@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​

The runner had found Raven, just as the Lord Commander promised, and he’d taken to the chilly streets of the city before the sun had gotten high enough to melt the frost from the cobbles. Raven had gone to Ser Aymeric for information regarding a missing child and, while he hadn’t been able to help him directly, was good enough to set up a meeting with someone who could - Lord Fortemps.

He’d expected to wind his way to Fortemps Manor for his meeting but, somewhat mysteriously, the missive had said to meet at Lightfeather Provingrounds. So, donning his long, wool coat and dark glasses, Raven pulled up his lapels and found the place with nary a look upward.

The guard snapped his heels at his approach and Raven waved him at ease. A sense of pride and reverence swelled within him as he laid his hand on the massive ironwood door he’d not passed through in many years. It was much warmer within, thanks to the braziers, so he stowed his leather gloves in his pockets and released the buttons of his coat.

The heels of his fine shoes clacked on the stone as he passed through the Hall of Accolades, the walls lined with names of past tournament champions etched into platinum. His eyes found his own name without truly looking for it and he rubbed his thumb across the shining plate and smiled. So many names appeared between his and the most recent. Gods, has it been so long?

He was still smiling when he’d rounded a corner and started to hear the familiar sounds of early morning sparring within the training square. Commands being barked, the cadence of steel ringing against steel, leather boots dancing on rough dirt; music to Raven’s ears.

“Hold!” the instructor called to his men, who lowered their weapons and relaxed. “Well, well,” said Artoirel Fortemps to the new arrival, “look what the cat dragged in.” He grinned widely, as did the four house knights who turned to regard Raven who, despite his fine (if out of place) clothing, was clearly worse for wear from the previous evening’s libations.

The grin on Raven’s face diminished as he realized the trap he’d just walked into. Ser Aymeric had kept to his word, arranging a meeting with ‘Lord Fortemps’, just not the particular one he had in mind. “Lord Artoirel,” Raven managed and bowed a bit informally, “and his ladies in waiting.”

Artoirel laughed and walked forward to clasp arms with Raven while his men glowered. “It’s good to see you, Ser Raven, very good indeed,” he said, his face alight with joy that Raven didn’t fully trust.

Raven narrowed his eyes somewhat. “Oh?”

By way of answer, Artoirel put his arm around Raven and turned them both around to face his house knights. “Men, do you know who this is?”

The house knights glanced at each other before turning back to their lord. One of them, a smirking, cocksure elezen who was clearly the de facto leader of their little group, spoke up. “Well, my lord, he rather looks like yourself…after being trodden upon by Vishap.” The group laughed heartily at that. It was a fact that, especially side-by-side, Artoirel and Raven appeared very much alike…apart from their drastic height difference.

Raven smirked. He had to admit, that was clever. Artoirel, however, was not as amused and continued undaunted.

“This is Captain Alderscorn, Temple Knight and veteran of the Dragonsong War,” said Artoirel, whose tone acquired a bit of sharpness to lace his joviality. The house knight didn’t apologize, though his smirk was wiped from his face for the moment. “Quite,” Artoirel said to the men now that they were silent. His smile immediately reappeared as he continued. “Captain Alderscorn here requires information,” he explained. “In an exciting twist of happenstance, our Lord Commander, Ser Aymeric, requires a swordmaster to oversee the training of recruits.” Raven’s stomach lurched and he fought the instinct to flee.

“If you’ve studied your history, like I know you lot have not, you would know the name Alderscorn from it. This man’s Grandsire was General Gerart Alderscorn; war hero and legendary swordsman - Fury’s Blade, they called him. It is purported that he taught Ser Raven here everything he knew - a claim, if I’m honest, I rather doubt.” Artoirel grinned slyly, reclaiming his arm from around Raven’s neck, and rejoined his knights. He crossed his arms and regarded Raven who began to feel like the fox on a royal hunt. “Have you anything to say for yourself, Ser Raven?”

It was obvious where this was going. Artoirel’s pantomime and grandstanding was meant to spur Raven into defending those claims with a display of swordsmanship. Raven had nothing to prove, he knew. He’d begun training from the time he could hold a wooden sword and did so to this day. Besides, why should he interview for a job he wasn’t sure he wanted?

“Do you honestly believe I can be baited?” Raven asked coolly.

