Days of Knights (Atti & Myth)

[Cosmically]

“Jonathan.” He could see a muscle in the young man’s jaw clench and fought the urge to sigh, mentally sinking into the well of his patience. I’m not delighted with calling you out again either, Rorick wanted to tell him. This was the third time he had to correct the same foot soldier in one of their drills – a newer addition to his company and a lanky build that was just starting to flesh out with muscle. Instinct told him that was why he kept snapping his arm all the way straight in his lunges. Stepping through the neat lines of the men running drills, he critically eyed the soldier, arms crossed in concentration.

“You’re popping your elbow too hard. Resist the pull of your sword when you thrust, keep it bent for strength.” The rows of men surged forward together once more to parry and stab an invisible victim, and there it was again. Rorick’s frown deepened. “Stop.” His voice was calm and quiet, but in an instant the soldier stilled, mumbling a soft “Cap’n” under his breath almost ruefully. Rorick ignored it and clapped a hand on one shoulder, reaching for a wrist with the other.

“When you lunge, I want you to stop your elbow here – see?” Experienced fingers guided, stopping the others arm when there was just a small bend to the elbow. “Completely straight weakens your stance and slows your reaction time. You’ve got to counteract the weight of your sword with a fully engaged core and a strong front step.”

Teaching was a part of being a soldier that Rorick, in many ways, hated to love. Footsoldiers often filtered in and out of his company like they did through all others, tempted or scorned by funds or fighting or boredom. It was inevitable, then, that Rorick would ever have a company full of completely trained and sound soldiers. That part he didn’t mind: he liked the passing of knowledge, of seeing growth and way every person naturally melded together over time. What he didn’t like where the individual pinpricks of friction whenever someone got defensive in the wake of his advice – or worse, simply couldn’t do it. Drawing back, he nodded to the soldier, eyes watching carefully. “Again.”

There was a parry and a beautifully, subtly bent elbow, clean and quick and strong. Rorick allowed himself to smile at the man who looked more relieved than proud that he had succeeded. Regardless, he quickly tucked the moment away to enjoy later; a moment where he had helped to keep his personal fire stoked. A moment where he could connect with a soldier in his company beyond the usual barking orders he had to give. “That’s good.”

After twenty more minutes of shadow fighting Rorick called the soldiers into a neat formation for a run that took them around the entire castle perimeter twice. It was his favorite drill: passing by the barrack wings and grounds to the steadily increasing slope that eventually led to the main part of the castle where the Royals and guests lived. Beyond that was the gardens, one of his favorite places when he could steal time away, but he had to veer them past the thick, twelve-foot tall hedges that marked the entrance, following another long wing that was more industrial in nature. Servants quarters, blacksmiths and other master makers, and then the Captains quarters were all clustered along the road. Everything that the castle needed, at least on a smaller scale, was available on-sight. But talks of war and unease with their bordering ally began rumors of expansion, recruitment, and a mandatory draft that would reach royal tendrils out to all corners of their domain.

Huffing to himself, Rorick shook the thoughts out of his head and returned his focus to his breathing and steps. One foot in front of the other.

A man was waiting for them at the practice fields, waving Rorick over. He gave permission for water and stretching before jogging to the other, growing surprised when he recognized the man. “General Lotham.” His commanding officer - an older, distinguished man with a neat goatee and some preliminary grey wisps of hair flecking his temples - stood alone in more civilian clothes. Rorick nonetheless bowed deep and straightened into the typical waiting stance, legs pressed together, ramrod straight.

“At ease, Captain Errach.” The General waited until Rorick appropriately relaxed, save for the obvious curiosity that kept his gaze sharp, to speak matter of factly. “I have orders from His Majesty to instruct all captains to be available tomorrow evening for an important banquet. The dress code will be expected. No drills will be performed for the rest of the week and you are to saying nothing to your company until you are further instructed. Clear?”

