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Post by Jack on Aug 7, 2019 13:12:00 GMT -6
The song of the birds could be heard all over the kingdom, the war was finally over, the knights had ridden back to the capital, and peace was across the land again. The evils of the Bahrain traders had finally been quieted, and they had signed their allegiance to the King once more. Finally the kingdom could reign in peace once again, something they had longed for, for quite some time now. The young King Andre had finally managed to unite the country, something no king had done before, not even his father, the Great King Reynold.
Ribbons and tassels hung from the windows and doors of all the streets in the capital, even the slums had reason to celebrate after this war had been declared won. People cheered as the knights rode through the streets, waving and beckoning to all those who would celebrate with them, for they had been the ones to win the war, they were the commanders, the elite, though many had been lost.
One who was waited for was long overdue, the white beard, grim visage, yet sparkling eyes were missed by all. Sir Merrow was beloved by all who met him, he was firm, yet fair, and treated everyone equally, no matter their rank. Long overdue, there were some whispers that he had died on the way back to the capital, that he had run away, that he had been banished during the Great Enchantment.
Soon though, soon it would be time to celebrate, and celebrate they did, even without Sir Merrow, though there were those posted on watch to see if they could see him along the large road reaching the capital from the lands of the Bahrain. Feasts were had, tables filled with food, both conjured and cooked, no one went hungry for weeks, cheeks were red from wine and ale, even the smallest of children could have a sip or two of the drinks. The capital prospered and celebrated, the birdsong real and the loudest it had ever been in quite some time. No one would go hungry again now that the mages could focus on the people, rather than the war.
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Post by Jack on Aug 7, 2019 13:20:11 GMT -6
One morning, early in the day, the birds stopped singing, the celebrations came to a still, the wind blew softly throughout the city. A large horse plodded down the main road into the city, the guards there cheering for a moment before their voices were carried by the wind away from them, and they stood solemn again. The great warhorse was stark white with piercing blue eyes that took in everything they saw, the armor covering it was light brown, more leather than plate or chainmail, yet parts were stained darker than the rest. The armor covered the horse's body and head, leaving holes for the eyes and uncovering the nostrils that widened with each breath. It plodded along the road, taking its time, there was no hurry, not from the figure slumped in the saddle.
Children ran out to cheer at the sight of the horse, only to be pulled back into their homes by concerned parents, not knowing what was happening, they argued, the first of many since the war was now over. The adults knew something was wrong, however, better than the children did, and they wondered if this was a warning to them that things truly weren't over. Only once the figure had passed could the adults breathe again, loosening their grips on the children behind them now.
Gates opened quietly in front of the figure, only to slam down behind them again when the horse was through. Something was wrong, but no one could put their finger on what it might be. The castle loomed ahead, and a stablehand took the reins from the figure on the back of the horse. The figure nodded and slipped from the saddle before working their hood back over their head and walking slowly toward the castle.
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Post by Jack on Aug 7, 2019 13:34:24 GMT -6
Whispers replaced the bird song as the figure worked their way through the castle, led by a Page in service of the king. They were heading for the throne room, for the young King to learn of what had happened, and the bearer of bad news simply walked with head held high under the hood of the cloak they wore, unwilling to show their face just yet. Even their hands were covered with thin leather gloves, nothing showed, nothing that could make anyone recognize who they were as of yet.
The court was quiet, the young lords and ladies standing at the sides of the great hall whispered softly to each other as they watched the figure approach the throne and the young king. King Andre was only eighteen years old, but he had won the war when other, older monarchs had no luck. He was wise and powerful beyond his years, and the magic at his disposal had helped win the war. Dark hair tumbled from his head, while bright green eyes took in everything he saw. Right now he wasn't sure what he saw, but he knew it rubbed him the wrong way. Something was wrong, and he wasn't sure what it was, even his magic couldn't tell him what was happening in front of him.
The figure didn't kneel to the king as was the order, they stood, looking up at the throne through the hood of the cloak, and finally spoke in a male's voice, "I have bad news. Your knight is dead."
Gasps and a scream shattered the calm of the air, and were only silenced when the king raised his hand and stood up, walking elegantly toward the figure in the center of the room. "And how would you know this?" he asked as he walked, eyes like fire.
"Because I saw him die. He was seriously hurt, and gave me his sword and shield before he died," came the answer.
Another gasp, and someone's question echoed throughout the room, "A hedge knight...?"
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Post by Jack on Aug 7, 2019 14:22:40 GMT -6
The king paused and looked the figure over, "You expect us to believe you didn't kill him for those?"
"I'm no thief!" the figure snapped a little harshly toward royalty. A hand touched the sword at their side, the shield on their back gleamed.
A chuckle, which surprised the nobles in the throne room, "I believe it... Still, I wish to see you."
A long pause occurred, and the figure finally brushed back the hood that covered their face. The man underneath was tall and thin with light brown skin. Curly, sandy blonde hair sat atop his head and steel grey eyes peered out under furrowed eyebrows. Broad shouldered, he stood there as though waiting for an attack, even though it would be suicide in this place. In spite of the scar on his throat, the king put him to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, certainly not old enough to be knighted traditionally, but Sir Merrow had no heir, it was plausible for him to continue his line with a hedge knight.
"Your name, sir?"
Another pause, the man's eyes flickered for a moment as though uncertain about something, and finally spoke up, "Ves."
The ladies in the room had begun to flutter their hands at their faces, one leaned heavily against her companion as though fainting from the sight of the handsome man. His eyes clung to the king's for a brief moment before scanning the room, seemingly amused by the sight of the ladies swooning over the sight of him, though his expression never changed.
The king finally nodded and gestured for him to follow, "Come with me, we will talk privately."
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