration and anger. He didn't understand the purpose behind it, but a glimmer of certainty in Marcus's eye had always kept him trying. On the day he had finally mastered the technique, Marcus told him why: "You are unique, Daniel." He had said. "When life brings you to your knees. When uncertainty haunts you. Check your balance. If the blade sways, so you have swayed from the path destined to you."

Daniel beamed as the blade remained rigidly still upon his finger. He glanced over, and he could've sworn he saw a hint of a smile on Marcus's face. An act he would never admit to. Daniel flipped the blade up and caught the handle as it fell back towards him. His insecurities gone, Daniel was once again focused and ready.

"Now, let us see that confidence in the ring."










​

 

[Wandering Grim Hollow]

Alfred Harken


Mess Hall with @QuestingBeast and @raspberryrose


Alfred roared with laughter as Bernard pounded the table with his fist. He had seen Bernard do this many times in the past. Rousing people into action with huge enthusiasm that mostly worked on the younger Knights. He listened as Tristen


"Calm down now, Bernard. Tristen is right, I'm sure that's reading a little too much into a simple tale but I like your spirit. The Red Knights are blessed to have such a devoted and loyal person within thier ranks." Alfred said with a soft chuckle before he finishes the last spoonfuls of stew. Alfred listened as Tristen proclaim his duty to the crown while tapping the sword on his hip. Alfred was pleasently surprised and impressed that Tristen was carrying his blade with him. He watched as Tristen rose from his seat and invite them to join him for training.


"Well said, Tristen. A good Knight must always keep his weapon sharp and his wits sharper." Alfred said as he passed his empty bowl and cutlery to a passing servant before getting up from his seat.


"Let us train hard so we may serve better."
​

 

[Vii]

Ciri Navarro

​

Role : Feather


Location : Yellow Crows Compound – On the way to the courtyard


Mentioned : @Shanman411 @DanishKreddi @Bunny @FloatingAroundSpace

“Of course.” The response was accompanied by a light yet dry chuckle. As amusing as the conclusions were, Ciri could not help but find them somewhat disheartening as to the awareness of their role. While some remained oblivious or simply feigned ignorance as to what was happening, fear would grow within the hearts of others towards her and those of her kin. As bitter as her outlook regarding this issue was, she expressed no sign of it as she kept listening to the Talon. “It all seems to worsen each day…Is it really wise to--!” She clasped a hand over her mouth. No, no she had been led astray. “I-I apologize…I…” Her moment of disarray was cut short by the presence of two other Yellow Crows joining them, allowing Ciri to regain her composure. Perhaps he had not paid attention, too caught on his own words and to the sight of Hugo. She desperately held on to such a belief. It was not her place to throw off such opinions, the years had taught her just so. She was young, a woman and a Feather. If anything, she was the least likely candidate to express anything less than agreement to what Nicholas had told her and Hugo.


She chose to leave it at that, focusing instead in greeting the Talon and the Beak. “Good morning, Marsh.” A man of few words, one that solely opened his mouth to add something substantial, meaningful to a conversation. Ciri would be lying if she said she was not fond of people like that. In a way, she found them comforting amidst this talk of violence and murder. A form of wisdom in a way. Despite not being close to the reserved, intimidating figure by her side, the Feather’s opinion of him was nothing but positive as of now. He seemed to share it too, although she had not yet pinpointed the reason why…it left her somewhat curious to be honest. Hugo, albeit fond of engaging in anti-social tendencies, was too someone Ciri was not particularly familiar with but had nothing to dislike about. The presence of a bird by his side added to the desire to grow closer, as well as his…well, awkward charm so to say (did that even made sense?). Something Ciri felt too ashamed to express, fickle as the reasons were to her. Perhaps that would be the reason for never actually trying to interact with him… She waved him in silence, mouthing a soft “Hello” as the conversation proceeded. Both males were graced with a simple yet genuine smile.


Nicholas’ nonchalance towards their superior brought her to giggle ever so slightly once again. It was foreign for her to face such a thing, given how she acted in the presence of the Grandmaster. She devoted great respect for him, never once allowing her duties to meet disappointment from his part, even if indirectly. She was fairly impressed by his declaration, so fitting to their kin, followed by a silent nod. Hilda’s shout left her bewildered by a brief moment, having not heard her steps in the distance. A Beak, one of the ‘newcomers’, she had heard but talented nevertheless. Excitement appeared to build up amongst the group that had gathered, particularly within Nicholas and her. Albeit not visible, it was not lost on Ciri. As cautious and timid as she was, she, just like any other Crow, craved for some action every once in a while. She was simply more discreet about it. She was not one to boast and shout to the skies but instead stay in the shadows and show her support in some other way. She was a Feather, through and through.

