Post by Maittar on Jun 7, 2018 1:03:07 GMT
The night is cold and damp, and the moisture of the air is evident by the condensation on every window surrounding him. There stands a middle-aged man, about 40, looking across the courtyard of what was once a glorious castle, and which is now the capital building. He remembers a story he was told that hundreds of years ago on the birthday of one of his distant relatives there was a great celebration there. His family had been invited to the royal court of the then-king of the Cuylds, Rasgar Cuyldenga. There was a spectacular feast in the Great Hall, which used to be the gathering place of all the tribe nobles and which now sits the King of Maittar’s desk, as well as a large meeting table. The walls were lined with battle trophies of conquered enemies, and now only portraits of past kings hang there. He remembered his grandfather had told him that the Cuylds were a prosperous people that were not afraid of war. They were the Nords of the island, and they dominated the other tribes. “It’s a shame…” he mutters to himself. His nostalgia overwhelms him as he turns to walk back to his home. As he reminisces further he stops and glances down at his hands, clenches them and imagines wielding a sword and swinging it in battle. He thrusts his arms through the air in a striking motion and then a stabbing one. He parries to the right, then the left swinging back and forth pretending to hack and slash his enemies.
“They wouldn’t stand a chance, old friend,” says a voice from the shadows, “you’d have bested them all.”
The shadowy figure walks into the light beaming down from the capital building into the courtyard. As he walks out of the darkness the man, in his mid-forties, walks toward the sword-wielder and greets him.
“It’s been a long time.” He speaks again, this time reaching out for a hand.
“Yes it has, Howuus, yes it has.” He greets Howuus, steward to the reigning family who is more a friend than an actual servant. He has just returned from a royal expedition, which took him to the far reaches of Auratus.
“How was the island this time of year?” says the man referring to the island in to the south of Kasulum, which has become a de facto second home for Howuus and his family.
“Ah, the island. It was wonderful. The wife and I were there for a couple weeks before the expedition, and then again for a few days after. It was relaxing, but I’m glad to be back, Pedar. How’s the ol’ arm doing? You writing away again?”
Pedar chuckled at the question. Once the royal scribe, a world-renowned calligrapher, before he was attacked, and his writing arm broken to bits. He had since recovered but could no longer draw the intricate characters of the Maittari alphabet like he once could.
Looking to his right arm, and then back at Howuus he said, “It’s fine, and I can’t help but to feel that if I had been trained with a sword instead of a pen that I’d have faired better. Then I would have at least had my dignity left. Now I’m left with nothing. I can’t write like I used to, and nobody wants a washed-up scribe that can barely scribble.” Howuus could tell that Pedar was getting sad.
In an attempt to make him laugh Howuus said to him, “Well, with that fat bag of money you got from the King you can’t be doing all bad, you old gat. How much did you get anyways?”
Pedar looked at his friend, “walk with me back to my place, old friend, and we’ll chat along the way. I’m awfully tired and the dampness is making my arm hurt now that you’ve brought it up.”
Howuus agrees and the two start on back toward Pedar’s home. On the way, Pedar nudges Howuus’ arm and laughs quietly.
“You know, hah, I didn’t get it from the King right?” Pedar said like a friend telling another friend a secret for the first time.
Howuus looked puzzled and retorted “Wait, what? You didn’t? Prince Botar told me himself that you did. There’s official record of it. You were attacked, your arm was broken by some peasant squabbler”
“No, that’s not really what happened. Well, it is, but… well, let’s just say that it wasn’t a ‘peasant-squabbler.’” Pedar began looking around him as if to look if no one was there and in a hushed tone whispered to Howuus. “It was Gastar. Gastar broke my arm.”
Howuus’ face turned from intrigue to shock. “Gastar?! You mean to tell me that the man who vied for scribe against you broke your arm?”
Pedar nods his head, reaffirming the statement as true. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. He was commanded by the king to pay weregild for my arm, and since King Ciristopar, the lovely man that he is, deemed my arm to be one of the most valuable assets in all of Maittar, Gastar was put to ruin. His branch of his family’s nobility was stripped, and he as well as any of his offspring can no longer bear the name “Elgelet”. He now lives on the outskirts of Aleghsandarastedd and goes by Gasti Argenbors.”
“His wife must be pissed!” Chuckled Howuus.
“Indeed,” laughed Pedar, “but that’s not even the best part. The Elgelet family demanded that the whole ordeal be made public. They want the world to know what a scoundrel Gastar is and how he’s tarnished the Elgelet name. I’ve even got an interview with the Maittar Observer next week. It’s noble on their part, but I don’t know what the point is really. It’s not going to bring my arm back to the way it was.”
They arrived to Pedar’s home. His wife, Ghelana greets them and welcomes them in. The walk to Pedar’s study where he has a book laid open on his desk.
