The Squire and the Death Knight
[OOC: This scene is set to Liberi Fatali from the opening of Final Fantasy VIII. If you have it, read along with it playing - it is fitting and if this were rendered, it fits in time perfectly.]
The skies above were brushed with hints of white, etheric clouds that stretched like spider webs across the sea of light blue. A wind blew in from the ocean, tinted with the smell of salt and magic, tiny glistening sparkles flowing along the breeze like butterflies.
A small hammock hung between two trees, swaying lightly in the wind, the body of a lithe creamed coffee coloured Ayr'dal wrapped in its gentle embrace. Her hair was short and black, save for two long white strands that drifted down to frame her sleeping face; her muscles were well toned, though they lay flat to give the illusion a frailty to the young woman.
Her eyes snapped open, distant and watching something far away. The glistening droplets of sea water fell around her, a few feathers of a flock of passing hawks drifting downward with them. One feather brushed over her nose before falling down to her lap momentarily, drifing there for only a few moments until the wind lifted it back into the wind and away from her.
Her sword fell from her hand, spiralling backward behind her from the blow, a thin trail of blood glistening through the air. It turned in the air, landing point down into the groud, quivering with the force of impact as it buried deep into the soil. The woman was upon it immediately, pulling it free from the ground with a metallic groan, the long sword immediately swinging before her in a wide arc as she brought it to the ready. Her sheild lay shattered several yards away, leaving her largely unprotected, relying entirely upon the small, light sword.
Some distance away, atop the rocky hills surrounding the valley, two figures stood like ghosts, watching the scene unfold. One kept their eyes upon the girl, features intense with confusion and anger while the larger, more radiant figure kept their eyes upon the girl's opponant. It seemed as if the larger figure was controlling the tied of battle, one long, thin hand extended, fingers curving to almost point as the hand moved in time with the battle.
As the metallic groan sounded through the valley, a huge man clad in black armour rushed towards her, large two handed sword drawn, held in one hand that was extend back in the beginning of an attack. He lifted his face, anger and resolution carved deeply into his features as he charged towards the woman. Their swords crossed, and the smaller woman managed to push him back slightly, and he gave a cocky smirk, beckoning her to attack him with a small motion of one hand.
She brought her long sword up in an arch as she charged forward, their blades again crossing between them, the distinct sound of a metal edge scraping along another metal edge echoing in the valley. He withdrew his blade first, bringing it from the side for another attack, only to find the lighter and faster long sword blocking his motion. She pressed again, this time causing him to kneel slightly. His sword raised horizontally before his face as hers came down quickly in an over-head arch, the metal blades locking against each other momentarily before he was able to push her backward.
Back on the ridge, the figure watching the dark knight grinned wickedly, her features echoing his as he pressed forward.
The smaller knight jumped back, sword lifting to a defensive position as he began to press, bringing the two-handed edge forward again and again, each time being met by her smaller blade as she blocked his attacks. Finally, the man swung too wide, giving the girl the opprotunity to attack. Her blade moved in a sharp arch before her, his blade grazing hers as he leaned back out of the way, a second strike from the woman following that he blocked with ease; she continued her press, and again he blocked, this time her blade sliding downwards off his, leaving her side slightly exposed.
As she brought the long sword back up, the dark knight grinne wickedly, his hand lifting forward between them. The movement caused her to hesitate, unsure of why the man was leaving himself so exposed until she saw the crackling energy surrounding his fingers, the black and red fires of pure Hate and Fear wrapping about his extended hand. Before she could react, the harmful touch leaped outward, catching her entire body in its painful flames, her muscles twitching beneath the assault of emotion.
She stumbled backward, stunned, barely regaining her balance as the dark knight charged toward her. His blade flashed once as it cut her across the cheek, blood spilling down her neck to be lost amid the blood from the rest of her wounds. Her left hand began to lift the long sword in a low arch, tip scraping along the valley floor as she raised it to defend herself. The dark knight's blade assaulted her several more times, each time barely deflected by the smaller sword, the girl's energy clearly waning.
The wicked figure on the ridge stabbed her finger foward as the smaller figure looked to the first in confusion. At the same time, the dark knight drove his two-handed blade forward into the smaller knight's side, the blade burying deep into chainmail and flesh. He looked down at the small knight, the evil marking his features slowly fading into confusion and concern.
Blood poured from her side, and the small knight looked down, her small hand slowly reaching to touch the blood as she fell to her knees before him. She looked up one last time, her features marked by surprise and sorrow, fading golden eyes staring up into the dark knight's pale, almost colourless eyes. His were filled with shock and confusion, realisation at what he had done.
"Andrew?" she whispered as she slide sideways off of the blade, falling to the ground as the world around her turned black.
Slowly, the girl looked about her, golden eyes coming into focus before she fell back into the hammock, exhausted.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Story: The Mirror of Their Dreams - What a Squire Saw
She had been gone quite a bit from the Raven, her studies in the combative arts keeping her tied up in Antonica and Stormhold for quite some time.
When she had finally made her way back to her room at the Raven, Merrique quickly put her larger weapons away, keeping a simple short sword on her left hip after the events that had been occurring recently; she did not wish to be caught off guard and without a weapon should whatever was threatening the woman Laenne return.
There was a buzz about the entire establishment, speaking of a strange mirror that Duvessa had somehow acquired - the stories there varied from it being a gift from the Foci herself to more realistic rumors that she bought it from someone who just didn't know what they had. Either way, the abilities of the mirror had her curious, and like any Ayr`Dal, she had to take care of the burning obsession before it drove her crazy.
