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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Cedric" data-source="post: 330954" data-attributes="member: 2044">Chapter Two (for now).Riders ApproachPiercing the morning’s silence, a shrill whistle sounded twice from the high castle walls. Less then a minute later, the whistle sounded twice again. This was a standard signal, though heard only once a week or so. Riders approach…no threat; at least no military threat. Three riders rode hard towards the southern gates, hoods drawn low against the bright morning sun. Being only mid-spring snow capped the mountains down to the edges of the pass making a bright day uncomfortable for anyone not used to it. One was garbed in black and obviously sat a fine horse; only the crest upon his tabard distinguished him, that of a crescent moon in red with gold trim. The other two riders bore the obvious livery of the King’s Court. This could mean only one thing, Royal Messenger. “What’s s’at you think Gardam?” asked young Craenor of the grizzled soldier who stood at the wall beneath him. Sitting atop a small storeroom gave Craenor a vantage point to spy on the courtyard that suited his short stature well. “Harrumph, trouble Master Stormcrow,” the soldier grumbled, “Royal Messenger this early in the year is always trouble.”The boy chuckled, “You think everything is trouble Gardam, like as not you may be right this time though. Now help me down, going to go see if I can sneak a listen into what’s going on.” Having helped the boy down Gardam continued the vigilance of his watch, throwing just a casual glance to the rider’s now unhorsing in the courtyard. “Hmm, trouble indeed,” he thought.Sneaking through the throngs of soldiers and servants, past the central doors Craenor ran for a small alcove where he might listen in on the message. Already he could hear the approach of the boot clad feet on the marble walkways of the castle. Heralds and servants travelled with them, sharing the exchanges of introduction and etiquette needed to announce the messenger, Craenor could hear them speaking in hushed tones. From a room behind and to the left, Craenor heard a door open and close, no doubt his father entering the main hall of Storm Castle. Topping six foot with five inches to spare he was the largest man to sit in the chair he approached now with a steady, determined stride. Not one to go soft or to fat he worked out constantly with sword and horse, making his 250 plus pounds well-earned muscle. Settling himself into a large stone chair he waited. One look at that chair would make a person uncertain that it could ever be comfortable. Carved of solid stone it was simple and only very basically adorned. Large, it was shaped out of dark grey marble with no notable coloring or design. The Throne at Storm Castle was said to serve as a cold, strong reminder to each man who would come to sit in it that he may not ever grow comfortable in this place or casual with his duties. The Herald spoke loudly from the doorway, his strong voice filling the hall. “Royal Messenger of King Stefan the First entering. Be welcome to the court of Jonas Stormcrow, Jonas the Giant, 11th Baron of the Northern Storms.” Breathing as quietly as a mouse, Craenor watched this play out in front of him. Not waiting for the Messenger of the King to finish his long walk down the main hall, Jonas added his voice to the rhythmic click of boots on stone that echoed from the walls. “Do yeh send news of War?” asked Jonas.“No milord,” the messenger said in even tones as his walk came to a stop, “I bear the greetings of the King, news from Court and an invitation of sorts. This years trade season begins soon and may yet prove to be the most fruitful ever…” The messenger droned on sharing news from the Kingdom of day to day events and presenting documents for the review of Lord Stormcrow. Quickly growing bored, young Craenor used the sound of this man’s voice as cover and the shadows of the alcove as hiding to sneak from the main hall, making use of a servant’s entrance down the way. He quickly ran to seek out Cedric or his other two brothers, Liam and Markham to share his pilfered news. Back in the main hall, Jonas grew more and more restless. Doubt gnawed at him as the messenger continued to share mundane details of day to day life. While this seemed benign enough, two things made him cautious. One, the King had never in the past seen fit to share unimportant court minutes and two, his intuition was telling him something was amiss. A few moments later the messenger closed off his speech by asking, “Do you have any questions milord?”“You spoke of an invitation. Unfortunately, my duties keep me here, send the King my regrets and my assurance that Storm Castle stands ever ready for War should it come.”“Beg pardon milord, the invitation is not for you.” Realizing this had come out badly the messenger quickly spoke to cover himself. “Rather milord, I should say that the King was well aware of your duties and knew that you were not able to be away from Storm Castle for so long.” “However”, the messenger continued, “long has tradition demanded that the youngest son of any noble house come to study in the court of the King from the time of his 6th year to his 18th. While Storm Castle has never before answered this call, it is the will of the King that you do so this year and share your youngest son Craenor with the court, that Storm Castle and the King may grow closer. With your youngest’s sixth birthday approaching, the King’s Court would see him visit to study with us.”Each honey-covered word that poured from the messenger’s mouth caused Jonas’ eyes to harden more. An intake of breath could be heard around the hall as the servants and guards of the Baron came to realize what was being asked of them. Storm Castle had stood for over 300 years and in that time the Stormcrow’s had stood with it. Guarding it’s walls as it’s walls guarded the Kingdom. Dubbed the “Sons of Storm Castle” the Baron’s and their son’s and brother’s and brother’s sons had never travelled from this place until their passage into manhood. Raised in the shadow of it’s walls. They knew the harsh cold of it’s winters. The constant work of it’s upkeep. The rotation of it’s guards. The names and family of each man who would stand in her defense. With this one invitation the King’s Court would upset 300 years of tradition. They would rob Craenor of his only birthright. Being fourth son, the Throne of Storm Castle would never be his to sit. But proudly he looked forward to his 13th birthday, his welcome to manhood and his becoming a Son of Storm Castle.The last words slipped off the tongue of the messenger and his studied face left no trace that he understood the weight of this message, but no doubt he did. An unsteady silence hung in the air for but a few moments as Jonas considered. “Of course,” he stated each word carefully through near to clenched teeth, “the will of the King be done. Craenor shall study at court as tradition demands. For we shall all,” and he emphasized that word strongly, “be respectful of tradition.”----------------------Again, comments are welcome and thanks for the helpCedric</blockquote>

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