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The Scinterlands: Sibling Rivalry
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<blockquote data-quote="Roquesdoodle" data-source="post: 1847503" data-attributes="member: 14798"><p><strong>Finally, an update.</strong></p><p></p><p>Again, sorry for the delay. After this update there is only one character introduction left. Once that is done we get to the REALLY good stuff. Anyway, enjoy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <strong>The Hero</strong></p><p> <strong></strong></p><p> As the knights led the small group through the corridors of the castle, Glasdon could not help but feel as if he had been swallowed by some gigantic stone beast and was now being sluiced along its marble innards. Though he and the others certainly weren’t prisoners—it was almost safe to assume they were guests…almost—Glasdon still felt a need to move with deliberate caution.</p><p></p><p> Sean moved by his side, occasionally adjusting his wagon wheel whenever the passageway became too narrow or turned in what seemed a random direction. The elderly priest seemed at ease, though the way he kept pulling at the collar of his robes suggested that he was unaccustomed to being surrounded by so much stone. </p><p></p><p> The rabbit, Tibbit Proudhopper was his name, kept one eye on their escorts and the other to the shadows as his ears moved toward sounds that Glasdon could not hear. The rabbit’s nose twitched and his eyes roamed as Glasdon watched the Harefellow twice visibly restrain himself from vanishing into the shadows. Though Glasdon was fully aware of the martial prowess of the Scinter Knights that led them through the grand halls of the castle, he wondered if the Harefellow would indeed be able to disappear right from under their noses if it suddenly became necessary. </p><p></p><p> Being asked to meet with Sir Feon Rey was in and of itself nothing too terribly frightening. Though the man had a reputation that would make even the most hardened warrior blanch, he was also known for his fairness. Don’t cross the Hand and he won’t hang you by your thumbs and have you skinned alive (a single, but rather dark, incident that helped bring peace to the warring Island States). </p><p></p><p> But even armed with the knowledge of Feon Rey’s diplomacy, Glasdon still could not bury the sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. A dead Prince and a traveling King were not the most comforting circumstances in which to meet with a man known to have eradicated entire families for daring to threaten the sovereignty of the Crown. </p><p></p><p> But what unsettled Glasdon the most was the way the Scinter Knights always kept watching him from the corner of their eyes. He expected some wariness from them; the tense rivalry between the Materites and the Scinter Knights was legendary. Though both served King and Country, the Materites ultimately answered to their god Il Mater. It was an extra link in the chain of command that most of the secular Knights believed could too easily spread disloyalty. Kind Scinterod was viewed as the King by divine right. However, should the priests and clerics of Il Mater suddenly find it necessary to rescind the approval of their god, the Scinterlands would be plunged into a holy war. To Glasdon’s reasoning, this was why the King had embraced the church of Il Mater and their sect of holy warriors, the Materites. That his most decorated and skilled Knights would eye a Materite with such suspicion, however, gave him pause.</p><p></p><p> Oddly, the young woman with the strange name and wildly inappropriate dress did not appear to be terribly concerned with her deadly escorts. She even reached out and touched the lead Scinter Knight’s red mantle of station, studying its texture with her fingertips. The knight, however, was not amused by the breach of his personal space. The scowl he gave Pet would have sent anyone else scurrying away in fits of mad panic, but the young woman gave no mind to his ferocious gaze.</p><p></p><p> Glasdon casually shifted his oak shield and noticed that each of his escorts made sleight gestures toward the blades resting at their hips. They were not movements made of fear or unsettled nerves, but practiced responses to a possible threat. He could not help but smile to himself. Though he knew that each of these knights were battle-hardened veterans, it was nice to see that word of a Materite’s ability traveled this deep into the castle.</p><p></p><p> When they came to a large unadorned room, they were ushered inside. The Scinter Knights moved to each of the doors and stood sentry, their mailed mass prohibiting anyone from exiting. </p><p></p><p> In the center of the room was a large table, adorned with a modest display of food and several freshly arranged bouquets. The smell of the flowers and freshly cooked meat contrasted sharply with the dull scent of cold marble and steel. </p><p></p><p> Though the food looked quite appetizing, Glasdon felt it was out of place on the aged wood. He pictured maps sprawled across the broad oak expanse. Maps along with reports of troop movements and supply lines as Generals and Kings glowered over their schemes of conquest. Food belonged on that table no more than Glasdon belonged in that room. This was not a room for feasting or entertaining, but a room for strategizing, for planning. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p> This was a room for warmongering. </p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p> The Scinter Knight on the far side of the room moved to allow Sir Feon Rey into the room. His presence filled the open chamber like a flood of glacial water. </p><p></p><p> “Sit,” he said. And as Sir Feon Rey House Eater gestured to the chairs surrounding the table, Glasdon could not shake the image of a condemned prisoner being presented his last meal.