MorganaLeFay
Still Alive and Kickin
RP with @FantasyIsMyReality
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You're Going To Drive Me Crazy
- Thread starter MorganaLeFay
- Start date
Nox.
The Wild One
The regal corridors throughout the castle were arching and ornate, the type and grade that Varyn had never had the chance to witness before. Tapestries of rich colors and intricate weaving draped down from near the ceiling and painted portraits of past kings and other members of the royal family adorned the mahogany walls, along with ornamental weapons and golden engravings of the family’s coat of arms. A thick, scarlet rug trimmed with golden thread ran the length of the corridor, muffling the rhythmic tread of his footsteps. Walking down such an impressive hall made Varyn feel humbled and small, despite his sizable stature. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and he shifted his attention from his opulent surroundings to his escort, a young imperial guard, striding along in front of him and proudly chatting away about the various relics around them as if he was a tour guide.
“...And speaking of which, you can see the king’s great-grandfather here, in this frame.” The guard paused slightly to admire the portrait and Varyn halted as well, expressing his own mildly curious interest at the brass-framed canvas depicting a stern-faced man with a strong, square jaw and a determined gaze under his furrowed brow. He had been previously listening to the young warden's exposition a little languidly, but enough to understand and catch the gist of what he had been saying. “A rather noble-looking character,” he remarked politely, his deep voice reverberating throughout the corridor.
The guard visibly perked up at Varyn’s casual observance and began verbally going off on yet another tangent as they resumed their trek down the hall. Varyn kept an auditory lookout for what he had designated as important keywords, such as you, job, king, and princess, but otherwise was indifferent towards the one-sided conversation. The guard had yet to say something of significant relevance, and while the history of the royal family was probably interesting to some extent, it was of no importance to the current situation and thus, he deemed it as unnecessary.
Mentally tuning the guard’s ongoing commentary down into the background of his awareness, Varyn took note on how the guard’s footsteps, even against the thick runner beneath them, emitted a metallic clanking sound due to his polished steel armor, while his own leather-bound feet made not a single a sound. Upon further examination, he realized they walked differently as well - the guard was marching along in a nearly flat-footed manner, while Varyn moved by lightly placing his heel on the ground then smoothly rolling his foot down, never shifting all his weight onto one foot at once. Years of experience had taught him to always move silently, no matter where he was - but apparently, the royal guards either received no such training or physically could not move without sound as a result of their cumbersome armor.
Once again, the distinction and cultural difference surrounding Varyn was highlighted. How had the royal messenger worded it when he approached Varyn a fortnight ago? He conjured the messenger’s voice in his mind to remember exactly what he had spoken. “Besides your reputation, we think you’d be a good match for the job because, well...you’re different.” Varyn suspected the underlying message of that sentence was, “Besides your reputation, we think you’d be a good match for the job because you’re not from around here and any attackers would be caught off guard by your unique features and style of combat.”
It was definitely the first job he had been offered partially because, and not in spite of, his foreign looks; normally, the tall build, thick and dark vermilion hair, and piercing golden eyes had potential employers avoiding eye contact and keeping a wary hand on their weapon or coin pouches. It had been a struggle to find employment when he had first arrived, but over the years it became easier as he dispelled many of the myths surrounding him and even established a reputation for himself. He had managed to piece together what stigma surrounded him by tracking down local gossip; apparently wastelanders, as they called him and his kind, were a cutthroat breed of people who were as tough and harsh as their desert homeland. He found the notion to be rather presumptuous, seeing as they had admittedly never personally met one of his kind before, and the way the rumors portrayed him and his clan as rogues without nobility or a sense of honor had angered him. Even now, several years later, he felt a reflexive resentment towards those who blindly believed such hearsay without first seeking proper evidence.
Varyn was abruptly pulled out of his state of contemplation when a bright beam of sunlight streaming in through the multiple windows lining the corridor pierced his vision, and his attention was momentarily drawn to outside the castle as he instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's rays. Beyond the lattice work, he could identify the courtyard down below as well as the edge of the training ground in which he had spent his recent week, having his skills and abilities tested to their limits. It had been strenuous even for his high level of endurance, but he had ultimately satisfied the king with his physical prowess. The training ground shifted out of sight as they walked further and he returned his gaze back into the corridor in time to see that he had finally reached his destination: a large, sturdy door that two other guards, clad in nearly identical armor, stood attentively on either side of, spears held firmly in hand.
Varyn's escort smartly rapped his armored knuckles against the door in a sharp staccato. “I brought Varyn Sigram with me, my lord. You requested his presence,” he called out, tilting his head to catch any sound behind the door. One of the guard's gazes met Varyn's and remained there assertively before the latter deferentially shifted his own downwards. He wasn't slow-witted by far and even though he had rarely had the opportunity to be present in a royal setting before, he knew how the hierarchy functioned; he would show respect where it was due and not take the bait to be drawn into a challenge. The guard gave a slight, satisfied smirk at his passiveness before dutifully returning his gaze straight ahead.