 

[Prudentia]

Blaise Hawtrell

Yellow Crow Compound --:--

@Shanman411 @DanishKreddi @Bunny @FloatingAroundSpace @Mine
​

Down further from his table he could hear them all gather and discuss of today’s folly. Supposedly they were given a mission? Or was it that they were going to make one up themselves? Nicholas had always been bold, and Blaise liked to think of themselves as very similar, minus the sleeping around part. Blaise enjoyed all the moments in flirting and conversation, especially with any of the men but he still never approached them with anything more than crude jests. He wasn’t that bold, not to spend a night with someone else and sleep with them, not when that person could be some Red Knight or filthy Royal spy. He was certainly careful on the people he brought into his inner circle but wouldn’t complain if any of the folk in that particular circle would spend more time with him. Busyness always took its toll, and everyone down there had some dark past they troubled in.

Might as well involve myself in their troubles. We’re such a close knit, disheveled family, correct?

​

Blaise finished his quick snack and sucked down the remaining room temp water in the wooden mug before him. He gave a quick nod to a passing Crow, a gentle quirk of a smile showing up; this boy always had a worrisome look upon his face, yet he never actually acted nor felt that worried. Guilty, yes, but he always played around throughout the day. His face was just burdened with flat brown furry eyebrows, straight plump lips, and dark glistening eyes that made him look submissive…or…“worried.” When he approached the circle of Crows in his brown leather surcoat and darker brown boots, he smiled more and pat Nicholas on the back rather hard, twice.


A quick scan over the gathered familiar faces and it seemed like he could poke fun out of these friends during the mission. “If you’re going to make a raucous with the Royals, at least make sure to invite all of us. I don’t want to miss the chance to watch as we all drip sweat and bloody up.” There was not a hint of shame in his words but his intentions were far from abusiveness. They all suffered similarly, he thought, maybe one having a lengthy darker story than the next but they all were chained by the conniving talons of the Dragon family from hell. That family which reeked war and gore all throughout the lands…but then Blaise thought, Are we as Crows any different? What can we pride ourselves over the Royals, in ways that create a positive face? I take children from their homes – not too far off from the stories of a couple people here. So no, I am no better but I can become such. He wondered if they could help him, his fellow Crows, and if they too ever regretted everything they had molded into due to the might of the Royals.

 

[Bunny]

Hugo Hale


Courtyard


@Mine @FloatingAroundSpace @Shanman411 @DanishKreddi @Prudentia


​

Hugo's attention was then averted to the woman who spoke, approaching them. He was disturbed, criticizing himself for not noticing her the second she stepped into the courtyard. He supposed the three that came up to him to converse had drawn his attention away, draining his usual attentiveness. The attention around him was gradually starting to make him uncomfortable with the arrival of another man, though he tried his best not to show it. The woman looked a Beak, probably relatively new. Hugo looked at Nicholas, wondering why he wasn't a Beak. He was brash, cocky, a drunkard, and no doubt belligerent.


Hugo didn't know what to respond with at Nicholas' outburst of confidence. He boasted about killing the Red Knights, and even the Royals. He felt that the surrounding Yellow Crows possessed the same hatred, Nicholas might even have the power to evoke these emotions, and might get them to actually go on a rampage with him. Although it was tempting to battle, he knew better. He was a loyal Crow, obeying the orders of the Grandmaster as best he can. He didn't know if it was wise to voice his opinion and try to calm down his fellow Talon, or too keep like he usually did. He noticed Ciri was keeping quiet as well, although that was the normal behavior of a Feather. He chose to stay quiet like her. Watching, observing, but not daring to speak.

 

[raspberryrose]

Tristan Vance


Red Knight Training Grounds @QuestingBeast @Wandering Hollow



​

"Thank you, Alfred."


Tristan opened the wooden doors of the mess hall and quickly made his way to an open section of the training grounds. Despite the fairly early hour, many of the Knights had already finished eating and started on their own practice routines. Some had started sparring with others, others simply were running through stances and stretching. They could not have been there long yet many had already worked up a sweat. Tristan joined them in stretching, loosening up his muscles before he actually started his workout.


A commotion caught his attention as a pair of knights who were sparring abruptly stopped. One of them had gotten a rather nasty looking cut across his forehead and the other was bruised and looked as though he would fall over at any moment. Tristan surveyed the situation before dismissing it and turning his attention back to his own exercises. Injuries during spars were not uncommon and the head injuries always bled profusely but we're not often very severe. The most that the man would have to worry about was the blood getting into his eyes.