Despite only being fourteen years of age, the aspiring knight believed she knew herself very well, and so unlike many who spoke of their feelings with this mirror, she was not afraid of what might be reflected.
The tavern was more crowded than it had been when she arrived, and with her typical confident stride, the chain-clad girl walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, inspecting it before the glass was visible. The markings on it made her wonder about its creator, and the pivoting feature was something she found rather interesting as she turned the mirror around to face her properly.
At first, nothing happened - the tavern was reflected behind her, its patrons the same as they were when she had walked up to the mirror. The petite Ayr stared back at herself, white strands of hair falling to frame her face as they always did while the rest was kept very short and mostly black, like always. Golden eyes that sparkled with Light blinked several times as she looked over her armour...as it changed.
Rather than the thin iron chainmail she was wearing, the figure became clad in something quite different. This Merrique seemed taller suddenly, with enchanted black iron mail tunic and greaves while her arms were covered by similar colour plate mail pauldrons and gauntlets; the armour sparkled with an almost holy silver-white light, and engraved on each broad surface of the pauldrons was the symbol she'd planned on using when she became a knight...though there were a few changes on it she could not understand.
Like a mist drifting over water, another image began to superimpose itself over the Knight Mai`claire.
Standing atop a rainy, wind swept mountain side, a different figure can be seen. This woman is clearly human, her long red hair tangled in waves blown back from her face by the wind. She wears what would now be considered an ancient style of platemail, the pauldrons baring a distinct WR on them; in her hands rests a sword of power that seems to almost hum in time with the archs of lightening that dance across the skies. The image is familiar to Merrique, though she had only ever known it as a sketch within an old tome; as a child she had memorized every detail of the sketch, and in her mind's eye she would recall the picture, reminding her of why she wished to become a knight.
A smile touched the lips of the young girl as she looked at the ghostly image, the sight of her hero and the woman she longed to be something she would never forget.
The woman in ancient armour faded, but the lightning torn skies and her sword remained, becoming one for an instant before the Knigh Mai`clair raised her hand and took the sword down from the skies. A flash of lightning struck the point, racing down towards the hilt before wrapping over her hand and racing up her arm. The young knight was wreathed by the lightning for a moment before the skies and their power faded away as mist in the morning.
Holding the sword across her chest, the Knight Mai`claire smiled softly from the mirror; behind her the tavern had changed. It was slightly larger, and quite a bit busier than even the best nights now, its patronage just as varied as ever. Standing behind and to the left of her was a tall Koada`Dal woman, another knight in elaborate ebon plate armour, with pauldrons that bore similar symbols to the unfamiliar one on Knight Mai`claire's. When she smiled, two sharp teeth were visible behind her full red lips, though the woman did not look as frightful as she should.
Barely a step away from the older Merrique, a mostly human man - only slightly older than she - dressed in the dark plate armour trimmed with antique gold of a shadow knight stood, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder. His black hair was cut short, similar to her own in many ways, and his two near-colourless eyes burn with conflicting emotions...the fires of passion and the flames of darkness.
The younger, real Merrique stands at the mirror, her mouth open in shock at the male figure. She knew him well, though she had not seen him for nearly a year now; the last they'd been in the others presence was a day she wished to forget, when he'd denounced everything they'd promised as children.
They were...happy, in a way...at least they looked as though they were.
Fading away, the image begins to become ghostly and difficult to see. The young squire squints her eyes as the fading ghost of Knight Mai`claire smiles broadly, as she thought she saw something not quite believable, but the image has become so indistinct, she shakes her head thinking that it was just the way the image faded.
Now the Squire Mai`claire looks back at the tavern, the magic gone and the mirror silent once more. Calmly, the girl reaches up and turns the mirror back to its original position - glass away from the eyes of the patrons - and turns to walk away. Many patrons had witnessed the images in the mirror, though she did not yet wish to hear their thoughts. Instead she nods sharply and walks across the room to the stairs, once more ascending them to her room.
When she had finally made her way back to her room at the Raven, Merrique quickly put her larger weapons away, keeping a simple short sword on her left hip after the events that had been occurring recently; she did not wish to be caught off guard and without a weapon should whatever was threatening the woman Laenne return.
There was a buzz about the entire establishment, speaking of a strange mirror that Duvessa had somehow acquired - the stories there varied from it being a gift from the Foci herself to more realistic rumors that she bought it from someone who just didn't know what they had. Either way, the abilities of the mirror had her curious, and like any Ayr`Dal, she had to take care of the burning obsession before it drove her crazy.
Despite only being fourteen years of age, the aspiring knight believed she knew herself very well, and so unlike many who spoke of their feelings with this mirror, she was not afraid of what might be reflected.
The tavern was more crowded than it had been when she arrived, and with her typical confident stride, the chain-clad girl walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it, inspecting it before the glass was visible. The markings on it made her wonder about its creator, and the pivoting feature was something she found rather interesting as she turned the mirror around to face her properly.
At first, nothing happened - the tavern was reflected behind her, its patrons the same as they were when she had walked up to the mirror. The petite Ayr stared back at herself, white strands of hair falling to frame her face as they always did while the rest was kept very short and mostly black, like always. Golden eyes that sparkled with Light blinked several times as she looked over her armour...as it changed.
Rather than the thin iron chainmail she was wearing, the figure became clad in something quite different. This Merrique seemed taller suddenly, with enchanted black iron mail tunic and greaves while her arms were covered by similar colour plate mail pauldrons and gauntlets; the armour sparkled with an almost holy silver-white light, and engraved on each broad surface of the pauldrons was the symbol she'd planned on using when she became a knight...though there were a few changes on it she could not understand.