Years of military training prevented Rorick’s face from betraying when his stomach did a nervous somersault. Orders from the king himself were about as rare as a three legged calf. The secrecy was unusual as well: banquets were usually minor celebrations, like the annual party thrown on their behalf. Rorick immediately wondered if this was in preparation for a declaration of war. But that didn’t feel right, either. Typical procedure would allow for his company to be notified in those circumstances. “Yes, Sir.” He mentally put the puzzle to the back of his mind for the moment, trying – and failing – to console himself with the fact that he would learn the truth as soon as tomorrow.

“Good. Dismissed, Captain.”



The next day lumbered painfully slow amid Rorick’s thinking. Throughout the day he mostly fidgeted in his cabin and tried to think of every single possible reason the king would gather up all the Captains but reached no clearer reasoning than before. Uneasy, he threw himself into work instead, filling up his day with a run, cleaning, and reading over the latest army reports before it was time to bathe and prepare for the banquet.

All Captains had a ceremonial uniform: a long-sleeved olive shirt that had intricate woven details around the neckline in golden thread was layered underneath a thicker sleeveless vest, long enough that the hem brushed against his knees as he walked. The King’s insignia, a glittering golden star cradled inside a large crescent moon, sat proudly over his right breast. Rorick stood in front of the small mirror he had in his bathroom to make sure the layers sat exactly right before slipping the thick leather sash around his waist. With shining leather boots and pants that were relaxed in the hips and thigh, tapering to tuck into the boots, the look was complete and gave Rorick a small piece of satisfaction that he could tuck away. The very first time he had worn the Captain’s ceremonial dress was when he was promoted nearly four years ago. Then, he had still had some baby fat on his cheeks, when paired with what must have been a large and nervous gaze, sparked relentless quips from his new band of peers. Years of training and fitness stripped away the roundness: now a pair of sturdy grey eyes looked back at him under a serious brow, framed by a strong jawline and straight nose. All baby fat gone. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his hair, the chestnut locks still cut short, just long enough on the top to fluff up. One of the three standard military cuts that were allowed.

The weakening sun told him it was late afternoon and time to leave for the castle. After one last look, Rorick scooped up his sword to attach on his sash before eating up the path in long, even strides.

One of the banquet halls was already partway filled with more green uniforms and a long, extravagant buffet that spanned nearly the width of the enormous room. About half the space was taken up by large banquet tables and benches, while the other was perfectly free of any clutter. He ignored the room for the moment and immediately wound his way over to a familiar face who looked as if he was waiting to see whether the servants would slip poison into the drinks. Rorick clapped him on the back in a silent greeting and nodded towards the buffet, unsure how he felt about it himself. “We are certainly getting the royal treatment today.”

“We are.” Talkin, a Captain he had grown friendly with, looked troubled. “That’s either a very good or a very bad thing. And it looks like His Royal Majesty is planning on making an entrance as well.” At the far end stood a strict row of soldiers, shining in full suits of armor, purposefully blocking off the last section of space. Rorick let his eyes skim over them before taking a closer look at another group of people that naturally stuck out.

“They’re not the only ones lacking green.” A handful of people – it was difficult to tell how many, given how many Captains were in the room – could be seen here and there. None of them wore a uniform he knew of, which gave him another pause for concern. But Rorick smirked to break the tension. “Well, if we are getting kicked out of our ranks or told to die on a battlefield, we might as well taste the Head Chef’s broiled shrimp one last time.” He stepped towards the growing line for the buffet and quirked an eyebrow at his colleague. “You coming?”

Talkin paused. “I think I am going to take a walk first – see if I can hear any gossip about what tonight’s about.” He couldn’t help but be impressed with his friend. Reconnaissance was the last thing on his mind after worrying about it all day.

