The Ill-Made Knight (Open)

[SerCasimir]

Morning was breaking and Casimir sat atop the small watchtower that had become the nearest thing he had to a home. He had been in Raiaera for six months, traveling most of them around the lands of the interior. He been burning out nests of undead, bandits, and abominable creations of Xem'zund, doing his best to protect travelers and the smallfolk of Raiaera. Summer had turned to autumn, had moved on to winter, and still his quest continued. He had come across this watchtower and had chosen it for the winter, it was near enough to a small village and some dangerous lands that he could be supplied and continue his work. A few days work and some supplies from the local elves had rendered it almost cozy.

He had a sip of the coffee he had bought from the traveling merchant who stopped in the village once a fortnight. Alone of the elves he had met of left he was a kind and gregarious sort, his days of traveling as a merchant and once upon a time a sellsword had removed some of the bigotry of his people. The Elves in the village, despite his having saving their flocks saved from a flesh golem, treated him with suspicion and disdain though at least they would trade with him in a limited capacity.

He puffed a cigar and took another sip of his coffee. Fresh snow blanketed the surrounding countryside, and the sunrise was glistening upon it. Kon was right, Raiaera was beautiful at least. He finished his coffee and cleared his throat.

Another day, putting himself to the hazard for people who hated him.

Knighthood was glamorous.

[orphans]

"Travel the world and see new things... it'll be fun she said. You'll experience sooooo many new things..." Azza muttered under her breath as she trudged through the expansive field of white. A bitter chuckle drifted from the girl as she thought back to all the bad decisions she had ever made - now counting the decision to travel during winter as one of them. Fresh powder from the night before did little to lift her spirits and weighed upon her mind as it did upon the boughs of the scant few trees.

She took a moment to stand and gather her bearings now that the sun was rising again. Instinctively she squinted with a frown as the sun's glory reflected off the fresh snow and into her eyes. A partial sigh of relief passed from her lips as she caught sight of a tower of some sort in the distance. Behind that, houses or what could be the makings of a village. The promise of directions would be most welcome as Azza had lost count of how many days she had been wandering. The idea of "following the path less travelled" seemed fun at the time, until it wasn't.

But elves... elves! The way they turn their noses up when looking at her made her blood boil. And when they spoke, they spoke with the air as if she were a small animal to be pitied. The very thoughts made the girl want to scream at the glaring sun in frustration. Funny how she never understood why her adoptive father despised elves the way he did, but now, ever since arriving in Raiaera, she was beginning to see the reasons. One would think a shattered country with undead running amuck would force some semblance of humility onto the populace.

Noooope.

[Eylana]

At one time I loved winter.

Once upon a time I thrilled at the chance to slide down hoary hills, to dance over soft snow drifts, to catch fat fluffy flakes on my tongue. I recollect the treasured smells of an air so crisp that it almost hurt to breathe, of the smells of roasted fruits served with Sinnamon wine thick with honey and boiled maple sap thick enough to make it almost a broth. Oh, do I remember. Those impassioned periods of long ago, of how I loved snow.

Almost a lifetime ago.

A poet – I believe it was Evangelia Laffosto – once called the winter the time of Jomel & N’jal both. It is the bleak time, the dying time, the period when things rest and are destroyed, all awaiting the hope of Spring, which may or may not come.

Between the acrimonious summer of my sixteenth year in Corone, and the winter of my sixtieth in Raiaera, that being which oft felt ardent over snowfall died. Her grave is unmarked and her passing is only periodically remembered.

The blanket of snow was thick enough that it would soften our horses’ trots enough that the enemies would not be able to detect it from a mile off, if they had one of the living among them, or one that wasn’t that still retained the knowledge on how to track such things, but it was scant comfort. Thrice we had been set upon by undead since the turn of the moon, and only once had this small band of mine come away wholly unscathed. The pair of riderless horses stood mute testament to those lost, to say nothing of the one, who like its rider was no longer with us.

They would not, thank the Thayne, return as more unliving soldiers to trouble the land.

I was thankful too, that even though the dusting of snow was thick enough to mute the vibrations of our horses, it was not so deep that it entirely masked tree roots, and undergrowth to such an extent that we must fear a horse breaking a leg on a misstep. Thankful, even though the affair gave an image of hastily thrown coverlets over corpses, gnarled limbs pocking out where the blanket was not sufficient to totally hide what it was meant to obscure. Here and there naked broken and thin branches stretched upwards liked beleaguered supplicants begging relief to distant and silent gods.

“Oh thank the Thayne Caniedrin’s spotted the village.“

A half-elf archer of considerable skill, both as a scout and with the bow, Caniedrin Sulsadh was a constently cheerful lad, he had helped lift flagging spirits more than once, and facilitated many a means of rescue from tight straights.