He had not yet begun his workout before he noticed Marcus walking towards the ring, the Royal heir trailing behind him. It was evidently for a spar, as the servant had already sent word ahead, however he still stiffened when he caught sight of the duo. As a Swordhand, he did not see Marcus much; Swordhands were generally left alone, much less in number than the Shields or the Helmets. However, he had heard about Marcus extensively, as due to him being the captain of the Shields, he was a common topic of conversation and complaints. As for the Royal heir, he had never really interacted with him beyond what was expected of his station so he was fairly certain that the heir did not know who he was, just another Swordhand among the others.


Nevertheless, he edged away from the pair, both who had gotten ready to spar. He continued stretching, keeping an eye on the heir as he did so. Finishing up, he drew his sword and began sliding into stances, swinging at invisible opponents and occasionally improvising movements. The movements were routine enough that his thoughts began to drift as his body continued to move and his sword scut through the air.


Inside the compound, there was little else to do beyond eating, sleeping, and training. There was very little entertainment and Knights were supposed to train almost constantly to keep their skills sharp. It was somewhat demeaning, being treated as weapons, only used when needed, despite being exactly what they were. It was partially because of this that he often wandered outside of the compound, looking for some sort of entertainment to relieve his boredom. One could only train so much before they started going crazy. His only other relief was patrolling as it gave him an official reason to be outside the compound.





I don't know if I need to say this but while head wounds often look worse than they are you should still be careful. Also, this was all typed up on an iPad since my computer is being wonky so sorry about any typos.

 

[Agrios]

Location: Yellow Crow 's Compound --> Courtyard | Mentions: @Mine @FloatingAroundSpace @Shanman411 @DanishKreddi @Prudentia @Bunny | Moods: Frustrated -> Slightly amused -> Serious
​

Auice left the grandmaster's quarters with a frustrated sigh. No new children lately, and they were losing ground, along with time. She ran a hand through her loose hair as she stalked through the compound. Planning, plotting. That was what her nights consisted of, locked away with the Grandmaster for hours on end. As was her job. tired from another nights worth of almost fruitless planning, she set course for the courtyard for some fresh air. She was stopped by those returning here and there, to get the same report each time. Nothing new. She stored the already dull information away in her head, and waved each and every one off. She had no need to speak with them currently. Currently, her focus was on finding the handful of people she'd spent most of the night choosing for a scouting mission. Those lucky individuals would get to actually do something. No sense in bringing false hope to those who would not be going.


Sharing brief nods and conversations, the eye worked her way through the compound she'd called 'home' for years now. Eventually, she reached the courtyard entrance, but lingered there in the shadow, watching a group of crows converse. Several of them were the people she'd been looking for. Talk of a mission arose within them, and she smiled briefly, before it fell from her face. These were all people she'd watched grow, but had never bothered to get close to. She listened for a while longer, until one of them mentioned starting a raucous with the royals. She sighed. It was only to be expected they'd grow restless after so long. With that though, she stepped from the courtyard entrance and the shadows, into the courtyard.


"I trust your not actually going to go starting trouble." She called out as she crossed the courtyard towards them. "Good morning everyone." She added on, as she drew a to a stop a few steps behind Blaise. "Nice morning for a chat, isn't it?" She continued, making light talk that any one of the younger crows could respond to if they like. Her attention turned briefly to the feather Ciri, almost expecting the same report as she'd already heard repeated so many times. "I don't believe I've gotten your report yet." Was all she said, as her gaze settled on the younger woman for a brief moment, then returned to scanning the rest of the group. Her gaze lingered longer on some members, while others she nearly completely skipped over. She was assessing their current conditions, and their attitudes. So far her own attitude had been light, in a decent mood. As soon as Ciri finished her report, assuming she gave one, the eye would speak to the whole group, or at least those chosen for the upcoming mission.

 

[DanishKreddi]

Marsh


Yellow Crow Courtyard



​

Marsh tolerated the speech given by Nicholas. Marsh remembered what it was like being impulsive and brash- A dangerous combination now that the Crows are facing... Difficult times. The young ones needed some kind of outlet of their energy and some idle speech in the yard was far better than them organizing behind the back of the Grandmaster.


He would have been fine with letting the kid ramble on if it wasn't for Hilda joining them, a Beak now fueling the fire started by Nicholas. ''Hilda, don't encourage them.'' He was very aware of Hilda- That her plans might not always align with the good of the Crows. With his strong sense of duty, Marsh would have spoken up about this kind of behavior- But he couldn't bring himself to do it with Hilda. Only a few Crows had known of the life that Hilda had once lived and wouldn't be able to understand what she must endure every day. That was the reason Marsh never went angry with her; He'd never understand what Hilda had lost. So he instead decided on letting his teachings go out on Nicholas.


