Arnickles Renodin/Myr
Description
His cleanly shaved, boyish face is framed with storm of black hair pointing in all directions. He stands nearly a head taller than most of his contemporaries, and altough lean of frame, his flesh is somewhat reinforced due to horseless childhood full of physical labour. His pristine light-brown skin shows no scars whatsoever, continuously mocking his attempts to be seen as a full-fledged knight.
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| Continent | |
| Family | Family |
| Class | |
| Age | years |
| Honour | |
| Prestige | |
| Rank | |
| Region | [[]] |
| Duchy | [[]] |
| Realm | |
Knighthood
Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin
A snowflake made of purest silver, shimmering in the dawning sun - that is the impression one would have looking at it from afar. From up close the mix of marble, granite and limestone in rich areas and chalky mudbricks in poor areas of this metropolis, bathing travelers in shocking amounts of light was even more impressive. Absorbing the wonders of the Silver City walked young Myr, his mouth failing to remain closed. The shadows growing shorter informed him that it was getting late. "You don't get knighted by pretermiting one of knightly virtues!" - he thought to himself as he hastened the pace.
Arriving at The Rendorian Imperial Complex he marveled - mouth agape - at the columns and cobblestones, the spacey hall and the ceiling. As his eyes finally wandered to the figure in the prominent place of the room, he forced his mouth closed and assuming the most dignified gait he could manage he walked towards the man in front of highly decorated chair.
Performing genuflexion Myr said the words:
"I - Myr Arnickles Renodin - do solemnly swear my oath of fealty to my rightful liege, Margrave of Askileon - Aldrakar Renodin, and to the Kingdom of Moon Hall, in person of Royal Aldrakar Renodin. I swear my Imperial Loyalty to the Hegemony of Luria Nova and His Imperial Highness - Suzerein Emperor Aldrakar Renodin. To my blood and honour I swear to serve and protect my rightful liege and my realm, with all my will and all my might, and give my life - should it ever be requested. This is my oath."
Finishing the speech he pounded his chest three times, representing three degrees of sovereign faelty he sworn. Expecting the touch of the sword and handing of the deed for estate he anxiously looked up.
He saw a man of most regal provenance. The aura of gold and silver surrounded him. His hair - originally of golden hue - now were hinted with silvery shades. His shape was strong, with majestic shoulderguards adorning already broad shoulders. In battle with passing time the Emperor hadn't given up much of the field, he endured it artfully - his face, other than with several battle-scars, wasn't showing his age at all. His blue eyes met young knight-to-be's stare with kindheartedness, there was some universally paternal care in them, as if he viewed all subjects of the Lurian Empire as his children in a way.
Myr thought to himself - "Is it truly possible that in my veins flows the same, albeit watered down, blood?"
He then lowered his stare to the polished marble, in which he saw his own reflection. His dark eyes went from frizzy hairs at the top to his boyish face, his dark cheeks contorted in a catlike grin, his lean frame and considerable length of his torso, his long, athletic legs and finally to his well-worn footwear at the bottom. Thankfully most of this was masked with a plate armour of lesser quality, altough polished to look as knightly as possible.
–
Roleplay from Aldrakar Renodin
The oath of Myr Arnickles Renodin
"I - Myr Arnickles Renodin - do solemnly swear my oath of fealty to my rightful liege, Margrave of Askileon - Aldrakar Renodin, and to the Kingdom of Moon Hall, in person of Royal Aldrakar Renodin. I swear my Imperial Loyalty to the Hegemony of Luria Nova and His Imperial Highness - Suzerein Emperor Aldrakar Renodin. To my blood and honour I swear to serve and protect my rightful liege and my realm, with all my will and all my might, and give my life - should it ever be requested. This is my oath."
Finishing the speech he pounded his chest three times, representing three degrees of sovereign faelty he sworn. Expecting the touch of the sword and handing of the deed for estate he anxiously looked up."
Letting the words hang in the air, Aldrakar beheld this scion of the bloodline mingled with his own. He looked healthy yet the complexion of his skin distinguished him clearly from the main Renodinian Bloodline. He still recalled the letter from the daimon infested continent of Beluaterra. From Astros, informing him of the new Cadet Branch. Arnickles Renodin the name felt awkward as it rolled off his tongue. Without pausing he unsheathed a now shimmering blade in the cascading light that spilled in from the tall windows. Engraved with the symbols of House Renodin and decorated in fine gold around the guard. Holding it up straight Aldrakar spoke.
