A Choice of NameBut he had been asked a question, and it was impolite to not answer it, particularly in the camp of another nobleman. Nodding in acknowledgement with a neutral expression, he answered in a deep, raspy voice.
- "Guldor D'Espana, knight of Greater Eponllyn. I have not seen your face before, and you are far too young to be one of the old warriors of this realm previous to Redhaven arrival. May I know your name?''
Standing in among the tents and general disorder of his camp, Nemean was visibly taken aback by the specter from another time and place. One of the cooking pots currently unattended began to grumble. Its bubbly surface quickly frothing at the edges. Its mass rising and then a sudden ''Plop!'' saw the whole of it sag in on itself again. Save from a few errant splatters being launched from the pot. Which landed wherever they may, wasted.
The noise pulled the young man out of his reverie. He cleared his throat and glanced about quickly as he collected his thoughts. Verdant was the sheen that the torchlight summoned from his eyes. Despite looking disheveled and out of place the young man's hair looked afire in the setting. A beaten gold color that had willingly adopted streaks of fire it seemed. Strands falling haphazardly where otherwise they where previously bound back in a ponytail.
''Of course.'' He took a step towards the living memory of a man. ''I bear the name of Nemean.'' The motion only participially complete as he had begun to extend his hand. Not even the shadows could hide the doubt on his features. ''Of House JeVondair.'' As if to imbue confidence in the shaky statement Nemean turned his emerald gaze to meet the oaken orbs of the elderly warrior. ''I am my mother's son. Taught by the Xerarch, blood of her blood.''
