Fantasy Chivalry: Academy for Future Knights

[Procculus]

Wilhelmina Fortitudo

Clank clank clank clank clank.


Every foot fall was heralded by the clanking of steel as the armored knightess made her way through the throng of trees. She made no attempt to muffle her steps or her progress, crushing fallen twigs and branches underneath, and letting her presence ring out through the glades.


“You do realise you will be providing reinforcement to the academy in this hunt, right?” The client, a moustachioed man with dark depths within his dark brown eyes, watched her closely as she took the piece of paper from the board. With that tone, she surmised that this man knew of her past, or at least read something about her.


Wilhelmina turned to him, and her visor slid down, obscuring her face. She gave a panicked cry, before composing herself and pushing the visor back up, a foolish grin on her face, which slowly seeped into a forlorn smile. “I no longer have any affiliations with the academy. I am no knight, sir. I am merely a sword for hire. As long as I acquire coin, I don’t mind working even for the Foresworn, and that is a fact. Victory goes to the higher bidder, no?”


Clank clank clank clank clank…


Wilhelmina paused, and lifted her visor slightly, allowing her nose freedom from the compact suit of armor that she seemed intent on wearing for the whole day. She smelled…warmth. People. Fire. The group she was supposed to rendezvous with was nearby. There was another odd smell, however, that hung in the air, like the smell of a dog unwashed. Fur. Fur and wilderness. Wolves? Bears? Foxes? Her question was swiftly answered by a howl, a louder one than the one she had heard when she first began her trek through the forest, but a howl nonetheless. She nodded. Wolves, it must be. The hand that held to her sword’s hilt closed around it tighter.


An impact hit her on her shoulder, sending her reeling back slightly. She had been taken by surprise, and her helmet didn’t give that much of a peripheral vision. She slid her visor up, only to have it slide back down when something leapt onto her back and tried to gnaw into her neck. Wilhelmina dropped her sword, the weapon landing tip-first into the earth, and her hands reached around her back. They closed around a beast that had tried to tear her oesophagus out from underneath her armor and she brought it to the front. A mangy cur of a wolf snapped at her face as she held it at a distance away from her. She let it snap for a while, before she took it by its snout, held its jaws together and broke its neck with a twist of both hands. Wilhelmina shunted the visor back up with the back of her hand, and picked up her sword. The dead thing slumped at her feet was just merely a scout. She should get to the encampment, and quick. She was getting peckish.

 

[Killigrew]

Sayne's eyebrows raised and furrowed in skepticism. He raised a hand towards her as he spoke. "You smelled poison, and rather than tossing it or alerting me, you chose to consume it?" He took a circling step around her, towards the tree, his eyes squinting as his head tilted with troublesome thoughts. That Lord Etrie was the one to hand it over, that Franne would prevent his consumption of it in such a manner seemed more than odd.


His initial rejection gave way to a suspicion-ridden near-believing. Etrie was vocally in disapproval of Sayne’s rise to possible power, threatened, even, so in no way would Sayne put it past him to attempt such underhanded action, presentably honorable fellow or no. And unreasonable though the behavior seemed, Franne had thrown herself into danger before, knowingly. It had been under the influence of feverish burning of reason, but it was consistent with this tale. It wasn’t so far a stretch to believe her. As he convinced himself of Franne's honest divulgence, Sayne felt a wave like anger wash over his heart, only it was hotter, more forceful, like a constant, continuous siege rising up against some defenseless rampart. The hypothetical set his feet to pacing and his hands to trembling, and he angled back to her with a snarl on his face.


"Franne, you utter fool. What could you possibly hope to gain from such an act?"


She was going to die, just like that. A act in futility set by her own hand, a seizure of death with hungry hands, wanton for the silent embrace.


And what could he do about it? Just watch? Sayne fell against the tree’s rough trunk as the blood roared up to his ears. It boiled. He was looking down on Franne, his hands curling into fists as the thought of the cold blue of death dusting her cheeks was conceived sharp and sure.


