Throughout the fairgrounds the morning air buzzed with activity. Tents slowly began to leave their earthly limits and reach towards the clouds above as attendants drove stakes into the ground and propped up frames covered with brightly colored fabric. In the following days these tents would house all manner of forms of entertainment; food fit for royalty, marvels of mysterious wonder from lands far away, and even a location for the dispensing of first aid.
The banquet organizers knew this medical attention would almost certainly prove necessary. Every good celebration at a royal court brought along with it the prospect of proving one’s valor, skill, and honor through the time-honored tradition of the tournament. This festival would certainly be no different, and already stands for those not worthy to spill their blood were being erected around the arena-like area. The open field was large enough to easily house the rushing horses and brandished lances of jousting competitions, the fast-paced whirling blades of swordfighter duels, the heavy clashing of warriors trading blows with sharp axes on thick armor. Separate from the other sections, attendants set up magical wards to protect the crowds and non-participants from any stray bolts that might escape the area designated for the sometimes more intense and, at times, personal contests between wielders of the mystic arts.
The path to the tournament from the town of Busse is a rough dirt one, not covered in stone like some of the newer, nicer roads are. The repetitive clopping of a lone horse galloping toward the capital stretched out across the empty plains on either side of the pathway. From atop his ride, a young rouncey he had named Conrad, Alaric von Busse sped down the road, intent on catching his prey. His grip on his lance was so strong his knuckles had begun to turn white. With mental effort he relaxed his grip on the weapon; he needed to be swift and accurate for what he was about to do.
Ahead of him Alaric spotted his target. He lowered his head and urged Conrad on faster with his heels. With his lance held out to the side Alaric closed the distance between himself and the party up ahead. In the rear of the formation several carriages served to block sight his approach. This would work well to his advantage and Alaric couldn’t keep a cocky grin off his face.
When there wasn’t a second longer he could keep up his pace before running into the carriage in front of him, Alaric guided his horse off of the path at the last minute. He knew it was risky to ride at this speed on the unstable ground on the side of the path, but should he succeed in his endeavor the reward would definitely pay off in the end.
Conrad’s hooves beat out a staccato pattern against the loose rocks, and on at least two different occasions on his way from the rear of the group to its front Alaric thought he was going to end up scraped against the ground under his own horse. Nevertheless he managed to pull up behind the leader of the formation, a big man on an even bigger horse, both clad in expensive armor. That was when he made his move.
With a heave Alaric lifted the lance up over his head, swung it around once and then on the next pass he aimed for the back of the knight, intent on de-horsing him with the flat of the lance’s blade. The spear closed with the mounted man and Alaric laughed out loud; now he would finally have the victory he had sought for so long!
But inches before contact the knight’s arm shot out and grabbed the spear a foot from its tip. Alaric was shocked; the man couldn’t even see the weapon... it was behind him! Before he could figure out how his plan had been foiled the knight turned his body and his horse and got a grip on the spear with both hands before jerking it straight up. Alaric, still holding the spear, was lifted out of his saddle and then thrown to ground. Fortunately the knight had been going slow enough that the tumble to come to a stop wasn’t too jarring.
The knight held up a fist and the rest of the group slowed before halting too. Alaric lifted his head and chest off of the ground and shrugged off the dizziness left over from his fall. He looked up and saw the feet of a very muscular horse standing just inches from his head. With a shove Alaric jumped back to his feet stood facing the knight with a scowl on his face. They stared at each other and the seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Finally Alaric broke the silence.
“How did you do that?!?” he demanded, a look of fury twisting his visage. The older knight studied him stonily a bit more and then he laughed. Not just a weak chuckle either, but a full-blown belly laugh. He got off his horse deftly, his armor clinking together as he did, and yet his grace hid the true weight of his attire. He stepped up to Alaric and stopped in front of him. The knight was a full head taller than the young lad, but nevertheless he didn’t back down. The man took another step and Alaric didn’t flinch. Then the man smiled and reached out to put a hand on Alaric’s shoulder.
“I’m still your senior, Alaric… and don’t you forget it,” the man said in a deep voice that seemed weathered by many years of experience. Alaric snorted with annoyance, but then the two embraced and Alaric found he was smiling broadly despite himself. “It’s been a long time, Alaric, my son. How has fortune been treating you?”
“Not as well as you, it would seem. You still have it, old man,” Alaric leaned back and looked at Duessel, the father he hadn’t seen in months. “But you know, one of these times you won’t be so lucky.”
This time it was the older man’s turn to snort. “I hardly think I need to worry about that. I’m your father, and I will always be able to put you in your place. Ah... but it’s good to have you back. I take it you got my note?”
“Yes,” the young squire nodded. “Imagine my surprise to find that after my long journey I had another one to make to actually meet up with you. And what was that about an adop-“
“Ah yes! I nearly forgot. Hang on; I need to introduce you to someone.” Duessel leaned around his horse and called towards the caravan. “Abel! Come over here. My son wants to meet you.”
Spirit Wolf
A 16 year old man, I guess you could call him, stepped out. He had blond hair and silver eyes, which is almost unheard of, and his face looked, if nothing else, stern. He wore decorated leather armor that was colored red in various spots. To his side he carried a sword that was unique in design. The pommel was that of a dragons head, with rubies set in the eyes, the grip had a red leather strip wrapped around it, and the guard was shaped like dragon wings. Hello.
Durandal
"Alaric, this is your brother, Abel," Duessel said to the squire. Alaric stood still as he examined the other man. "And Abel, this is the son I've been telling you about."
Alaric slowly walked up to him, still not saying anything. After a few seconds he nodded as though satisfied. "Brother, huh? I can live with that. I won't shake your hand as I can see you're armed. How are you with that thing?" he asked as he pointed at the exquisite sword strapped to his side.
Spirit Wolf
I still have a lot to learn, but that is true for many people. His mouth twitches almost into a smile, but then returns to its original position. Would you like to spar? I'll face you against any weapon you choose.I may as well try to get to know my new brother, and fighting is the best way to learn about someone.
Durandal
"Ha-ha! Splendid suggestion!" Alaric beamed, with enthusiasm. He gave Abel a light thump on the back. "I was just about to suggest that! First though, if you'll give me your leave, I need to retrieve my spear from my father..." He turned to eye Duessel who had, of course, been not so secretly listening to them. The older knight laughed and then tossed the lance easily over his shoulder.
"Just keep it safe you two, we wouldn't want either of you getting disfigured before the tournament tomorrow. I've managed to convince the right people into setting up an age range just for 'young adults.' You'll be competing against others your age." He didn't even ask either of them if they wanted to participate. It was expected of them to join up; the duty of young warriors in training.
Alaric caught the lance and twirled it. “No worries, old man. We’ll play nice, won’t we?” He turned and gave Abel a smile that said ‘I’m ready.” Alaric made sure to back up far enough that they would have enough room between them.
“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Duessel interjected to make sure they each realized how serious he was. “You’ll only have time for a few rounds though, I’m going to check on the rest of the group and then we need to get going. Once we get to the tournament there will be more free time to practice if you want.”
