Oh hell naw! Them's fightin' words!
Arrogance.
Pupils of molten gold blazed beneath their armoured confines, the Crown-Prince barely giving a glance to Laureola as plate booted feet pivoted on the soft earth; blade drawn forth from within its sheath in a flash of crystal; the Knight sparing a cursory, analytical glance at the larger unrefined machinery that dared to invade so close to his own. Red irises aglow with crimson fervour; his knees bent the slightest, a protective stance adopted against this unknown, possibly hostile intrusion.
Was he protecting the 'Keeper' and Woman?
Warning never came; the precious stone that comprised the blade of his mysterious Longsword illuminated in a display of light to hurt the naked eye. It blazed like the morning sun so high overhead amidst the cloud-dotted blue skies, a beacon of hope to his allies and symbol of despair to foes. A Paladin? Indeed, a Warrior of the Light; dedicated to all things righteous. Like a predator he moved, shifting forwards into a more aggressive stance to twirl his blade twice overhead before pointing the tip towards this new being, poised as if he were the hand of fate itself.
White fire licked the sword's surface.
A towering Knight, a Hero of stories; his Crown held weight upon stoic shoulders, every line of his body poised in such a way as to allude to the knowledge he so openly shared. A Prince among Warriors, a King among Elves. Such power there was in harmonious tones; exhuming from beneath the crystal-steel faceguard as if it were not there at all.
"I do indeed claim sovereignty over that masterpiece. To whom do I speak, stranger? Why do you come before a peaceful gathering with such assumed hostility?"
An unbreakable will, a wall of iron. Confidence filled every syllable, betrayed a cool countenance that belied the predatory meditation in which he had enraptured his mind. The void was his, claimed the moment of possible confrontation. Detachment from himself, oneness with his blade and his enemy, with those around him and the hulking forms of metal that incurred such jealous pride. A warming breeze swept with it a scent of power lying ready, a dormant decimation howling against its master's control, baying to be released of such confinement.
Soul Energy seared his veins, filled his form; he was ready, he was waiting. Only time would tell if the virgin soil would taste blood that day.
Out of Character:
Not my best post ever x.x
Hoping this doesn't devolve into a fight.
We bring you peace!
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