First impressions were everything at Court. That was why on the morning of the day that they were to arrive in the capital Simon ordered that they don their full war regalia. His squire Olvar assisted him in buckling on the many pieces of his mail, while his son Raphael assisted the doughty Lord Rhygar. Afterward, he ordered the squires to assist one another in donning their own mail. He hoped that such an exercise would teach them better to coexist - they had been particularly competitive of late, and that had worn on Simon's nerves mightily. Even Anguy, his son's archer companion, put on his full kit - also made for him by the master Tiefling smith Laskus.

"You will ride ahead, flying my banner," Simon instructed Olvar as the squire helped him don his cuirass. "You will blow the horn and announce me at the gates to the outer and inner walls, as well as the castle proper. In between, you will herald me to the masses and clear the smallfolk from the road. Raphael will ride alongside you, bearing Lord Rhygar's standard. Anguy will follow in the rear with the pack animals." Once finished, his Squire turned to leave the tent, but Simon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Remember, we are at Court now. On the road, I tolerated much and more of your… improper behavior. But here, none of that may be permitted. We are at Court now. All eyes are on us. Even when no other aristocrats are present, their spies and informants will be watching us. You must be the perfect picture of chivalry and court etiquette. Every little slip-up not only diminishes your future prospects as a Knight, but reflects poorly upon mine own House as well. Be mindful of your words, your actions, even your very demeanor. We are entering a much different world from the one we have traveled for so long. Guard your tongue, and trust no one. That will do you well in this rat's nest they call a capital." With that, Simon let the lad go. He was a good squire, all things considered, but his insolent nature was a severe handicap. Such behavior was fine out on the road and in the wilds, but here it could get him alienated - even killed. Court was far more dangerous than the road. He had learned that the hard way, winning his wife so many years ago. He hoped he could spare his lads the same hard lesson.

It was mid-afternoon before they at last reached the outer gate to the city of Adeluna. The great city was massive - they had already passed miles of villages and outlying settlements before reaching the great white walls that encircled the city proper. They pulled up short of the gatehouse, as Olvar sounded the horn and announced them to the guards. A path was soon cleared, and they were ushered into the throng of life within. 

Inside the wattle and daub building pressed close together, the cobblestone streets and alleyways filled with wagons, street vendors, and peasantry going about their daily business. The air smells of peat and smoke from the fires within the buildings, mixed with the smell of manure and unwashed bodies. The glorious jewel of the empire, Simon thought wryly. 

Peasants and carts were pushed aside as Olvar rode ahead and ordered them to make way. They looked at the squire with annoyance as they moved aside, but as they turned to regard Simon their eyes soon widened with wonder. He sat tall and upright in the saddle, as a lord should. His closed burgonet helm and fluted lobstered plate were of hardened steel that covered him from head to toe, enameled so as to be completely white. Under the plate, he wore a hauberk of riveted chainmail - far lighter and stronger than butted mail - also in white, over a close-fitting gambeson comprised of cloth layered over wool over cloth again. In summer it would have been sweltering hot, but here in the late autumn sun the armor was quite comfortable. The mast smith Laskus had outdone himself - never had he worn a suit of plate so protective, yet also so light and maneuverable. He had no problem running and vaulting to or from the saddle. It was armor fit for royalty, and Simon was fortunate to have acquired it. 

At his hip, on a leather belt bleached white, he bore the Holy Comet: the ancient weapon of his House. It was an ivory-handled morningstar whose cold steel was enameled in white and laced with silver. The dagger on his other hip was built much the same. The heater shield he bore on his left arm was also of hardened steel enameled white, polished to a mirror sheen and inscribed with the silver half-moon-and-stars sigil of his House. The long, gleaming lance he bore was swirled white and navy blue. From its tip flapped his banner, displaying the ancient sigil of his House: a waning crescent moon opening into a cluster of three seven-pointed stars, on in silver upon a field of navy blue trimmed in white.

His mount was no less impressive a sight. The Unicorn was a lithe and elegant creature, with a posture and gait that would impress even the most judgemental of horse masters. Coat, mane, tail and horn were all the color of freshly-fallen snow. His high-backed military saddle and stirrups were of boiled leather bleached white. He wore full plate barding; chanfron, cheek plates, criniere, croupiere, flanchard, and peytral all of white-enameled hardened steel over a caparison of white riveted chain. The very reigns themselves were of riveted chain, so as not to be cut in combat. 