“Mmhm,” Artoirel replied and met Raven’s icy stare with a smirk.

Raven held Artoirel’s gaze for a time before sighing and holding his hand out. Godsdammit.

Artoirel tossed Raven a blunted practice blade and stepped to the side, grinning proudly. The house knights retrieved swords of their own and looked to their lord for instruction.

Raven took off his long coat, trading his sword from hand to hand as he did so, and handed it to Artoirel. Giving the blade a few long practice swings, he attempted to adjust for its weight as well as the incredible hangover he was experiencing.

“Ser Raven?” Said Artoirel. He pointed to the bridge of his own nose and then extended out his palm.

It took Raven a moment to realize he was still wearing his sunglasses and he took them off, handing them to Artoirel. With a final glare at Lord Fortemps, he exhaled a sharp breath and squared himself up to his opponent - the mouthy knight had nominated himself to face Raven.

“You ready, old man?” sneered the knight.

No, Raven thought, but he nodded.

No sooner did Raven nod than the knight was on the move. He snapped a sharp thrust that Raven parried by pure instinct, swiping the blade away from his face and stumbling sideways to avoid being struck.  The other knights laughed and jeered, gaining confidence at the clumsy display. Artoirel remained silent, a soft grin playing on his lips as he watched the events unfold.

Raven laughed along with them and even nodded his agreement to the insults. “Impressed?” he chuckled. He took a moment to refocus and pulled his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly to the dirt floor.

“Oh, indeed my Lord!” jeered the knight. “Perhaps I should fetch my Mother? You know, to make this a fair fight?” He turned to the other knights who clapped and laughed.

Raven stepped back to the line and relaxed into a comfortable stance. He grinned at his opponent. “No, no. Let her sleep,” Raven said. “We had a long night and she needs the rest.”

The smile died from the man’s lips and he scowled. Likewise, the others had caught the insult and their laughter fizzled out. “How dare-” he began to say but Raven cut him off.

“Care to join?” Raven said to the remaining three knights, drawing a circle in the air around them with the tip of his sword. “Defend the honor of this man’s hard working mother?”

They all looked at each other and, as one, turned toward Ser Artoirel who nodded. They plucked their swords from the dirt and joined their friend in a semi circle around Raven.

Adrenalin surged through Raven’s veins and began to sweep away the cobwebs of his hangover. He breathed in deeply, relishing the moment. He lived for it. The stretched second before the fight when all was silent and still. When action was pulled back taut like a bowstring, held by sore, shaking fingers that threatened to loosen their grip and let fly. The younger knights narrowed their eyes and set their jaws, nostrils flaring with each breath - young pups trying to look bigger than they are by raising their hackles.

Raven winked.

After a moment of surprise, the knight launched his attack and the other three followed.

The dance lasted only a few moments. The first two went down almost immediately, their approaches clumsy and half-hearted. Raven feigned a spin and reversed direction causing the smirking knight to catch his own man in the head with a heavy backswing. His mistake sent him into a fury of heavy, sweeping swings that Raven merely dodged, infuriating him even further. Finally, their swords made contact as Raven stepped into range. The volley was short lived, however, as Raven whirled, locking the man’s blade against his own and flinging it out of the knight’s hand.

Raven swung hard and swatted the man on his ass with the flat of the training blade causing him to yelp.

“Bad house knight,” Raven admonished and swatted him again.

“I YIELD!” he called, rubbing his stinging backside with one hand and raising the open palm of the other. “Fury above, I yield!”

Raven offered a half-hearted salute with his sword before tossing it to the dirt. Ser Artoirel joined Raven and handed him his coat and jacket. “Shall we talk?”

Raven accepted his clothes and walked out of the ring with Artoirel, leaving the house knights to rub their wounds. With a sigh, Raven turned to him. “This had better be worth the price.”

I just want to rip that tight, white dress off of her!

Bargains with Madness

Confused by the riddles taunting me in my head

Make them stop

Headaches and migraines

Pleading with them to ease the pain

Body aches and chills

Bargaining to reduce the sentence

This personal madness is eating me alive

I need the cure

I feel the disappointment

The failure makes it hard to breath

Lack of nourishment

I lost my passion

I’ve let the madness win

I don’t know where I am at or who I am

I reek of melancholy

This is the verge of my breakdown

April 2, 2018