And to your Oath I shall hold you. Until such a time that I release you from it or death does claim you. In turn I will provide you with an upkeep suitable to your service rendered onto me. Providing enough so that you may command a company of good and loyal men in my name and do battle for the pleasure of the Realm and its Sovereign master, The Emperor.
A small pause fell as Aldrakar's gaze left little to question who that person was before resuming. I swear to do right by you as long as your Oath is strong and shelter you in my homes, provides you cloth to garb your body in and see to the nourishment that grands you life. Justice shall be mine to give and my hand to shield you from the evil of others. This is my sacred vow onto you as Liege and I accept your Oath.
The estate known as Heir's Gate is now yours by bond and oath, use it wisely.
Sir Myr, you do me proud and make swell my heart with hope as the future just turned to a stark Gold against the black night sky.
The imperial blade wielded in Aldrakar's hand moved with measured grace and touched Myr first on the left shoulder, rested there for but a moment and then moved on to touch the right shoulder. Sheathing the sword Aldrakar deigned to lean a little bit closer to Myr and whispered something to the young man. The words impossible to all but those blessed with dog's hearing from catching. So Myr was accepted as an Imperial Knight of the Hegemony. His tale yet begun and already, finding himself with huge shoes to fill.
Leaning close
The sound of Aldrakar's calm breath came as the ocean sends waves onto the shores. Rhythmic and strangely soothing. The line of Silhouettes has long been kept a secret, I am glad it can now stand in the light and add to our family glory. Be sure to act with utmost respect, be a man other men wish to be. Never falter in your duty and show courage even when you feel none. Treat women with dignity and protect those that cannot protect themselves. That is what it means to be Noble.
Leaning back slightly, Aldrkar looked into the young man's eyes and offered a warm smile. Go now, make a name for yourself Myr.
–
Roleplay of Myr Arnickles Renodin
Hearing the words, feeling the weight of the blade on his shoulder, finally standing up a knight - Myr bowed ceremonially and departed from the hall. Onlookers could've thought that the Rendorian Imperial Complex had a power to transform, for in went a boy, out came a man. Same face, clothes and armour, and at the same time - a different person entirely.
–
Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin
Giask - the great city, the golden city, the jewel of the south, crown of Euschean. It had many names, none of which gave justice to the marvel of a city it truly was. Myr counted his Redmanes atop the gangplank of the ferry that carried him over Euschean Sea. Standing two dozen strong were the veterans of quarries, salt-mines and pastures - a sight to behold. He tore his eyes from the magnificence of the sky-poking spires and looked down. The other company that travelled on the same ferry had already been disembarking."Blast it! Northern knight'll take all the best warriors before I get the chance!" - he subtly swore.
Thinking - 'there's no time for sightseeing' - he rushed to the recruitement offices, his men barely keeping up. When he finally stopped right in front of the heavy hand of a season officer outstreched in a halting motion, he grinned with joy and taking in several hasty breaths he shouted:
"I'll take three dozen of the best men you have!" - his words flowed with an accent particular to the nomads from the Desert of Silhouettes, with words joining one-another - a way of speaking that could only be compared to singing. In language native to the Desert two consonants never link the words, which makes sentences sound like very long single words. In common tongue the effect is not quite as spectacular, but still pleasant to the ear.
"Hold on, young'un. Our best men are reserved for the most capable, prestigious and honourable commanders. For you..." - he took a measure of the young noble, eying him up and down - "I won't part with more than a couple of them and you would have to disband your current company, they would only get in the way of the seasoned warriors."
"What?! I will have you know..." - Myr started to protest but then looked over his men. The Redmanes could well be called the Greymanes - most of them seen well too many winters, some might even remember the founding of Pian en Luries. He gave up on the arguement but not on the indignance: "... I will have you know that I am Myr Renodin and you will do best to grant me the finest fighting force you can muster!"