''If it wasn't for the Grandmaster and his Crows many of us would either be dead or wearing a red armor. I don't think he's a man for us to forget, Nicholas.'' His gaze had been fixed on him ever since he'd joined the little flock of birds. ''He's been busy laying plans I'm sure. If we begin acting on our own accords we could very well ruin his pla-''


He was interrupted by another Talon approaching. Blaise- who'm often shared the same enthusiasm for blood as Nicholas- must have heard of the talk about missions. Marsh let out an audible sigh, his patience for these young ones being worn thin. Taking a few steps back he withdrew himself from their talk of missions, standing next to Ciri.


At least Ciri and Hugo possessed the wit to not speak their mind on this matter. It was good to see them both keeping their impulsiveness in check, rarely acting out of line or speaking of going behind the back of the Grandmaster. 'Good kids.' He concluded for himself.


He'd never had reason to doubt the loyalty of his fellow Crows, but under the pressure of idleness it seems some might very well crack.


Turning around, Marsh had figured he might as well leave. He had become too old to see the fun of the missions behind the Grandmasters back, but he quickly changed his mind as he saw Auice approach.


The sweet sweet woman that sung the songs of the Grandmaster himself. 'Go on dear. Sing for us a tale of blood.' He grew a wide grin, rubbing his thumbs in anticipation.


____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Mentioned; @InsaneEntry @Bunny @Mine @Shanman411 @FloatingAroundSpace @Prudentia

 

[Prudentia]

King Cadmus Rayn

Banquet Hall --:--

@Irianne @Archie @Semblance
​

His cold gaze watched as his middle child masked the woes of his pain – surely, Hewyn suffered plenty and was hiding even more from the family. However, so long as the boy kept to his duties and stayed out of the way of Cad’s own plans, by following them, there should be nothing to warrant any action. What kind of action? Only to train them once again who rules Decucis and what the Dragon is capable of when orders are not followed. He loathed those that thought the laws did not apply to them and he felt he was becoming too lenient towards Hugh. There was a sort of false respect, though, seeping from the swollen veins of his middle boy; Cad easily spotted when anyone stiffened up and spoke short words and deeper in tone when he entered the room. It wasn’t just Hewyn – everyone truly feared Cad, excluding possibly his daughter and Ardyn, maybe even all women weren’t as fearful of his rage like the men and boys. He always loved to share his choice words around his council and the Knights: We will send them back in piles of ash. Let us watch them writhe in flames. That always sent clear shivers crawling throughout his allies. Despite all this “respect”, he knew of the troubles the Knights and the flames of his heart got themselves into when his eyes were distracted. That made him blink back to reality and look at his retreating daughter before responding to Ardyn – he had nothing more to say to Hewyn on accounts of the medicine.


“Do take care in yourself, my darling. You need not dirty yourself with the ways of the Knights so much. Especially since I have a task at hand for them. If you are to be so sweet, I would ask of you to call your brother and Ser Burthael to my table. Use all the power in those jewels for eyes to bring them here. There is much to discuss, and to answer your concerns, dear Ardyn, I believe we will discover what has caused such a decrease in children. As for you, my son, please remain here with your father.” He gave a slight smirk, a gentle movement in the right corner of his lips, and certainly the most his subjects would see of him. The man simply had no reason to laugh or smile when all the duties of the era included death, pitiful folk, and creeping Crows. There were still rare moments he would spend with any of his children in calmer conversation but it was never done before an audience – not even in earshot of the Knights he controlled. He was a Rayn: his father’s blood, and his father’s before him. A man that could not show weakness, even if he barely had any to admit.

Weakness...I do not know this well. No one can know of mine.

​

With his orders given, Cad resumed finishing off the last of his plum soup, his drink, and the shreds of meat he had torn for himself. He waved away offers of more meat and any of the fruit. Dried items were distasteful to him; he enjoyed the juices of fresh vegetables and fruits. It bothered him none that strawberries weren’t in season but he would not suffice for the crumbling of the false ones. Displeasure was not tolerable, not even with his meals. Then to immerse himself in the problem of a lack of new power, pierced his mind all too often, and even more so when he was reminded of it. If he did not send out the Knights to scope out for clues of this displeasure, he would appear to his kingdom empty-handed and weak. In the best interest for the Kingdom of Decucis, a mission was needed and the experienced sent out to solve the mystery of the grueling deficiency of new magical souls. If in the least his Knights could report back on the Crows’ activity, then so be it and another mission would be given at a later time. He needed answers, and they best be positive.


