Wind Stirs the Shadows

Come, brothers and sisters, share with us your tales, from before your joined to today! Tell us of yourself and your travels and travails! (IC Please, OOC labeled!)

Wind Stirs the Shadows

Postby Crispian » Thu Sep 14, 2006 7:34 pm

He sat and looked at the walls of the chamber, long closed and abandon, thought unneeded. The table was coated in dust and phantom webs draped the corners. Each high backed chair was careful spaced one from another, with one only slightly higher backed. At each hung a carefully folded cloak of Ivory, save three. His own, of course, draped his back, giving a hiss against the armor he rare seemed out of. Two others still garbed those walking the realm. The others, it seemed would never move again.

The massive door slid silently, but he knew it had opened. "It's time, lad," the usually gruff voice spoke softly. "Time an' well passed it." The harsh eyes, lined with care, worn by war, and filled with honor and pride glinted a sharp green in the suffusing light.

Chain armor rattled slightly as the other man settled into his own chair, also coated in dust from lack of use. "Been a while since we even really had a Council," he offered in the same subdued tone.

"The first rule of Council is an uneven number, so we cannot deadlock on an issue that is to the vote," the first said in a steady firm voice. "We'll need five, not four."

"Ya cagey diplomat, thinkin' a'gin me?" the second laughed. "Council, aye, then?"

He nodded. "Council, as before. I hold seniority and make final calls, but we all govern." His finger absently turned the Precentor's ring on his finger. "And we all serve as Seneschals again. As it should be."

Silence desceneded as the light warmed the chamber. The two sat, as brothers-in-arms, friends, mentors, all the roles they fulfilled for each other and waited for the third to arrive.
Crispian Pontiff, Precentor, St. Crispin's League

"For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother" Henry V
Crispian
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Postby Allonan Tarmac » Thu Sep 14, 2006 7:54 pm

The war torn pains of battle ached in his joints as he sat. If it wasn’t for the bloody well crafted mail upon his back, his body would seem to fall apart from the aches. He shifted a bit releasing the slightest wince as he tried to hide his age.

“Where be the house meal?” he said with the gruff returning to his voice. “And the bloody rum!?”

It used to be in him to drink for the pleasure, but now only to numb the pain and senses.

“Blast to all hell I say! He sure is taking quite a time hence to travel forth to meet no? The bloody wenches at the brothels O’ de southern lands got ta em’ me thinks.”

With that the smaller, but no less fierce of the two yelled out:

"Eralis!, please do beckon the house cook to deliver unto us a small taste of pottage to tempt the palette if you will along with the best of ale and rum for the two of us.”

“Aye M’Lord" the quaint cleric replied and hurried off up the stairs, as the two continued to wait the arrival of the third.
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