“Ah! You may enter,” a rich, masculine voice that Varyn assumed belonged to the king called out, muffled slightly by the closed door. Now that he had permission, the guard pushed the door open with his shoulder and held it back against the wall for Varyn to step through. Upon doing so, he realized with a quick glance that the room was a study. Oaken bookcases laden with tomes and scrolls behind glass panes lined the walls, nearly reaching the ceiling several feet above his head. Several maps of various lands lay scattered on the floor in the corner, and an impressively ample table stood solitary in the center of the room on a thick rug of crimson, holding a globe on one end and a stack of parchments on the other. The king, bearing a familial resemblance to his great-grandfather’s portrait, had stood up from his seat, leaving only one other occupant at the table: a young girl with an open book in front of her. Light doodles marred the margins as if she had gotten bored and just decided to scribble on the nearest surface.
The guard had now shut the door and gestured with a sweeping motion of his arm toward Varyn, standing at attention in front of the study table, while directing his gaze to the young girl. “Princess Alexia, this is who his Lordship has been talking to you about: your bodyguard.”
“...And speaking of which, you can see the king’s great-grandfather here, in this frame.” The guard paused slightly to admire the portrait and Varyn halted as well, expressing his own mildly curious interest at the brass-framed canvas depicting a stern-faced man with a strong, square jaw and a determined gaze under his furrowed brow. He had been previously listening to the young warden's exposition a little languidly, but enough to understand and catch the gist of what he had been saying. “A rather noble-looking character,” he remarked politely, his deep voice reverberating throughout the corridor.
The guard visibly perked up at Varyn’s casual observance and began verbally going off on yet another tangent as they resumed their trek down the hall. Varyn kept an auditory lookout for what he had designated as important keywords, such as you, job, king, and princess, but otherwise was indifferent towards the one-sided conversation. The guard had yet to say something of significant relevance, and while the history of the royal family was probably interesting to some extent, it was of no importance to the current situation and thus, he deemed it as unnecessary.
Mentally tuning the guard’s ongoing commentary down into the background of his awareness, Varyn took note on how the guard’s footsteps, even against the thick runner beneath them, emitted a metallic clanking sound due to his polished steel armor, while his own leather-bound feet made not a single a sound. Upon further examination, he realized they walked differently as well - the guard was marching along in a nearly flat-footed manner, while Varyn moved by lightly placing his heel on the ground then smoothly rolling his foot down, never shifting all his weight onto one foot at once. Years of experience had taught him to always move silently, no matter where he was - but apparently, the royal guards either received no such training or physically could not move without sound as a result of their cumbersome armor.
Once again, the distinction and cultural difference surrounding Varyn was highlighted. How had the royal messenger worded it when he approached Varyn a fortnight ago? He conjured the messenger’s voice in his mind to remember exactly what he had spoken. “Besides your reputation, we think you’d be a good match for the job because, well...you’re different.” Varyn suspected the underlying message of that sentence was, “Besides your reputation, we think you’d be a good match for the job because you’re not from around here and any attackers would be caught off guard by your unique features and style of combat.”
It was definitely the first job he had been offered partially because, and not in spite of, his foreign looks; normally, the tall build, thick and dark vermilion hair, and piercing golden eyes had potential employers avoiding eye contact and keeping a wary hand on their weapon or coin pouches. It had been a struggle to find employment when he had first arrived, but over the years it became easier as he dispelled many of the myths surrounding him and even established a reputation for himself. He had managed to piece together what stigma surrounded him by tracking down local gossip; apparently wastelanders, as they called him and his kind, were a cutthroat breed of people who were as tough and harsh as their desert homeland. He found the notion to be rather presumptuous, seeing as they had admittedly never personally met one of his kind before, and the way the rumors portrayed him and his clan as rogues without nobility or a sense of honor had angered him. Even now, several years later, he felt a reflexive resentment towards those who blindly believed such hearsay without first seeking proper evidence.
Varyn was abruptly pulled out of his state of contemplation when a bright beam of sunlight streaming in through the multiple windows lining the corridor pierced his vision, and his attention was momentarily drawn to outside the castle as he instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun's rays. Beyond the lattice work, he could identify the courtyard down below as well as the edge of the training ground in which he had spent his recent week, having his skills and abilities tested to their limits. It had been strenuous even for his high level of endurance, but he had ultimately satisfied the king with his physical prowess. The training ground shifted out of sight as they walked further and he returned his gaze back into the corridor in time to see that he had finally reached his destination: a large, sturdy door that two other guards, clad in nearly identical armor, stood attentively on either side of, spears held firmly in hand.