“Alright, father. I’ll let you go first, Abel.” Alaric eyed the other, completely serious now. “Show me what you got.”
Spirit Wolf
Abel unsheathes his sword, then heads for the caravan. After a few seconds he comes out with a standard longsword. Then he changes to a battle stance. Lance, long range, easy to read. He slowly circles Alaric, then charges.
Durandal
"That's why it's my job to keep you guessing," Alaric assured him. He jumped back to try and get out of the way of Abel's charge, but his move failed. Instead Abel just came through and slashed him across the chest anyway.
52.5% chance, rolled a 9. Hit for 7 damage. Alaric has 7 HP left.
Alaric grunted and gritted his teeth in a psuedo-smile. "Nice one!" He brought the spear into an easily usable position dropped low. "Now let me show you why lance trumps sword!"
With a leap Alaric side-stepped just enough to get around Abel's area of defense and then thrust forward with his lance with all his strength.
60% chance, rolled an 85. Miss. ((You can type that part.))
Spirit Wolf
Hmph. As the lance barely passes him to the left, he grabs it and pulls. His sword point is resting on Alaric's collarbone, but hasn't pierced him.
((I decided to end this early. Gets kinda boring just to trade blows over and over. Time for talking and getting to know each other. And this action isn't hard to do, just relies on luck more than anything. If you have a problem, tell me and I'll change it.))
Durandal
((Well, your character does have high luck. But I hope it isn't too boring for you, as this game will contain a lot of it. The trick is to be creative with it. Ah well, fair enough.))
"Hey!" Alaric protested loudly before wrenching the lance from Abel's grip. "That was pretty... underhanded."
Before Alaric could whine further, Duessel stepped out from the carriages and commented on the result. "He managed to use not only his muscles, but his wits as well. You could learn something from him. Not right now though, it's time to get going again."
"Fine..." Alaric said, still somewhat upset. "Which carriage are you riding in?" he asked Abel. "I'll ride next to it on Conrad, my horse, so we can talk on the way."
Spirit Wolf
He walks to the caravan he came in on and replaced his sword with the decorated one. Then walks over to one of the carriages. I'll ride in this one. He hops on and sits down. Hmm, he's good with a lance. About as good as me with a sword. I wonder what we'll talk about though. I'm not one for conversations.
Durandal
"Yeah, alright. I'll be right back." The carriages were already starting to move, so Alaric had to dodge them and get back to the other side of the road. Once there he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled very loud and sharply. From about a hundred feet away his horse pulled his head away from the grass he had been munching on and broke into a run to return to its master. Alaric tensed as it neared and then leapt onto it as it rushed by, not even slowing down. Just like I trained him, Alaric thought, patting Conrad to show his approval. Okay, let's go catch up with Abel.
Alaric steered his mount across the road again and had Conrad gallop until he was even with the cart his adopted brother was riding in. Once he reached he slowed down to the pace the group was traveling at. "So, you looking forward to this tournament as much as I am?"
Spirit Wolf
Yes. It will put me one step closer to being a great swordmaster like my father. He tenses a bit. What's your reason for entering?
Durandal
Alaric leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Me?" he asked with a grin. "Heh, because it's there." He shook his head and scooted up in the saddle. "I'm out to prove myself to the world, and what better way than to win in a tournament? Of course, I guess I've still got more to learn... some of it you can teach me."
He took a deep breath and then leaned in, carefully balancing on the saddle. "So... what was your dad like? I-if you don't mind talking about it, that is," he hastily added.
Spirit Wolf
No, I don't mind. He sighs, then takes a deep breath. My father was a courageous man. He wouldn't back down when it came to protecting others. He was stern, but friendly. He died in battle, struck down from behind. He stops talking. There's fury in his eyes.
Durandal
"Hmm, sounds a lot like my father," he jerked a thumb towards the head of the group. "I'm sorry he, uh... got killed. If you need any help, you know, avenging him... or anything..." Alaric ran his fingers through his ponytail and looked uneasy. He knew he wasn't exactly the smoothest person when it came to heavy conversations.
Spirit Wolf
Yeah, thanks. He goes silent for a few minutes before speaking again. So, what do you like to do when not training?
Durandal
"Huh? Oh..." Alaric squinted into the distance and his head bobbed slightly from side to side as he tried to think. "I... um..." A look of embarrassment crossed his face as he realized he didn't really have any pastimes to mention. "I enjoy hunting. Uh, I tried wood carving once or twice. You know, like whittling? Heh, I guess I'm kind of a boring guy. How about you?"
Spirit Wolf
I like to play chess. It's fun. His face turns red. Playing chess isn't the sort of thing warriors should like to do.
((IRL, I do play chess. And I do enjoy it.))
Durandal
"Chess? I've played that before with my dad... a lot of strategy to it." Alaric looked at Abel with an inquisitive air. "I bet you're good at it, aren't you? Have a head for tactics, huh? I can never concentrate long enough to make any of my plans work out."
Spirit Wolf
Abel shakes his head. No, I'm still learning, but I'm getting better. I still have problems with thinking ahead. He leans back, head slumped back.
Durandal
"That would be practically the exact opposite of my problem," Alaric almost boasted. "I think ahead all the time, too much in fact. I have all these crazy plans I concoct, but I try and set up the board for all of them at once and... it never works out." He shrugged and then looked around to see where they were.
"Looks like we only have about thirty more minutes till we reach the capital. Have you ever been there? I saw it once when I was younger, but I don't remember too much about it... besides it being crowded with people who'd lost everything in the war. There were so many refugees at the time...." His voice trailed off as he thought about the memories; ones he hadn't considered in a long time.
Spirit Wolf
No. This is my first time at the capital. I heard it's nice though. He scratches the back of his head. Ok, what now? I'm out of things to talk about.
Durandal
“Hm? Oh, it is. It is nice. There was a time though... when... it wasn’t.” Alaric’s eyes began to lose their focus.
A long drawn-out cry shrilled throughout the street, and it seemed to originate from every woman around. On either side of the road dirty, grimy people with dull eyes clawed at the cart that made its way down the center of the stone path. The young boy on the cart scrambled to get away from them. They were on both sides though, and regardless of which way he turned, people clothed in nothing but rags shivered in the cold and reached towards him with their filthy hands. The boy scooted away from the rear of the cart until he bumped into something and felt an arm slide around his chest. He yelped, but then turned to see that it was his mother. The youth embraced her, hiding in the warmth of her arms. From the front of the cart the man guiding the horses gave a deep sigh and then turned back to see how his family was doing. He knew this must be difficult for them, just as it was difficult for him. The war had taken a heavy toll on Anturon. All these people had lost their homes, their husbands, their sons in the endless bloodshed. The knight that had taken an oath to see the people protected now had to see them suffer, and it grieved him. Perhaps one day there will be peace, if not in his own lifetime then hopefully during that of his child.
