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Sleepercell
Planetoid
- Joined
- Aug 30, 2012
- Location
- Midnight City
Trystan's Appearance
It was a day unlike all others, the air was brimming with cheer and laughter. Men women and children of all ages and statures filled the streets of Cliffport, dancing as they were with tankards full of brown ale - a specialty brewed only in Cliffport. Such was their mirth that spilling half the contents seemed inconsequential Those who did not fit on the ground level made use of the windows, hoisting the three waves and the kingfish, coat of arms of Cliffport. The city, located on a cliff jutted over a vast ocean had nurtured it's denizens mainly due to the rich sea life, and the kingfish was the fiercest of them all.
The music of the bards echoed through the cobblestone streets, it was difficult to tell whether there was any rhythm present at all, drowned as it was by the roaring of the people. Women were dressed in their finest of garbs, whether it was silk or linen, fitting snugly or loosely, mattered little. The men threw their hats in the air as if they were aiming for the sun, embracing whomever was nearest and showered them with affection.
Cliffport was not known for their abundance of sunshine, yet on this very day they were graced by a complete lack of clouds in the skies. The sun stood high and bathed the city in a serene glow, as if the gods themselves were celebrating.
And the gods knew Cliffport had good reason for their joy, two decades of war had come to a close. Their enemy in the north had surrendered unconditionally, their leaders slain and their cities in ruin. The war had been brutal, on both sides. Hundreds of thousands had given their life directly to the fields of battle, each soldier lost felt vicariously through their families. None could deny the people's right to celebration.
The catalyst for the festivities had been when the soldiers had returned. Clad in breastplates the glittered like gold in the sun, their banners waving vigorously in the wind. Cliffport nurtured vast open fields, excellent for the breeding of horses. It was a national pride that every boy and girl learned horse riding from a young age. As such, the bulk of their army was on horseback.
Knights rode proudly with their lances and thick kite shields, their reverse teardrop shape bearing the arms of Cliffport. Occasionally the coat of arms for their respective houses.
Yet proudest of them all was the two men in the middle of the procession. King Altherin and prince Trystan.
The two rode the finest of stallions, both having seen as much combat as their owners. Prince Trystan was just as tall as his father, well above the average height in Cliffport. His thick brown hair in a constant state of bewilderment no matter his effort to comb it. Sporting light facial hair that would no doubt be the latest trend, he possessed vivid emerald eyes, something to match his personality the soldiers used to joke. Those who had seen both sides of Trystan understood the irony of the joke, for he was calm and collected, save for when there was battle to be had. Not even the gods possessed the same blood lust he did. Nor the skill for it.
But such thoughts were far away as the procession made it's way inside the city walls. His attendant had spent hours scrubbing every piece of his armor clean from any semblance of dirt. The guard consisting of stout men with spears twice their height only had to shove one or two careless dancers that got too close to the royalty now making their way through the cities towards the castle. The crowd roaring with cheers if Trystan even harbored the idea of waving to the masses. Appearances was important, as his father had beaten into him as young child. And Trystan played that game well.
His cause for mirth differentiated than that of the soldiers that had fought beside him. Truth be told, Trystan felt a void ever since the enemy had capitulated. His entire being was for the purpose of war. And now his purpose was void.
He smiled and waved, one or two bouquets of roses being thrown at him. It was a chore, their joys held no value to him. It was a relief when they made it to the royal district, where most of the common folk was barred. The walled of portion of the royal district held not only the seat of power, but the absolute best view in the city. From here, you could survey the rooftops of the five districts. And then there was the grand sea, on a normal day, the harbour was littered with fishing boats of all sizes. On this day of days, it was almost empty. The emerald sea stretched as far as the eye could see, one could easily lose himself if you stared for too long.
But what caught Trystan's eye was not the endless blue, but the pair standing atop the marbled entrance to the grand palace. All the beauty of the palace gardens paled in comparison to his younger sister. A stable hand was ready to take the reins as soon as Trystan expertly dismounted his stallion, instinctively placing a hand on the pommel of his sword, he shot a glimpse towards his father who had done the same.
The denizens of Cliffport could still be heard albeit more distant now. Palace guards were placed at the end of every step, gazing into nothing, ready for combat as well as standing on their heads should the king command it.
Once at the top, he was embraced by a tear-eyed mother who certainly did not hold back. It had been three years since their last meeting, upon these very stairs no less, where she had seen them off to war, and possibly for the last time in her life. No mother could rein in the tears now streaming down her cheeks at the return of her first-born. But to Trystan, she held as much value as the whores of the common district.
Still he was well versed in the game of houses, there were other nobles present who watched them closely. Trystan jerked himself loose of his mother grip that threatened to never let go. "I am equally happy to see you too, Mother. You would not believe the stories I have to tell." He turned his gaze towards his sister. Surveying her for a moment with those piercing green eyes of his, as if to discern her secrets in one go. "And how I've missed you sister dear. Your letters warmed my soul when the climate of the north offered none."
He gave her a smirk, for they both knew that both of their letters contained nothing but inconsequential gibberish. The kind of letters one would write for the sake of having written them above anything else.
Before she had a chance to reply, Trystan embraced his sister and pulled her close. Her tiny frame seemed to disappear in his grasp and he had to lean down to whisper in her ear "How I've missed you." The words were like an iron dagger coated in silk.