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Roquesdoodle, post: 1847503, member: 14798"] [b]Finally, an update.[/b] Again, sorry for the delay. After this update there is only one character introduction left. Once that is done we get to the REALLY good stuff. Anyway, enjoy. [b]The Hero [/b] As the knights led the small group through the corridors of the castle, Glasdon could not help but feel as if he had been swallowed by some gigantic stone beast and was now being sluiced along its marble innards. Though he and the others certainly weren’t prisoners—it was almost safe to assume they were guests…almost—Glasdon still felt a need to move with deliberate caution. Sean moved by his side, occasionally adjusting his wagon wheel whenever the passageway became too narrow or turned in what seemed a random direction. The elderly priest seemed at ease, though the way he kept pulling at the collar of his robes suggested that he was unaccustomed to being surrounded by so much stone. The rabbit, Tibbit Proudhopper was his name, kept one eye on their escorts and the other to the shadows as his ears moved toward sounds that Glasdon could not hear. The rabbit’s nose twitched and his eyes roamed as Glasdon watched the Harefellow twice visibly restrain himself from vanishing into the shadows. Though Glasdon was fully aware of the martial prowess of the Scinter Knights that led them through the grand halls of the castle, he wondered if the Harefellow would indeed be able to disappear right from under their noses if it suddenly became necessary. Being asked to meet with Sir Feon Rey was in and of itself nothing too terribly frightening. Though the man had a reputation that would make even the most hardened warrior blanch, he was also known for his fairness. Don’t cross the Hand and he won’t hang you by your thumbs and have you skinned alive (a single, but rather dark, incident that helped bring peace to the warring Island States). But even armed with the knowledge of Feon Rey’s diplomacy, Glasdon still could not bury the sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. A dead Prince and a traveling King were not the most comforting circumstances in which to meet with a man known to have eradicated entire families for daring to threaten the sovereignty of the Crown. But what unsettled Glasdon the most was the way the Scinter Knights always kept watching him from the corner of their eyes. He expected some wariness from them; the tense rivalry between the Materites and the Scinter Knights was legendary. Though both served King and Country, the Materites ultimately answered to their god Il Mater. It was an extra link in the chain of command that most of the secular Knights believed could too easily spread disloyalty. Kind Scinterod was viewed as the King by divine right. However, should the priests and clerics of Il Mater suddenly find it necessary to rescind the approval of their god, the Scinterlands would be plunged into a holy war. To Glasdon’s reasoning, this was why the King had embraced the church of Il Mater and their sect of holy warriors, the Materites. That his most decorated and skilled Knights would eye a Materite with such suspicion, however, gave him pause. Oddly, the young woman with the strange name and wildly inappropriate dress did not appear to be terribly concerned with her deadly escorts. She even reached out and touched the lead Scinter Knight’s red mantle of station, studying its texture with her fingertips. The knight, however, was not amused by the breach of his personal space. The scowl he gave Pet would have sent anyone else scurrying away in fits of mad panic, but the young woman gave no mind to his ferocious gaze. Glasdon casually shifted his oak shield and noticed that each of his escorts made sleight gestures toward the blades resting at their hips. They were not movements made of fear or unsettled nerves, but practiced responses to a possible threat. He could not help but smile to himself. Though he knew that each of these knights were battle-hardened veterans, it was nice to see that word of a Materite’s ability traveled this deep into the castle. When they came to a large unadorned room, they were ushered inside. The Scinter Knights moved to each of the doors and stood sentry, their mailed mass prohibiting anyone from exiting. In the center of the room was a large table, adorned with a modest display of food and several freshly arranged bouquets. The smell of the flowers and freshly cooked meat contrasted sharply with the dull scent of cold marble and steel. Though the food looked quite appetizing, Glasdon felt it was out of place on the aged wood. He pictured maps sprawled across the broad oak expanse. Maps along with reports of troop movements and supply lines as Generals and Kings glowered over their schemes of conquest. Food belonged on that table no more than Glasdon belonged in that room. This was not a room for feasting or entertaining, but a room for strategizing, for planning. This was a room for warmongering. The Scinter Knight on the far side of the room moved to allow Sir Feon Rey into the room. His presence filled the open chamber like a flood of glacial water. “Sit,” he said. And as Sir Feon Rey House Eater gestured to the chairs surrounding the table, Glasdon could not shake the image of a condemned prisoner being presented his last meal. [/QUOTE]
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