[RP] Averancia: Hero's Call

"We should make forthwith to the stables. With so many wealthy men here, surely one could give me an ungelded and unbroken horse. I will take that in lieu of this... money."

He said the word with such earnest disgust. As if it were some curse. But seemed otherwise very eager to make friends with a new beast.

It’s clear that Amberstead’s diplomacy, skillful use of language, and ability to act as a voice of reason (and a deceiver at times) are likely the only forces holding the Duchy together, preventing it from descending into civil war as the remaining noble families vie for control of the vacant ducal throne.
Wilfrid casts the bundle of papers back onto the desk as Amberstead tosses him the letter. After a pause to read the letter, he looks down to the papers on the desk and thinks for a short moment. "It seems that the Lord Amberstead is stretched to his limits. The three noble houses all have become unsettled with the absence of our Duke, and now they seek to grow their own power. They care not for what their bickering and backstabbing does to the realm. Lord Amberstead is doing right by the Duke and maintaining the status quo between the houses. I'm afraid that may be all he can do with the resources at hand... Thus we are here."

He lofts the rolled letter up in one hand as he turns to the group. Waggling the parchment like a wand toward Ængus, he says "To be sure, young Ængus has the blessing of Father Elion." He unrolls the parchment and reads it to the assembled heroes.

...

When finished, Wilfrid rolls the letter back up and holds it like a baton. "Captain Malor is in need of reinforcements. We are but an assortment of talents and skills. Ængus, I am doubtful that your calling to Blackridge mountains means just yourself. You said it yourself - there is strength in numbers. I agree, we should go, but let us make the most of the trip." He turns back towards Amberstead. "My Lord, what leverage do you have to press each of the noble housed to send reinforcements to Captain Malor?"

Ængus is eager to go and fulfill the wishes of Father Elion, but he realizes that adequate preparation and rest would make it much more likely to perform whatever deeds or sacrifices holy Father Elion desires of him. Looking out the windows at the setting sun, Ængus turns to Lord Amberstead.

My Lord, Father Elion yet watches over his children. 'twas a vision of the Blackridge mountains near Blackhill which filled my eyes as I was holding on to the holy symbol on which we swore. Just as Gentleman Aelwynd read from the letter. However, much as I desire—or more correctly, am compelled—to make haste, the hour is late, and travel through the night, when tired, is good for neither man nor beast. Looking at Rafn, Ængus corrects himself. Domesticated beast, I mean. No offense meant to your predator of the night.

My lord, is there a place where we may lay our heads tonight? Tomorrow, bright andearly, we can provision ourselves for the journey and head out to Blackhill.

Aundovald listens to the wide-ranging discussion. The consensus emerges. The commissioned party will depart in the morning towards Market Town, en route to Blackhill to support the militia in an epic clash against the encroaching beastmen hordes.

Aundovald is filled with excitement. Finally he will have a chance to rise to the challenge in his time, to prove that he is worthy of his heroic Ancestors.

Sobering his thoughts, Aundovald knows that there is something he must do before departure. Now that he had new resources, at least he must try.

"I will be back by sunrise," he says to the group. Taking hold of his granted material, the young gallant departs from the mansion.

Aundovald hikes the familiar route, with strong resolve and a full heart. He arrives at the estate with his griffon broach cloak pin presented prominently. In a short but thorough review, he gives account of his recent commission by the Lord Chamberlain, the news brought by the royal messengers, and his own imminent departure to face the brutish invaders in the North.

"So that is it then, my Lord," Aundovald says to the rugged patriarch. "This is my chance. Finally I can prove my worth in the field. I will strive to make my unknown Fathers proud. And you as well, Sire. You, who has taught me more in life than anyone else under the valiant Sun."

Aundovald meant what he said, and it was apparent in the brief falter of his voice as the emotion of this moment settles upon him. Eustace Lord Nysell had taken Aundovald in as a stable boy when he was only nine years old. Over the years the landed rancher had ensured that Aundovald was mentored in the austere trade skills of equine care, horsemanship, roping, and combat. Even beyond that, Aundovald had learned the traditions of honor, etiquette, and martial bearing - counted among the wardens of Lord Nysell's locally renown patrol riders.

"And now this I must ask of you, Sire," Aundovald makes straight with the appeal. "Let me go to my destiny as a true Ryder. I know you will be reluctant to part with one of the Champions of your stable, but I am willing to compensate for his departure."

Aundovald slides the small lock-box across the table and opens the lid, revealing the stacks of silver coins inside. "This is everything I have. If there is more that I would owe, I will pay it to you with a debtors fee upon my return. The cost will be worth it I know. Lord, I go to an adventure and war, but I hope that I must not go among all strangers - but instead might make the foray alongside an old friend.

Lord Nysell, I ask you to sell to me noble Sigaric."

Thank you, my lord. May Father Elion repay your hospitality and graciousness tenfold. Ængus turns to head to the room in which he is supposed to sleep.

Scene: Midnight, the observatory, a thick haze of purple smoke fills the room. Two sit at a chess table. Black is rolling up whites line. The youth plays black though he has lost a bishop his knights control the center. And a black pyramid stands in the center of the board. A pillar within it. Two rooks support the queen who is flanked by pawns. The geometries radiate forward as the sectors of dominance in his position threaten while reinforcing. The sheer brutality of the game was next level chess.

"... It does not end, you are only to slow and too blind to see. There are no shores of light because there can be no limit to it, it is infinite. And of course you point to these crystal eyes which fall under the same limitation and call it proof. Oh you blind old fool. It is not the same over there as it is here. There is no time between instances. It happens over there and here with equal sureness, and It is the Divine."

Aundovald had slept under the open sky, a small camp at the top edge of the northern acres of the estate. He cherished one final night to rest his head on the soil of his home, where his memory and heart were anchored.

With Sigaric by his side, the chirping of the crickets, the smell of lilac crisp in the air, brilliant stars sprawling overhead from horizon to horizon - Aundovald dosed off to a dream that he had inherited the entire World.

Now he sits steady in the saddle, hands loose on the reins - following the royal carriage on the eastern road, towards the rising Sun.

But his spirit is still soaring, close to the Heavens.

Rafn had been guiding as soon as they left the walls. He moved swift through the natural terrain and kept himself and Silver concealed. Espying something on the road ahead Rafn scouted it out.