Like a mist drifting over water, another image began to superimpose itself over the Knight Mai`claire.
Standing atop a rainy, wind swept mountain side, a different figure can be seen. This woman is clearly human, her long red hair tangled in waves blown back from her face by the wind. She wears what would now be considered an ancient style of platemail, the pauldrons baring a distinct WR on them; in her hands rests a sword of power that seems to almost hum in time with the archs of lightening that dance across the skies. The image is familiar to Merrique, though she had only ever known it as a sketch within an old tome; as a child she had memorized every detail of the sketch, and in her mind's eye she would recall the picture, reminding her of why she wished to become a knight.
A smile touched the lips of the young girl as she looked at the ghostly image, the sight of her hero and the woman she longed to be something she would never forget.
The woman in ancient armour faded, but the lightning torn skies and her sword remained, becoming one for an instant before the Knigh Mai`clair raised her hand and took the sword down from the skies. A flash of lightning struck the point, racing down towards the hilt before wrapping over her hand and racing up her arm. The young knight was wreathed by the lightning for a moment before the skies and their power faded away as mist in the morning.
Holding the sword across her chest, the Knight Mai`claire smiled softly from the mirror; behind her the tavern had changed. It was slightly larger, and quite a bit busier than even the best nights now, its patronage just as varied as ever. Standing behind and to the left of her was a tall Koada`Dal woman, another knight in elaborate ebon plate armour, with pauldrons that bore similar symbols to the unfamiliar one on Knight Mai`claire's. When she smiled, two sharp teeth were visible behind her full red lips, though the woman did not look as frightful as she should.
Barely a step away from the older Merrique, a mostly human man - only slightly older than she - dressed in the dark plate armour trimmed with antique gold of a shadow knight stood, his hand lifting to rest on her shoulder. His black hair was cut short, similar to her own in many ways, and his two near-colourless eyes burn with conflicting emotions...the fires of passion and the flames of darkness.
The younger, real Merrique stands at the mirror, her mouth open in shock at the male figure. She knew him well, though she had not seen him for nearly a year now; the last they'd been in the others presence was a day she wished to forget, when he'd denounced everything they'd promised as children.
They were...happy, in a way...at least they looked as though they were.
Fading away, the image begins to become ghostly and difficult to see. The young squire squints her eyes as the fading ghost of Knight Mai`claire smiles broadly, as she thought she saw something not quite believable, but the image has become so indistinct, she shakes her head thinking that it was just the way the image faded.
Now the Squire Mai`claire looks back at the tavern, the magic gone and the mirror silent once more. Calmly, the girl reaches up and turns the mirror back to its original position - glass away from the eyes of the patrons - and turns to walk away. Many patrons had witnessed the images in the mirror, though she did not yet wish to hear their thoughts. Instead she nods sharply and walks across the room to the stairs, once more ascending them to her room.
Date: Windday, 23rd, Greyeven
I knew there was a reason I didn't ever keep one of these before - time!
I've been a resident of the Raven Mythic for roughly two days, and though I wished to see them again, Seregel and Kerris have not been about when I have.
Yesterday was...eventful. The scares time I got outside the Mythic rather surprised me, as Dagorel sent a younger fighter out to train with me, telling him he might learn a thing or two from me - the lad was lacking in the tact area, but after his initial fumbles, he was alright as a traveling companion.
His name is Fenuir, and he's supposedly the child of a...how did he put it...ranger-turned-noble? Yes, it sounds quite surreal to me as well, but he was rather serious about it; I could not, however, tell if his father was missing or simply dead.
Even more surreal was the fact that his last name is Stormrider, though from what I could get out of him, he is not directly related to Sai Marca. He claims to know the truth about all of that, but declined to share the information; he felt it was best I didn't know...which only servers to annoy me.
There was much we needed to take care of - chores his sister apparently dumped onto him - so I dropped it, but Fenuir is aware that I'm not going to put up with this run around for long.
Once he left my company to report to Dagorel, I returned to the Mythic and slept for some time. Waking once I went downstairs to eat, and there were many goings on - some of the Teir`Dal took an interest in me after hearing that Seregel is polite to me, and once they found that it had to do with my desire for becoming a knight, the wanted to know what was so special about it.
I sort of blew that one of to the vague truth that I have a role model from the tales about the Knights of Storm, which started a whole different conversation and got me out from under the spotlight. Miss Duvessa's interruption to have the bard taste her newest creation from the kitchen helped as well.
There was a slight shift back to me once the bard - Lady Nuala - mentioned she was a Knight, but not for her battle prowess; the attention did not last long, and I was able to slip away back to my room for more sleep.
I think that's what I like most about this place - I can sleep whenever I want without interruptions! Dear Gods, that is a blessing I never had at the barracks, even on our off days.
Earlier I awoke and had breakfast before heading out; Miss Duvessa was still up and we had a small conversation. She seemed to be in good spirits, though from her comments, I assume that it is not a natural state for the woman. Due to her good mood, she's offered to have one of her girls give me a full massage and such to help me really relax the way a girl should; though it made me blush a bit, she made it clear it would be completely non-sexual, since she knows I'm not quite wanting of such.
She mentioned something about not having a warm body to curl up next to, and I said that I'd probably end up wanting one once the novelty of having my own bed wore off...to that Miss Duvessa offered to have a magical stuffed animal made with a heating spell in it. While I think that would be lovely, I know that the boys back at the barrarcks would have a hay-day with that, and I'd never hear the end of it.
It was shortly there after that she wondered off to bed, and I headed out into the world again. I spent much of my time defending a small group of adventurers against those strange scarecrows in the Northern Farmlands; they all seemed to like me over the other squires there, and one even made many a comment about how I was their better.