Roughly, suddenly, he snatched her up, his fingers curling around her shoulders as he forced her to him. The press of his mouth on hers was invasive, and no spot nor crevice was left untouched. The lingering taste of old wine was lapped up, and gulped down in quick furious strokes.

 

[Syrenrei]

Areynia crawled out of the tent fully dressed with her staff in one hand and a shield made of ice on her other, visibly yawning. How did the daft female sleep through the wolf attack, or the incredulous yell from Jacob about the missing dragons, or the clamoring of the new arrivals to the camp? It was a grand mystery and doubly so in that she could do all of this, yet have the presence of mind to emerge from the sleeping apparatus with a magical creation with which to protect herself. She offered a lopsided smile to her companions and waved her staff a little at Armel in greeting. At least one of them wasn't in a terribly panicked or foul mood besides herself.


The priestess had subtly changed since the grand hunt in general. Her stumbling was less pronounced and most of the time her feet were firmly placed beneath her. Her gaze was often studious when fixated on their surroundings (usually rambling about foliage and the creatures native to forest). It almost seemed as if she was turning over a new leaf before now. Still, the presence of magic only those of the faith could produce bolstered the belief she was an idiot savant instead of completely worthless. She walked with a steady, casual stride over the group and looked around as if they were bird-watching.


"It's rather pretty out here at night, don't you think? Well, besides the savage beasts. So what are we doing? Do we have a plan? I thought I heard something about partners?"

 

[Terragon]

"Yeah, what a great night. There is nothing quite like the smell of the trees and the peaceful sounds of the-" A whole charade of howls interrupted him mid-sentence. "Well. never mind that part. Right, plans you say? Alright I have a plan. Phase one, I'll scare em off. I'll let you in a little secret about how. Well, I don't think a lot of people know this but.....I'm a dragon." He grinned at the end of that statement. However his bemusement was short lived, because he was now starting to feel this looming danger closing into the camp.


"And as for phase two, we pack our camp aaaaand we run back towards where we came and cancel this amazingly grand hunt to brace ourselves for something big. I can probably assure you all on one thing. This is not your regular coordinated attack by these little puppies. They are frightened, panicked, frenzied, and are fleeing from something. I can sense it, but I have no idea what it is. What say you?"

 

[Father Gigantor]

Percival Jaeger

​

It was unnerving how quickly night fell upon the vast forest, the dark of the night engulfing the area, making each and every pathway seem endless and hindering Percival's already poor sense of direction even further. Further distressing still was the fact that he was missing out on his precious sleeping hours, of which he had very few of due to the blasted hunt he'd been assigned to participate in. And as romantic as the idea of falling asleep amidst the company of the tall oaks and moonlit sky was, it was liable to get him ripped limb from limb by a wandering bear or cougar. Worse still, he might even get ripped apart before falling into a slumber, and not only would that be most agonising, he wouldn't even be able to enjoy those few hours of sweet sweet reprise before meeting a bloody end.


He cursed loudly and repeatedly as the corpse of the stag he was unceremoniously dragging along snagged onto several tree roots, attempting to yank it free. A horse would definitely have made this arduous process much less of a drag, but being the lazy ass that he was, Hyperion trotted merrily away back to the camp the moment his master averted his gaze. No doubt to gorge himself silly and fall asleep midway through, which on reflection, was the exact same thing Percival planned on doing the moment he found his way back.


As he pressed onwards through the dense thicket, in the general direction of what he presumed was the campsite, he spotted a stream, gently flowing in the direction he was heading. The stream flowed into what seemed to be a small crevasse that lead out into a wide clearing which was, much to Percival's dismay, completely dark. Still, at the very least if there was no one there, it was still a good place to set up camp, where he could safely fall into the caress of the sweet sandman.


Whipping out his knife, he butchered the stag, in preparation for the climb ahead. Tendons, brisket, haunch and legs, anything remotely edible was taken and crudely jammed into his knapsack, along with the antlers as well which he intended to sell for a pretty penny once this whole sordid affair was over with.


Finishing the grim ritual, he left the desecrated corpse behind as he sped towards the opening before it attracted the ire of opportunistic scavengers. Longing for sweet respite, he lowered himself into the cave, without so much as a backwards glance.