As a notion to show he was done with words, there he remained patient and still, moving nothing more than his hands, lips, and eyes to glance up at Alorei and Hewyn in hopes of their cooperation. For what would happen if neither accepted gracefully? Well, he did not imagine the unfortunate of them. His love for them was strong but his order and laws stronger. He could trust they would carry out any plans when it came to Crow filth. As for the Knights, perhaps they were suffering from dullness by now, and that wasn’t positive nor productive. They needed to play, as all do of his blood-thirsty subjects.

If the unfortunate truth remains reality, what will I do next? Do the Crows have answers to this anonymity? I will need one caged if so…

​

 

[Archie]

@Irianne @Prudentia @Semblance


"Of course, father" replied Hewyn in response to his father's beckoning that he and Alorie stay at the table. He looked to Ady and Alorei, wondering if they would obey as well. Hewyn had been long enough removed from this table when the rest were present that he knew nothing of the family dynamic, a knowledge which one could only build up in earnest over years.


"My brother isn't very good anyway" he joked, but that was a lie. His brother was more than good, he was great by the standards of the average tourney fighter or night, and only kept getting better with that Marcus man around. That man wasn't like the other instructors. He would backhand royals, cut them, stab them. Daniel was getting good, and the one eyed Hewyn who had sustained injury after injury could even be surpassed. He dreaded the idea that anyone could surpass him in physical combat - but that catastrophe was so close at hand with his brother's continued training. Oh, how convenient it would be if that Marcus just went away like Hewyn's jiggling eye! But it would be impossible to remove Marcus... or would it?


"Father," Hewyn started. He was starting to overcome his fear with his usual tactics: when afraid, keep doing things, keep talking, keep slashing, no matter how counterproductive.


"A merchant told me this morning that most business got done over breakfast chat. I wanted to ask you what our measures are against the Crows." Hewyn started, his heart no longer pounding, and his tongue juiced from raw eggs that were made every morning specifically for him.


"I run through the streets every morning, and nobody attacks me. The guards are out, everywhere, and we have such great numbers." he started.


"It seems as if we may be the elephant, and they the mouse. We may be able to scout them out easily, with a smaller force of our best. Perhaps I could take Shield Captain Marcus Burthael and a couple of the best Red Knights with me in disguise to the market." he continued. He was coming up with this plan just on the spot and he liked it, but that useless jiggilng eye was bothering him, and he couldn't think of a way to actually find the Crows. Besides, how could he ever go in disguise.


Wait... jiggling eye... he thought.


Bingo.


"I've thought this through" he said, lying flatly and looking his father in the eyes now.


"I won't show my sweet soft sister here, but I've put a marble in my eye socket that's quite convincing. If I wear long sleeves and remove my patch, nobody will recognize me, as they recognize me only by my eyepatch. We'll pay the right coin to those knaves I know, and they're sure to know where some Crows may be hiding. Once we have some, we can use them as bait, or torture them." Hewyn proposed, grabbing a goblet of wine. He never had wine, especially not in the mornings. It ruined his muscle gains, but he had learned some theatrics in the ring. Pouring a goblet, he raised one to his father, and his sister, but not to Ardyn, as he knew only two of the three royals in the room would like the message he was about to say.


"We'll stop waiting for them to come to us. We'll come to them, today. And we'll kill them."


But they weren't even Hewyn's main target on this mission. Marcus was.

 

[Semblance]

Location: Banquet Hall

​

Ardyn's piercing blue eyes shifted over to Alorei suddenly excusing herself before asking the redhead to join her at the Compound to watch the Heir spar. She was about to respond when they were interrupted by King Cadmus requesting the Heir and the Shield of the Red Knights. That could only mean one thing if both were summoned at once- there was going to be a mission involving combat, and the only missions these days were all against the Yellow Crows. Her eyebrows slightly creased at those words. Over the years, her curiosity of the Crows gradually grew until one day, she realized that she didn't even hate them. They intrigued her- mainly because she knew that if she had not been taken as a baby, Ardyn would most likely be a part of that very organization.


Her attention shifted over to Hewyn as he presented his plan to enter the marketplace under guise along with the Red Knights. He proceeded to raise a glass to his father and sister, but Ardyn didn't miss the fact that he had skipped over the redhead. He knew her differing opinions regarding the Crows, but she shot him a dirty look anyway. Her piercing light blue eyes narrowed slightly as she observed his face and listened to him talk. The defiant prince rarely followed any of the King's orders, and to take the initiative to even lead one of these missions was out of character. He must have an ulterior motive, if only Ardyn could figure out what it was.


All of her dreams to witness the Yellow Crows firsthand, instead of through the castle's grapevine, seemed to open before her on a silver platter. Here was an opportunity to join Hewyn and Bernard, the one Red Knight she felt the closest to, on a mission to finally experience the world outside the castle. She wanted to be amongst the people. "What a cunning plan," Ardyn spoke up, looking at Hewyn in the eye. "I have to say, I'm impressed," she added, keeping the distaste out of her voice.