Alongside him rode the prestigious Lord Rhygar.  Having come late to the caravan mission, he had only received a fraction of the pay Simon had, and so had not been able to commission a full suit of plate. Instead, he wore a long hauberk of riveted chain over a full-length, longsleeved gambeson. The only plate he wore was a breastplate, vambraces, greaves, and a pot helm - all enameled blue and trimmed in a bright yellow. His kite shield was painted the same colors, bearing in its center the yellow cock that was the sigil of his House. He wore a broadsword on one hip and a dagger on the other. The lance he bore was swirled blue and yellow, bearing a banner with the yellow cock standard on a field of blue. The haughty Lord was born by a massive, powerful Destrier - barded in full riveted chain under a blue caparison trimmed in yellow. 

The smallfolk stood and stared as they passed, winding their way down the serpentine boulevard toward the taller inner wall. They paused again before this larger gate, as Olvar again let off a peel on the horn and announced them. They were ushered through into a much different neighborhood than the one they had just passed. Here in the noble district, the boulevard was wider and better-kempt, with less traffic to boot. Instead of wattle and daub houses pressing in on either side the buildings were larger, and of stone, spaced well apart and set back from the roadway behind tall fences that enclosed manicured lawns, hedgerows, and gardens. Only members of the aristocracy and merchant families rich and prominent enough to be invited lived here. As such there was very little foot traffic - most went mounted or in well-made carriages. All wore fine clothes and jewelry as permitted by their rank. Still, they stopped and stared when their party passed. Only the richest could afford a suit of armor such as Simon's, and not even they could bost a Unicorn as their mount. 

Finally, they came upon the Castle proper. It's elegant towers and spires loomed over them ahead - it's high walls stretching far in either direction. Simon stared up in wonder as they came under the shadow of its massive barbican, bristling with turrets and arrow slits and crenulations and flanked by two tall towers on either side. This has to be the grandest castle in all the world, he thought in awe, five hundred could hold her against ten thousand. 

They paused before the intimidating fortified gatehouse as Olvar blew the horn and announced them once more. They waited a long time here before at last the drawbridge was lowered across the moat and portcullis raised. They passed under a series of murder holes, from above which stared many eyes, before at long last they passed through the barbican and into the great bailey on the other side. A line of spearmen met them on the other side. An older man stepped out from beisde them, beard growing over a gleaming steel breastplate inscribed with the Royal sigil. "M'Lords," the man bowed, "I am Ser Preston, Serjeant of Her Grace's household guard. If you will follow me, I shall present you to our Castellan, who is acting as the Master of Ceremonies for the tournament. My men shall lead your squires to a plot on the bailey for your pavilion, in a place befitting your station."

Simon nodded. "Thank you, Ser Preston. Please, do lead on." Dismounting, he handed the reigns to Olvar before dropping his visor and making to follow the older Knight. Lord Rhygar fell in behind him. They clanked their way across the bailey, where tents of all shapes and sizes were being raised for the various competitors who had come. The yard as was a maelstrom of activity as pages and squires rushed this way and that. Preston led them through the throng and into the castle proper, where they clanked their way up stairs and down hallways until they came out once more into the sun in the inner bailey. Here was no less crowded - but all the people were servants bearing the royal crest. They were hastily assembling the viewing stands and competition areas - chief among them the list where the Knights would be tilting when the time for the Joust came. 

Ser Preston stopped short of a portly man holding a quill and a stack of parchment, giving instructions to a pair of servants before him. "The stands will be reserved for the gentry. Rope off the edges of the bailey around the competition area, that will be standing room for viewing by the merchants, artisans and craftsmen. The peasantry shall view from atop the surrounding walls and rooftops. First come first serve.  Ah, Ser Preston, what can I do for you?" 

Ser Preston bowed. "Lord Corbray. May I present Count Simon of Montefort and Lord Rhygar of the Red Hills. They are come to register for the tourney." The short man looked over them with beady eyes, from under a mop of dark hair in full retreat from his forehead. He offered them a bow, flourishing with the ink-stained hand that held the quill. "My Lords, welcome to her Grace's House. We are pleased to have you in attendance. What events would you like to register for?" 

"Thank you for the hospitality, my Lord." Simon bowed in turn. Lord Rhygar stepped forward. "I would like to register for the dueling, the melee, and the joust." 

The portly castellan nodded, making marks on a sheaf of parchment as Rhygar spoke. "Done, done, and done. And for you, my Lord?" 

"Just the joust." Simon said with a polite smile. He had competed in many tournies before, and oftentimes competed in as many divisions as he could. This one, however, was more about appearances than experience. I mustneeds impress the smallfolk, and catch the eye of the Queen. To do so I must joust. Getting down and dirty in the other competitions would only soil the gleaming aura of The White Knight.

The quill scratched the parchment. "Done. Will any of your household be competing?" 