This only makes me more frustrated about the lack of a knight - Duvessa has mentioned Sir Latharos, but from her description of him last eve, I am beginning to wonder if someone of his caliber even has the time for a studying squire...
...damnable frustrations....
I've been a resident of the Raven Mythic for roughly two days, and though I wished to see them again, Seregel and Kerris have not been about when I have.
Yesterday was...eventful. The scares time I got outside the Mythic rather surprised me, as Dagorel sent a younger fighter out to train with me, telling him he might learn a thing or two from me - the lad was lacking in the tact area, but after his initial fumbles, he was alright as a traveling companion.
His name is Fenuir, and he's supposedly the child of a...how did he put it...ranger-turned-noble? Yes, it sounds quite surreal to me as well, but he was rather serious about it; I could not, however, tell if his father was missing or simply dead.
Even more surreal was the fact that his last name is Stormrider, though from what I could get out of him, he is not directly related to Sai Marca. He claims to know the truth about all of that, but declined to share the information; he felt it was best I didn't know...which only servers to annoy me.
There was much we needed to take care of - chores his sister apparently dumped onto him - so I dropped it, but Fenuir is aware that I'm not going to put up with this run around for long.
Once he left my company to report to Dagorel, I returned to the Mythic and slept for some time. Waking once I went downstairs to eat, and there were many goings on - some of the Teir`Dal took an interest in me after hearing that Seregel is polite to me, and once they found that it had to do with my desire for becoming a knight, the wanted to know what was so special about it.
I sort of blew that one of to the vague truth that I have a role model from the tales about the Knights of Storm, which started a whole different conversation and got me out from under the spotlight. Miss Duvessa's interruption to have the bard taste her newest creation from the kitchen helped as well.
There was a slight shift back to me once the bard - Lady Nuala - mentioned she was a Knight, but not for her battle prowess; the attention did not last long, and I was able to slip away back to my room for more sleep.
I think that's what I like most about this place - I can sleep whenever I want without interruptions! Dear Gods, that is a blessing I never had at the barracks, even on our off days.
Earlier I awoke and had breakfast before heading out; Miss Duvessa was still up and we had a small conversation. She seemed to be in good spirits, though from her comments, I assume that it is not a natural state for the woman. Due to her good mood, she's offered to have one of her girls give me a full massage and such to help me really relax the way a girl should; though it made me blush a bit, she made it clear it would be completely non-sexual, since she knows I'm not quite wanting of such.
She mentioned something about not having a warm body to curl up next to, and I said that I'd probably end up wanting one once the novelty of having my own bed wore off...to that Miss Duvessa offered to have a magical stuffed animal made with a heating spell in it. While I think that would be lovely, I know that the boys back at the barrarcks would have a hay-day with that, and I'd never hear the end of it.
It was shortly there after that she wondered off to bed, and I headed out into the world again. I spent much of my time defending a small group of adventurers against those strange scarecrows in the Northern Farmlands; they all seemed to like me over the other squires there, and one even made many a comment about how I was their better.
This only makes me more frustrated about the lack of a knight - Duvessa has mentioned Sir Latharos, but from her description of him last eve, I am beginning to wonder if someone of his caliber even has the time for a studying squire...
...damnable frustrations....
Date: Burnday, 21st, Greyeven
I went back to the in today, but since I have little that I was bringing, I took the time to train a bit along the way, battling undead squires and the like as I could find them.
When I arrived, I ordered some food and sat with Kerris, who has told me to stop calling him sir. Miss Duvessa said something about how he and his sword didn't get along, and the statement struck me quite odd. Of course, curiousity being the real middle name of any Ayr, I asked him what she meant by it.
He pulled out his sword, and it started floating above the table...not something normal swords do, indeed. Furthermore, said sword began to speak despite not having a mouth, and I felt something strange through me like it was looking into me. I suppose it is still impolite to gawk at a sentient sword as such, and I was doing so...and the damnable thing pointed it out and got rather nasty with me.
So I returned his attitude, basically calling him a rusted piece of shoddy work, and it continued to be a bit of a bastard. I ended up comparing it to my new carbonite claymore - which is rather shoddy itself, really - to which it turned itself into a Barbarian sized claymore. Apparently feeling inadequately sized is an issue all males, no matter form, have. When I pointed out it had nothing to do with size but attitude and honour, it got quite upset, however Duvessa began to argue with it.
All this was interrupted by a woman named Audina, who was explaining the pleasures of being celibate. It was rather uncomfortable to have anything related to...sexuality and the like...around Kerris, and I began blushing so I tried to focus on my food and drink more.
That blasted sword decided to patronize me about it...by speaking to me in my head. This is not something I've experienced in the past, but from his tone and words, I assumed all I had to do was think and he could hear it; that alone bothered me and made me wonder what all he could get at in that regard.
Surprisingly, he pointed out that being a knight wasn't the granduer and glory one hears the bards sing of. I informed the bloody thing that I was aware of such, and that I wasn't in it for the glory at all. This got his attention and curiosity, I suppose, because the silly thing asked me why I would want to become a knight at all then.
The answers are simple and rather personal, but I was compeled to tell the damn thing just to shut him up. The answers of course being that I wished to serve the light and defend my city, that I wished to prove that a female as tiny and scrawny as I could actually be a good knight...and most importantly, because my father wished for me to live a better life than he even if it meant chaning the stars in the skies.