The caravan rode on mostly in silence for the rest of the way to the capital. They passed by the fairgrounds on the outskirts of town, and from in front Duessel signaled to the carts. They split off the main road and passed through the wooden gate that marked the entrance to the tournament area. The king and queen had set aside over 50 hectares to be used as needed for the entertainment of their guests. The section devoted to places where visitors who had traveled long distances could sleep at night was already half-covered by tall, multi-roomed tents. The carts from the von Busse caravan made their way toward the closest spot available and once there young men began to erect tents where the family could retire to after a long day of exertion. Duessel waved Alaric and Abel over to him and dismounted to talk to them.
“Boys, you have some free time for a while since the tournament doesn’t start until tomorrow.” He paused to examine the sky. “It looks like you have about three hours until dinner time, which we will be having here at the tent... assuming everything goes well with the set up. Make sure you come back by then, but for now go ahead and enjoy yourselves, scout around and see where everything is. If you’re lucky you might meet some of the other young men against whom you will be competing.” Duessel leaned in and looked at the two of them with a very serious expression. “Don’t get into any trouble with any of them. If one should challenge you or get otherwise rowdy, though, you have my permission to show him the error of his ways,” he said with a wink as his hard look eased away. “Alright, I expect you back in three hours. Have fun.”
Dr. Salem
Small vibrations had echoed off the flat surface of the grounds. Each rumble seemed closer and closer together with each passing second. A large blotch could be seen coming towards the grounds from the horizon and soon it had become clear that it was a stampede of wild horses was heading towards them. In the middle was a mustang carrying an adolescent of 17 that was wearing fashionable blue clothing and a blue cape that was standing on two feet atop the mustang.
"WHOHOO!" cried the 17-year old Alphonse von Alternon who lead the stampede just past camping grounds and hopped onto several horses before finally jumping to the grass below him. "And that people, is an entrance of fine quality!"
Spirit Wolf
Abel closes his eyes and shakes his head. Foolishness. He sighs. Great, they let the local crazy people ride the horses.
Durandal
Alaric spotted the stampede and couldn't help but grin with approval of the dramatic entrance. Nevertheless...
With a tug on the reins he got Conrad, his horse, turned around before spurring him into a gallop. As he rushed the young troublemaker he unlatched his lance from its harness on the saddle and eased it into position under his arm. When he reached the cause of the stampede, he saw that the youth was obviously of a wealthy family, based on his clothes. Unless he stole them, that is.
"Halt!" Alaric called out, leveling his spear at the youth, not threatening but definitely warning. "State your name and the manner of your business here, ruffian!" His tone was kept light, so the words weren't harsh, but they were serious all the same.
Dr. Salem
"Alphonse von Alternon with a Kay. I'm here for the good stuff. The food, the ladies, the fights, and the food and the ladies. Also, before I deprart for my father's tent..." Alphonse turned around and dropped his pants, mooning the one who threatened him, and pulled them back up.
(I could not resist mooning him.)
Spirit Wolf
While Al was preoccupied with Alaric, Abel came up from behind him. He puts his hand on his shoulder and applies pressure. I don't think my brother appreciates that.
((Woah, triple A. Hope no one calls us about cars. O_O;))
Durandal
((Mooning someone pointing a lance at you? That's asking for something...))
Alaric nodded and gave a lop-sided smile. "Nope, sure don't, Abel. Well, Alph, if it weren't for the fact that I happen to recognize your name, I would strive to teach you some manners. Even now I'm considering it." He eased Conrad closer to Al so he could poke the youth on the shoulder with his lance. "However, I don't think I even need to do anything. You'll suffer enough once you realize that women don't respect a man with so little manners such as yourself. Chivalry is honored at the royal court, and I can see you have none. You don't stand a chance to find a maiden who will let you fly her colors!”
(('Fly her colors' refers to the practice of young women in the stands giving the knights or combatants a sleeve from their dress (which were made to be easily removed) to tie around his armor. It showed that he had a woman he was fighting for.))
Spirit Wolf
Abel lets go, pushing him slightly. You should also quit with the foolishness. No woman loves a dead fool. He crosses his arms.
Dr. Salem
"Coming from the guy that points a lance at random people. You don't deserve my manners. I'm a true lady's man so unlike yourself. How I treat men differs much than how I treat a fair maiden." Al argued with the squire on the horse. He then turned his head to the man who had pushed him. "Why would I care if the man threatening me doesn't appreciate an insult?"
Durandal
Alaric jumped off his horse, his light armor clanking together quietly. "Sir, I can assure you, I do not make a habit of pointing my weapon at strangers." He slung the lance over his shoulder and stepped up to Alphonse. "Your actions would say that you don't understand the code of chivalry. You should honor everyone; even, if not especially, your enemies. If you don't show honor to your opponent, the person you might kill or at who's hand you might die, how can you show honor to a woman?"
Dr. Salem
"Alright, fine, fine. Whatever, I enjoy a good prank is all. I have honor as well. Didn't know a little fun diminished it. May you release me and let me go to my tent, person who may end my life?" Alphonse joked. "No hard feelings at all, mate."
Durandal
At Alphonse's comment Alaric chuckled heartily. "I'm not planning on ending your life. Not today, anyway. Tomorrow though, that might be a different story. I assume you'll be taking part in the tournament. Are you," Alaric draped a hand across his forehead in mock dramatic horror, "a squire such as myself? Or do you prefer to duke it out on the ground?"
Dr. Salem
"A squire? Hell no, horses just aren't my thing... but sometimes you need the for a good entrance. I like my rapier, nice and fast. A horse can't fight in narrow hallways where you'll need to fight in the most epic battles inside the castle." Al paused. "I am in the tournament though, still not keen on the to the death. Then again if your horribly wounded beyond recovering, you might as well be dead."
Durandal
"Well, I suppose you won't need to worry about facing me in the competition then. We'll likely be in different categories. And don't worry about wounds. The king has some of the best clerics here... they'll patch you up right after you make a fool of yourself," Alaric grinned almost evilly. He turned to get back on his horse. Once he sat in his saddle again he commented to Alphonse, "And it seems you should learn more about horses. With proper training and skilled handling a knight can engage in mounted combat anywhere."
He paused and seemed to consider for a moment before turning to his brother and Alphonse. "Well, since we're all going to be in the tournament, let us proceed to view the jousting and dueling areas. I don't know about either of you, but I would like to get a feel for where we shall be fighting tomorrow."
Dr. Salem
Al scratched his head. "Sure. Just let me send a message to my dad. Oi!" He shouted to a passerby and caught his attention. It was a small child roughly about the age of thirteen. "Take this to my father. He's in the big tent with the word Alteron in the tents flaps where you enter. Should be red and quite big. I'll pay you if you come find me again." The boy nodded his head and took the piece of paper towards where ever is father's tent was. The boy seemed to have already know where the place was.
marlamin1
Derek
"Derek, I have something to tell you...." Said Alfred as he motioned toward the seat beside him, "We seem to be low on money and I...(tears starting to well up in his eyes),... I can't afford to keep you here". Derek was well aware of their money problems even though Alfred tried to keep it from him. "I understand..." replied Derek, "It is about time I went off on my own anyway." "Yes, but usually a boy of 17 such as you have an inheritance from his father, but our money problems seem to leave little left for you to take" said Alfred. "All I have to give you is a sack of food, a horse, and this medallion.... This medallion was given to me by your father, his last wishes before he died. He said it was a gift from his father when he was old enough to leave, and it would only be fit for you to inherit it as well" Derek took hold of the medallion and studied it as if it were a precious gem. "Thank you" said Derek this means so much to me." "Oh, before you go, I have something else to tell you... It seems that you have a cousin, and he is a prince!" Derek looked as if his leg had just been pulled. "A prince?" said Derek. "yes it seems that he has invited you to a banquet tomorrow afternoon and has provided a room for you to stay in." said Alfred "you should get ready, night will be approaching soon." "I will, thank you for all that you have done" said Derek
Derek packed his things and fed and watered his horse. The horse was black with a long silky mane. His horse was named Ebondare, the word ebony means black. He mounted his steed and started on his ride for Anturon City.