Rorick shrugged. “Suit yourself.” The food line would work just as well he figured, eyeing how at least thirty or so people were flared out behind the table in line. One hand came to unconsciously rest on the pommel of his sword as he walked over and took up a spot in the line, unable to stop his gaze from flicking over to their non-Captain guests. They weren’t dressed in the ostentatious, jeweled outfits like the upper class did. None of their faces looked familiar still, even as he studied a woman who was chatting with a Captain nearby. Some bland comment about the weather drifted through his ears and made Rorick sigh, shifting weight from foot to foot.

What exactly did the King have planned? Did anyone in the banquet hall know?

 

[Myth]

I assign myself no rank or any limit, and such an attitude is very much against the trend of times. But my world has become one of infinite possibilities.

The book fell shut with a gentle thud, followed by a long exhale. Texts were simply astounding. Some encompassed stories sown by those with exceptional imagination, and others harnessed the power of words to teach an individual or drive a viewpoint. Some were sad, like a song brought about by loss; and others expressed joy and the greatest, most wonderful emotions a person could feel. They were easy to lose himself in, mind core and soul.

"Tell me, have you identified what your drive is yet?" A silvery voice broke the lingering silence in the small library. Amongst countless books and unneccessarily plush seating (to his own behest), a man rose - the spine of a thick hardcover in hand and clothing crinkled from having remained in one position for so long.

"What?" Another - one with short black locks brought up into a terribly comical pony-tail of some sort broke his gaze to peer up at his instructor from another text; all dusty pages and weathered ink.

"Have you identified what your drive is?" A drive was what one's magic relied upon to manifest. Without one, not a spark would form. But being unable to recognise what precisely that driving factor was was one of the most dangerous situations an individual could put themselves in. Magic was finicky at best and deadly at worst to the unsuspecting user, and it would not be the first time a death had occurred due to a lack of understanding and control.

"Oh, that. No. I haven't, I... It's hard."

Julian remained silent for a moment, to think, then - "Your drive is personal to you. I can help you locate it, but it's yours to identify and understand." He ghosted over polished floorboards to slide the book back into place among the rest, before turning on his heel to watch the other, who straightened up at the attention. "When your abilities first manifested - what did you feel? Where were you, and what were you doing? Why?"

The younger man - Joseph - let his back rest against his seat, slim fingers brushing against the pages as he spoke. "I was at home. It was... Have I ever told you about my family? We got along so well. My sister liked to hold my hand." Joseph fell short, dropped his eyes to stare at the aforementioned limb.

"And?"

"Oh. Right." His head shot back up. "During the --... when it happened, I was reading with her in her room. There was a crash from somewhere in our house, a yell." Joseph paused, his voice dropping low. "My mum screamed." He didn't continue.

Julian folded his arms, pursed his lips. "I'm more than aware of how difficult it can be to sort through those kinds of memories. If you cannot express it aloud, I will not force you to."

"I... Thanks, I guess."

"But what you are feeling, you need to understand that. Your anger, sorrow, whatever it is, even if it's guilt. I couldn't even begin to know what toll that event took on you because I was not there. But if you want to use your magic, you have to determine why it came to be in the first place. If you can't..."


"I know," Joseph interjected.

"Let me finish," he quipped back. "If you cannot find it, you will lose yourself and your core will rip you apart. It is not a pretty sight."

"You've already told me that," at the change of topic, Joseph's voice returned to it's normal grumble, and he huffed much like a child. "I don't need you to keep repeating it to me."

Julian shook his head. "Yes, you do. You need someone to ingrain it into that thick skull of yours until you understand. I saw you behind the buildings attempting to conjure out of sight." His arms fell to his sides and he approached the little circular table. "I am not fooled."

"W-what!" Joseph, as if he'd just been mortally offended, shot up. His abrupt movement forced the chair backward, legs squealing unpleasantly. "I was just curious!" His cheeks burned a hot, beet red.

Julian sighed. "Until you understand yourself, the use of magic is prohibited. You have already witnessed the result of an untrained mind attempting to manipulate that which they couldn't possibly comprehend; it is not a toy to fool around with."