It seems the answers interested the sword. Once he was silented by them, I took my dishes back to the counter and decided to retire to my new room, since Dagorel is allowing me to live here at the Mythic. Kerris was rather surprised by it all, which I suppose is natural considering I was staring at the damn thing the whole time we were speaking, but he bid me goodnight as did most of the patrons and Miss Duvessa.
As I was walking away, the sword told me - rather politely compared to his other attempts to speak - that it wasn't chastising me for being devouted to my ideals, and I got the impression it was almost glad for the answers given.
I told it good night, and now I am here, in my own room where I get to sleep in my own bed that is an actual bed, where I don't have to worry about some smelly boy rolling over on me.
Thank the Gods.
When I arrived, I ordered some food and sat with Kerris, who has told me to stop calling him sir. Miss Duvessa said something about how he and his sword didn't get along, and the statement struck me quite odd. Of course, curiousity being the real middle name of any Ayr, I asked him what she meant by it.
He pulled out his sword, and it started floating above the table...not something normal swords do, indeed. Furthermore, said sword began to speak despite not having a mouth, and I felt something strange through me like it was looking into me. I suppose it is still impolite to gawk at a sentient sword as such, and I was doing so...and the damnable thing pointed it out and got rather nasty with me.
So I returned his attitude, basically calling him a rusted piece of shoddy work, and it continued to be a bit of a bastard. I ended up comparing it to my new carbonite claymore - which is rather shoddy itself, really - to which it turned itself into a Barbarian sized claymore. Apparently feeling inadequately sized is an issue all males, no matter form, have. When I pointed out it had nothing to do with size but attitude and honour, it got quite upset, however Duvessa began to argue with it.
All this was interrupted by a woman named Audina, who was explaining the pleasures of being celibate. It was rather uncomfortable to have anything related to...sexuality and the like...around Kerris, and I began blushing so I tried to focus on my food and drink more.
That blasted sword decided to patronize me about it...by speaking to me in my head. This is not something I've experienced in the past, but from his tone and words, I assumed all I had to do was think and he could hear it; that alone bothered me and made me wonder what all he could get at in that regard.
Surprisingly, he pointed out that being a knight wasn't the granduer and glory one hears the bards sing of. I informed the bloody thing that I was aware of such, and that I wasn't in it for the glory at all. This got his attention and curiosity, I suppose, because the silly thing asked me why I would want to become a knight at all then.
The answers are simple and rather personal, but I was compeled to tell the damn thing just to shut him up. The answers of course being that I wished to serve the light and defend my city, that I wished to prove that a female as tiny and scrawny as I could actually be a good knight...and most importantly, because my father wished for me to live a better life than he even if it meant chaning the stars in the skies.
It seems the answers interested the sword. Once he was silented by them, I took my dishes back to the counter and decided to retire to my new room, since Dagorel is allowing me to live here at the Mythic. Kerris was rather surprised by it all, which I suppose is natural considering I was staring at the damn thing the whole time we were speaking, but he bid me goodnight as did most of the patrons and Miss Duvessa.
As I was walking away, the sword told me - rather politely compared to his other attempts to speak - that it wasn't chastising me for being devouted to my ideals, and I got the impression it was almost glad for the answers given.
I told it good night, and now I am here, in my own room where I get to sleep in my own bed that is an actual bed, where I don't have to worry about some smelly boy rolling over on me.
Thank the Gods.
Date: Darkday, 20th, Greyeven
For doing absolutely nothing I was supposed to be doing, today was an eventful day.
Rarely do I ever slack off from my training, as I must work twice as hard without the guidance and example of a knight to follow, but after another round of reviews, I really didn't have the heart to keep at it today.
I found a torn flier for little establishment called the Raven Mythic. It boasted having a facility that was friendly and comfortable to neutral parties, and both Qeynosians and Freeporters. While I don't really drink, since Dagorel would have my hide, I was quite hungry by then, and my rations were looking less and less appealing the longer I stared at the flier.
So I decided to go to this Raven Mythic, and it was quite the interesting time. They had good food, and I was able to eat mostly without interruption, as it was quite busy and few people take notice of someone as small and as young as I am. Once things slowed down, the proprietor - another Ayr named Duvessa - started speaking about childhood habits, and somehow I got myself involved in the conversation.
I didn't really mean to, but I guess I complained quite a bit about having to live in the squire barracks, as Duvessa informed me she had a number of rooms that cost fractions of a silver, which is something I could afford considering I make little as a freelance squire. We agreed on a room, and I'm going to move in there now that I've talked to Dagorel about it all and have permission.
There was a bit to do about men, and love and such, and I again had a loud mouth and stated I had no interests in men after living with a pack of dirty boys. Duvessa...informed me...that she could, uh, send me one of her girls...I do believe she meant whores, which is just against the codes I've been raised following; it was also quite embarassing to think about doing...those things...with another girl. I declined, of course.
Round that time, a gentleman - if you could call him that really - Feir came into the place from the baths, wearing just a towel. He made snide comments about how I might change my tune about men given a few years to grow up, which only served to piss me off; a nice woman named Iryssinia retorted by saying it's more so that the boys needed a few years to grow up before women could change their tunes about them.
One of Duvessa's girls - I assume - came over to me and began to massage my bare arms, and what she could get of my shoulders, whispering how it was alright to distrust men, as she felt the same. That it was only natural.
This Tirian chap proved to only piss me off further, and while I was glaring at him, a second Feir came into the tavern area and I looked over at him for a moment before glaring at Tirian again. The new arrival almost mistook my anger as being directed at him, until he followed my gaze back to Tirian...at which point he asked what the other man had done.