After a 3 hour ride Derek had arrived in the town of Anturon City. When he approached the town gates, a boy with blue and white robes walked up to him... "I am glad to see you arrived safely," said the boy, "I am Frederick, the prince’s royal messenger, I have been sent to await your arrival." Frederick motioned for Derek to follow. "Follow me, your horse will be tended to by our stablesmen." When they entered the castle, Derek was amazed by rich tapestries and colorful paintings of rulers of far off lands. "Your room is here," said Frederick. "The prince wishes to have breakfast with you in the royal dining hall when you awake"
Durandal
Alaric watched this process quietly, as it was all too familiar to him. He had often served knights in the very same manner. But now he was almost ready to complete his training as a squire, and he felt overjoyed at that aspect. Soon he would be able to really prove to the world just how skilled he was. And valiant, honorable, intelligent, witty... etc. He would show them all, and his name would be known in every town. ‘Alaric.’ ‘Alaric...’ ‘Aaaalaric...’
“Hey! Alaric, you alive?” Alaric jolted out of his daydream and looked down at Abel sheepishly. “Oh! Sorry about that. I- uh, let’s get over to the arena.” He spurred Conrad into movement before either of the other two could comment on his inattention.
In the center of the tournament field Prince Randall was standing very still, breathing in the scent of the approaching night and the freshly exposed dirt below him. He smiled as he reveled in the 'feel' of the arena, and as he opened his eyes he scanned the stands, imagining the fans that would be applauding from them the next day.
The Prince turned to look at his sister, Emily. More than anything she just seemed bored. He walked back over to her and sat on the stand next to her. With a wave of his hand he dismissed the attendants that had been fluttering about, always ready to attend to any whim of the royal siblings. As they left they gave Randall disapproving glances, but he just shrugged them off and focused on Emily.
"Can you imagine it? What it will be like with all those spectators cheering the competitors on. I imagine it would be exhilarating. Much more so than the polite applause at those royal processions." Randall leaned back and shook his head to get his long, golden white hair out of his face. He breathed a content sigh and then glanced at his sister. "Emily? I've made up my mind: I'm going to participate in the tournament... I'll disguise myself, of course," he added before she could object or point out the foolishness of his idea, "But it will be worth it just to test my skills. If I’m going to serve the people I cannot allow myself to grow weak, now can I?" He paused and tried to read Emily’s expression. "I bet you would fare well if you decided to compete against any of the young magic users. What was that phrase you used to describe them again?" He paused for her response, even though he knew the answer, and he knew that she was perfectly aware that he knew. He just wanted to hear her say it; and perhaps it would cheer her up a bit.
ginpu
Emily made icky faces at the attendants when their backs were turned. She followed it with a sigh. "I wish they would do something besides fussing over us. Be more... productive."
She paused at her brother's response of growing weak. "The people themselves are the ones that need to not be weak. We are merely dolls set up here, dressed up pretty, and for what? So I can hack on the dust created by the rummaging about of the poor folk?" Emily sighed again.
"Me? Compete against them? Pft. They can't even manage to lead a better life. Why would I bother my time competing against such weaklings?"
((Word? Uh... I think I make something up, or I missed a PM. LOL))
"Which word dear brother?" Emily asks. Before Randall could respond Emily spoke again. "There are so many words to describe them, all of them. The dirty poor beggars. Bum, drifter, hobo, tramp, vagabond, vagrant, pauper, hanger-on, leech, moocher, parasite, sponge, sponger, dependent, deadbeat, derelict, idler, ne'er-do-well, pauper, piss-poor, dirt-poor, beggared, broke, destitute, impecunious, impoverished, indigent, needy, penniless, penurious, poverty-stricken, stone-broke, deprived, disadvantaged, underprivileged, bankrupt, bankrupted, insolvent, depressed, pinched, reduced, straitened, low, short." Emily took a breath then continued. "Although I do like the sound of destitute sponger." She smiled a wicked smile.
Spirit Wolf
Abel sighs. Daydreamer, huh? That won't be good in the long run. He yawns and follows Alaric on foot.
Durandal
The late afternoon air rolled with Randall's easy, hearty laughter and his hazel eyes twinkled with mirth. "Ah, dearest sister; always so harsh to those less fortunate." A thought seemed to cross his mind and he suppressed another chuckle. "I would imagine, though, that given the chance, given the opportunities that we have, those 'destitute spongers,'" he emphasized her term as he repeated it, "could be just as good if not better than me. And possibly even better than you, Emily," he said with an innocent raise of his brows.
Randall mused on these thoughts for a bit on the subject at hand. "What if, just for the sake of consideration, those 'vagrant ne'er-do-wells' are not actually as bad as you would have them? What if, now hear me through, they only act thus when around the 'royal siblings,'" he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "in order to earn our favor?" Randall didn't really believe that, but he knew he needed something to get his sister riled up enough to take action, and he knew just the way. "I would wager that, should you decide to participate in the competition under the disguise of anonymity, you would find your opposition to be quite worthy of your time. You might even find a challenge for those magical skills of yours." He ended his theoretical suggestion with a taunting smile designed specifically to annoy Emily.
ginpu
"Earn our favor? By lying to us? By pretending to like us just because of our position? I would rather they be honest with us instead of sugar coating it," Emily said quite infuriated. "You know I have never been overly fond of being the princess. Oh look at me! I'm the flippin' princess! Watch me act like a puppet for you!" Emily says sarcastically.
She sighs then continues. "It's not the poor that bother me. It's the damn spongers who act, who wear masks, who lie to your face to gain favor or money. Those are the ones I truly despise. Damn kiss-asses." She pauses in thought for a moment.
"So what you taunt me with is to be what I despise? To wear another mask and be a puppet again?" Emily sighs. "I will have to think this one over, dear brother."
Durandal
Randall's face took on a pained expression as he watched Emily's reaction. "Eh, I spoke rashly again, it would seem. I didn't mean to upset you so. It's just... I was reminded of the words of an old saying: 'walk a mile in another man's shoes,' it begins. Besides, we wouldn't be hiding our intentions for the purposes of greed and personal advancement. Quite the opposite, in fact. We would pose as lowly warriors interested in testing our mettle against our superiors. Surely you don't see this the same as what you despise. After all, in this case you would be the only one in charge of who you are; no attendants and fashion directors to carefully craft your attire so as to maximize your beauty." He still looked saddened by the grief he had caused his sister. "Just think about it, that's all I'm asking of you. And if you don't want to do it, I won't either. I'll watch the competitors from the royal observation box with you... And wave politely to the winners with you just like we'll be told to do..."