"I-- Stop! Just stop, okay? I get it, it's just.. It's frustrating! I see other apprentices flicking their fingers to bring something close, and some even manipulating lightning already! But I.. can't, I just.. I don't..." There was a long sigh, "I think I'm done for today. I need to think."

Julian mimicked the sigh. "Like I previously mentioned, I won't force you...." He trailed off, "But thinking is certainly a good use of your time."

Joseph rolled his eyes. "... Yeah."

-

The banquet was of no surprise to Julian. What did surprise him was Joseph's presence - uneasy, sweaty and uncomfortable in formal attire and sticking out like a sore thumb at the other end of the hall. To be truthful, they all were. The mages had taken up residence in the castle outskirts barely two days ago after the head magister made a daring move. Using this kingdom's impending war to win a seat in his court was sneaky, considering there were very few magic users on the continent recognised and trusted enough to be allowed to do so. But to bring an apprentice along, especially one who could hardly grasp at his own abilities..

"There are too many people with swords, and they're so... Stiff." A familiar voice popped up behind him, followed by heavy arms over Julian's shoulders, knocking a silver brooch pinned to the left breast of his attire in the shape of what could be some sort of crow off-kilter. "You're pretty stiff too, if you know what I mean."

"I'm of the mind to throw you across the room if you don't remove yourself from my shoulders." The arms slid away like nothing had ever happened, and the man backed up, hands raised in a sign of peace.

"Do you want to cause a scene that badly?"

"Absolutely." Julian glanced over his shoulder, fingers adjusting the brooch as he did so, lips curled into a grin; "As much as I enjoy mingling, I would much rather throw you accross the room, Allister."

"Unfortunately," Allister mumbled, eyes brightening at the sight of what he was pretty sure was - "Hold that thought. I see something amazing and I'm going to put it in my mouth." He was past Julian in seconds, the mauve fabric of his cloak flapping behind him as he... well, zoomed, into the flock of people gathered at the tables.

"And there he goes," Julian commented, re-adjusting his brooch for the third time, just in case. None of the mages had a uniform, unlike the King's soldiers. Where they adorned themselves with green, Julian's company wore whatever they considered formal and unoffensive - from form fitting tunics and pleather pants to flowing robes sown with gold thread. For him it was a comfortable, form-fitting dark grey tunic; laced tightly at the front, silver-like thread weaved into the fabric as decoration. His hair; an almost-black brown, short and usually worn 'loose', so to speak, had been combed back save for a few wayward strands dangling over forest green eyes. The brooch was merely an adornment - a reminder of who he once was, unrecognisable to most if not all attendees.

Julian observed his apprentice from across the room, rubbing at his arms and awkwardly glancing around. Joseph looked as out of place as an elephant would, and it seemed he was being avoided as well. Or perhaps it was the opposite. The younger man should not even be here - only the more experienced mages had been invited. Except him, apparently, which had Julian posing many questions. Their magister was a crafty one, but there was nothing he could think of that would attribute to a believable reason as to his attendance.

Still, it was not his current subject of interest, and the lingering questions were pushed to the back of his mind in favor of the tables adorned with mouth-watering food. His legs led him long before his mind could truly catch on, and he found himself amidst the line of people eager to get their hands on nourishment. Apparently, he'd also managed to squeeze himself into a spot directly behind one of the green-clad sword-bearers, and his eyes drifted downward to observe a hand on a pommell as the line slowly drifted forward.

"Ease yourself, soldier. You will not feel a blade in your back tonight. We are as curious as to the purpose of this as you are." To some degree, at least.