Simon nodded. "Yes. My squire, Olvar Tyresus, would like to compete in pugilism, wrestling, knife throwing, and the melee. My son, Raphael de Montefort, would like to try various divisions: long jump, high jump, the foot race, pugilism, wrestling, Pancrase, and the dueling. Finally, my man-at-arms, Anguy, would like to compete in Archery." The Knight spoke slowly, waiting for the castellan to finish writing before he moved on to the next competitor and his divisions. At last, all of their entries were recorded and the Knights took their leave of the Castellan. They followed Ser Preston back through the maze of passageways through the castle and back out into the outer bailey. There he led them to their plot, where he bowed to Simon's thanks and took his leave. The Knight found the lads busy with his pavilion, their horses already dressed down and hobbled. Simon walked up to them and began to speak as they worked. "Alright lads, we've signed up for our divisions. The Tourney begins with the track and field competitions tomorrow. After you finish setting up camp, bathe yourselves and dress up in your finest garments. This evening shall be the opening ceremony, followed by a feast for all those competing. This will be our first appearance at Court, so let's make it count. Your best wear, and your best behavior. Remember, everything you do here reflects upon your honor, and that of your house." He glanced over them to where the pavilion stood, half-pitched. "Now hurry up with that tent. I need Olvar to peel me out of this mail."

Turning, he went to the front of his plot where a post stood. He hung his shield on the post and slipped his lance into the metal ring built into its side. Taking a step back, he looked over the shield, gleaming in the sunlight, and at the banner at the tip of the lance flapping in the breeze. A smile rose unbidden to his face. It had been many years since he had attended a proper tournament. Many years since he had faced down other Knights: proper men of chivalry. This was what he was made for. This was his domain. It's good to be back.

Yes, she remembered. Many moons ago, on an ordinary day in the Winking Mermaid tavern she had made a loan. How did she remember? Simple–that was the first and last offer she had taken as a moneylender. After that incident she decided being a private lender was too much trouble and promptly quit. How those less than scrupulous types managed to stand sitting around waiting for their debtors to pay up was beyond her. In the same amount of time she could make triple just by selling leather below market price. In the world of business, time was more precious than silver. Limited, non-renewable, and nonexchangeable. Shiloh had been keeping tabs on any major events happening on Canelux following the peace talks so she for once was informed of the tournament Sir Simon had been so fixated on. It was a very boring event. Hours of setting up the stables, the stands, the banners, the bookkeeping, you name it. The thing would last at least more than a day so at least all the work that was being put in would be worth something. She didn't need a fancy invitation to view the tournament's progress. With her natural inconspicuous aura, she just had to blend in.

Getting in was easy. She paid off a stablehand with a sizable sum of money, sending him on vacation to a certain Highland resort while she took his place. Most people hardly paid attention to who was doing the job as long as they looked the part. And with their attentions focused on following the rich and noble's coattails no one would suspect a thing. For once lax security wasn't a bad thing. While she played her role, she had a look at the other faces that came in with high hopes and higher horses. It was…something alright. Seeing all those men clad in decorative armor made it look more like a new year's parade than a competition. The processions of supposed families with renown were almost surreal in how removed from reality the premise of this tournament was. But after seeing the fifth chevron shaped design, the family crests were all starting to blend together. Apparently the more ridiculously complex the coat of arms, the more illustrious the lineage. Wasn't it a bloody bother to change your family's heraldry after every political marriage? 

The brassy blare of a horn signaled a group was coming in, and this one was familiar. You couldn't miss it, that blinding silvery plate and blue banner along with a pearly-white unicorn. There was Simon, sitting on his horned horse along with a few other faces she didn't know. One of them had a strong resemblance to the man, which she assumed was the son. "Woooow! Is that a unicorn?" A masked ferret poked his head out of her knapsack. "Yep. That's a unicorn. It's just a magical horse with a spike on its head." "Why does that man have a magical horned horse but the others don't?" Niall asked. "Because he bought one." Shiloh replied back. The ferret climbed out and rested his head on her shoulder. Watching the tournament groups pass by he was amazed. "Why are they all dressed in armor? Are they fighting?" "Yes…no. Kind of. They're not actually fighting, more like competing. It's a game, not war." She dryly mused to herself that sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

"Isn't that stuff really heavy? It'd be awful on a hot day. Metal heats up in the sun fast. I bet they're sweating bullets under there." Niall said thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess so. You'll need to stay inside from now on, Niall. We can't have our cover blown if we're going to pull this off." Shiloh whispered, gently pushing the ferret's head back into her pack. "Ok!" The ferret's nose wiggled as it retreated out of sight. Weaving through the crowds Shiloh ducked behind some bales to swap her disguise. She was now one of the maids, features completely masked by Reynash's mimic potion. The maid she was impersonating was taking a nice long nap inside a storeroom, well out of the concerns of the participants of the tourney. The woman was unconscious–not dead. There was plenty of airflow from the cracks so she'd be perfectly fine once Shiloh was done borrowing her job. Using the maid's threads she was now closer to the competition grounds. Overhearing idle chatter from the nobles, she identified the designated zones specified for different spectator classes. Walls and the rooftops were a better vantage point for her, but she'd be sharing space with several dozen others. There was no way she'd be caught dead in the stands, too much exposure. Standing room it was then. 

