her head, silvery tips of hair spilling from the cowl and a hint of darkened skin, an ashen hint of deep purple, near black under the shadowing.
“And you, Huntsman. Goddess bless and protect us all.” She replied, her tone fading to whisper as she returned to the ball of magic dancing in her hand. Within it, she could see far and wide, of things beyond the borders of the realm. Watching over the men required little of her, the magic required to sustain them came simply from drawing the energy of miracles in their presence, and so she scried. The further afield, the less visible, yet the distance left her with a feeling of unrest akin to a seeing cloud of smoke on the horizon.
Far and away, across a body of water, something of the land made the elven woman’s skin crawl more than it usually did. Sarandin Isle had never been a good, wholesome place, and recent years had seen it descend into madness. Perhaps that was all she saw, the twisting convulsions of chaos. There was nothing more than a sickly feeling to garner from it, and so turned away from the cursed island. It was leagues away, across land, mountain and sea. Only those before her, wounded in battle with the Blackguard Hounds truly mattered in this moment. Even though the hounds were ‘docile’ in daylight, they had taken a small raiding party to hunt and secure. The beasts were invaluable monstrosities when captured that would otherwise ravage the countryside if left unchecked. The convoy rattled on.
“They’re back! The Royal Hunt has succeeded once again!” A watchman called , from one of the first spotting towers. There had been scouts in the woods, so many new to the title that the Huntsman had wanted to call them down for being too clumsy about their business. This was not the time for judging and inspection, however.
The procession to greet them was as vivid as ever, full with people whom did not see the Blackguard for the threat they were. People secure in thanks to the sacrifices of others. The Huntsman grimaced and twisted his mouth, shrugging and fixing his mantle – the fur of a grey mountain bear – and continued with the convoy, ignoring the cheers, howls and screams when a hound bellowed an echoing bark to the noisy bystanders. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the distant mountain range, and so the beasts grew restless, seeming to agree the crowds were made of soft-skinned fools.
“Quicken about your business, get them to the pens before light falls behind the peaks.” The Huntsman called, waving the men ahead before disengaging from the procession that rolled through city streets. His business among them was now done, and there was much else to do. First of all, the man could use a meal. The Huntsman travelled alone through cobble roads, stairwells and through alleyways to finally reach the Castle proper gates.
Much like the capital to the south, the whole of the northern city was a fortress, impressing the wildlife and would-be criminals with high walls across the city border. The grand centrepiece to that bastion of safety was Olvang castle. Majestic in size and apparel, it bore the multi-faceted banners of the Northland draped from every wall.
On that banner was a crest segmented into four sections, each with their own symbol. The upper right and lower left backed with a bold yellow bearing the winged hunter’s claw in the upper, the bared fist of stoic perseverance in the lower. The opposing segments showed the dark of night, embossed with the lowered head of the prowling wolf in the lower and midnight moon in the upper.
“Blessing to you, Huntsman. You fared well this day?” The first gate guard shouted down, signalling to have the door opened. The tall Huntsman groaned to himself and shrugged the heavy cloak on his shoulders slightly.
“I am alive. By Her grace may the rest of the men say the same. Dusk is setting already, we took too much time in this hunt but the wilds have been restless.” He shouted back,
“And you, Huntsman. Goddess bless and protect us all.” She replied, her tone fading to whisper as she returned to the ball of magic dancing in her hand. Within it, she could see far and wide, of things beyond the borders of the realm. Watching over the men required little of her, the magic required to sustain them came simply from drawing the energy of miracles in their presence, and so she scried. The further afield, the less visible, yet the distance left her with a feeling of unrest akin to a seeing cloud of smoke on the horizon.
Far and away, across a body of water, something of the land made the elven woman’s skin crawl more than it usually did. Sarandin Isle had never been a good, wholesome place, and recent years had seen it descend into madness. Perhaps that was all she saw, the twisting convulsions of chaos. There was nothing more than a sickly feeling to garner from it, and so turned away from the cursed island. It was leagues away, across land, mountain and sea. Only those before her, wounded in battle with the Blackguard Hounds truly mattered in this moment. Even though the hounds were ‘docile’ in daylight, they had taken a small raiding party to hunt and secure. The beasts were invaluable monstrosities when captured that would otherwise ravage the countryside if left unchecked. The convoy rattled on.
“They’re back! The Royal Hunt has succeeded once again!” A watchman called , from one of the first spotting towers. There had been scouts in the woods, so many new to the title that the Huntsman had wanted to call them down for being too clumsy about their business. This was not the time for judging and inspection, however.
The procession to greet them was as vivid as ever, full with people whom did not see the Blackguard for the threat they were. People secure in thanks to the sacrifices of others. The Huntsman grimaced and twisted his mouth, shrugging and fixing his mantle – the fur of a grey mountain bear – and continued with the convoy, ignoring the cheers, howls and screams when a hound bellowed an echoing bark to the noisy bystanders. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the distant mountain range, and so the beasts grew restless, seeming to agree the crowds were made of soft-skinned fools.
“Quicken about your business, get them to the pens before light falls behind the peaks.” The Huntsman called, waving the men ahead before disengaging from the procession that rolled through city streets. His business among them was now done, and there was much else to do. First of all, the man could use a meal. The Huntsman travelled alone through cobble roads, stairwells and through alleyways to finally reach the Castle proper gates.
Much like the capital to the south, the whole of the northern city was a fortress, impressing the wildlife and would-be criminals with high walls across the city border. The grand centrepiece to that bastion of safety was Olvang castle. Majestic in size and apparel, it bore the multi-faceted banners of the Northland draped from every wall.
On that banner was a crest segmented into four sections, each with their own symbol. The upper right and lower left backed with a bold yellow bearing the winged hunter’s claw in the upper, the bared fist of stoic perseverance in the lower. The opposing segments showed the dark of night, embossed with the lowered head of the prowling wolf in the lower and midnight moon in the upper.
“Blessing to you, Huntsman. You fared well this day?” The first gate guard shouted down, signalling to have the door opened. The tall Huntsman groaned to himself and shrugged the heavy cloak on his shoulders slightly.
“I am alive. By Her grace may the rest of the men say the same. Dusk is setting already, we took too much time in this hunt but the wilds have been restless.” He shouted back,
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