Firmhanded_Daddy
reborn in flame
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2010
- Posts
- 10,078
(Closed for Monique Minx and Firmhanded Daddy)
The afternoon sun beat down on his battered plate armor. The gambeson beneath captured the heat and sweat alike, making wearing the armor feel like being slowly roasted over a spit in foil. Weeks on the road and in the saddle had left him with a perpetual taste of dust in his mouth and an ache in his bones.
Finding lodging with his particular affliction was usually difficult. Jobs were plentiful when people saw what he was capable of - everyone was always in need of a powerful warrior, but trusting that man under your roof was an entirely different story. He usually camped outside of town walls, in the fields, or might throw a few silver coins to a farmer for a hay loft.
Alric lets out a soft sigh. Patting the neck of the sturdy horse beneath him, he felt the mass of muscle on the beast's neck. She was a reliable horse. Gifted to him in the form of partial payment for a protracted service to a lord for a border skirmish, Kara was only five seasons old and had a bland temperament when not in battle, but on the field, she was fire and fury. He had seen her crush men's skulls through a helmet with a single hoof strike.
He knew that she was just as warm as he was. He could feel the heat pouring off her body. Her barding was just as stiffling as his armor was. He reaches out to grasp his water flask and tests the weight. He frowns. Not much left. He could hold the thirst at bay through discipline, but Kara had been working hard. He tips the contents of the flask out over her head to try to cool the poor girl down. "Soon, old friend. We will find you a proper drink. I promise."
He had been following the information he had been gathering as he had worked his way across the valley. The closer he had gotten to the lands of the D'Aurivere family, the more concrete the rumors got about their troubles, their need for reliable help. Though the exact nature of that trouble was never spoken of. Just that there was a dark secret that plagued the family. That was something he could relate to. Just thinking about it made the marks on the left side of his face throb.
His armor was in need of repair. He had been traveling and working his way along the coast, taking jobs as they came. Most small-town smiths wouldn't do repairs on his armor due to his... complications. He spots the castle rising in the distance, and he feels some of the knots release from his shoulders as he lets out a breath. "We made it, girl. Now the hard part. We have to convince them to let us in the door." Kara snorts and tosses her head. He gives a rich chuckle and nods. "Exactly right."
The moment he enters the castle gates, a chill runs down his spine. There was darkness here, and it wasn't natural. His left eye starts twitching the way it always did when he was in the vicinity of ambient magical energy. He looked at the gate guards as they approached him. They looked exhausted, like just standing at the gate was taking every ounce of energy they had.
"State your business." One of the men says sternly.
He nods his helmet-covered head as much as he can, thankful that the visor covers his marks. It seemed that, for whatever reason, the irrational hatred that affected most people required them to see the marks on his face. "Certainly. My name is Sir Alric Trent. I am here to speak to the Lord or Lady of the castle about employment. I have heard that there might be work for a skilled arm."
He immediately detaches his blade from his sword belt to offer it to the gate guard without waiting to be asked. They would peace-tie it, of course. No guards worth their salt would let a strange warrior capable of doing harm meet with their liege. As they bound his blade, a runner was sent to the castle to notify Lady Elysande that there was a knight at the gates asking for work.
The afternoon sun beat down on his battered plate armor. The gambeson beneath captured the heat and sweat alike, making wearing the armor feel like being slowly roasted over a spit in foil. Weeks on the road and in the saddle had left him with a perpetual taste of dust in his mouth and an ache in his bones.
Finding lodging with his particular affliction was usually difficult. Jobs were plentiful when people saw what he was capable of - everyone was always in need of a powerful warrior, but trusting that man under your roof was an entirely different story. He usually camped outside of town walls, in the fields, or might throw a few silver coins to a farmer for a hay loft.
Alric lets out a soft sigh. Patting the neck of the sturdy horse beneath him, he felt the mass of muscle on the beast's neck. She was a reliable horse. Gifted to him in the form of partial payment for a protracted service to a lord for a border skirmish, Kara was only five seasons old and had a bland temperament when not in battle, but on the field, she was fire and fury. He had seen her crush men's skulls through a helmet with a single hoof strike.
He knew that she was just as warm as he was. He could feel the heat pouring off her body. Her barding was just as stiffling as his armor was. He reaches out to grasp his water flask and tests the weight. He frowns. Not much left. He could hold the thirst at bay through discipline, but Kara had been working hard. He tips the contents of the flask out over her head to try to cool the poor girl down. "Soon, old friend. We will find you a proper drink. I promise."
He had been following the information he had been gathering as he had worked his way across the valley. The closer he had gotten to the lands of the D'Aurivere family, the more concrete the rumors got about their troubles, their need for reliable help. Though the exact nature of that trouble was never spoken of. Just that there was a dark secret that plagued the family. That was something he could relate to. Just thinking about it made the marks on the left side of his face throb.
His armor was in need of repair. He had been traveling and working his way along the coast, taking jobs as they came. Most small-town smiths wouldn't do repairs on his armor due to his... complications. He spots the castle rising in the distance, and he feels some of the knots release from his shoulders as he lets out a breath. "We made it, girl. Now the hard part. We have to convince them to let us in the door." Kara snorts and tosses her head. He gives a rich chuckle and nods. "Exactly right."
The moment he enters the castle gates, a chill runs down his spine. There was darkness here, and it wasn't natural. His left eye starts twitching the way it always did when he was in the vicinity of ambient magical energy. He looked at the gate guards as they approached him. They looked exhausted, like just standing at the gate was taking every ounce of energy they had.
"State your business." One of the men says sternly.
He nods his helmet-covered head as much as he can, thankful that the visor covers his marks. It seemed that, for whatever reason, the irrational hatred that affected most people required them to see the marks on his face. "Certainly. My name is Sir Alric Trent. I am here to speak to the Lord or Lady of the castle about employment. I have heard that there might be work for a skilled arm."
He immediately detaches his blade from his sword belt to offer it to the gate guard without waiting to be asked. They would peace-tie it, of course. No guards worth their salt would let a strange warrior capable of doing harm meet with their liege. As they bound his blade, a runner was sent to the castle to notify Lady Elysande that there was a knight at the gates asking for work.