Tirian informed him that he took the job of harassing the ladies when this other man wasn't here, which only made me want to kick him. The new arrival, however, made a comment about if it was just a lover's quarrel, which threw my attention off and set me blushing.
After clearing that mess up, the roguesh man introduced himself as Kerris, and we ended up in this conversation about the Enchanted Lands. Several people came into the bar and added to the conversation along with those who were there, and I got quite a bit better picture than what the books in the Concordium could tell me.
It was drawing late, and though Kerris had promised to tell me of a place known as Zek, I realized that I needed to get back to the barrarcks, report to Dagorel and get permission to move. The woman massaging my shoulders asked me to join her in the baths, and I guess in my panicking about getting back, I spoke to loudly, as everyone heard me turn her down for reporting back to Dagorel.
Kerris was a bit surprised, but he was very polite and offered to finish his tales later. I suppose I shall go back tonight and move my few things there, finish up my conversation with this Kerris. Despite striking me as a lady's man, he proved to be fairly intriguing, and I do hope to see him again.
For now, I have a bit of boy arse kicking to do...
Rarely do I ever slack off from my training, as I must work twice as hard without the guidance and example of a knight to follow, but after another round of reviews, I really didn't have the heart to keep at it today.
I found a torn flier for little establishment called the Raven Mythic. It boasted having a facility that was friendly and comfortable to neutral parties, and both Qeynosians and Freeporters. While I don't really drink, since Dagorel would have my hide, I was quite hungry by then, and my rations were looking less and less appealing the longer I stared at the flier.
So I decided to go to this Raven Mythic, and it was quite the interesting time. They had good food, and I was able to eat mostly without interruption, as it was quite busy and few people take notice of someone as small and as young as I am. Once things slowed down, the proprietor - another Ayr named Duvessa - started speaking about childhood habits, and somehow I got myself involved in the conversation.
I didn't really mean to, but I guess I complained quite a bit about having to live in the squire barracks, as Duvessa informed me she had a number of rooms that cost fractions of a silver, which is something I could afford considering I make little as a freelance squire. We agreed on a room, and I'm going to move in there now that I've talked to Dagorel about it all and have permission.
There was a bit to do about men, and love and such, and I again had a loud mouth and stated I had no interests in men after living with a pack of dirty boys. Duvessa...informed me...that she could, uh, send me one of her girls...I do believe she meant whores, which is just against the codes I've been raised following; it was also quite embarassing to think about doing...those things...with another girl. I declined, of course.
Round that time, a gentleman - if you could call him that really - Feir came into the place from the baths, wearing just a towel. He made snide comments about how I might change my tune about men given a few years to grow up, which only served to piss me off; a nice woman named Iryssinia retorted by saying it's more so that the boys needed a few years to grow up before women could change their tunes about them.
One of Duvessa's girls - I assume - came over to me and began to massage my bare arms, and what she could get of my shoulders, whispering how it was alright to distrust men, as she felt the same. That it was only natural.
This Tirian chap proved to only piss me off further, and while I was glaring at him, a second Feir came into the tavern area and I looked over at him for a moment before glaring at Tirian again. The new arrival almost mistook my anger as being directed at him, until he followed my gaze back to Tirian...at which point he asked what the other man had done.
Tirian informed him that he took the job of harassing the ladies when this other man wasn't here, which only made me want to kick him. The new arrival, however, made a comment about if it was just a lover's quarrel, which threw my attention off and set me blushing.
After clearing that mess up, the roguesh man introduced himself as Kerris, and we ended up in this conversation about the Enchanted Lands. Several people came into the bar and added to the conversation along with those who were there, and I got quite a bit better picture than what the books in the Concordium could tell me.
It was drawing late, and though Kerris had promised to tell me of a place known as Zek, I realized that I needed to get back to the barrarcks, report to Dagorel and get permission to move. The woman massaging my shoulders asked me to join her in the baths, and I guess in my panicking about getting back, I spoke to loudly, as everyone heard me turn her down for reporting back to Dagorel.
Kerris was a bit surprised, but he was very polite and offered to finish his tales later. I suppose I shall go back tonight and move my few things there, finish up my conversation with this Kerris. Despite striking me as a lady's man, he proved to be fairly intriguing, and I do hope to see him again.
For now, I have a bit of boy arse kicking to do...
Date: Brewday, 18th, Greyeven
It seems Varsoon's legacy continues within Antonica despite the necromancer's death...if he truly died.
A group of us squires took a few of the younger priests with us, and ventured out to the Isle of the Forbidden to lay to rest as many of the cursed fighters as we could.
Tedious, the task was cut short by a large ressurgence of the undead, and there were too few of us to continue our efforts. A rather eerie corpse, claiming to be someone named Renux, seemed to be leading this new onslaught of risen dead - whoever it was, this Renux is a rather powerful undead enchanter now.
Afterwards, I had another basically pointless review with Dagorel - I call them worthless as no matter how good my reviews may read, they've yet to do me any good.
Sword and Board on Foot - Extremely Capable
Heavy Sword on Foot - Very Capable
Offense on Foot - Extremely Capable
Defense on Foot - Moderately Capable
Weapon Knowledge - Very Capable
Armour Knowledge - Very Capable
Tack and Care Knowledge - Extremely Capable
Academics - Moderately Capable - writing skills need work
Same as the last damn one.
I wish Dagorel were a younger dwarf - he claims if these were his glory days he'd still be in good enough condition to teach me the more advanced techniques that the knights use.
For now, I must watch and learn, and pray that I can be a squire in more than just name, markings and grades.
A group of us squires took a few of the younger priests with us, and ventured out to the Isle of the Forbidden to lay to rest as many of the cursed fighters as we could.