The The golden haired youth, and he treuly did look like a lad barely out of his twenties by elvan standards, making him appear a young lad by humans, was once again holding bow and drawn arrows in one hand, and communicating to Athryal Blackpines, with the other.

Athrayl had been the one that broke the silence, since of the five of them, the one-eyed grizzled steel haired elf was almost always in the lead. Behind Caniedrin of course, but ahead of everyone else.

His message transmitted the youthful half-elf once again disappeared as silently as he had come, leaving us to discuss his message.

“The lad’s spotted both the villige and a traveler, the gruff voice of the second in command of my guard put in after a momentary pause. “The boy says he spotted what he thinks are horns on the lass’s head, but she’s got two legs not four.”

“A demon then, let’s ride her down and put a few arrows in her.”

The moment Thorondor opened his mouth the frozen fire that was the wound in my arm started to grab my attention. Thus far I hhad been trying, and mostly succeeding to keep from thinking about it, or even noticing it, but all my previous successes turned to failures the moment he spoke. Thankfully the captain saved me from having to give the elf another rebuke.

“


“That seems like a brilliant idea trooper Ithilhen, as wise as your last decision had been. I was hoping that given what happened the last time you decided to take upon yourself to voice a suggestion that you might be intelegent enough not to be doing it in the future.”

Every word dripped sarcasm, every intenation full of hauty disapproval. At least Thorondor Ithilhen had the good sense to feel abashed.

“forward.”

That was all I said, it was all I needed to say, I was after all in command. I didn’t believe this lass, whoever she was, was a demon, but I could not say why I believed this. Yet I know it was true, as certainly as I could tell you how to find north.

I had a pretty good idea what the lass might think as we came over the hill behind her, or at least the little fearful voice in the back of my head did. She’d take one look at the six of us, see our horses making good time, my companions covered near head to foot in beautifully worked steel in the guise of eagles, each one heavily armed, each astride one of the land’s famed war horses, she might think we were after her and trying to ride her down anyway.

I was the only one not fully covered in steel, the only one that looked lightly armed. Perhaps she would see me and realize we were not as of yet a threat to her. If she ran I would call to her, if she ran, I’d have to give the command to keep our hot heads from braking rank to pursue. Thayne above let her not run.

[SerCasimir]

Casimir ambled along astride Rocinante, a heavy winter cloak over his shoulders and his lance in his hand. The visor on his helmet was raised as he patrolled the area he had chosen for his wintry vigil. The snow deadened the sound of transit, but it did make it even easier to notice tracks, and the knight did not fail to notice them now. They were small and shallow, a child, and a light one most likely, or a very petite woman, and an even stride, not the shambling walk of the damned. This was no fit country for a child to wander alone, and so Casimir followed, puffing away on his pipe. He reached the peak of a small hill and saw at a distance saw the horned head of a small human-like figure.

Perhaps some strange helmet or wimple.

It was then he noticed a band of armored warriors led by another small figure all on horseback, cantering toward the horned one. They did not seem to be the undead, but he also could not divine their intention.

Best catch up, in case.

He spurred Rocinante into a gallop and put away his pipe, closing his visor. No need to reveal his orcish features to them, it tended to put people in this land immediately on the defensive. He readied himself to fight if necessary, though he hoped it would not be.

[orphans]

They say one could fall gracefully if they knew how - to tuck and roll or tumble with one's momentum. Azza knew how in theory, but practice was something she was sorely lacking in this reincarnation of her life. A scream barely left her as her footing slipped away and pitched the world into the familiar perspective one would have when laying down. Small comfort was to be found in the soft snow as she landed on her sensitive wings and had she any breath left would have continued screaming. Instead Azza had little left except to gasp out in pain.

Winter, while usually kind to her kind, was certainly doing little to brighten her mood. Still, the thought of rest in the village and the potential for a hot meal forced the girl back onto her feet. Arching and stretching her back did little to alleviate the soreness throbbing in her wings and even the usual fluffing of them didn't help.

Damned useless things...

Taking the chance to survey her surroundings once more Azza saw nothing of interest, as usual, as there was little more than snow, snow-covered trees and armored figures on horseback - wait. A group of six figures were riding towards her while a single one was coming from the direction she had journeyed from. Squinting her eyes did little to fight the sun glinting off their armor, but at least it made it so she could see them easily.

Perhaps they were the village's defense out on patrol? That seemed the most likely story as they didn't seem to be the shambling dead. Well, that and Azza had yet to see any of the shambling dead appear on horseback. In any case she remembered that the elves appreciated manners even if it was from an "outsider" like her. Maybe she could even ride into the town with them and avoid trudging in the snow! Or maybe not.

With the ache mostly gone from her wings and back, Azza stuck up an arm and waved towards the oncoming riders and yelled out, "Morning's greeting!" Wait, was that the right greeting or was it something else?