She shifted her blue gaze onto the King, putting on the same expression she always used as a young girl whenever she wanted something from him. "Cadmus, if you decide to use Hewyn's plan, would it be possible for me to join?" she asked politely, filling her voice with sweetness. "You have taught me well over the years, and I believe I am more than ready for a mission like this," Ardyn added, knowing that her request was a long shot.


@Archie @Prudentia @Irianne

 

[Irianne]

ALOREI MIRALISA RAYN


THE ROYAL PALACE :: DINING HALL

@Archie @Prudentia @Semblance

​

​

"I shall bring them to you at once, Father," Alorei answered, turning her attention back to the king and dipping into another curtsy as he made his commands.


As interesting as she found the Red Knights' training to be, royal orders from her father were far more exciting. She loved the intrigue, the absolute righteousness of their cause -- and, girlishly, she loved the serious frowns and hardened stares the knights always wore when they listened to their king speak.


Even so, curiosity made her linger at the door as Hewyn finally decided to crawl out of the protective cocoon of his silence.


"It seems as if we may be the elephant, and they the mouse," he was saying.


Yes, she thought, Mice. Filthy, scurrying vermin. That is exactly what they are.


Her mind went back to her dream the night before. That was the trouble with these Yellow Crows; they were not large, nor powerful, but they were fast, and they were hidden, and their cowardice protected them.


She did not even make a face as her brother mentioned that wretched eye socket -- though she was certainly not going to ask to see it. The Yellow Crows could use magic, just as she and hers could, and so were marked with the same unsubtle patterning. It was feasible that some of the city's lowlife may have noticed more than they had been willing to report for free.


Her father had his own plan already, and the specifics were unlikely to overlap with her brother's, but the sentiment was not something she'd ignore as Hewyn raised his goblet in toast.


"I assure you I will drink to that on my return, Brother," she flashed him a smile to ensure he knew she meant it.


Ardyn, however, caught her off guard. She sounded suspiciously enthused by Hewyn's plan. Certainly, she wanted the Yellow Crows dead as much as the rest of their family, but when the topic had come up in the past she had usually been wary of any plan that might instigate bloodshed rather than respond to it. She was always insisting on learning more, on further intelligence, on detailed reports -- it was Alorei who wanted heads to roll.


Ah, but she wanted to join them, that made far more sense. Ardyn's passion for her fire magic was well known in the palace, it was understandable she'd grown tired of stationary wooden targets.


She wondered if the other girl would have the stomach to burn a Crow when the time came.


She lingered but a moment longer to check her father's expression, wondering at the likelihood of him allowing her request, and turned on her heel to do as he had bid her.

OOC Note: I wasn't 100% sure how Alorei should react to Ardyn's comment. I know most the family doesn't know how she feels about the Yellow Crows, but obviously she does feel that way so I figured advocating fact-finding missions and being hesitant about super violent ones makes sense. If you don't feel like it's in-keeping with her character lemme know and I will fix it!

 

[Church418]

Daniel Reana Rayn 1.5


Red Knight Compound W/Captain Marcus Burtheal


@QuestingBeast @Irianne @raspberryrose
​

Daniel re-sheathed his weapon as he and Marcus entered the training compound. The presence of a high ranking Red Knight, accompanied by the Royal Heir, was enough to cause most activities to cease for the moment. The normal formalities were offered, both to Marcus and Daniel, as they entered. Daniel looked each Red Knight he passed in the eye, offering each of them a smile and a wave of his hand.


Daniel also caught sight of a Sword-Hand, Tristan Vance, stretching on his own. The Red Knight had gone through a troubling period of insubordination and rebellion. Fellow Knights had reported him for refusing to put down insurgents and handing out unauthorized rations to the general public. For a time he was under heavy watch, out of fear he would break free and join the Yellow Crows. He was also forced to undergo brutal punishments. In fact, if it wasn't for the dire need of magically attuned individuals, he might've been hung. Since then, something had changed. He had either given up or found something else to focus on. Oddly enough, Daniel felt no animosity toward this rebellious Knight. In a way, he and Daniel were similar. They both held convictions and a set of values that often put them at odds with the life surrounding them. Unfortunately, what Tristan didn't know, was that the Royal Family was protecting the world from a tremendous power, with the capability to destroy everything. His Father's tactics were harsh....


Too harsh...


But it was an ugly necessity for the time being. When the crown fell to him, Daniel would have his chance to change things.