Dr. Salem
Alphonse had wandered around to find his way to the dueling areas, unfortunately he lost both Alaric and himself. "Where the hell are those grounds?" He yelled to himself angrily.
ginpu
"One day those guilt trips will not work on me dear brother," Emily said slightly annoyed. "So be it. Tell me how we are to pass ourselves off as commoners."
Spirit Wolf
Abel sighs. You're lost, aren't you, brother? Where are we?Damn it, I want to get some more practice today. And being lost doesn't help me.
Durandal
Randall grinned but made sure not to seem like he was gloating. "Thank you, sis, for putting up with me and my hard-headedness. I hope that you will not be disappointed. So, here is my plan, in all of its simplicity. First, we need to drop out of sight. And I think I know just how to do it." He put his arm around Emily's shoulder and together they left the arena with him explaining to her the steps that would set his idea into motion. It involved two youths of the court with close appearances to the royal siblings, a favor granted by their father before finding out what it entailed, and mysterious clothing coupled with a compelling background story...
Alaric grimaced and looked around. “I- no, not ‘lost.’ Just... not so sure of where I am, heh heh. There aren’t exactly any signs and I haven’t been out here before, you know.” He had been fairly certain of his bearings, but nevertheless it seemed that through the rows of tents he had lost track of which direction led to the arena. “I just need to get a higher perspective,” he said as he carefully lifted a foot up to the saddle. He slowly shifted his weight to it before standing unsteadily. Once on top of his horse Alaric could see over the tops of some of the tents, enough to spot the outline of the stands for the tournament against the horizon. The sun was setting fast so Alaric knew they had to hurry.
“Alright, I spotted it. Come on,” he said as he jumped back down into a riding position in the saddle and spurred Conrad on in the direction of the arena. They weaved their way through the tents until they found a path that led right to the tournament area. Since all of the preparations had been completed, the arena was now eerily silent and empty, as though it waited with baited breath for the action that would occur inside of it in the near future. But as of right now, Alaric looked around and saw that it was only him and Abel standing there. This made him suddenly realize they had lost Alphonse somewhere along the way.
“Uh, Abel? Did you see what happened to Alphonse?”
Meanwhile, Alphonse wound up only one row over from Alaric and Abel, but as he walked in search of them he only ended up moving further away. Eventually he walked by a tent from which harsh words were being exchanged. There was a flurry of movement, and then two men barged out of a tent. The first one to leave stumbled through the tent’s door flap and was backing away as the second one followed closely on his heels, jabbing a finger at him accusingly. “It doesn’t matter now! It’s done with! Accept the money and cease this-“
The second man stopped short when he spotted Alphonse standing there. Immediately he turned while pulling the hood of his dark cloak over his head and with a swirl of his cape, he vanished into the shadows between the tents. The first man stood very still as he eyed Alphonse. Slowly he moved his right hand and the bulky cloth bag it held to his midsection before sliding it under his vest and clipping it into place on his belt. Then he took a deep breath and as he let it out he seemed to almost change into another person.
He walked over to Alphonse and looked him in the eye. Now that he was out of the shade, Al could see that the man was as tall as he was, only much skinnier. His face could be described as gaunt, and his brown eyes were narrowed with suspicion. The man had scruffy brown hair that almost ran long enough to hide his eyes. He wore a dark vest with a grey long-sleeved shirt underneath, and his pants matched the uninteresting blend of dark colors the rest of his outfit strived towards.
“Whaddya want, kid?” he said in a low voice that bordered on threatening, and would have been if it didn’t carry the edge of exhaustion that let on just how tired the man was.
Dr. Salem
Alphonse stepped back in surprise, frightened for some reason at the man's sudden voice. "I- I uh... just need to get to the arena, sir. If you could give me directions; I'd appreciate it." He stuttered.
Spirit Wolf
I think he wandered off some time ago, daydreaming no doubt. Unfortunately I think we'll see him again. He yawns. Night is nigh upon us. I think we should be heading to the tent soon.
Durandal
The man's lip twitched with a sneer that died due to lack of enthusiasm and instead the man let out a sigh. His shoulders seemed weighed down by an invisible burden, and when he lifted his arm to point it hung in the air like deadweight.
"It's in that direction. Butchyure too young to need ta know that. You ought to stay away from the arena... if you know what's good for you." He half turned and looked like he was prepared to head back to his tent, but then he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "As for me, I'm gettin' outta here... Watcher back... kid." And with that he walked off and quickly disappeared amongst the scenery.
Alaric yawned but bit his lip to hide it. “I guess you’re right. We’ve still got dinner waiting for us at the tent. Just imagine though...” He jumped off his horse and then stood to look at the stands. “Tomorrow we’ll be fighting here, on this very ground, for honor and to prove our worth! I can’t wait to show everyone what I’m made of... especially the young maidens of the court,” he smiled impishly. “I can almost hear them yelling my name and swooning as I ride by-“ he leapt up agilely on Conrad and had him strut up and down the track, practicing his wave and charming smile as he did. Finally he turned back to Abel and laughed at his foolishness. “Hahaha, it’ll be great, just you wait and see. Alright, let’s get back to the tent and chow down; we’ll need the energy for the next day’s challenge.”
Dr. Salem
Alphonse nodded. "Thank you, sir." He ran for that direction he was pointed to. That guy was weird. He sounded like those 'Calm before the storm' prophets in the story's we were read as children. Meh, whatever.
Alphonse had made it halfway to his destination before he stopped to think. "It's getting late, I should go back to the tent. THe others probably did the same. It is sunset." He searched for his father's tent among the grounds. He noticed his father's favorite caravan in the distance and ran into the tent next to it.
The Alteron tent was huge. It was about the size of a normal house with velvet sheets in place of the tarp of the tent with little gold strands and such. Mack, his father’s business partner, was already sleeping in his hammock six feet above the ground. Xavier was sitting at a table drinking fine wine.
“Ah! Alphonse, join me for a drink will you?” Xavier said in a loud, proud voice and offered the seat across from him. Alphonse nodded and obeyed his father and sat down.
“Nice day today, wasn’t it?” Alphonse said to open simple conversation.
“Yes indeed, so will be tomorrow. What’s this I hear that you were going to the tournament with several contestants around your age?” Xavier asked his son as he took another sip of wine. “I met two people as I arrived here. A bit rough of an introduction though, I regret mooning one of them.” Xavier’s face turned from relaxed to stern as Alphonse finished his sentence.
“You mooned them? Where’s your fighter’s honor Mack and I taught you? You know better than that! You’re supposed to bit your thumb at them at most! Not moon them!” Xavier scolded his son and put down his glass. “Father, I said I regret my actions. Never mind this. I wish to go to bed now. Good night.” Alphonse left the main section of the tent into his hammock to rest before his father could say another word.