Tedious, the task was cut short by a large ressurgence of the undead, and there were too few of us to continue our efforts. A rather eerie corpse, claiming to be someone named Renux, seemed to be leading this new onslaught of risen dead - whoever it was, this Renux is a rather powerful undead enchanter now.
Afterwards, I had another basically pointless review with Dagorel - I call them worthless as no matter how good my reviews may read, they've yet to do me any good.
Sword and Board on Foot - Extremely Capable
Heavy Sword on Foot - Very Capable
Offense on Foot - Extremely Capable
Defense on Foot - Moderately Capable
Weapon Knowledge - Very Capable
Armour Knowledge - Very Capable
Tack and Care Knowledge - Extremely Capable
Academics - Moderately Capable - writing skills need work
Same as the last damn one.
I wish Dagorel were a younger dwarf - he claims if these were his glory days he'd still be in good enough condition to teach me the more advanced techniques that the knights use.
For now, I must watch and learn, and pray that I can be a squire in more than just name, markings and grades.
Date: Steelday, 17th, Greyeven
Sheila suggested I start writing my adventures down, since we know no bards to do it for me. I really shall have to find a bard as a herald once I am a knight - I'm horrible at these things, despite my many attempts to write short fictions about the Sais' battle against the Vers.
I suppose I should preface myself a bit, as whoever reads this won't know me from Firiona.
My name is Merrique Anne Mai`claire - I come from a simple line of an otherwise well-off family, but I prefer to be as we are in some respects. While I do not enjoy watching my family suffer financially, I do not wish to sell myself as my aunts have.
Even with their actions, my aunts are still not in any sort of grand position, though it appears being a scribe or librarian pays better than what any in my direct family does.
Father - Jonthan Mai`claire - is a groomsman at the Coldwind Coast Stables in Southern Qeynos, mother - Eliza - is an assistant tailor to the heirophant Selwyn, while my older sisters are good wives of a baker and an apprentice smith; all of which make their homes in Nettleville Hovel, as no one can afford a better life than that.
I suppose I have always been looked to as sort of a last hope - though my sister Malina tells me that our parents wished for a boy, but settled for me. Their desires were granted at least in a small form, as I am quite the tomboy and the like.
Being the youngest, and the tomboy, my youth was spent being encouraged to follow my dream of becoming a knight, though I think neither of my parents truly believe this to be possible. Despite such things as being far to petite and frail, I have become quite good with a sword, and have since been sent to train under the Master-at-Arms until I am sworn to a knight as a squire.
Though I have not heard from my childhood friend, Andrew, since he became a squire, I keep the tin long sword he gave me for my seventh birthday with me. It is mounted on a wood plaque now, to remind me both of the dreams we shared and his betrayal to them. It is clear he no longer cares for me now that he is a squire - no letters have been recieved, and no word of him since his family moved to the Thundermist Village in the Steppes.
So that is Merrique in a nutshell - less the fact I pose as a boy when necessary, but that's another situation entirely.
And now, the daily accounts Sheila said I should write begin.
Today had been largely uneventful - I spend my time training by fighting undead fighters in Antonica, laying to rest the souls of squires and knights that have been perverted by Varsoon or some other well to do necromancer. However, today a refreshing interlude was given.
A page summoned me from near the Isle of the Forbidden, and informed me that Master-at-Arms Dagorel wished to speak to me. Of course, I knew what this meant and followed the page back into town, up to the Fount of Storms where Dagorel met us.
Once the page had left, the Master-at-Arms took me into his office, a small affair that was once part of the large hall there. He informed me that 'Drew' has yet again caught the attention of a knight with 'his' marks and references, and that said knight was waiting for 'Drew' to arrive at the Northern Farmlands where he was practicing.
Dressing the part of 'Drew' is no longer difficult, as I've done it so many times. Keep the chestwraps tight enough to press down the breasts, but not enough to chafe beneat the chainmail; wear the smaller chain shirt that was made for Andrew years ago, and pad the crotch a bit to make it look like I've got the slight bulge all boys do. Muse the hair into anarchy, marr the face with some dirt, and there you have 'Drew'.
There were many knights and their squires up on the fields of the Northern Farmlands. Several archways had been set up, each with small rings hanging by thin threads on them; the knights all were arguing over how they were going to make "this" work, and make it an addition to their tournaments.
When I asked another of the squires, he explained that one of the knights had found an old tome about the tournament games the they used to have before the Age of Turmoil and the cataclysms. Some of them were already in use - sword on foot, sword and board on foot, sword on horseback, sword and board on horseback, etc - but one really had the men going crazy.
It's a sport called "jousting" - which I assume the knights meant by "this" - and they were up in arms over the fact that the lances made now were too light for horseback charges, causing them to flutter about in the air no matter how tight a stance they used.
There are two ways to joust - one requiring another party and the other a single rider, though each actually has several participents over time, with several rounds each.
Apparently the first is referred to as rings commonly, and requires a rider to make up to three passes at small rings, which they spear with their lance. Should there be ties, the rings get progressively smaller until one rider is able to spear more rings than the other in three passes.
For as simple as that sounds...the knights were having a time of it due to the shoddy lances. I don't think I've ever heard such words from the mouths of crusaders in all my years training with the Master-at-Arms!
The second is considered a 'purer' form of the event, with a low fence running several yards as a guide rail for the two riders; each is on an opposite side and charge each other with blunt lances, the idea is to knock the other from their horse or break the lance upon their being. With the awkwardness of the lances, they were not even attempting to use this form of the sport, wishing to avoid injuring each other in their tests.