Adding a few adjustments to her makeshift 'costume', she imitated the garb of a Harenian caravan owner. The maid would regain consciousness within an hour, and that would cover her tracks. For the time being her focus was on Simon. It had been a while since they had signed their deal. For all that confidence and bravado he had in his abilities, now it was time to deliver. He'd either sink or swim, her preferring the latter. Collecting dues after a public defeat was going to be much harder with a man who had wounded pride. She'd neither help or hurt the competition–Simon de Montefort was going to show everyone what he was made of, without knowing she was here. If he knew, she'd never hear the end of those religious wordy compliments mistaking her presence as moral support. A prudent businessperson always checked up on their contracts and made sure they were still in good standing.  

“Do not push yourself. If you get tired its okay to rest.” Gaea pushed some of Evangeline’s hair behind her ear with a smile. “He’ll understand… I promise.”

Determined blue eyes stared down at her older sister. “I’ll make it! He needs to have it before the tourney begins!” The half angel’s devotion to this little quest was making Gaea chuckle.

“Stay safe and fly like you are free to follow your whims,” Gaea pressed a kiss to her sister’s cheek before she took one of her favorite shawls and tucked it into the blanket. It was soaked in her essence, her scent. Olvar would know it anywhere. The smell of wisteria blossoms and gardenias were what made up the majority of Gaea’s scent. There was no other person who could smell the way she did. “Just so you don’t have to worry about it flying out. Make sure not to drop it… The bottles are fragile. Alright? Good luck!”

The elder sister watched with the three young wargs as Eva took off into the sky. Strong wings carried her far and fast. Her dress was of nobility and cut modestly. It was a soft shade of magenta with gold trim. She was after all representing Sularia as well when she was in Adeluna and knew she had to look her best lest her mother be upset. Eva’s hair was in a long braid to keep it from getting in her face while she flew.

The flight was smooth and hardly made her tired thanks to favorable weather and winds. Landing in the center square of the Adelunian capital her blue eyes were quick to land on her mother. “Mother? Why are you here?”

“I get the feeling that you are on a mission for my wayward daughter.” There was a sense of humor that drifted from her voice. “I can point you in their direction. I know exactly what Gaea wants.” Angela had been paying attention but masking herself to all but those she wanted to have the knowledge of who she was. She would possibly cause a pilgrimage or a riot if others save her.

The half angel was set in the right direction as she took back off into the skies and made her way towards the camp that the man she was searching for was apparently in. Landing with grace she folded her wings and looked around for a good while before spotting the description of Olvar from a distance. Her eyes drifted to the males with him and they especially lingered on the winged man who looked like her age. Though one could never be careful with that judgment.

“Um, excuse me,” Eva’s voice was soft as she made her way up with quite a bit of confidence. “You match her description quite well… Are you Olvar?” She looked over the werewolf. “I was told to give you this…” She lifted up the crystal flower covered basket with the shawl covering it. “She wanted to make sure you had some medicine just in case and she sent a letter too.” She rummaged in the basket for a second before getting a bit closer and holding it out to him. The handwriting was unmistakable as the half nymph’s. It had Olvar’s name scroll across the back of it with the crystal flower secured by Gaea’s own wax seal.

“Um… She also said that I had to tell you that…” Eva’s face flushed a bit as she thought of a way to say it. “I do hate that she put me in this predicament. A lady shouldn’t be repeating such things but since she healed me so I guess I’ll endure it… Gaea said that the troublemakers ate your good pants that you left. She said that she was doing the wash when they got a hold of them. She gave me this to give to you.” She pulled out a scrap of what was left of Olvar’s pants and handed that off to him. “She was laughing rather hard and said you were even… Whatever that means.”

Eva pulled back the shawl to reveal many potions. “She said that the blue tinted glass is for you Olvar. They are adjusted to your body and its healing so no one else should take these ones. They will probably kill anyone else due to the potency. Gaea said that the red ones are safe for others to drink though… She also put some salve in here too.” Finally, she handed off the whole basket.

