DareToDream
Pulsar
- Joined
- Dec 26, 2009
- Location
- East Coast of U.S.
As he made his rounds, taking his time to stop and talk to each man he came across, Marcus couldn’t help but notice the energy that flowed through the camp. Men were watching men, sizing each other up, sides forming even though their High Knight and Lord were not fighting. The actions the previous night had done some damage, that much was clear, but Marcus couldn’t change that nor would he want to even if he could. Now that he controlled quite a bit of their in-city army, Aquitaine would be forced to play by the rules, at least in public. Marcus was under no illusions that it would stop entirely though; it would simply move to the background and be done more secretly now. He understood this and knew that what they played now was a game of chess, where each man would move his players here and there, trying to get the upper hand. Aquitaine still had the higher numbers at his disposal but Marcus had the heart. His troops actually believed in what they fought for whereas the others simply fought for power. The one unknown were the troops outside the city; he had no idea how many of them were loyal to him. Making a note to have Cedric send one of their men out there to get a gauge on that, he continued making his rounds.
Each man he met spoke of the Goddess and how she had chosen him as her champion, offering her protection during the punishment. He didn’t discourage such talk but he did use it to his advantage, taking the time to joke about the inferiority of Tomas and those that followed him. It was underhanded, he had to admit, but this was a war within a war now and he needed all the help he could get. The more he moved through the camp, the sorer his back became, a fact that wasn’t helped each time one of Aquitaine’s men bumped into him, something that happened quite frequently. One man was even bold enough to slap his hand down on Marcus’s back which almost drew a moan from his lips but he managed to hold it in. By the time he made it to the chow tent for lunch, he could barely stand and gratefully plopped onto a stool to gobble the plate of food. Cedric slid in next too him, taking one look at his pale face, and immediately slid a glass of water to him. “Are you going to make it until tonight, Marcus?” he asked quietly, his voice pitched low so only the two of them would hear. Marcus gave a stiff nod. “The Hounds of Hell couldn’t keep me away, Cedric. Not when Illayna will be there.” He finished his food slowly and then stood, using the table to steady himself. “My cot calls me, I think” he murmured as he gave Cedric a nod and then headed out.
After a much needed rest, the High Knight rose from his bed, noting the setting sun. With a groan, he began to get ready for the night’s events, choosing a loose fitting shirt first, one that hid the bandages well, and a pair of tight pants. Next went the daggers, more strapped on than normal, and his black vest over top, also sporting a hidden dagger or two. Normally Marcus didn’t like being so heavily laden down by metal but the danger had increased in the last days and now warranted it. Strapping his sword to his back, he added a dusk colored cloak, which added a bit of flair to his wardrobe. Next went his boots, a dagger in each and when he was finally done, he left his tent and headed towards the stables to await Cedric and their Lord. They arrived soon enough and after a few fake pleasantries were exchanged the three were on their way, trailed by a contingent of men loyal to Aquitaine. Marcus glanced at Cedric who gave a nod before sending a discreet signal into the shadows. No sooner had their contingent passed before a few additional guards trailed behind, these men loyal to Marcus, there to offer protection. He didn’t think Aquitaine would be stupid enough to attack Cedric and him in public but he was taking no chances.
They were soon joined on the Aurelian streets by other soldiers, these from neighboring kingdoms, all heading towards the palace at a brisk pace. Marcus was soon hailed, the voice all too familiar, and he turned to see the High Knight of Merivale riding towards him. With a nod to Aquitaine and Cedric, Marcus moved away from their group and met his friend at the edge of the road. “Hello Marcus” the man, named Cirac, said. “I see your bravery continues; between last night and today you’re making quite a legend for yourself.” Marcus frowned at that news, wanting nothing to do with legends, but before he could speak the other man beat him to it. “Rumor also has it that Greymere was offered an alliance tonight but turned it down. It’s quite possible they made another enemy as a result. You’re cause is getting harder my friend but I still support you.” With that, Cirac rejoined his own group, never letting Marcus get a word in edgewise. His words were disconcerting on two levels and the knight mulled them over; the legend bit he cast aside since it was irrelevant but the information about the rejected alliance he found very interesting. What role would it play in their future? Since it was an unknown at this point, Marcus rode with the rest of his group to the palace, heading inside once they’d been cleared, all weapons allowed for this particular dinner and the discussion that would follow. The minute he walked through the doors, his eyes began to watch for her, wanting one more glimpse of Illayna before things went sour. His steps were shaky at best, the ride having brought his back pain to the surface again, but he never faltered in his path.