The veteran manning the office of recruitment just scratched his head and assuming a bit humbler tone he started turning the pages of what looked like the great compendium of noble houses. Moving finger over the pages he mumbled out: "Muren Odin, Muren Odin... Muren Od- I'm sorry sir, I can't seem to find anything here! Let me call a friend." - he then started shouting back through the hall - "Bob! Bob! Have you heard of house Odin?! Sounds northern, can you bring here the lists of noble houses of Avernus, Westgard and Arnor?"
A bit dumbfounded Myr tried to correct: "No, it's Myr-"
"Just a second, Sir." - the officer interrupted him.
Not certain if he was being mocked or genuinely misunderstood, young knight swiftly left the offices and supplemented his company with volunteers from the open area of recruitment offices. Greatly troubling him was the thought - what shall he say of his unit if he bumps into a fellow knight.
–
The House Half the Way
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Sands:
From Blossomer Sea in the north to Sallowcape Drift in the south, bordering three realms and six regions; an endless dunescape terrifying with vastness streaching for hundreds of miles. Such was the greatest region north of the Euschean, such was the land of mirage, the sea of sand, farraige gaineamh. What sort of tales and legends were burried beneath the sizzling sand? One could walk for months guided by the illusions of the desert, never escaping the thirst of his doom, forgetting everything about his life, all his memories replaced by the disturbing hum of the desert wind. Another could enter the desert by the Shattered Shores, visit maginificent cities inhabited by bipedal tigers and somber men with whirls of blue flame in place of legs, towns made of amber and ivory, bigger than Darfix, richer than Flowrestown; and then after his wonderous travel reach South Divide barely an hour after first disembarking. One could go into the dunescape and exit it as one would any other region, completely unaffected by the wiles of the desert. Another would go in an old man and exit a child, not certain if he was an old man rejuvenated or always a child only beliving to be an old man before. Whatever tales one brought from the desert, they were never believed, and rightly so. The Desert of Silhouettes was not a place to be believed - more people lost their minds and lives to hunger, thirst, heat and exotic toxins of desert plants and creatures than to any war that ever visited the region. The draught mare beneath Myr neighed fearfully as she refused to go through the sand. Luckily there was no need to travel through the dunescape. Midway House was in the gravelly east border of the desert. As he turned his horse towards more calming ground he noticed a shadow passing by him. After a quick examination he found that it was made by a silhouette dancing on the sand in the setting sun. By the rate at which it was getting bigger he deduced that the what appeared to be a man was running towards him and fast. He decided to delay his travel to see why was he in such a hurry. Young knight didn't need to wait long as several second later another silhouette emerged, it resembled something halfway between a dog and a lion, but bigger than both. "Pachycrocuta" - he thought, recognizing the giant, desert hyena. Myr rode up to the border between the sand and gravel and as soon as the man reached him he hid behind the mounted knight. The short-faced hyena was a dangerous quarry but even this giant predator shared the common trait with his cousins - cowardice. Noticing that the man on the draught horse is significantly bigger the animal gave up on the pursuit and walked back into the duneland, resigned. "Buíochas leat a dhuine uasail, fáilte romhat a dhuine uasail." - said the man, breathing heavily from exhaution, and seeing the knight in full armour he immediately corrected himself - "Forgiv me'sir! I thank'you fo'rescue and bid'you'well come." Myr took his helmet off, showing dark face and storm of frizzy hair. "Gaineamhrugadh" - said the nomad, seeing that the knight bore familiar features. The two continued their dialogue in dialect of nomads for some time. Myr learned that the man was actually a fabric trader that lost his caravan. He offered to escort him to the border with the Divides but the trader said he was heading in the opposite direction, which caused a fair bit of confusion when after bidding eachother farewells both men went the same way. "East that'way sir!" - said the trader pointing at the setting sun. Myr looked at him for a couple of minutes dumbfounded, until what he thought to be the sun disappeared and still the daylight remained. Mirages, illusions, reflections and miles of barren land up to and beyond the horizon - such was the nature of the great desert. Myr spat on the ground and turned his horse towards Midway House, this time certain of his direction.