The young noblewoman was fidgeting softly. “Thank you for letting me heal in your home while Gaea treated me.” She bowed softly. ”Gaea made a mention to tell you not to let people know she is my sister. I’m sorry. I don’t know why she is being so stubborn. The message went telepathically to Olvar as Eva blushed a bit more.

When Olvar read the letter he would find the following contents:

‘Dear Farm Boy,

Eva is one insistent little adult. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately with your tournament coming up. I’ve been keeping track of the days using the plants around the cottage. Well, the ones that Lofe and friends haven’t shredded yet anyway. Eva noticed and she badgered me to at least write you a letter she can give to you. I do hope this finds you before the tournament. Something, something Lover’s Luck. Right? Pardon this letter for being a bit more on the sappy side today.

I think Lofe knows I’m missing you too. Every time I look up at the window he whimpers at me. I didn’t know I was so open to being read that a little warg could do it. So I suppose I was being stubborn with avoiding writing this. I thought I would be distracting to you otherwise. The last thing you need is to be off focus not that you have ever been off focus even when I was around you.

Anyways, I’m sending Eva with some medicine that I made especially for you… Also, some not made for you that you can share. Though honestly, I really don’t expect you to share it. Call it knowing you all too well. Just don’t drink it all in one go, at least hide it. You’ll get sick and then I will feel bad that I wasn’t there to help you recover from it.

I know that you will do great. You’ve been working so hard to get far as a squire and to prove yourself. You are already pretty knightly to me. I know it would mean a lot for you to win. Honestly, I’m excited to hear all about the stories you’ll have when you come home finally. Just wait until you see how big the wargs have gotten since you left. I swear they sprouted again. Maybe not Lofe so much but you can definitely see it in Forrest and Shade.

So kick some ass but don’t get your ass kicked too much… Okay? If you do manage to get your ass kicked at least know that I have you covered this time.

Try to have a lot of fun,
Gaea

PS: I am telling Eva to tell you something directly because I can’t stop laughing long enough to write it down.

I really miss you. The cottage isn’t the same without you.’

Eva finally startled herself and curtsied to both Raphael and Simon. “I’m sorry! I’m just a tad tired from my flight from the Highlands but I wanted to make sure that Olvar got the letter before the tournament began. Gaea won’t say it but she wishes she could be here for it. My name is Evangeline Rose –” She was going to introduce herself fully when a clergy member of Angela’s ran up.

“My apologies Princess Eva!” The clergy member caught her breath before looking up at the princess. “Your mother has requested you by her side once you are done here. She said that it’s nothing major but if you could be present that would be delightful. You can return if you wish after the meeting between Queens.” The clergy member bowed before taking back off. It looked as if she had other jobs besides just telling Eva about the meeting.

The half angel stood there dumbfounded for a moment. “But… I literally just saw her and she didn’t say anything about it.” There was a stubborn look on her face as she crossed her arms. She sounded lost for a moment before looking back at Olvar and company. “I’m sorry about all this. I can stay but for a couple of minutes. It would appear that my mother requested me by her side… One does not simply ignore the call of one of the Queens of Sularia after all.” Eva appeared proud of her heritage. “However, since she so rudely interrupted my conversation for something she could have told me before I arrived… I don’t see the harm in staying for a few minutes to chat.”

She put her finger to her chin. “You are exactly like Gaea described.” It looked like the woman was scrutinizing Olvar for a moment or maybe she was admiring him. It took a lot to tie down someone like Gaea so he had to be special. “Oh! I didn’t mean to interrupt you though! I only just now realized it was probably rude of me to barge into your camp like this.” She held a nervous laugh as she looked up at the skies but for a moment.

“I’m afraid that Gaea didn’t tell me anything about your friends though. She was preoccupied most of the time so I could only get her to tell me bits and pieces. Gaea's been in service to our family for a long time as a medicine woman so I am rather curious about her life.” It wasn't a lie. Gaea was a healer for the family so it was easy for Eva to say.

Her first time at court. A woman with ebony black har, dark skin, and was looking into the Adeluna city from a distance. Although she was a noblewoman, there were no servants to help her prepare. Unlike so many others, she didn’t have a banner to brandish her name nor a fancy horse to attract anybody’s attention. Her hand reached up to her simple brown war horse. The animal’s fur was soft and short but helped Jadira focus. This would be her fist tournament. She’d been practicing and preparing for a while but nervousness still lingered in her chest.

“There is no chance that I’ll win.” Jadira said out loud to her horse, “I want to try anyway. Is that…crazy?”

The horse simply reached down to eat the grass. Shaking her head and letting out a sigh, she went over to her backpack that she had dumped on the ground earlier.

“Why am I talking to a horse?” She asked herself.