“That boy…”
Durandal
The night went by quickly, and yet is seemed to last an eternity for those restlessly awaiting the big event that the morning would bring. When light finally began to appear on the field as the sun peeked up over the horizon, the dawn air was quickly filled with the hustle of people attending to final preparations. At about 7 o' clock in the morning servants of the court filtered through the rows of tents and rang bells to wake everyone up.
Alaric jumped out from under the covers ecstatically. His sleep had been light, at best, and now he was filled with energy. He was practically running around inside the modest von Busse tent while his father sat at the wooden table, drinking some ale and trying to wake up. "Come on, Abel, father! Let's get to the arena! We don't want to miss the tourna-"
Duessel reached out and grabbed Alaric by the collar as he made another lap. "Calm yourself, boy. The tournament isn't even today; the king has a hunt scheduled and then a banquet tonight."
Alaric looked hysterical, but then he started to calm down. "What! Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
"You never asked," Duessel replied with a shrug. "Regardless, you still need to get over to the arena. The king will be announcing the rules for the hunt, and you won't want to miss it. Grab some breakfast real quick and then head over there. I have to catch up with some old friends while I'm here. You kids enjoy yourselves though."
Spirit Wolf
Abel gets up slowly. Please tell me we have tea. I'm lost in the morning without tea. He rubs his eyes, waiting for someone to answer.
Durandal
When morning came, Derek awoke to someone by his bed shaking him to get him up. “Sir... it’s morning and you need to get up. Prince Tredan is waiting downstairs for you. He said you need to hurry because the king of Anturon is going to be announcing the festivities for the day soon.” When Derek came to he could see that the origin of the voice was young Frederick, and he held some fine clothing arrayed for Derek to change in to.
“These are for you, sir. I hope you find them satisfactory. Would you like some assistance getting dressed? I am ready to serve.”
marlamin1
Derek
"Thank you Frederick, but that is unnesessary" said Derek, "Tell Prince Tredan I will be down shortly" After Derek put on the clothes Frederick had given him, he started to decend the stairs. He noticed a man not much older than him standing at the bottom of the marble staircase. The man was dressed in expensive robes accompanied by a long cape.
Durandal
Duessel looked over at Abel for a couple seconds through half-closed eyes and then nodded. "Yes, there is some, but we only have white tea, I'm afraid. Hold on, I'll get you some. I could use some too." He then got to his feet and shuffled out of the tent to the small fire pit right outside the entrance.
Alaric chuckled at both of them. "You guys are lame. I don't see why it's so hard to get up in the morning. Sheesh. I'm going to get into my armor in the meantime." He began strapping on his scuffed leather greaves and boots, tying up the laces that held the tough material together.
When Duessel came back in to the tent, he handed Abel a rather large mug of steaming liquid. It was almost clear but sweet and refined to the taste. More importantly though, it gave a nice energy kick from the caffeine.
The man at the bottom of the stairs looked up at Derek and grimaced. He squelched the expression though and spoke up. “Eh, good morning. You must be... Derek. Prince Tredan is awaiting your... presence. If you would, please follow me. And try not to... touch anything.” The man gave no hint as to his own identity, but instead briskly made his way around a corner without looking to make sure Derek followed.
Spirit Wolf
He takes a sip. Mmm, nothing beats tea in the morning. Call me what you will, I like tea in the morning. He takes another sip. Is the hunt mandatory? I like to keep my feet on the ground when fighting.
marlamin1
Derek
Derek follow the man around the corner, trying not to make eye contact.
As they walked, Derek noticed sculptures and paintings of the royal family. He stopped at a painting of a young man the age of 22 He had short, light red hair, one blue eye and one red eye, and was sitting on a throne made of pure silver and inlaid with precious gems like rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. "Is that the prince?" Derek asked
Durandal
Duessel shook his head and leaned back. "No, it isn't mandatory, it's mostly for you kids to prove your worth. Whoever brings back the best specimen is usually given some kind of expensive trinket. According to tradition, the 'winner' of the hunt gets to choose the fairest maiden of the court and present the prize to her. It doesn't really mean anything, but you do get recognized for valor and skill." He smirked while staring at his tea before taking a big swig of it. "Seems silly to me now how important these things use to be to us back in the day. Your father used to love a good hunt. He was so quick on his feet; he always outlasted whatever prey he spotted. Wore 'em out so he could finish them off with his sword. If you don't like riding a horse you can always just hunt boar. They're fast, but not like a fox or deer. However, boars are tough little critters, and a good-sized one can have skin like plate-mail. And you have to watch the tusks, or they'll gore you right through. You don’t need to worry much about that though, there are clerics all over the place here; they’ll get you healed up right if you get gutted.”
He sighed and stood to stretch his arms and back. A loud chorus of pops and cracks accompanied the groan he let out as he stretched. “I need to get going though. You kids have fun, whatever you do. Don’t miss the banquet tonight. It promises to be a grand one, the likes of which no one in your lifetime has ever seen.” With that he grabbed a pack and his belt and stepped out of the tent.
Alaric took his place at the table and smiled irritatingly at Abel without saying a word. He was all suited up now; his cuirass and gauntlets were attached and he held his riding helmet under his arm. "Don't tell me you can't find the energy to just wake up in the morning. What would happen if you were camped outside an enemy castle and a night sortie broke out? You'd get crushed..."
The man leading Derek didn't even slow his stride as he answered. "Yes, that's a painting of the prince at the court of Ebilana. A truly splendid nation... much better than Anturon. But while the prince is here he might as well furnish his temporary residence with reminders of his glory. If you'll hurry the prince himself is just in the next room. I think you've kept him waiting long enough, don't you?"
Spirit Wolf
He drinks some more. Yes, I'm like an old man. I like to have tea in the morning. I guess I'll be hunting boar then. He drains his glass and starts to get dressed.
Dr. Salem
"RISE AND SHINE!" Xavier yelled into Alphonse's ear which made him flip over his hammock and land on the ground. "There's a hunt today. Get up, get dressed, and get done with your breakfast.
Alphonse grumbled and got up from his place on the ground as he got dressed in his hunting clothes. He yawned as he approached the table while ignoring the conversation between Xavier and Mack. His fork poked his egg several time before he had bit into it. It didn't take long to finish his whole breakfast, he had inherited his father's eating habits of quickly eating his food.
"So, you what'cha going to catch?" Xavier asked his son to which he replied with shrug. "Get something nice, supposed to be a prize if you bring the best specimen." Mack spoke up to which Alphonse nodded tiredly. "Okay."
Durandal
Alaric rested his chin on the backs of his hands and stared at the tent's wall. "Yeah, boars are good; a worthy trophy. If you can bring one down it proves your valor. But I think foxes are where the true glory is at. Those things are fast and smart. They'll do whatever they can to lose you, and if you can nail one of them without messing up its coat too badly it makes a very rich prize indeed. I don't know though. They're hard to catch. A deer might be the best catch. Lots of meat on a nice-sized hart. I guess it really depends on what we come across. I just might end up fighting a boar after all.” He suddenly stood and turned toward the entrance. “I’m going to stretch some outside. Come out when you’re ready.” As he left he snagged a pear and started munching on it.