"My Lord.." Marcus began, shifting to a more formal tone now that they were among subordinates. Even still, his voice was quite commanding. "..You will be paired with one of my finest Shields." He stated, looking up toward the stands. "Bernard Catalan!" he barked, firmly pointing down to his location. "Front and center!" As the Red Knight moved, Marcus looked back at Daniel. "Take to heart the lessons specific to how to engage a superior opponent, my Lord." Marcus continued, speaking in a volume everyone nearby could hear. "Bernard is larger than you, older, more experienced, armed with a longsword that outmatches a your Rapier." Marcus continued bluntly, motioning to Daniel's sheathed weapon.




Daniel nodded. He remembered. When Daniel was 17, he woke up one morning to find his Rapier gone. Marcus had taken it, for the purpose of this exact training that week. Although Marcus also used it as an opportunity to teach Daniel the dangers of not properly securing your weapon. Marcus had armed Daniel with a single stick. His opponent? Was none other than Marcus himself. Armed head to toe as if he was preparing to raid a Yellow Crow compound. His sword and infamous shield 'Unbroken' on his right and left hands. Daniel had accumulated many bruises and bloodied noses that week, but he had learned several important lessons. One of them was the art of turning a superior opponents strength against them. For fighters, it took humility and tactical cunning to recognize and accept when you were up against a stronger fighter. "Most men can't accept that, and they're the first to die." Marcus had said. Once accepted, however, one could approach a hopeless situation with clarity, and with applied training can come out on top.




Daniel had heard of Bernard growing up. Unlike Tristan, Bernard had been born into the Knights and had always been faithful to the crown. Not once hesitating or disobeying orders. The Red Knight recognized that the Crown brought order in an otherwise chaotic world, and Daniel respected that immensely. When Bernard arrived, Daniel would speak. "Captain Burtheal spoke highly of you, Knight, and said you could remind me what makes the Red Knight's a force to be reckoned with." Daniel's tone was fun and challenging. Some of those Knight's nearby that had heard the statement gave out an energetic shout. "So don't disappoint me." Daniel concluded with a smile as he extended his hand towards him.













​

 

[QuestingBeast]

Bernard Catalan

Training Grounds @Church418


Certain ticks gave a liar away. Averted eyes, a flushed neck, shuffling feet. The Red Knights were trained from a young age to seek out these signs, but since they were so informed, the Red Knight knew also to hide themselves. Bernard, who often watched his peers for signs of betrayal, therefore appraised Tristan with not his training or his knowledge, but with his gut.


He found Tristan's pledge of loyalty a little devoid of passion. His back pressed against the wood of his seat. One shoulder raised in discomfort. No evidence, nothing clear. Yet still, he wanted to root out any suspicion mildly felt. Bernard leaned forward, about to press anew, but Alfred, chuckling, drew him back.


Breakfast reached its end all too quickly. Passing on their plates to passing servants, Alfred and Tristan took their leave without much ado.


"Carry on, then! Tarry not on my behalf! I'll find you later." Bernard waved a hand at Alfred to hasten on ahead. "And Tristan, if we've the time, I'd be honored to meet you in the ring. We Red Knights do well to learn of one another, aye?"


Since his plate was yet full -- largely untouched for all the conversation -- he could not match the others' pace. So, with hurried scoops, Bernard gulped down the mutton and potatoes in a rush, like a snake to his meal.


"Ah, here you are," he stood from his seat not long after, and held the bowl out for the servant's taking. She was a young thing, and scrawny, with wide brown eyes. "Thank you." He nearly parted from her then, but stopped and turned back, a question on his lips. "Oh, a moment, if you please. Have you heard anything about Annette? Is she ill? I haven't seen her since the full moon's passing."


"No, sirrah, no," the servant shook her head. "What would I know? I'm only a kitchen aid, I've no ears for whispers and gossip." Ducking her head, she uttered an "excuse me," and passed him by. Bernard watched her go thoughtfully, and shook his head, a sigh subsiding.


It was a short walk from the mess hall to the training grounds. The clang of metal on metal hammered the air long before the sight of knights sparring opened to the eye. Rings of rope and twine divided the pairs, small arenas for bouts of practice. There the dust billowed and clouded, obscuring the sight of other active training, like the line of posts, those thick pillars of wood upon which young knights improved their technique. Beyond them, the youngest of recruits, seven-year-olds to ten-year-olds, wrestled in grassy fields under the supervision of a trainer, who paced their area with a ruler tapping across his hands.


Bernard breathed in deep. The sweet scent of sweat, bruises, and competition filled his senses. A smile stretched his face as he cast a gaze over the mass of movement. He sought out Tristan, but marked the familiar faces; Shields, who stuck together, the Swordhands grouching over the weapons, the Helmets, crowding the outskirts. And, there, emerging from the crowd stepped a noble figure who was impossible to ignore.