Varyn's escort smartly rapped his armored knuckles against the door in a sharp staccato. “I brought Varyn Sigram with me, my lord. You requested his presence,” he called out, tilting his head to catch any sound behind the door. One of the guard's gazes met Varyn's and remained there assertively before the latter deferentially shifted his own downwards. He wasn't slow-witted by far and even though he had rarely had the opportunity to be present in a royal setting before, he knew how the hierarchy functioned; he would show respect where it was due and not take the bait to be drawn into a challenge. The guard gave a slight, satisfied smirk at his passiveness before dutifully returning his gaze straight ahead.
“Ah! You may enter,” a rich, masculine voice that Varyn assumed belonged to the king called out, muffled slightly by the closed door. Now that he had permission, the guard pushed the door open with his shoulder and held it back against the wall for Varyn to step through. Upon doing so, he realized with a quick glance that the room was a study. Oaken bookcases laden with tomes and scrolls behind glass panes lined the walls, nearly reaching the ceiling several feet above his head. Several maps of various lands lay scattered on the floor in the corner, and an impressively ample table stood solitary in the center of the room on a thick rug of crimson, holding a globe on one end and a stack of parchments on the other. The king, bearing a familial resemblance to his great-grandfather’s portrait, had stood up from his seat, leaving only one other occupant at the table: a young girl with an open book in front of her. Light doodles marred the margins as if she had gotten bored and just decided to scribble on the nearest surface.
The guard had now shut the door and gestured with a sweeping motion of his arm toward Varyn, standing at attention in front of the study table, while directing his gaze to the young girl. “Princess Alexia, this is who his Lordship has been talking to you about: your bodyguard.”
MorganaLeFay
Still Alive and Kickin
Alexia was arguing with her father as Varyn roamed the hall of her home, becoming increasingly frustrated by the second.
"I don't need a body guard!" She cried. She didn't. Her father had her trained with multiple weapons since she was old enough to hold them.
"Alexia." Her father said sternly. "Forces are moving through this land that neither of us can fight against alone."
"Then why don't we fight them together!?"
"I can't Alexia!" Her father's face turned red. "Now sit. Down."
She did what she was told, fuming silently. Her father very rarely raised his voice to her, but then again, he never had the chance, as the only time he ever interacted with his daughter was when he absolutely had to. Ever since her mother had died, he kept himself locked in his study almost every waking moment.
In her anger, Alexia picked the most expensive looking book off of her father's desk along with a pen and started drawing in it. It was a childish notion, she knew, but what else was she supposed to do?
By the time the guard knocked on the door, Alexia had effectively ruined three pages. Her father told the arrivals to come inside, and she lifted her eyes to examine the outlandish man. He was tall, strong, and built like an athlete. Some one practically born for this job. Alexia's eyes narrowed and she stood after she had been introduced. She moved quickly over to the man, her skirts swishing around her legs.
"This is it?" She asked incredulously. She moved around the man, poking him roughly in various places. "He doesn't look able to defend a group of toadstools! And besides that, he's a wastelander! How can we trust them? They stab everyone in the back. How do you expect me to except him as a-"
"Alexia, enough." Her father stood and moved out from behind his desk, walking towards Varyn and shaking his hand firmly. "I have seen your skills, and you will do nicely. The only problem will be dealing with my daughter. May the gods have mercy on your soul, my dear man."
"I don't need a body guard!" She cried. She didn't. Her father had her trained with multiple weapons since she was old enough to hold them.
"Alexia." Her father said sternly. "Forces are moving through this land that neither of us can fight against alone."
"Then why don't we fight them together!?"
"I can't Alexia!" Her father's face turned red. "Now sit. Down."
She did what she was told, fuming silently. Her father very rarely raised his voice to her, but then again, he never had the chance, as the only time he ever interacted with his daughter was when he absolutely had to. Ever since her mother had died, he kept himself locked in his study almost every waking moment.
In her anger, Alexia picked the most expensive looking book off of her father's desk along with a pen and started drawing in it. It was a childish notion, she knew, but what else was she supposed to do?
By the time the guard knocked on the door, Alexia had effectively ruined three pages. Her father told the arrivals to come inside, and she lifted her eyes to examine the outlandish man. He was tall, strong, and built like an athlete. Some one practically born for this job. Alexia's eyes narrowed and she stood after she had been introduced. She moved quickly over to the man, her skirts swishing around her legs.
"This is it?" She asked incredulously. She moved around the man, poking him roughly in various places. "He doesn't look able to defend a group of toadstools! And besides that, he's a wastelander! How can we trust them? They stab everyone in the back. How do you expect me to except him as a-"
"Alexia, enough." Her father stood and moved out from behind his desk, walking towards Varyn and shaking his hand firmly. "I have seen your skills, and you will do nicely. The only problem will be dealing with my daughter. May the gods have mercy on your soul, my dear man."