Behind her backpack was a chestplate and helmet. Dragonscale chest plate. It would be the first time that she had used it. Reaching out to it, she touched the dark blue scales that had been mixed with metal. Nobody had bought it for her. Every bit of money that was needed to buy it was earned. There was no one who would have spent that money to get her good armor. This is what she had spent months to earn up enough money for. The giant boar, the ice monster, the oversized cobra, finding a spell book and many other quests had been completed to get enough money for this. And she had been careful to get the chest plate and helmet from a source where it was well made but the scales were only taken from dragons who had died of sickness or old age.

The scales were still tough and good enough but now she didn’t have to feel guilty about dragons being murdered for armor. Jadira didn’t have much money at the moment because she had used it on such fancy armor. The money she had left would be only enough for a decent meal. Plucking the armor off of the ground, she began to try to put it on by herself. First she picked up her chitinous leggings and put them over her normal trousers. It was easy to put on that. Everything else was far more difficult. The chitinous vambraces were hard to put on. When she tried to put one on her left arm, she realized that she was going to have to try to strap it on with only one had while keeping it in one place. She ended up using her teeth to hold the vambrace in place.

Her toughest challenge was the dragonscale chestplate. Jadira couldn’t reach in the back. Eventually, the noblewoman was able to get the armor on. Her chestplate was dark blue and silver. The helmet on her head was simple and had no horns. Horns on helmets were dumb. Finally, she was ready. Walking over to her brown horse, she picked up her bag and mounted it. Giddiness spread throughout her body. Hooves hit the ground as they moved towards the city. Wind blew at her face. Black wisps of hair came out from underneath the helmet despite the tight bun she had wrapped it up in. The gate to the city was open to allow the participants of the tournament to enter. Arriving at the city, Jadira noticed how excited the townspeople were.

Other nobles were passing through with their parade of servants and flags. A path had been made to allow them to pass through without any trouble. Crowds had gathered to watch them. Children were hoisted on parent shoulders to get a better look. Jadira showed little expression on the outside. She seemed cold and distant but on the inside, she was thrilled. This was similar to the stories she’d always heard about knights and princes.

Somebody in the crowd had caught her eye. An older man had fallen down due to the crowd being very pushy. He didn’t have his cane with him and was struggling to get back on his feet. Jadira moved her horse to the edge of the path to be out of the way. Dismounting her horse, she walked over to the old man. Fear alight in his eyes. She was an armor covered woman who did not appear to be friendly. His expression changed to surprise when she held out her hand to him. After helping him to his feet, she looked around only to find that the wooden cane he had been using was smashed. Jadira reached into her pocket and pulled out some silver.

“…Here.” was her simple explanation as shoved the silver into the man’s hand.

Waving a random woman over from the crowd, Jadira offered the woman up payment if she would help the old man to a cane shop. The woman agreed. Going back to her horse, Jadira continue onwards, following the rest of the nobles. Now at the back of the caravan. Realization hit her like a brick. That was her dinner money she’d just given away. Either she’d have to go hungry or she’d have to go to the outskirts of town for a hunting trip. Both options sounded horrible. Going hunting was a form of exercise. After a joust. It would be painful and she might not even catch anything. The other option would be to go hungry. A thought that would have to bother her later. They were reaching their destination. The caravan of nobles had come to a slow stop. Being at the back, she had plenty of time to halt her horse without worry of bumping into anybody behind her. After a few moments, they passed under many murder holes and eventually passed through the barbican and into the great bailey. Seeing the line of spearmen, she wondered how many of them would have to work while everybody else got to celebrate.

Other nobles around her began to dismount their horse. So she did the same. But there no private servants for her to go take care of the horse. She took her horse’s reins and began to lead the beast over to an empty spot amongst the many fancy tents. Jadira had brought her own tent. Another item that she had bought a while back for the tournament. It was the shade of dark purple and dark blue. Dark purple and white were their house colors. But getting a white tent was expensive. Keeping it clean was a pain. Instead, she opted to get a dark blue and dark purple tent. Jadira took out a stake and a medium sized hammer from her backpack and hammered it into the ground. She took the reins of her horse and tied it tightly to the stake. Pulling over a servant, she asked him politely to keep an eye on her horse and make sure nobody took him. The servant appreciated the polite respect that Jadira gave him and agreed to what she had asked.

Looking at the caravan, she realized that she needed to catch up. Her feet pounded into the ground as she raced over to the end of the caravan that was quickly moving to the next location. Despite wearing armor, Jadira was fast. Muscles in her legs added boosts to her speed while the rest of her was able to keep agile and a good running posture. Years of running away from or around beasts, monsters, angry people, and enemies taught her how to run well. She made it to the end of the caravan just in time and continued with them to the next area. Her eyes widened as they entered the castle.