"Well Alya. I see your music tutors were not dillydallying." - Myr said through his smile, attempting to pat his distant cousin on the head, but she twisted from under his hand before he had the occasion. "They were not and I'm not a kid anymore and you're not that much older and you're definitely not allowed to do that, hey!" - Alya replied on one breath and jabbed Myr on the soft spot in his armour. Young knight took a look at her, she should be around fourteen summers, she was definitely a couple of inches taller than the last time he visited. Her beautiful blonde braid was now almost reaching her waist and she lost most of her girly moodiness. "Tell me" - he said - "are your other tutors equally assiduous?" "They are definitely ass..." - Alya muttered something under her nose but Myr couldn't quite make it out. "What was that?" - he asked but she waved off his inquiry. Myr lifted his eyebrow in a practiced fashion and continued on the subject of her study: "Come on, show me some of your embroidery, or show me a courtly bow, or show me..." "I'd rather show you something else!" - Alya interrupted him and took a peculiar, thin sword from under her bed. Young knight's eyes widened as he watched bewildered at his cousin waving the sword in air, none of her swings failing to produce a woosh. "Swordplay?! Really?!" - he asked - "And what kind of sword even is that?" "It's fencing thank you very much. And they call it spada da lato but I call it Vestri." - Alya smiled roguishly and pointing the sword at her cousin exclaimed - "En garde!" "En what?" - Myr asked dumbfounded, which caused Alya to roll her eyes and clarify - "Let's train! Come on." "That's preposterous, I'm a knight!" - he said. "Don't tell me you're scared of a girl, Sir Knight." - she retorted. "And you're a kid..." - he argued, which only earned him a tap on the forehead from his cousin's sword - "You can't possibly presume to..." - another tap - "... that is not a proper occupation for a young lady..." - and another one, forceful this time. Myr unsheathed his shamshir and dropped it to the ground, after which he pulled the bastard sword from the sheath on his back. "En gralt." - he said. "It's en... nevermind" - Alya gave up with a sigh and not waiting for invitation tapped her opponent's sword several times, pushing it aside. Myr raised his blade up and swung it down but Alya sidestepped it effortlessly and slapped him on the hand. Thanks to his steel gauntlets he barely registered the hit and swung his sword sideways but his cousin ducked below it. Myr's surprise was obvious, so was his cousin's mixture of pride and amusement. Another several swings Alya evaded, so Myr started to mix some thrusts in, but then he noticed that Alya parries them even more effortlessly than she would evade the swings. He was using his sword with one hand, with both hands, swung, thrusted, slashed and pivoted and each time his sword found either air or a brief contact with the "fancy sword" parrying the thrusts. In the meantime Alya struck the mark five times, though none of the hits were more than annoyance for armour-clad knight. Myr quickly found that even though his training partner lacks experience, the technique she's using is clearly superior. The longer the fight lasted the more tired he was and finally, with a shout of victory Alya thrusted her sword into her opponent's chest. But her joy was short-lived. Knight's armour easily repelled the jab and now Myr was holding the blade of her sword with his left steel-clad hand and bringing to it the heavy bastard sword wielded in his right with a mighty force. The impact violently torn spada de lato from Alya's grip and launched it into the chamber wall. "Ouch, not so hard you dimwit!" - young lady exclaimed. "Oh, so you were holding yourself back, trying to skewer me with this... thing?" - Myr smiled cockily. "I almost bested you." - she said. "Almost." - Myr's answer stung the girl a little but before she could retort he added - "Your fancy is certainly interesting. I have never seen a swordplay like yours. Who taught you this technique?" "Auntie drafts all sorts of people here to tutor me. One curious man from Darfix came here to teach me geometry and architecture but when I saw him train with this." - Alya pointed to her spada da lato - "Let's just say I learned no geometry whatsoever." "So... what do I earn for almost kicking your knightly behind." - Alya asked raffishly, but Myr was immersed deep in thought. "Manners, girl!" - aunt Maya appeared in the chamber's entrance but Alya was undeterred. "Perhaps some respect?" - she said mockingly. "How about a visit to Askileon?" - Myr said and both women froze in shock - "More than a visit. How about you come live in Heir's Gate?" - he continued and silence followed, long minutes of it. When Maya finally shook the shock