Spirit Wolf
Abel finally gets his boots on. Hmm, maybe I should ask for something better than leather. Oh well, no time for that now. He walks out wearing leather armor, only different than what he had on yesterday. This set was dyed blue in spots, and on the chest was the symbol of his family, a great serpentine dragon twisting around a blade. Ok, I guess I'm ready.
marlamin1
Derek
The man opened a door to a room with a beautiful carved table and expensive looking chairs. There Derek saw a man sitting at the end of the table, gazing out the window. The man who had led Derek in bowed and said, "I have brought him as you requested sire."
Durandal
The man at the table turned with a carefully practiced look of pleasant surprise firmly in place and stood halfway. With a hand he kept his fancy robes close to his belly, and he used the other to wave Derek closer.
"Ah, Derek, cousin. Come: take a seat." As he said this he sat down himself, careful to keep his clothes out of his food. "Here, have some pastries... they are a bit flaky today, almost too much so for my tastes. But that is not why I have asked you to join me here at the capital of this great nation. I am Tredan, humble prince of the noble theocracy of Ebilana. As I am sure you have already learned, we share a grandparent in common, and in the eyes of the people that makes you a part of the Ebilanian hierarchy. They want you to come back with me; to join the nobles of our country. What do you think of that?” Tredan leaned back in his seat to observe Derek’s reaction.
marlamin1
Derek
Derek was stunned, he didn't know what to say. After a long silence, the prince asked "Are you all right". Derek studdered for a moment, then said "Ebilana? Me, a royal? I-I Don't no what to say!""It is certainly a possibility." said the prince.
"I'd be honored but, me royalty?" said Derek "Isn't this a little sudden?"
Durandal
Tredan leaned his chin on a hand and almost looked bored. "I can assure you, the lifestyle might be a large change, but it certainly is not difficult to adjust to. You simply have to be able to act."
He pushed away from the table and stood suddenly. "You need to be able to wave and smile charmingly at the crowds," he narrated while demonstrating his graceful walk and shining smile. "But other than that there really is not too much more to worry about. You do need to be able to eat at diplomatic dinners with proper manners, but those will come with time."
The prince walked back to Derek and placed a hand on the younger man's hair to ruffle it lightly. "What makes you the perfect candidate though, is your relation to the people. You have been raised just like them... in a lower-class family. And now you are being promoted to near-royalty status! This is every peasant's dream. And you are to be our poster-boy to represent the attainability of that dream." Tredan chuckled lightly and then retook his seat. He poked at the remainder of the pastry on his plate. "Of course, that goal is mostly nonsensical fantasy, but the workers do need something to look forward to... don't they?"
marlamin1
Derek
Derek nodded when Prince Tredan had finished speaking, then he said
"It's just, my 'Father' isn't doing so well and, when my 'Brother' left, It was just me and him...now he's alone, and I was trying to think of a way to help him out." The prince looked at him with an understanding expression....
Durandal
Tredan had the look down perfectly. It was that look that said 'I care about your problems.' "Okay, well that is good then," he entirely dodged the subject, avoiding treating it as one that required attention. "I am glad you see it the same way. Of course, this is all in the future; right now I get to evaluate your diplomatic skills in action. I suppose you might already know the purpose of my visit to Anturon, but just in case you do not, I commend your restraint in not asking. That is, perhaps, one of the most important lesson in diplomacy. Nevertheless, you should know that the King and Queen of Anturon are hosting a celebration today to commemorate the arrival of peace in Rinval. Naturally, as Anturon's ally, representatives of our noble nation of Ebilana were invited. Your addition to the guest list was sort of a last minute thing, but I think this is all for the best.”
The prince stood up, pushing his chair away from the table noisily. A servant quickly entered the room from around a corner and began cleaning the plates and crumbs from the table. Tredan turned his back on her and began walking with an arm on Derek’s shoulder. “Tell me, cousin; have you ever ridden -or for that matter even seen- a pegasus?”
Alaric dropped the leg he had been stretching the hamstrings of and turned to examine Abel’s attire. He nodded once in approval. “Modest yet dignified; very nice. We had better get going if we want to catch the beginning of the King’s speech... or whatever is going to happen. Hey, perhaps we can meet up with Alphonse again. I think it would be fun to see if his skill at hunting can match his uncontrolled tongue. That is assuming he’s going hunting, of course. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be though. He said he was after ladies, and winning the prize of the hunt is one of the surest ways to get one.” Alaric was practically talking to himself, but then he stopped and looked at Abel again with sudden interest. “What would you do if you won the prize? You don’t really... seem the type to give it out to a random maiden like most other men would...”
Spirit Wolf
Abel has a standard longsword in his scabbard.I don't really care. It's just something to pass the time and to help me improve myself. I hope Alphonse isn't going. He's a nuisance and will probably drive all the game away. Abel sighs and rubs his eyes. Alaric notices that his eyes are silver for the first time when he opens them. Let's go.
marlamin1
Derek
"A pegasus?" asked Derek "No I have not, I fear my knowledge of anything outside our village is limited."
(I actually know... but my character doesn't)
Dr. Salem
Alphonse was heading out of the tent before he had sneezed. "Someone's talking about you, probably a girl." His father joked. "We'll meet you later. This is your chance to go and have some fun." Alphonse waved goodbye and left the tent.
(Hmm... was that abuse of Player vs. Character knowledge? Or was it acceptable?)
Durandal
((Lol, you read too much manga, Salem. It's not a problem, especially since it doesn't affect the plot at all. And I figured that was the case, Mason))
Alaric looked at Abel reproachfully. “You ought to look at the potential in him, brother. Not just his- hey!” Alaric did a quick double step and then spun around to walk backwards in front of Abel. “You’ve got silver eyes! That’s interesting. I’ve heard tales of silver-eyed swordsmen of old.” He grinned and scratched the back of his head idly. “Maybe you can continue that lege- Ahh!”
Because he had been walking backwards, Alaric had failed to notice a rock that had gone overlooked while the pathways between the tents were being smoothed out. He tumbled sideways and would have landed on his back if he hadn’t managed to get a firm grip on a fabric of some sort. After he stabilized himself he turned to see what he had grabbed.
Behind him a man stood glaring at the two. He brushed out the imprint Alaric’s fingers had left on his dark brown vest. Although the man was only a few inches taller than Alaric and was rather lean, the mysterious aura around him seemed to make him an imposing figure. After pausing to sneer with annoyance, the man continued walking briskly in the same direction he had been traveling before.
Alaric called out after him, “Uh, sor…ry.” He shook his head in confusion. “That was odd. Oh well...” He shrugged at Abel and then kept walking. It took him almost half a minute before he came to a stop again. He turned slowly and looked at Abel. “I just remembered... we were talking about something, weren’t we?”
