Post by Dagothkitty on Nov 24, 2007 18:56:27 GMT -5
The grey stone of the castle walls complemented armor of the man walking through the castle’s halls. The light cast from the torches danced along the dark walls, shooing the darkness away. The man’s boots clanked on the stone surface of the floor, his long sword swayed in its sheath with the man’s every stride.
The courtyard was beyond the light at the end of this hall. Silence was every where; an occasional eerie echo would run down the twisted complex of halls and chambers, sending chills down the man’s spine.
The courtyard was large and well occupied. Royalty ran about. He recognized the King’s son, Dracus, and his oldest son, Gillean. They charged at each other with wooden swords, but there was no rage in the sport, just entertainment and laughter. The man wondered if the boy’s would ever witness the real horrors of war. If they were lucky, they would.
“Ah, Sir Ithiyn!” the voice belonged to that of a woman. It rang out with innocence from a garden area in the corner of the courtyard. He recognized the voice; it belonged to that of the king’s eldest child, his daughter, Crina.
Thoran Ithiyn turned to look. She waved him over; perhaps she had a task for the knight, undoubtedly a task revolving around her father the king, and his treasured and guarded secrets.
Thoran reached her quickly, he had come on the request of the king Elesmard. “My Lady” Throan stated, giving a courteous bow. “I am afraid I must get to your king, he sounded most urgent of my presence in his letter-“
“Shush, Sir Knight.” She said, rather harshly. Her eyes softened as she realized she had been to coarse with the honorable knight. “I have a task for you.” She stated with her eyes to the cobblestone of the courtyard. “My Father-“
“My Lady, my allegiance lies to the king. I would not think it an act of loyalty to plot against him, to betray my oath never to question or to seek answers about his beloved secrets.” His voice was as hard and grim, as serious as ever.
Lady Crina sighed. “Go on then. Can I at least trust that you will not tell my father of what we have spoken of?”
“I am not so sure, milady.” He turned and walked off to the King’s Quarters. The Castle’s banners waved in the wind, prideful and brash to all its foes. The emblem the flags carried was the same on his breastplate. That sign meant everything to those loyal to the king. The reason why they existed, the reason why they fought, why they struggled to survive. The whole history of the people that pledged loyalty to that emblem was all packed into such an object.
“Let us hope that we shall see this flag on all of our enemy’s homes, if they dare threaten us.”
The sturdy oak doors that lead to the throne hall were pushed aside easily with Thoran’s strong arms. His sword rattled as after each step, he held his head lower then usual. He could tell that something, whatever the king wanted from him now, would be much different then his task normally was. Such as diplomatic issues, or dealing with someone who had failed to keep promises with the king. Thoran did not have the job that most knights did, which was to serve their lord in combat, but he served his lord in other ways, which was good enough for most. People called him the King’s Errand Boy or Enforcer, but he knew that such titles did not fit what he did.
Lord Elesmard sat in his oak-crafted throne. Jewels glittered, decorating his magnificent chair. A diplomat or messenger of some sort stood by the king’s side, talking quietly with the king. The Lord Elesmard did not take his eyes of those that belonged to the messenger. The King looked stern, more bad news, perhaps. Maybe news that the barbarians in the North were on the move once more.
Elesmard took notice of Thoran after walking halfway to the throne on the red carpet. He took notice that a knight of his was coming, and shooed the man away. The messenger jogged by Thoran; he did not wear any special insignia on his brown leather cloak. What was this mysterious man’s business? Thoran stared to try and find the man’s face, but it was too easily concealed under his hood. He walked at a brisk pace past Thoran, not taking the time to say hello or share any tidings.
The King held his hand to his forehead. He was obviously frustrated. “Milord, Thoran Ithiyn, your most humble servant, at your service.” Thoran bowed deeply in respect for the elderly king. Elesmard smiled and rose from his seat.
“And so you are, my friend. I am most glad that you have come so swiftly, but it is to be expected from a man as loyal as you.” Elesmard embraced him, and Thoran returned the gesture. “Thoran, we have dire things to discuss.” Elesmard informed Thoran, turning away to hide the sternness that had drained the happiness from his face. “But you must be hungry and tired from your travels” he turned again and smiled , “let us eat, then you can rest.” Thoran nodded, greatfull for this. He did not show or say it, but he was indeed weary from his long travels to the kings stronghold.
The King Elesmard lead Thoran through halls well lit with braziers and torches, and came to life with banners running along the top portion of the walls, complemented with statues of heroic figures long gone. He walked past monumental, empty suits of beautifully crafted armor. The scent of cooked meat filled his nostrils, and immediately he was placed in a good mood.
They walked into the dining hall, the king’s hands behind his back, his mane of hair somewhat mangled through what Thoran could see between the cracks of the kings gold crown.
Dozens of people sat at a very long, food and drink filled table. At one end there was a massive fire, which made the room warm and cheery, laughter flooded throughout the massive hall. At the other end of the table stood the kings chair, taller and more highly decorated then the others that sat along the edge of the colossal rectangular shaped dining table.
Pitchers filled with wine, platter’s full of meat and all other sorts of food made the great wood of the table beneath the surface of the dishes almost impossible to see. The King lead Thoran down to his chair, which was right beside the King’s great chair. Thoran had been here many times before, but he had never seen it so well occupied and lively.
The King stood up from his seat, and the rest of the loyal men sitting at the table rose too. Elesmard rose his great jeweled cup, and said, “A toast, to those of us that could not eat with us tonight from self-sacrifice to their people and king. Hail the glorious dead!”