off she exclaimed: "Out of the question!" "Auntie, please..." - Alya pleaded, her eyes glazed over in hope, her cheeks red in joy. The pleading continued until the old woman relented. "She will be safe." - aunt Maya said, looking Myr menacingly in the eye. "Of course, I will send Waldred for her and he will always accompany her henceforward. He was my captain for the past two years and he was the best one I could ever wish for." - the knight vowed. "You will check on her." - Maya's demanded. "Every time I'm in the city." - Myr assured. Maya nodded in approval and seeing it Alya launched herself into a hug so tight she had the old woman gasping for air. "Let's go!" - she shrieked - "No, wait, I must pack. No! Let's go now, I'll buy new things in Askileon." "Not so fast, m'Lady." - Myr calmed her down - "I'm travelling alone, it's not safe for you. I will send back Waldred with a proper entourage as soon as I'm in the city." - he informed, to Alya's obvious chagrin, so he sweetened the news saying - "Train your fancy. Perhaps you'll best me next time we meet." Young lady decided against correcting him and just said: "I'm sure the next time we cross swords I will kick your noble a...", "Alya!" - Maya cut her off. They supped together and bid their farewells. Alya may have gone to bed that evening, but it was only another day's setting sun that saw her go to sleep. On his long ride back Myr stopped at the verge of the desert, beheld terrific dunescape and decided to stay a while. He recalled the meeting with the trader chased by hyena and tales of the desert both told and untold. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, hum of desert wind made it impossible to tell wether he stood there for seconds or hours. He dismounted, unsheathed his curved sword and knelt on the sand. He clutched the shamshir in his right hand and a fistful of sand in his left. He guided the blade onto the sand and slid it with force - a trickle of red sand escaped his left fist upon leisurely unclenching. "I will once lord over this desert. From Sallowcape to the Blossomer, from Sallowwild to the Divides. Every acre of land, every eery hum of the wind, every grain of sand. This I vow on my blood, the blood of the Myriads, the blood of the Renodins, the blood of the Empire, the blood of the Desert. This is my legacy, this is my birthright. Though it is owed - it will be earned." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
Ordo Leonis
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Loyalty:
"Waldred!" - a shout drowned out the sound of doors slamming on the wall with intimidating force. "Waldred! Where is sh..." - a continued shout was reduced to a whisper by the finger firmly pressed to Waldred's lips. "She's asleep m'lord." - said the former captain. Long silence of slowing down the madness of reluctantly obliging heartbeat preceeded young knight's words - "double the guards Waldred, have Alma march my men to Askileon Purlieus as ordered by marshal Bennet, I shall join them before they arrive..." - he took a moment to formulate his thoughts - "if I don't - the last place I went of my own accord was Rendorian Imperial Complex." ... Upon learning of Isabella's presence in Askileon Myr made haste to Rendorian Imperial Complex. He shot through door after door and gate after gate like an arrow, upon seeing the lion seal and familiar face no guard stopped him. In the vestibule he seized a courtier by the arms and shouted in his face: "lead me to the Emperor!" After shaking off the initial shock courtier mumbled: "Y-you mean the Empress?" Myr squeezed his arms and felt the bones squeeking - "don't make mockery of me, lead me to the Emp... what do you mean the Empress?!" The courtier said through teeth clenched in pain - "Suzerein Empress Isabella Pavus the Usurp... uhm, the First. Her Imperial Highness now sits the Lurian throne." Myr let go of his arms dumbfounded. His confusion gave way to deep thinking and that gave way to anger... no, not anger - fury, a rage burning with the fire of a thousand suns. He unsheathed his sword and attacked the nearby column, swinging, thrusting and slashing, accompanying the sound of metal on marble with his own shout of fury. He swung the blade with all the force his muscles could provide but the steel refused to crumble and blade refused to break. Horseless childhood and long strolls through deserts and mountains reinforced Myr's legs with tendonds of iron and muscles of granite, so the kick that opened the doors to the throne room was in force akin to one a destrier could deliver. One of the doorwings escaping the grasp of it's hinges provided just enough distraction for Myr to find himself merely a yard away from the Usurper, his sword in hand. Guards rushed forward in shock but they could never reach him in time. It was just then that he...