It was a day unlike all others, the air was brimming with cheer and laughter. Men women and children of all ages and statures filled the streets of Cliffport, dancing as they were with tankards full of brown ale - a specialty brewed only in Cliffport. Such was their mirth that spilling half the contents seemed inconsequential Those who did not fit on the ground level made use of the windows, hoisting the three waves and the kingfish, coat of arms of Cliffport. The city, located on a cliff jutted over a vast ocean had nurtured it's denizens mainly due to the rich sea life, and the kingfish was the fiercest of them all.
The music of the bards echoed through the cobblestone streets, it was difficult to tell whether there was any rhythm present at all, drowned as it was by the roaring of the people. Women were dressed in their finest of garbs, whether it was silk or linen, fitting snugly or loosely, mattered little. The men threw their hats in the air as if they were aiming for the sun, embracing whomever was nearest and showered them with affection.
Cliffport was not known for their abundance of sunshine, yet on this very day they were graced by a complete lack of clouds in the skies. The sun stood high and bathed the city in a serene glow, as if the gods themselves were celebrating.
And the gods knew Cliffport had good reason for their joy, two decades of war had come to a close. Their enemy in the north had surrendered unconditionally, their leaders slain and their cities in ruin. The war had been brutal, on both sides. Hundreds of thousands had given their life directly to the fields of battle, each soldier lost felt vicariously through their families. None could deny the people's right to celebration.
The catalyst for the festivities had been when the soldiers had returned. Clad in breastplates the glittered like gold in the sun, their banners waving vigorously in the wind. Cliffport nurtured vast open fields, excellent for the breeding of horses. It was a national pride that every boy and girl learned horse riding from a young age. As such, the bulk of their army was on horseback.
Knights rode proudly with their lances and thick kite shields, their reverse teardrop shape bearing the arms of Cliffport. Occasionally the coat of arms for their respective houses.
Yet proudest of them all was the two men in the middle of the procession. King Altherin and prince Trystan.
The two rode the finest of stallions, both having seen as much combat as their owners. Prince Trystan was just as tall as his father, well above the average height in Cliffport. His thick brown hair in a constant state of bewilderment no matter his effort to comb it. Sporting light facial hair that would no doubt be the latest trend, he possessed vivid emerald eyes, something to match his personality the soldiers used to joke. Those who had seen both sides of Trystan understood the irony of the joke, for he was calm and collected, save for when there was battle to be had. Not even the gods possessed the same blood lust he did. Nor the skill for it.
But such thoughts were far away as the procession made it's way inside the city walls. His attendant had spent hours scrubbing every piece of his armor clean from any semblance of dirt. The guard consisting of stout men with spears twice their height only had to shove one or two careless dancers that got too close to the royalty now making their way through the cities towards the castle. The crowd roaring with cheers if Trystan even harbored the idea of waving to the masses. Appearances was important, as his father had beaten into him as young child. And Trystan played that game well.
His cause for mirth differentiated than that of the soldiers that had fought beside him. Truth be told, Trystan felt a void ever since the enemy had capitulated. His entire being was for the purpose of war. And now his purpose was void.
He smiled and waved, one or two bouquets of roses being thrown at him. It was a chore, their joys held no value to him. It was a relief when they made it to the royal district, where most of the common folk was barred. The walled of portion of the royal district held not only the seat of power, but the absolute best view in the city. From here, you could survey the rooftops of the five districts. And then there was the grand sea, on a normal day, the harbour was littered with fishing boats of all sizes. On this day of days, it was almost empty. The emerald sea stretched as far as the eye could see, one could easily lose himself if you stared for too long.
But what caught Trystan's eye was not the endless blue, but the pair standing atop the marbled entrance to the grand palace. All the beauty of the palace gardens paled in comparison to his younger sister. A stable hand was ready to take the reins as soon as Trystan expertly dismounted his stallion, instinctively placing a hand on the pommel of his sword, he shot a glimpse towards his father who had done the same.
The denizens of Cliffport could still be heard albeit more distant now. Palace guards were placed at the end of every step, gazing into nothing, ready for combat as well as standing on their heads should the king command it.
Once at the top, he was embraced by a tear-eyed mother who certainly did not hold back. It had been three years since their last meeting, upon these very stairs no less, where she had seen them off to war, and possibly for the last time in her life. No mother could rein in the tears now streaming down her cheeks at the return of her first-born. But to Trystan, she held as much value as the whores of the common district.
Still he was well versed in the game of houses, there were other nobles present who watched them closely. Trystan jerked himself loose of his mother grip that threatened to never let go. "I am equally happy to see you too, Mother. You would not believe the stories I have to tell." He turned his gaze towards his sister. Surveying her for a moment with those piercing green eyes of his, as if to discern her secrets in one go. "And how I've missed you sister dear. Your letters warmed my soul when the climate of the north offered none."
He gave her a smirk, for they both knew that both of their letters contained nothing but inconsequential gibberish. The kind of letters one would write for the sake of having written them above anything else.
Before she had a chance to reply, Trystan embraced his sister and pulled her close. Her tiny frame seemed to disappear in his grasp and he had to lean down to whisper in her ear "How I've missed you." The words were like an iron dagger coated in silk.