Although her expression was cold and calm, on the inside she was freaking out. THE castle! Just like fairytale. The only thing that would make this more like a story from the book would be if there was a fair maiden or boy that she needed to fight for the honor of. Although that may not work out so well, seeing as she already knew she wouldn’t be able to win the jousting part. Jadira didn’t have enough experience. But this was how one got experience! She inspected and gazed at every part of the castle with hidden excitement in her eyes. Eventually they got to the inner bailey and a line formed in front of a portly man with a stack of parchment and a quill. Jadira waited until a few other nobles were done then walked up to register for the tournament herself. When the porty man saw her, he had a distinct look of surprise upon his face. She showed him her signet ring to prove that she was noble. Still he seemed nervous about her.

“Excuse me miss. But perhaps you should do something a little more your speed.” He said.

Irritation ran through her mind but her expression remained cool and calm.

“No. I am signing up for jousting and the footrace.” She said firmly.

“B-but you can’t joust or do a foot race. You’re a woman. You could hurt yourself!” He said trying to find reasons why she couldn’t participate.

This time she could no longer hold onto her calm expression. Jadira’s hand rested on her him and her right eyebrow was slightly raised in a look that stated, are you being serious?

“Congratulations. You have figured out the fact that I have a vagina instead of a d*ck.” Jadira said stubbornly, “And if this little guy can enter the tournaments without any issues about him getting hurt, then I can enter too.”

She had gestured to a scrawny thin noble who was barely the age of twenty behind her. Determination lit up in her eyes. Her mind was debating whether or not she should just take the sign up sheet and sign herself up. Instead she waited for the porty man’s response. 

There was a charge in the air that morning. They were headed to Adeluna, the heart of Canelux, for the upcoming tourney. Olvar noticed the change most extremely in his knight. Simon seemed more alert than usual if such a thing was possible, almost eager. Though the man did well to remain stoic, they had been traveling together long enough to have picked out each other’s quirks. Simon was almost giddy. He fastened straps and secured buckles, helping the knight don his armor as he had time and time again. Each piece glittered in the morning rays like the dew of the grass, and all put together, the man looked more a knight than Olvar could ever remember seeing. He was making a final adjustment when Simon bombarded him with instruction. Fly the banner. Blow the horn. Clear the way. Easy enough. “Yes, sir,” he answered simply.

Satisfied with his work, the squire stepped back, giving his knight a nod before starting toward the exit to retrieve his own gear. Gods, he thought to himself with a sigh. Now he wants me to dress the pigeon. Once again, “Yes, sir.” Once more he turned, and once more he was stopped, this time with a strong grip at his shoulder. He listened with a frown, growing more uneasy with every spoken word. This city was beginning to sound like more of a danger than guarding the caravan had been. But if mistrust was the truest defense, Olvar should be well-armored. Still, concern now sat in his belly where apathy had once held residence. He offered one final “Yes, sir” before escaping the tent to daylight.

Outside he found Raphael, and approached the teen with nothing short of disdain. “Where’s your armor? Come on, give it here,” he ordered, taking the first piece he needed to help the boy don his kit. His gear was so light it barely felt to exist, and Olvar marveled at the fact that it didn’t crumple under his fingers like tin. More than once he was tempted to tighten a strap one notch too far, or slacken it one too loose, but Simon’s warning rang in his ears. We are at Court now. All eyes are on us. With Raphael’s armor on, Olvar grabbed the first piece of his own kit, pushing the plate into the boy’s hands. It felt like a stone compared to the pigeon’s, but the shifter preferred the more solid feel of his steel armor. Laskus had done an incredible job of finishing it, making the metal dark and beautifully striated.

Once his armor was completely on, Olvar grumbled a reluctant thanks to Raph, then picked up the remaining plates stacked near his gear. A sharp whistle roused Ojuk, who had found a sunny patch to lay in. The beast yawned widely, showing off gleaming crooked canines, then stretched luxuriously before sauntering over. Once again, the work of the Tiefling smith had surpassed his expectations. The plating locked together, strapping to his saddle at the top and covering Ojuk’s upper legs while being held in place by another strap once around the warg’s limb. His ears flicked backward, a clear sign of distaste, but it was necessary in this instant. The beast would forget the armor even existed once they got moving.

With all prepared, the party began the next leg of their journey, making for Adeluna on the more public roads. It was an unusual change for Olvar, who had always preferred the longer, but quieter routes through the more desolate countryside. But on these paths, they passed through a new village every few miles it seemed. He couldn’t help but noticed as well the little faces staring up from the curious onlookers. Children, amazed but such exotic sights, watched their little entourage with astonishment and wonder. Olvar could remember still when he himself had stood in their place, in awe of the knight passing through their little village on what he swore to that day was a steed made purely of sunlight. He sat up a little straighter.