Each man he met spoke of the Goddess and how she had chosen him as her champion, offering her protection during the punishment. He didn’t discourage such talk but he did use it to his advantage, taking the time to joke about the inferiority of Tomas and those that followed him. It was underhanded, he had to admit, but this was a war within a war now and he needed all the help he could get. The more he moved through the camp, the sorer his back became, a fact that wasn’t helped each time one of Aquitaine’s men bumped into him, something that happened quite frequently. One man was even bold enough to slap his hand down on Marcus’s back which almost drew a moan from his lips but he managed to hold it in. By the time he made it to the chow tent for lunch, he could barely stand and gratefully plopped onto a stool to gobble the plate of food. Cedric slid in next too him, taking one look at his pale face, and immediately slid a glass of water to him. “Are you going to make it until tonight, Marcus?” he asked quietly, his voice pitched low so only the two of them would hear. Marcus gave a stiff nod. “The Hounds of Hell couldn’t keep me away, Cedric. Not when Illayna will be there.” He finished his food slowly and then stood, using the table to steady himself. “My cot calls me, I think” he murmured as he gave Cedric a nod and then headed out.
After a much needed rest, the High Knight rose from his bed, noting the setting sun. With a groan, he began to get ready for the night’s events, choosing a loose fitting shirt first, one that hid the bandages well, and a pair of tight pants. Next went the daggers, more strapped on than normal, and his black vest over top, also sporting a hidden dagger or two. Normally Marcus didn’t like being so heavily laden down by metal but the danger had increased in the last days and now warranted it. Strapping his sword to his back, he added a dusk colored cloak, which added a bit of flair to his wardrobe. Next went his boots, a dagger in each and when he was finally done, he left his tent and headed towards the stables to await Cedric and their Lord. They arrived soon enough and after a few fake pleasantries were exchanged the three were on their way, trailed by a contingent of men loyal to Aquitaine. Marcus glanced at Cedric who gave a nod before sending a discreet signal into the shadows. No sooner had their contingent passed before a few additional guards trailed behind, these men loyal to Marcus, there to offer protection. He didn’t think Aquitaine would be stupid enough to attack Cedric and him in public but he was taking no chances.
They were soon joined on the Aurelian streets by other soldiers, these from neighboring kingdoms, all heading towards the palace at a brisk pace. Marcus was soon hailed, the voice all too familiar, and he turned to see the High Knight of Merivale riding towards him. With a nod to Aquitaine and Cedric, Marcus moved away from their group and met his friend at the edge of the road. “Hello Marcus” the man, named Cirac, said. “I see your bravery continues; between last night and today you’re making quite a legend for yourself.” Marcus frowned at that news, wanting nothing to do with legends, but before he could speak the other man beat him to it. “Rumor also has it that Greymere was offered an alliance tonight but turned it down. It’s quite possible they made another enemy as a result. You’re cause is getting harder my friend but I still support you.” With that, Cirac rejoined his own group, never letting Marcus get a word in edgewise. His words were disconcerting on two levels and the knight mulled them over; the legend bit he cast aside since it was irrelevant but the information about the rejected alliance he found very interesting. What role would it play in their future? Since it was an unknown at this point, Marcus rode with the rest of his group to the palace, heading inside once they’d been cleared, all weapons allowed for this particular dinner and the discussion that would follow. The minute he walked through the doors, his eyes began to watch for her, wanting one more glimpse of Illayna before things went sour. His steps were shaky at best, the ride having brought his back pain to the surface again, but he never faltered in his path.