BattleMaster > Roleplaying

Sir Nicholas Archival - Tales and Stories

(1/2) > >>

Archival:
To Giask
The journey to Giask had been taking longer than expected. The roads were not of pristine quality, and though Nicholas was astride his destrier, Stalwart, the retinue that followed in his wake marched by foot. His Sworn Swords, as they had rather bombastically taken to calling themselves, were not what he was used to. He thought back, only days before, to his final hours in the Archival estate. The thundering of galloping hooves was a familiar sound, now confined only to memory... at least for the time being. Mathis Archival had been a fine cavalryman and knight, but had not the money to afford his son such a unit. Instead, it was the mundane reality of the small infantry unit that he had since accustomed himself to.

He would make do. It would not do for him to make any complaints; his position offered him far more than the typical citizen of Luria might expect. Coin enough to support himself, his estate and an armed retinue was a blessing in of itself that Nicholas did not permit himself to forget. "To think yourself above the men you serve is a short road to hubris and betrayal," his father had always said. It was a valuable lesson, and one he strove to remember, even as his circumstances seemed ever more likely to direct him toward grander standing. The surprise of receiving direct correspondence from both his king and emperor had yet to sink in. Though there was a voice gnawing at him, reminding him that he was one of many. Even amidst the wave of knights presenting themselves to the Empire, the glow of pride was not so easily dimmed.

Aldrakar Renodin, though foremost his king, was the Margrave of Poryatown. It was useful, then, that he had chosen Noble Manor Square for his residence and area of administration. He had not placed himself under the direct leadership of Aldrakar with the express intent of seeking greater influence, it seemed possible that it may occur as a side-benefit. No doubt it would prove useful at least to earn of himself the man's ear. In the regard, it was not so great of a surprise that he had received contact. What remained unexpected, however, was the recognition of the Emperor. Though it was less personal, the gift of both acknowledgement and the two-hundred gold bond gave Nicholas enormous satisfaction. It became apparent that the time with which he moved to represent his family more widely throughout Luria was opportune. None of these facts would escape him, lest he miss the chance to grasp the greatness that so teased itself before him.

Nicholas shook his head, dark tresses whipping in the evening breeze. He had been allowing Stalwart to dictate their pace for quite some time now, he realised, with the setting of the sun above. The knight shifted in the saddle and glanced over his shoulder. The Sworn Swords continued to follow behind him without falter, despite being without mounts of their own. Like their leader, the men of the unit were young and eager, keen to find their place in the world. Though youthful exuberance was no substitute for regimented, diligent training, it was an encouraging start. They were amenable and loyal, to both Nicholas himself and to Luria. They were a fine beginning to his military career, but would soon find themselves amidst greater numbers upon reaching Giask. With that in mind, he consulted his map; Askileon and its port could not be far. Already he could smell the sea-breeze on the air. The occasional gull swooped overhead, before wheeling off back towards the coast.

He had never had the honour of visiting Giask before, and this first arrival promised to be far more interesting than could have been predicted. Recalling both the military summons to the Emperor's Will and the impressive procession of King Aldrakar's emissary, Nicholas took a deep breath to steady himself. Frayed nerves would not fit him in the capital. He had ever been a man - or boy - of slight stature, but to stand amongst the greatest of Luria at the coming banquet, he would have to be tall.

Archival:
To Giask - Part II
It was set to be a short journey across the eastern, smaller stretch of the Euschean Sea. The Myrmidon was a repurposed warship, made obsolete by naval advancement. It provided an efficient - if not comfortable - ride. The waters appeared calm enough, giving the blessing of smooth sailing. Askileon was quickly shrinking in the distance, left behind. The arrival at Giask drew ever closer.

Nicholas explored the ship, driven by a restless nervousness. He had given the Swords leave to entertain themselves during the trip. For their dutiful marching, they deserved the rest. It would not be appropriate for him to lose face before them, though a lump had continued to persist at the back of his throat. Giask represented everything he had been prepared for. Everything he had been trained for. He was acutely aware that any failure to match the lofty heights of Luria’s greatest city would not serve him well.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Nicholas gulped in the fresh sea air, pausing as he looked out across the azure waves. His bout of panic began to subside and his good sense once more prevailed. He sighed; this kind of weakness he would have to set aside once he arrived at the capital. The knight shook his head, dark tresses windblown by the gusts. It was ridiculous - he had faced numerous men more skilled and more experienced at arms without flinching, but the idea of a banquet caused him to panic.

Nicholas squared his shoulders and returned indoors to the Swords, who raised their mugs and tankards in salute. Giask awaited.

Archival:
Feast at Giask - Part I
Nicholas inspected himself in the ornate, gold-encrusted mirror. He grimaced at what he saw. Broad-shouldered and chested, but stocky. Long in the face and too solemn by far. Although his attire, crafted of expensive silks, was of fine quality, befitting a nobleman of the realm, it felt a superficial sham. He tugged on his cloak, adjusting the clasp; it was a sweeping thing, black with a gold trim. Though he would have sooner arrived in armour befitting the battlefield, it would have to do.

His first day in the capital had led up to this. Trudging through the aristocratic sections of the city, a grim-faced youth amidst a sea of colour and esteem. Visiting the most vaunted barbers and tailors in Giask, to ensure he would arrive at the feast in a manner befitting a Knight of Poryatown and nobleman of Luria. The noise had felt deafening; a cacophony of voices and sounds, a far cry from the edge of the empire he was comfortable with.