“Hail!” Thoran and the rest of the men and woman yelled over their cups. Their was a moment of silence as they drank and sat almost in unison. Chatter resumed again, and music began to play. It was great music, and from where it was being produced he could not tell. “Trouble will find us, as it always has, but not tonight. Tonight will be a great night, my friend.”
The courtyard was beyond the light at the end of this hall. Silence was every where; an occasional eerie echo would run down the twisted complex of halls and chambers, sending chills down the man’s spine.
The courtyard was large and well occupied. Royalty ran about. He recognized the King’s son, Dracus, and his oldest son, Gillean. They charged at each other with wooden swords, but there was no rage in the sport, just entertainment and laughter. The man wondered if the boy’s would ever witness the real horrors of war. If they were lucky, they would.
“Ah, Sir Ithiyn!” the voice belonged to that of a woman. It rang out with innocence from a garden area in the corner of the courtyard. He recognized the voice; it belonged to that of the king’s eldest child, his daughter, Crina.
Thoran Ithiyn turned to look. She waved him over; perhaps she had a task for the knight, undoubtedly a task revolving around her father the king, and his treasured and guarded secrets.
Thoran reached her quickly, he had come on the request of the king Elesmard. “My Lady” Throan stated, giving a courteous bow. “I am afraid I must get to your king, he sounded most urgent of my presence in his letter-“
“Shush, Sir Knight.” She said, rather harshly. Her eyes softened as she realized she had been to coarse with the honorable knight. “I have a task for you.” She stated with her eyes to the cobblestone of the courtyard. “My Father-“
“My Lady, my allegiance lies to the king. I would not think it an act of loyalty to plot against him, to betray my oath never to question or to seek answers about his beloved secrets.” His voice was as hard and grim, as serious as ever.
Lady Crina sighed. “Go on then. Can I at least trust that you will not tell my father of what we have spoken of?”
“I am not so sure, milady.” He turned and walked off to the King’s Quarters. The Castle’s banners waved in the wind, prideful and brash to all its foes. The emblem the flags carried was the same on his breastplate. That sign meant everything to those loyal to the king. The reason why they existed, the reason why they fought, why they struggled to survive. The whole history of the people that pledged loyalty to that emblem was all packed into such an object.
“Let us hope that we shall see this flag on all of our enemy’s homes, if they dare threaten us.”
The sturdy oak doors that lead to the throne hall were pushed aside easily with Thoran’s strong arms. His sword rattled as after each step, he held his head lower then usual. He could tell that something, whatever the king wanted from him now, would be much different then his task normally was. Such as diplomatic issues, or dealing with someone who had failed to keep promises with the king. Thoran did not have the job that most knights did, which was to serve their lord in combat, but he served his lord in other ways, which was good enough for most. People called him the King’s Errand Boy or Enforcer, but he knew that such titles did not fit what he did.
Lord Elesmard sat in his oak-crafted throne. Jewels glittered, decorating his magnificent chair. A diplomat or messenger of some sort stood by the king’s side, talking quietly with the king. The Lord Elesmard did not take his eyes of those that belonged to the messenger. The King looked stern, more bad news, perhaps. Maybe news that the barbarians in the North were on the move once more.
Elesmard took notice of Thoran after walking halfway to the throne on the red carpet. He took notice that a knight of his was coming, and shooed the man away. The messenger jogged by Thoran; he did not wear any special insignia on his brown leather cloak. What was this mysterious man’s business? Thoran stared to try and find the man’s face, but it was too easily concealed under his hood. He walked at a brisk pace past Thoran, not taking the time to say hello or share any tidings.
The King held his hand to his forehead. He was obviously frustrated. “Milord, Thoran Ithiyn, your most humble servant, at your service.” Thoran bowed deeply in respect for the elderly king. Elesmard smiled and rose from his seat.
“And so you are, my friend. I am most glad that you have come so swiftly, but it is to be expected from a man as loyal as you.” Elesmard embraced him, and Thoran returned the gesture. “Thoran, we have dire things to discuss.” Elesmard informed Thoran, turning away to hide the sternness that had drained the happiness from his face. “But you must be hungry and tired from your travels” he turned again and smiled , “let us eat, then you can rest.” Thoran nodded, greatfull for this. He did not show or say it, but he was indeed weary from his long travels to the kings stronghold.
The King Elesmard lead Thoran through halls well lit with braziers and torches, and came to life with banners running along the top portion of the walls, complemented with statues of heroic figures long gone. He walked past monumental, empty suits of beautifully crafted armor. The scent of cooked meat filled his nostrils, and immediately he was placed in a good mood.
They walked into the dining hall, the king’s hands behind his back, his mane of hair somewhat mangled through what Thoran could see between the cracks of the kings gold crown.
Dozens of people sat at a very long, food and drink filled table. At one end there was a massive fire, which made the room warm and cheery, laughter flooded throughout the massive hall. At the other end of the table stood the kings chair, taller and more highly decorated then the others that sat along the edge of the colossal rectangular shaped dining table.
Pitchers filled with wine, platter’s full of meat and all other sorts of food made the great wood of the table beneath the surface of the dishes almost impossible to see. The King lead Thoran down to his chair, which was right beside the King’s great chair. Thoran had been here many times before, but he had never seen it so well occupied and lively.
The King stood up from his seat, and the rest of the loyal men sitting at the table rose too. Elesmard rose his great jeweled cup, and said, “A toast, to those of us that could not eat with us tonight from self-sacrifice to their people and king. Hail the glorious dead!”
“Hail!” Thoran and the rest of the men and woman yelled over their cups. Their was a moment of silence as they drank and sat almost in unison. Chatter resumed again, and music began to play. It was great music, and from where it was being produced he could not tell. “Trouble will find us, as it always has, but not tonight. Tonight will be a great night, my friend.”