Post by Lady Edfeil on Dec 28, 2016 20:44:56 GMT -5
*The news had not reached Windstorm during the days of the Christmas feasting. One final act of protection, to hold up the magic of the tree, the joy of the season. Within the Hall in the early days of Christmas eve, all had prepared for the feasting to follow.. the half hidden surprises, the glass balls hung in the tree that had belonged to Lady Jasmine.. the wood carved small figures that had been given by goodman Caius had found their place and within the cold of winter, Windstorm was a spot of warmth, of joy..
Yet at the Eastern border... a battle was waged, unbeknown to those within.
The small five person caravan of Sebastien Montilyet tried to make it's last journey home over the border before Christmas, carrying with them the queen's gift for that year: a small, precious volume for the library, a gift to the heir of WindstormL a code of knightly conduct written down and illuminated by the knights of the abbey on neighbouring lands that owed so much to Windstorm's protection. Yet right before they crossed the border of Windstorm arrows started to rain down from the small wooded area they needed to cross.
Most of the men in the caravan merchants, few standing a chance. Sebastian himself would charge towards the trees yet a cowardly arrow would fell the knight-merchant, sword in hand. The bodies were dragged to the side, stripped, and the clothing pulled on. The wagon, livery and safeguards would see the gates open, would form the perfect ruse for an attack.
They had not made it far on Windstorm lands. While within the castle the singing was lifting up, a lone figure made it's way to meet the Caravan. How Sir Kyle Draven, knight of Windstorm, last knight of King Agustin's making had known is uncertain... but upon approach of the Caravan the order was given to stand. To halt. Above a crow circled, squaking loudly. The caravan which was supposed to hold five now held eight. And they were not inclined to halt, or to let any stand in their way. The first arrow fired had hit Kyle in the thigh. He rode on despite it, one man falling to the hooves of his horse, the crow took care of a second one. A sword flashed silver into the night into the snow. Past and present came together. Vengeance had become protection, the wanderer had found a home, and held it. And loved it. And those within it had loved him.
And when his life ended in battle, even though the news would not reach all for days, there would be mourning. A small procession would ride out after the sad news was brought, and upon the frozen body tears would be spilled, when a small woman knelt in the snow, the raven stills cawing above, flying in circles over the body of the fallen knight. Others approached. Friends of old. Friends more recent.
Only then.. when Kyle Draven was, now in death, surrounded by the love that had changed him in life, did the crow descend one last time touching down upon the body.. and then.. flew off, carrying a forever knight's soul with him to the other side.. and leaving those still here to mourn.
Yet at the Eastern border... a battle was waged, unbeknown to those within.
The small five person caravan of Sebastien Montilyet tried to make it's last journey home over the border before Christmas, carrying with them the queen's gift for that year: a small, precious volume for the library, a gift to the heir of WindstormL a code of knightly conduct written down and illuminated by the knights of the abbey on neighbouring lands that owed so much to Windstorm's protection. Yet right before they crossed the border of Windstorm arrows started to rain down from the small wooded area they needed to cross.
Most of the men in the caravan merchants, few standing a chance. Sebastian himself would charge towards the trees yet a cowardly arrow would fell the knight-merchant, sword in hand. The bodies were dragged to the side, stripped, and the clothing pulled on. The wagon, livery and safeguards would see the gates open, would form the perfect ruse for an attack.
They had not made it far on Windstorm lands. While within the castle the singing was lifting up, a lone figure made it's way to meet the Caravan. How Sir Kyle Draven, knight of Windstorm, last knight of King Agustin's making had known is uncertain... but upon approach of the Caravan the order was given to stand. To halt. Above a crow circled, squaking loudly. The caravan which was supposed to hold five now held eight. And they were not inclined to halt, or to let any stand in their way. The first arrow fired had hit Kyle in the thigh. He rode on despite it, one man falling to the hooves of his horse, the crow took care of a second one. A sword flashed silver into the night into the snow. Past and present came together. Vengeance had become protection, the wanderer had found a home, and held it. And loved it. And those within it had loved him.
And when his life ended in battle, even though the news would not reach all for days, there would be mourning. A small procession would ride out after the sad news was brought, and upon the frozen body tears would be spilled, when a small woman knelt in the snow, the raven stills cawing above, flying in circles over the body of the fallen knight. Others approached. Friends of old. Friends more recent.
Only then.. when Kyle Draven was, now in death, surrounded by the love that had changed him in life, did the crow descend one last time touching down upon the body.. and then.. flew off, carrying a forever knight's soul with him to the other side.. and leaving those still here to mourn.