The Swords had been left with their new additions, having finished the day’s training, while Nicholas himself had left for the palace. The guards had let him pass without much fuss, recognising quickly his stature. Guards, the common soldiery, these were people he knew how to deal with. Honest, simple men without lofty ambition. No doubt the guests within the palace were to be of a different species altogether. It did not soothe him to think that.

Eventually, with a deep inhale of air, Nicholas strode away from the mirror and continued down the pristine corridor. As he approached the great hall, a trio of women of the court tittered at the sight of him. Is my cloak unclasped again? Do I look ridiculous? Doubts beset him, but it was too late to turn tail and run. He had seen the undead before; a few border skirmishes in the Archival Estate had given him that. But those creatures did not instil in him such fear as this - with steeled nerves, he entered.

He looked across the huge room, taking in all the majesty the palace revealed, grey eyes too bland by far for such sights. Striding forth with the rigid discipline of a seasoned soldier - and stiff by the standards of a courtier - he approached a nearby servant, while his attention was caught by the sight he had hoped for after but a few goblets of wine. Aldrakar Renodin; his liege. It seemed as though the King of Earth’s Hall was occupied with another, a man he supposed he recognised from the streets of Poryatown, though could not place a name to the face.

Sir Nicholas plucked a goblet, heavy with wine, and took a long gulp. As he considered his options, he caught some words, quietly spoken as though without the intent to be overheard. It was convenient was so closely placed. He glanced sidelong to see another of the court - apparently within the same position as he.


--- Quote ---"First, wine, I will be needing lots of wine", he muttered to himself.

~ Benedict Dupont
--- End quote ---

“That would be you and I both, sir,” Nicholas remarked, a faint smile touching his lips with wine not long to follow. “Sir Nicholas Archival, Knight of Poryatown. And you?” he asked. Confidence amongst cowards was an easy thing to find.

Archival:
Feast at Giask - Part II
“And you, Sir Benedict.”

Nicholas clasped Benedict’s hand, shaking it firmly. At the very least, he did not give a weak handshake. With his smile yet in place, he inclined his head courteously in recognition of his fellow aristocrat. As he moved to respond, the voice of another cut through to claim his attention.

As William introduced himself to the two of them, Nicholas turned to regard the man he had shared correspondance with. He raised his glass in recognition,  taking a second mouthful of the crimson wine he had selected, before reaching forward to shake his hand.

“Ah- Sir William. I was wondering whether I would find you here. It is good, indeed, to make your personal acquaintance--”

With the booming voice of Sir Donald, echoing throughout the hall, Nicholas fell into another silence. The name did, however, ring a bell. The knight took a few moments to place it, before it came to him.

“So that would be the man, Sir Donald, who claimed to the Emperor himself to be the most handsome knight in Luria,” he thought.

Nicholas resolved to watch and wait, to see what the loudmouth would do next. At the very least, it might provide a good show.

Archival:
Feast at Giask - Part III
It took Nicholas a moment to catch his bearings. So many words, gestures and smells all continued to assail him at once, unabated by notions of tact and timing. After the moment passed, his focus found its mark: Aldrakar Renodin was gesturing him - them - forward. Sir Benedict and Sir William no longer held his attention; it would be unwise to turn his focus away from the man seated upon the throne. With his goblet, of which he had only drunk two mouthfuls of, set aside onto the tray of a passing servant, Nicholas moved into a smooth stride toward Aldrakar. Though clad in the luxurious silks of an aristocratic, his gait yet remained in much the fashion of a professional soldier; efficient and forthright. The knight had little movement or thought to spare for flamboyance - though his cloak did much of the job for him.

As he approached, any discomfort began to fade. It had been the build-up causing him nerves, overthinking his expectations for the gathering. Without sparing a glance to the many courtiers and aristocrats arrayed in the Great Hall - many of whom eyed the Knight of Poryatown himself with envy - Nicholas quickly arrived to place himself within the King's presence. It was then he acknowledged the presence of Sir Matthew - the gallant, glory hound who had called for so many of his fellow knights. He was much less than Nicholas pictured; there was no impressive warrior-to-be. In his place was a youth, more courtier than knight. A boy making pretend that he was a man; Nicholas knew the type. Perhaps this was the way of things in capital. He had not the experience to judge for certain.

Regardless, upon approaching Aldrakar, Nicholas took his place after Sir Benedict and fell to one knee. He drew his sword - a decorative heirloom, inlaid with gleaming silver - and held it before him, his gesture of fealty. The knight looked up, directing his blue-grey eyes to make contact with the monarch's. At close inspection for Aldrakar to view, Nicholas appeared to be swiftly on his way to becoming more man than boy; broad-shouldered, strong-jawed and with any softness of boyhood melted away through the trials of sword and steel. His hair, a dark-brown, was kept in the comfortable middle-ground of style and practicality. In the short breath before speech, he took in his liege; now this was an impressive man. Much as he had imagined him to be, opposing the relative disappointment of Sir Matthew. With all the rigid, military discipline he had come to find comfort in, he addressed the King with the utmost respect:

"My king, I am Sir Nicholas Archival, Knight of Poryatown. I am humbly at your service, and thank you for your most generous invitation to this feast. My sword is yours."

Service, respect, fealty. These he had been readied for. These he knew. Courtly etiquette would come in time to follow, no doubt.

Navigation

[0] Message Index

[#] Next page