A Mount To Nothing (Solo) [Archive]

Ozoric

03-09-14, 01:21 PM

The Heights, Northern Corone Mountains

Atop mountains indomitable and crags cradling clouds, Ozoric Newalla watched in wonder. The nuances of the excited wind enthralled him. Every dizzying twist and torrid turn of the gales whipping through the peaks and troughs of the Corone Heights causing amazement; instilling beauty in nature’s wrath.

“I think it is safe to say we are ready for this ‘war’.” His praise fell away over the cliff into the obfuscating mists. He teetered on the edge a while, then came away with anxious bounces.

“Speak well of others, by all means…” Captain Aelfric trailed off to find himself lost in his own thoughts. He rubbed his chin, a scratch or two of his beard poultice for his worry. “We are not concerned about the dragoons.”

A comment like that weighed heavily on a young man’s mind. He came to ten feet away from his mentor, slouched, and felt inexplicably deflated. The sun was directly overheard, oppressive gaze scintillating and exposing. It made the rock and ruin beneath their booted feet shimmer with mirage and malice.

“…I take that to mean you are concerned about me?” Resting his hands on his hips non-chalant, Ozoric tried to divine Aelfric’s intentions.

At dawn’s herald awoken rudely and abruptly. Today, for once, the lancer was not required to climb the Storm Hold and call in the Night’s Watch with the hundred-foot horn as old as Corone herself. Today, he longed to study in the afternoon off the back off a well-deserved lie in. No such luck.

“The Knight Commander has placed much faith in your keen, intuitive mind. I am merely wondering if you are ready for such haughty responsibility when so much – Eiskalt's future – teeters on our involvement.”

With slow, observable movements, the captain unsheathed his bastard sword. He swung it over his shoulder and smashed a small rock into rubble without exerting energy. The weight of the murderous blade alone enough. His armour was radiant, his pauldrons proud and cocksure. His face, unlike his edifice of office, told another story: he was terrified.

“I appreciate the concern but I do not think it is warranted.” Ozoric looked skyward, to where a great and ancient dragon circled amongst the cumulus and stratus wreathes. He dropped his gaze, complacently wistful. “I will lead the men, and advise Jacamar to the best of my ability.”

Ozoric could feel heat from three sources: sun, soldier, soul. They had discussed much about their plans in the coming war. The Ixian Knights reasoning and the chaotic grievances of the Order alike topic of conversation since they had arrived off a wing beat and a prayer. Time was running short, and the lancer struggled to find enthusiasm for drill and tack.

“All well and well,” Aelfric added, sword raising and feet pounding triumphant the mountaintop. “Who counsels the council?”

Taking it upon himself to test Ozoric literally, Aelfric broke into a fully-fledged charge. His heart beating boisterously the lancer drew his simple steel sword. Feeble brace for a titan's descent.