I rather like the idea of the sport, personally, and I plan on harassing Dagorel until he helps me find out more about it. I'm sure the old dwarf has a book or two up his sleeves on the subject.
After a time of talking with the squire, I was finally approached by a knight. He was rather baudy, and lewd for a paladin, but I suppose I should expect such things from a Barbarian. I was made to tend to his gear and horse, which was more than easy considering my upbringing, and then fight another one of the squires.
Despite winning, the knight dismissed me - citing as all the others have that I am far to scrawny a lad to be considered. They always believe that I'm going to break under the smallest amout of extended work, and dismiss me.
Frustration is of course burning within me, but I will become a knight - even if I must teach myself!
I suppose I should preface myself a bit, as whoever reads this won't know me from Firiona.
My name is Merrique Anne Mai`claire - I come from a simple line of an otherwise well-off family, but I prefer to be as we are in some respects. While I do not enjoy watching my family suffer financially, I do not wish to sell myself as my aunts have.
Even with their actions, my aunts are still not in any sort of grand position, though it appears being a scribe or librarian pays better than what any in my direct family does.
Father - Jonthan Mai`claire - is a groomsman at the Coldwind Coast Stables in Southern Qeynos, mother - Eliza - is an assistant tailor to the heirophant Selwyn, while my older sisters are good wives of a baker and an apprentice smith; all of which make their homes in Nettleville Hovel, as no one can afford a better life than that.
I suppose I have always been looked to as sort of a last hope - though my sister Malina tells me that our parents wished for a boy, but settled for me. Their desires were granted at least in a small form, as I am quite the tomboy and the like.
Being the youngest, and the tomboy, my youth was spent being encouraged to follow my dream of becoming a knight, though I think neither of my parents truly believe this to be possible. Despite such things as being far to petite and frail, I have become quite good with a sword, and have since been sent to train under the Master-at-Arms until I am sworn to a knight as a squire.
Though I have not heard from my childhood friend, Andrew, since he became a squire, I keep the tin long sword he gave me for my seventh birthday with me. It is mounted on a wood plaque now, to remind me both of the dreams we shared and his betrayal to them. It is clear he no longer cares for me now that he is a squire - no letters have been recieved, and no word of him since his family moved to the Thundermist Village in the Steppes.
So that is Merrique in a nutshell - less the fact I pose as a boy when necessary, but that's another situation entirely.
And now, the daily accounts Sheila said I should write begin.
Today had been largely uneventful - I spend my time training by fighting undead fighters in Antonica, laying to rest the souls of squires and knights that have been perverted by Varsoon or some other well to do necromancer. However, today a refreshing interlude was given.
A page summoned me from near the Isle of the Forbidden, and informed me that Master-at-Arms Dagorel wished to speak to me. Of course, I knew what this meant and followed the page back into town, up to the Fount of Storms where Dagorel met us.
Once the page had left, the Master-at-Arms took me into his office, a small affair that was once part of the large hall there. He informed me that 'Drew' has yet again caught the attention of a knight with 'his' marks and references, and that said knight was waiting for 'Drew' to arrive at the Northern Farmlands where he was practicing.
Dressing the part of 'Drew' is no longer difficult, as I've done it so many times. Keep the chestwraps tight enough to press down the breasts, but not enough to chafe beneat the chainmail; wear the smaller chain shirt that was made for Andrew years ago, and pad the crotch a bit to make it look like I've got the slight bulge all boys do. Muse the hair into anarchy, marr the face with some dirt, and there you have 'Drew'.
There were many knights and their squires up on the fields of the Northern Farmlands. Several archways had been set up, each with small rings hanging by thin threads on them; the knights all were arguing over how they were going to make "this" work, and make it an addition to their tournaments.
When I asked another of the squires, he explained that one of the knights had found an old tome about the tournament games the they used to have before the Age of Turmoil and the cataclysms. Some of them were already in use - sword on foot, sword and board on foot, sword on horseback, sword and board on horseback, etc - but one really had the men going crazy.
It's a sport called "jousting" - which I assume the knights meant by "this" - and they were up in arms over the fact that the lances made now were too light for horseback charges, causing them to flutter about in the air no matter how tight a stance they used.
There are two ways to joust - one requiring another party and the other a single rider, though each actually has several participents over time, with several rounds each.
Apparently the first is referred to as rings commonly, and requires a rider to make up to three passes at small rings, which they spear with their lance. Should there be ties, the rings get progressively smaller until one rider is able to spear more rings than the other in three passes.
For as simple as that sounds...the knights were having a time of it due to the shoddy lances. I don't think I've ever heard such words from the mouths of crusaders in all my years training with the Master-at-Arms!
The second is considered a 'purer' form of the event, with a low fence running several yards as a guide rail for the two riders; each is on an opposite side and charge each other with blunt lances, the idea is to knock the other from their horse or break the lance upon their being. With the awkwardness of the lances, they were not even attempting to use this form of the sport, wishing to avoid injuring each other in their tests.
I rather like the idea of the sport, personally, and I plan on harassing Dagorel until he helps me find out more about it. I'm sure the old dwarf has a book or two up his sleeves on the subject.
After a time of talking with the squire, I was finally approached by a knight. He was rather baudy, and lewd for a paladin, but I suppose I should expect such things from a Barbarian. I was made to tend to his gear and horse, which was more than easy considering my upbringing, and then fight another one of the squires.
Despite winning, the knight dismissed me - citing as all the others have that I am far to scrawny a lad to be considered. They always believe that I'm going to break under the smallest amout of extended work, and dismiss me.
Frustration is of course burning within me, but I will become a knight - even if I must teach myself!
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