“Well, if anything Pedar, you’ve got your novels to look forward to,” Howuus said reassuringly, “and if that doesn’t work out I’m sure I could sway the king to hire you on somewhere. You’ve always been good with words, I’m sure I could find something.”
Pedar agrees. “That would be nice, Howuus. I’d appreciate it. I’m going to head off to bed now. You take care.”
The two part amicably and Howuus says his goodbyes and leaves. Pedar is hopeful at the thought of being able to once more be a part of the Maittari system, a place that he very much loves living. However, he cannot help but to look back and think that if he had been trained in swordplay rather than writing…
“They wouldn’t stand a chance, old friend,” says a voice from the shadows, “you’d have bested them all.”
The shadowy figure walks into the light beaming down from the capital building into the courtyard. As he walks out of the darkness the man, in his mid-forties, walks toward the sword-wielder and greets him.
“It’s been a long time.” He speaks again, this time reaching out for a hand.
“Yes it has, Howuus, yes it has.” He greets Howuus, steward to the reigning family who is more a friend than an actual servant. He has just returned from a royal expedition, which took him to the far reaches of Auratus.
“How was the island this time of year?” says the man referring to the island in to the south of Kasulum, which has become a de facto second home for Howuus and his family.
“Ah, the island. It was wonderful. The wife and I were there for a couple weeks before the expedition, and then again for a few days after. It was relaxing, but I’m glad to be back, Pedar. How’s the ol’ arm doing? You writing away again?”
Pedar chuckled at the question. Once the royal scribe, a world-renowned calligrapher, before he was attacked, and his writing arm broken to bits. He had since recovered but could no longer draw the intricate characters of the Maittari alphabet like he once could.
Looking to his right arm, and then back at Howuus he said, “It’s fine, and I can’t help but to feel that if I had been trained with a sword instead of a pen that I’d have faired better. Then I would have at least had my dignity left. Now I’m left with nothing. I can’t write like I used to, and nobody wants a washed-up scribe that can barely scribble.” Howuus could tell that Pedar was getting sad.
In an attempt to make him laugh Howuus said to him, “Well, with that fat bag of money you got from the King you can’t be doing all bad, you old gat. How much did you get anyways?”
Pedar looked at his friend, “walk with me back to my place, old friend, and we’ll chat along the way. I’m awfully tired and the dampness is making my arm hurt now that you’ve brought it up.”
Howuus agrees and the two start on back toward Pedar’s home. On the way, Pedar nudges Howuus’ arm and laughs quietly.
“You know, hah, I didn’t get it from the King right?” Pedar said like a friend telling another friend a secret for the first time.
Howuus looked puzzled and retorted “Wait, what? You didn’t? Prince Botar told me himself that you did. There’s official record of it. You were attacked, your arm was broken by some peasant squabbler”
“No, that’s not really what happened. Well, it is, but… well, let’s just say that it wasn’t a ‘peasant-squabbler.’” Pedar began looking around him as if to look if no one was there and in a hushed tone whispered to Howuus. “It was Gastar. Gastar broke my arm.”
Howuus’ face turned from intrigue to shock. “Gastar?! You mean to tell me that the man who vied for scribe against you broke your arm?”
Pedar nods his head, reaffirming the statement as true. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. He was commanded by the king to pay weregild for my arm, and since King Ciristopar, the lovely man that he is, deemed my arm to be one of the most valuable assets in all of Maittar, Gastar was put to ruin. His branch of his family’s nobility was stripped, and he as well as any of his offspring can no longer bear the name “Elgelet”. He now lives on the outskirts of Aleghsandarastedd and goes by Gasti Argenbors.”
“His wife must be pissed!” Chuckled Howuus.
“Indeed,” laughed Pedar, “but that’s not even the best part. The Elgelet family demanded that the whole ordeal be made public. They want the world to know what a scoundrel Gastar is and how he’s tarnished the Elgelet name. I’ve even got an interview with the Maittar Observer next week. It’s noble on their part, but I don’t know what the point is really. It’s not going to bring my arm back to the way it was.”
They arrived to Pedar’s home. His wife, Ghelana greets them and welcomes them in. The walk to Pedar’s study where he has a book laid open on his desk.
“Well, if anything Pedar, you’ve got your novels to look forward to,” Howuus said reassuringly, “and if that doesn’t work out I’m sure I could sway the king to hire you on somewhere. You’ve always been good with words, I’m sure I could find something.”
Pedar agrees. “That would be nice, Howuus. I’d appreciate it. I’m going to head off to bed now. You take care.”
The two part amicably and Howuus says his goodbyes and leaves. Pedar is hopeful at the thought of being able to once more be a part of the Maittari system, a place that he very much loves living. However, he cannot help but to look back and think that if he had been trained in swordplay rather than writing…