Stabbed the floor and propped himself with his sword as he knelt in deep genuflexion. "Your Imperial Highness Isabella of House Pavus, I pledge my Imperial Allegiance to you and I shall serve and protect your life and give my own should it be requested. Loyal to the Imperial Throne I serve." - young knight said through clenched teeth, unhidden hatred in his voice. | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
Travels
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Master and The Student
A heavy knock of gauntlet on wood can be heard from the hallway, followed by squeek of a door wing opening. Young manly voice can be heard, it announces in most melodic accent: "Sir Myr Arnickless Renodin seeking tutelage on matters of war, combat, glorious strife, valour and Tor the god from King Karibash ka Habb of Everguard." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb | |
| The Master and The Student
Karibash had been sleeping in a chair in his bedroom. He awakens with a start at the voice, one of his guards peering out into the hallway. Straightening as best he can in the chair, he nods to the guard who calls out His Highness's readiness. He leans over to close the door to his sleeping room and sits at attention. Myr enters the room announced by the guard. It is quiet and furnished in a modern Lurian style, not likely to the preference of the Old Toren but simply a reality of renting rooms in Giask. Karibash nods and raises a hand in greeting, "I would stand but it will take some time and I will only have to sit again." He beckons to a chair, "I am honoured. What brings a cousin of the Emperor to seek my audience?" Karibash looks quite nearly his age in this light. A maze of wrinkles frame his broad nose and blue eyes. They study the young man. | |
| Karibash ka Habb | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Master and The Student
Myr offers a soldierly nod rather than courtly bow as he grabs the offered hand with a studied firmness of his grip. Before sitting down Myr scans the old Toren - thanks to the blood of the desert young knight seldomly met someone taller than himself, but he believes King of Everguard may be one of those rarely met people, other than that he is unsure what to make of the old warrior, he appears just as likely to fall asleep in the middle of the conversation as showcase his near century of combat experience. "Your Grace, to be frank I wanted to meet the legend. We shared the battlefield more than once but that's not too good of an occasion to share a conversation. In fact, King Karibash, I sought more than to meet you..." - Myr studies ka Habb's weathered face in search for signs of weariness - "... I sought to learn." "Many knights think that at the moment the sword touched their shoulders and words proclaimed them Sirs and Dames, they turned into a sword, an instrument of strife both on and off the battlefield, forged from steel, perfectly sharp..." - he rolls his eyes smiling slightly, his boyish face betraying excitment under the facade of rehersed rhetoric - "... those same knights come and go, not making a mark, their names rarely remembered. I believe it to be true that every knight is first a rod of steel, at their inception they are a raw material, not a finished instrument. Weather they shall become a sword of tempered steel and sharp blade or merely a fire poker depends on the smith." Myr leans forward and continues: "King Karibash, I wish to learn: strategy, tactics, melee combat, strength of character, nature of true valour and - of course - ancient Tor and the ways of true warriors. I truly could not imagine anyone more fluent in these matters." - tiny coals of Myr's pupils now shine with hope - "would you teach me?" | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb | |
| The Master and The Student
| |
| Karibash ka Habb | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Master and The Student
Myr gives old Toren a puzzled look - religious? - he thinks. Readjusting himself in his seat he gives the answer: "Good King, as you can tell by my name I have the blood of Renodins in me. I... received many gifts from the Imperial family but faith to follow was not one of them. Instead my good liege offered me a freedom of choice - a gift more difficult but also a greater one." Myr fidgets in his chair before continuing, breaking into melodic accent of the nomads at times - "As you cantell by my skin..." - his eyes roll as if pointing to the rest of his face - "... I also have the blood of the Desert. Heritage of the Myriads, nomads of the Sillhouettes. That tradition I was raised with, we believed in nature, it's power and chaos, everchanging horizon of the dunescape and Great Samum that covers all living and unliving. That is how things used to be..." - Myr gulps down some spit - "I grown out of the Desert, I have not yet grown into the Imperial courts. If you ask me who are my people, Warrior King, the answer is - I have none." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb | |
| The Master and The Student
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| Karibash ka Habb | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Master and The Student
| |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb | |
| The Master and The Student