It felt like they’d barely been traveling when they found themselves approaching the city gates. Their little parade halted, Olvar pulling out a horn and offering a steady note. He announced them to the guards, who after only a brief pause cleared the way and gestured them inside.

It was instantaneously an entirely new world from the one Olvar knew. It had many of the same smells as home, but the voices were just a little bit off, the smoke and little too sharp, and the people… He’d never seen so many people all in one place before. Still, he had a job, and he intended to do it. From the back of an armored warg, it was amazing how many folks would take a moment to listen to what you had to say, and the effect was one that Olvar certainly made use of as they stared–some in horror, some in shock–at the intimidating beast and his rider. Both with dark plate armor, he was a stark contrast to his master astride the unicorn, but the elegant, polished glass blade of his glaive tied in a sense of refinement that kept him from looking completely out of place.

“Make way for Simon, Count of Montefort, the White Knight!” Simon’s banner flew proudly overhead as Olvar made his way through the streets, clearing the path for his knight and those following him. He stared out at the gathering crowds through the slit of his visored barbuta helm, taking a steadying breath. Had it been so long since he’d been in a city that this was enough to threaten shaking him? His grip on the banner tightened. He refused. Olvar sat up straighter in the saddle, making it easily through to the next gate where once more he announced them.

The next area set in irritation almost immediately. Dignified, clean, well-kept. Nothing like where they had come from. No doubt it was nobility that they was by now, Olvar still calling for a path to be made as they went. Lest his temper grow, the shifter kept his eyes ahead, refusing at first to meet the gazes of any of the people watching. As he thought about it though, he let his gaze wander to their faces. He had come from nothing. Had he lived in this city, he’d have been born in a slum from the last neighborhood. But here he was, armored like royalty, and squire to the White Knight, Count Simon de Montefort. He would take this satisfaction.

As they approached the castle, pride gave way once more to nerves. The last time he had entered a castle, he had been a prisoner at Chateau de Montefort, back in DaeLuin. Hardly a fond memory. He eyed the great walls with suspicion, using just his fingertips to give Ojuk a light scratch. The beast’s deep, rumbled response did well to soothe him.

Once more, Olvar announced the company, and they were allowed inside. Still on the alert, he stood tall as they met the spearmen, eyeing each of them before his attention settled on Preston. When the little man seemed interested only in the knights, the lycan dismissed him. The reins were accepted from Simon, and they were split up in favor of letting the knights decide on competitions they would be entering. Olvar, Raph, and Anguy were set about the task of tying off the mounts, doffing any gear or garb from them, and setting up Simon’s pavillion. He settled Ojuk not far from the other mounts, then removed his plating before helping with the tent. They made decent progress, likely due to the idea of spies being about. To be caught doing wrong here sounded like a death sentence from the way Simon described it.

With the pavillion half complete, the two paused their work upon the return of the lofty lords. After a rousing speech from Simon–proof that he was indeed back in his element–Olvar encouraged them to finish quickly so he avoid getting an earful from Simon about his armor still being on.

He had just clapped the dust from his hands when a voice caught his attention. Turning, he found a young woman with a basket clutched in her hands, eyeballing him curiously. “I am,” he answered, extending a hand to take the basket when it was offered. “…‘She’?” It was then the smell caught up to him. He paused sniffing once at the air. Gaea. The sweet scent bloomed upward as he peeked under the shawl. Potions and crystal flowers were tucked inside, the letter sealed by her. “How is she?” he asked, stashing the letter safely into the basket for later.

Annoyance twitched vaguely across his face at mention of his poor pants, replaced quickly by surprise at the voice in his head. It took him a moment to recognize telepathy, but he offered a tiny, subtle nod to her.

With the basket in hand, he eyed the pavillion. It had just been completed. He needed to doff Simon’s armor for him, then make himself look decent for the ceremony. But Gaea’s sister was royalty. Certainly they should entertain her, at least for a moment. “It’s no trouble, thank you for delivering this.” He lifted the basket a few inches again, then glanced at his company. His friends? “There is Anguy, there Lord Ryghar. Here is Raphael, and that is Count Simon de Montefort.” He introduced them all one at a time, but almost seemed to skip over Raph in terms of tone.

“I know of your mother. Should you not be concerned about meeting her in a timely manner?” His attempt was not to be rude, but there was a feast tonight, and he had much to do. Perhaps he could reason her into talking with Raph. They both had wings after all. "You must be a strong flyer to have made it this distance so quickly," he complimented.