 

[Cosmically]

Any mention of backstabbing would have pricked a soldier's ears up, but Rorick was particularly caught by the words once he sensed they were directed towards him. Turning around, he was surprised to see an unfamiliar face matched to the unfamiliar voice - and one of the guests nonetheless. Bright green eyes swiftly captured his attention and made Rorick momentarily forgetful that he was supposed to be concerned. The man was, Rorick instantly decided, handsome in both physique and dress: his dark hair made his eyes even brighter, and the silver of his tunic complimented the colors. Slowly, he blinked. "I beg your pardon?" It took another moment to follow the other man's gaze, noting how the other stood about a full head shorter than him, towards the hand on his sword. Rorick immediately let it fall away, realizing what had been insinuated. "Oh! My apologies - when you get so used to a weapon, you tend to forget how it looks when you use it for such a mundane task as resting a hand."

A slow, minute shuffle forced him to pause and follow the inching of the line while he considered the other swiftly. The man mentioned something about tonight's purpose - and while he didn't seem to believe he knew anything helpful, Rorick wouldn't cross out the possibility that something couldn't be deducted based upon their shared knowledge. Surely, there had to be some unique morsel of information. "Allow me to introduce myself and show some kinder intentions before I make another blunder." Rorick recovered more smoothly, extending a hand to shake with a polite smile. "My name is Rorick Errach, Captain of the 37th company. Pleasure meeting you."

The 'we' the man had mention certainly interested him. Assuming it referred to the rest of the guests scattered throughout the banquet hall, it meant they had at least one commonality among them. Rorick leaned into a persona of an interested host. Which he was, Rorick told himself. Even if the other didn't know much of the nights proceedings, he would at least feel a bit better having tried to investigate when a path was laid in front of him. "I take it you are a guest of his Royal Highness this evening? I hope the travel wasn't very far. I am not sure if it was the same for you, but this evening was a rather sudden surprise that left us all scrambling a bit." Some hasty excuse for cancelling the next days drills left Rorick feeling uneasy, no matter how quickly his soldiers gleefully agreed to the rest day. Lying to his men felt like a breach of their unspoken contract for transparent and honest leadership. No matter the reason.

He took another step when the line nudged forward again, though he kept turned behind him, facing the other. There seemed to be little way to covertly ask and Rorick decided that the question sounded innocent enough. The man knew who Rorick was affiliated with, after all. "You mentioned a 'we' - you all traveled together?"

 

[Myth]

"Ah." Julian allowed an easy smile to dictate his lips, while green eyes explored the soldier's revealed physique - quite shamelessly, at that. By the time his gaze drifted back up to the other's the apology and introduction had already been made, but Julian was in no rush to reply - instead preferring to mull over his words before he spoke as the line moved. "My apologies as well - I'm simply not used to being in the presence of those who use swords."

Nonetheless, he'd best get used to it.

"A pleasure indeed; my name is Julian. I do not have a title to dazzle you with, unfortunately." Any mention of a last name fell short, a gloved hand rising to meet the handshake with a quick squeeze, only to drop just as quickly. "So it is just Julian." And he liked it that way; nothing distinguishable, just a name with little to no adornment.

"I am," Julian nodded, "The travel was of no consequence. Myself and a few others were notified early enough that we have been here a small while and were in no rush. I find it strange that you were not told sooner, though." They no doubt had far more notice than Rorick seemed to have been given by the way he spoke, which he found himself somewhat grateful for. To all except the King and those His Highness trusted most, he and his fellows appeared to be a small band of travellers, not a group of deadly arcane-wielding organics. It was much easier to move around without people coming to scout their lodgings every three seconds as to their purpose, either out of ignorance, wariness, hatred or all three.

But even with the notice Julian had received, it was not all of it. He knew the basics - there was an impending war, the King needed help and the mage leader intended to use that to their advantage, but the how was missing, and he wasn't exactly a fan of being kept in the dark no matter how partial it may be. The plans of their leader were shared with no one, so it was safe to say that almost every indivdual in attendace was just as curious as they were.

"We did - myself, those mingling here and a few more outside the walls." Julian followed the motion of the line as someone made a slow departure somewhere in front of them. "I am familiar with all of them, albeit some more than others. You could describe us as an organisation of sorts."