Karibash makes no face. He simply gestures at the door. "Tor give you strength." | |
| Karibash ka Habb | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Training
Beads of sweat on the Toren trainer's eyebrows matched ones on Myr's, as they were caught in another clinch. Clink-clang another couple of blows lighted the room with sparks of steel on steel amidst the darkness of dusk turning to night. Sun had time to fall beyond the horizon since the fight started and both warriors were exhausted. Neither was willing to call the fight. Another overhead swing and another clinch ensued. The trainer was about to knee Myr's groin as he did countless times before, but young knight guessed his intent, stepped on his foot and unleashed the strongest headbutt he could manage, hearing a satisfying crack and feeling wetness of blood as he connected with the nose. The trainer fell back, blood more seeping than gushing from nose that was likely broken many times before. "You tricky bastard!" - he shouted - "not very chivalrous of ye." Myr pointed the tip of his blade at Toren's throat. "There is no honour in defeat" - he said. Trainer just traded a bloody grin for that answer: "I believe your training with me is done. But there is more to Toren ways than fighting. Learn you must. Master ka Habb shall see that you will." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Lessons Myr strolled through cobblestones of the High Temple of the Stars. "Such person in such place?" - he thought - "is it irony?" He could never tell. Past the altair there was entrance to residential quarters. It took him almost five minutes to traverse the long hallway before he stood in front of oaken door of a private quarter. Tap, tap, tap - a gentle yet firm knock preceded his announcement: "Sir Myr Arnickles Renodin for King Karibash ka Habb." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb | |
| The Lessons
Karibash grunts, "Enter." He is overlooking scrolls and tomes on a desk, the former largely written in his hand and the latter bound in what one hopes is leather. He gestures to a seat across the room by a modest bookshelf before sitting down himself. He looks lively and energetic, not a day over 80. He leans forward, handing Ser Myr a quill. "Go ahead, ponder how to kill a man with just a quill. You'll notice there are no guards: I hope your training has reached such a point the guards are useless and that you realize I would gladly kill any intruder myself." He smirks, an occurrence rare to those not familiar with the Old Toren. "You have made great progress I am told, but you have reached where the true learning may begin. Past this is The Way, the true path. But first I will answer any questions you might have, then you will answer how to kill a man with a quill. From there I will begin the first of your final lessons." His eyes lax as he takes in what armaments Myr carries. Wearing a just tunic and breeches, it is clear that Karibash truly is unarmed. | |
| Karibash ka Habb | |
| Roleplay from Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
| The Lessons
"Go ahead, ponder how to kill a man with just a quill. You'll notice there are no guards: I hope your training has reached such a point the guards are useless and that you realize I would gladly kill any intruder myself." Myr straightened the tabard on his armour and readjusted both of his swords in their sheaths. His thoughts were that the old Toren would appreciate a warrior's attire, but seeing the man in but a tunic he couldn't help but wonder if he didn't perhaps come overdressed. "You have made great progress I am told, but you have reached where the true learning may begin. Past this is The Way, the true path. But first I will answer any questions you might have, then you will answer how to kill a man with a quill. From there I will begin the first of your final lessons." "Yes m'Lord, the trainer you sent was certainly... thorough." - Myr leaned forwards - "I came to accept that notions of honourable combat may be misguided. If an honourable man loses to a scoundrel and his just cause fails simply because he held back from doing what it takes to win - how can he call himself honourable at all? Putting one's pride above one's sense of duty is not honour - it is vainglory." Myr straightened in his chair and gathered his thoughts, before saying: "Tor, m'Lord... I accept Toren valour, combat glory, martial prowess. I accept Tor's creation over men's stagnation." - he took a deep breath - "I struggle to accept the brutality towards the lesser ones. Effortless cruelty is a work of ill-bred or ill-raised children, troubled and lacking father's hand; it is not a work of a knight. I cannot reconcile the challange Tor places before his followers with looting peasantry. How is a peasant with a pitchfork any challange to a Toren warrior? How is a commoner a proper enemy for a knight? Is really teaching insolent commonfolk in faraway lands a lesson with rape and murder a proper occupation for a nobleman?" Myr furrowed his brows: "No, m'Lord. Place a warrior before me and I shall fight him, show me a land plagued with an horde of undead and I shall cleanse it, but raping and pillaging defenseless peasants is beneath me and I shall not tend to such matters - as a cavalier and as a man." | |
| Myr Arnickles Renodin | |