"Ah, Prince Daniel!" Bernard bowed, seeing the crown prince approach. "Always an honor!"

"Captain Burtheal spoke highly of you, Knight, and said you could remind me what makes the Red Knights a force to be reckoned with."

Straightening, Bernard laughed. "Well now, that is quite the crippling burden to place on my shoulders. Yet how can I release what my pride so cherishes?"

"So don't disappoint me."

"Add to the burden, will you!" Bernard took his hand readily. "So be it! I'll do all to prove worthy of such praise."


It had been years since Bernard had sparred with the crown prince. Years of rumors and confidence for trials that the prince had faced, of prince's misgivings when faced with the tortures below the castle, of the man's arcane reach for power. Bernard knew this man had faced horrors, and stood up tall afterwards, to face the task of life renewed and full of strength. Admiration swelled Bernard's heart at the sight of him, and even as his hand found the cold caress of his longsword, he wondered if he could turn his blade against this prince. How could he live with marring the embodiment of the kingdom's future?


It was duty that brought his foot over the twine and into the small arena. He nodded toward the prince and held his heavy weapon before him in the first position, angled right.


Let the Prince grow sharper for my iron, Bernard willed, and stepped forward with his left, approaching the prince from an angle.

 

[Irianne]

ALOREI MIRALISA RAYN


THE RED KNIGHT COMPOUND :: TRAINING YARD

@Church418 @QuestingBeast

​

​

The usual sounds of steel on steel were, for the most part, uncharacteristically absent as Alorei approached the training grounds. Here and there a few knights continued in their usual routines, running training drills or tending to their weapons, but most had paused in their morning regimens to watch a spar beginning at one of the innermost arenas. Instead, the air was filled with their voices, cheering or shouting or otherwise enjoying the distraction.


Long before she was close enough to make out their faces she could pick out her brother easily. Even if he hadn't been gilded in the finery of his station, she knew his outline and his mannerisms too well to mistake him for anyone else. So too could she recognize his sparring partner, a knight by the name of Bernard Catalan. As a child she had spent far more time than her father approved of among the knights, and those which were warm and open had quick become her favorites -- Bernard was among them.


She caught sight of the Shield-Captain as she neared and made her way over to him, smiling to any knight who met her gaze as she passed.


"Good morning, Ser Marcus," she said brightly, joining him at the side of the ring where he was watching Daniel with a critical eye.


She watched the spar as well as she spoke, so that Marcus needn't take his focus off of her brother. It seemed she had arrived just in time to enjoy the exercise in its entirety; neither man had swung yet, though both were poised and ready.


"My father has need of you and your protege, once you release him from the ring," she told the Shield-Captain. Her father was not a man of great patience, she knew, and he would likely have preferred she tell Marcus to pull Daniel from his spar immediately and return to the dining hall. Still, she was loathe to interrupt the sparring, and she could afford to take small liberties without risking angering him too greatly.

 

[Church418]

Daniel Reana Rayn 1.6


-->In Combat With Bernard Catalan<--


@QuestingBeast @Irianne @raspberryrose @Wandering Hollow
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The sharp ring of steel being unsheathed came forth as Daniel brought his Rapier to bear. Bernard had accepted Daniel's challenge with grace, and began slowly moving towards him with his weapon at arms, carefully and calculating. Bernard's massive longsword dwarfed Daniel's Rapier, so directly parrying would be out of the question. Daniel met Bernard's angled approach with one of his own. Every step being measured and every angle of approach being considered.


It was considered good form, and a standard formality, that a Royal would never strike the first blow. Daniel wasn't sure where such an idea originated, but he subtly liked it. It generated an idea that the Royalty only reacted to violence, never instigated it. This idea had also found it's way into politics. Any militaristic action taken by the Royalty was always done so in "reaction" to whatever particular occurrence "instigated" the King's wrath. Naturally, this power can, and is frequently, abused.


Daniel did a snap-analysis of Bernard as they circled each other in the ring, measuring the other's vulnerabilities. Bernard's stance and movement spoke well of his training. Daniel could not find any obvious vulnerabilities with the Knight. One thing Daniel did note, however, is that his longsword would be slow and cumbersome compared to his Rapier. In addition, his armor would make him comparatively less agile.


Daniel allowed his mind to soak in the Light, and his extremities began to tingle as the Magic coursed through his veins. Briefly, Daniel's pupils would flash a golden yellow and then return to their normal blue. Mentally, he reviewed the adjustments he had made to the lethal versions of his spells for training and practice. He wasn't trying to kill anyone today, so he would use the non-lethal versions.


Daniel assumed a defensive stance. He was certainly facing a superior opponent. He would have to use Bernard's strength and momentum against him.







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