“Ah, well then I say it is time you learned. You see, our nation is famed for the quality of its pegasus knights. When at war our enemies tremble at the sight of our winged cavalry ready to bring evil-doers to their feet by delivering swift justice on the winds of glory. ‘Tis a miraculous sensation to feel the sky passing around you as slice through the air.” They paused at the bottom of the staircase Derek had descended earlier. “You go and fetch your things. We shall be departing shortly. I... know you brought your own mount, but we need to make haste, and a pegasus is the fastest way to travel. Your horse will be cared for here, and when the celebration is completed and we are ready to return to beautiful Ebilana you can resume riding it. For now though go and grab a fresh set of robes, as well as a more formal outfit, if you can. Oh and don’t forget any weapons or tomes you might have; there is a tournament scheduled and we can’t have some Anturon whelp declaring himself champion due to a lack of preparation on our part, now can we?”
Spirit Wolf
Yes, my eyes apparently. I have no idea why I have silver eyes, because neither my parents nor my grandparents had silver eyes. He sighs. So, my clumsy brother, should we dilly dally here, or get to the meeting post haste
marlamin1
Derek
Derek climbed the stairs and turned into his room. He had noticed that Frederick had already set out some robes on the bed. Derek dressed in the robes and grabbed his frost tome. When he was finished he walked down the steps again to see the prince had not moved. "Ready" said Derek.
Durandal
Tredan looked up and then nodded once at Derek. “Very well, let us depart. We must hurry to reach our destination in time.” With that he turned and led Derek out of the mansion. The yard was exquisitely designed in a way that was not overly bold but still spoke volumes as to its cost. The house was separated from the main road by about forty feet of luscious lawn with a carefully arranged stone pathway connecting the street to the manor. Halfway to the road the pathway split in two and the offshoot went to a squat building of similar style to the main house. The prince followed this pathway when he got to it and soon the two entered the structure.
The sights and smells of the interior quickly revealed to Derek that this was a stable, and out of the four stalls inside three of them were occupied by massive horses with large wings folded up at their sides. Two of them were shining white and the other was a mottled gray. In the fourth stall was Ebondare, Derek’s horse.
Prince Tredan waved ambiguously at two attendants who had been waiting for them. “This is Wilbur and Wilona, the Cloud Twins.” The pair Tredan indicated both stood with their arms crossed, leaning against the stable wall. They both had dark brown eyes and jagged blond hair, although the second one Tredan had named, Wilona, had longer hair than her brother. Other than that the two were identical in almost every way. They wore dark clothes under bulky jackets with high collars. “They’re both very skilled pegasus riders and serve as my bodyguards,” Tredan continued. “Since we do not have enough pegasi to give you your own, nor the time to teach you to fly one, you shall ride with Wilona for the time being. Go ahead and let her help you get ready. We must depart very soon.”
With that the prince took a decorative saddle from the wall and turned to the first white pegasus. The Cloud Twins did the same and all three got their pegasi properly strapped up. Once she had finished Wilona stepped up to Derek. She led him to the mottled gray pegasus with a hand on her shoulder. With an impressive display of agility she jumped up into the saddle lightly before turning to offer Derek and helping hand.
marlamin1
Derek
Derek got up onto the saddle and they started to move out of the stable. Wilona told Derek to hold on tight. He did as he was told and the pegasus leaped in to the air. Derek felt a mixture of fright and fascination as they soared through the air. Tredan and Wilbur flew alongside him. Then Wilona whispered words Derek did not recognize into the pegasus' ear. The pegasus responded by changing his speed and angle of its wings.
Durandal
It didn’t take long for the trio of pegasi to get to their destination, in fact the flight was very short. Although the fairgrounds were on the opposing side of town compared to Prince Tredan’s residence in Anturon city, the avoidance of roads and all other obstacles meant that their journey was over in fifteen minutes. When they had landed by the makeshift stable Tredan left the pegasi to the twins and practically dragged Derek into the arena. They made it just in time.
Alaric snorted, but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go.” He broke into a run to try and cut down the time it would take to get there. Although it was still early morning the clouds in the sky gathered in a threatening way. They promised the possibility of rain, either that day or the next. It needed to be watched; rain made for miserable hunting.
When Alaric and Abel arrived at the arena it was already packed with people. It was only through extensive shoving and careful choosing of their path that they managed to get into the center area. From there they could just barely see over the heads of the gathered participants. Everyone was still talking in quiet tones, so Alaric turned to Abel with a satisfied grin on his face.
“Looks like we’re not late after all. I knew we’d make it in time,” he said, obviously attributing their timeliness to his own superior planning. As soon as he finished talking the crowd’s conversations changed to hushed murmurs that died out to barely maintained silence. The cause of the calm was obvious when two loud trumpet blasts blew from either side of the arena. When they died the King of Anturon, who had been standing in the royal observation box, began to speak. His voice resounded through the arena without any forms of amplification, and that alone spoke volumes as to the majestic quality of his oratory skill.
“People of Rinval! I welcome you here to the first annual Celebration of Peace. Today two years ago we saw the end of combat grace our lands. Since then the road to rebuilding our devastated lands has been a long and arduous one, and unfortunately that fate extends to our future as well. However, we are here today not to look forward with trepidation, but with anticipation! We are now free to rebuild this continent into one that we can be proud to pass on to our children. We are here to enjoy the fact that misguided aggression and unnecessary hostility have no place in this modern day.”
The King looked down at the crowd and his energy on the subject was evident by his lively tone. “To start off this celebration we have planned to bring back to prominence the ancient tradition of the hunt!” Here the King had to pause to allow the audience to let out its cheer. They obviously already knew what was going to happen, but the King was obliged to explain the rules anyway. He detailed how those gathered were all of noble birth and that the hunt was symbolic of the struggle they all went through to try and improve themselves while bettering their nation. At the end there would be a feast on the spoils of the hunt, just like the results of a long-suffered effort to achieve a goal.
Then the King detailed the prize and the stipulations for winning it. Alaric immediately became focused for this part. “Any party who should endeavor to return the most valuable quarry shall be awarded this year’s prize.” With that a young page stepped up next to the King in his booth. The youth carried a red velvet pillow, atop which sat a piece of jewelry of immeasurable beauty and value. Even from the ground the gathered crowd gave a collective gasp of amazement. The morning sun glinted brightly off the necklace which was made of pure silver. Despite how brightly the necklace itself shone, it was the pendant that was the center of attention. From the middle of the pillow, sparkles of green, red, and blue glittered like a rainbow that had exploded and now rained down color on those gathered in the arena. The pendant was adorned with emeralds, sapphires, and scarlet emeralds that must have been worth a small castle.
The crowd was left stunned by the generous gift the King offered, and as soon as the page retreated from the royal box a frenzy fell over all those gathered. The King held up his hands to calm them but he could see that everyone was eager to begin the hunt. So, the King called out to them one last time before they split into groups and headed out: “May fortune smile upon you and may you remember our purpose here. Hunt with honor and valor.” After that the King’s words were lost in the rush of the crowd.
Alaric breathed a sigh of relief. The majority of the crowd had filtered out and now there were only a few parties left making plans with maps and guides. Through them all Alaric finally spotted Alphonse and he turned to his brother.
"I know you don't like him, but we shall need all the manpower we can get if we are to win that necklace. Come on! I can see him over there by himself," and with that he took off towards him before Abel could object.
Spirit Wolf
A man is not defined by what he has in his pocket. That's what Dad used to say. He sighs and follows Alaric.
