Search Posts
Kearan holds his watch in customary silence, and wakes the next morning with an ominous sense about him... but he says nothing, for he knows not why he has such foreboding in any case. So he packs his things and mounts his horse, ready to face another day.
Kearan likewise takes up a post nearby but out of earshot for quiet conversation. He'd appreciated the warmth of the bonfire, but it wasn't a knight's duty to rest in the glow of flames; it's his duty to stand vigilant in the rain.
Kearan gladly accepts the offer of healing, although he's somewhat sheepish when he presents the wound. A truly skilled knight might escape such a battle without a scratch... but then, only a fool would expect such an outcome. He arrives on time for the dinner, and takes a seat by Ordric as any good knight should. Kearan himself is still wearing his armor, although he took some time to wipe and burnish it to a gleam, and he's removed his helmet for the meal. His customary crimson sash is draped about his throat, covering most of his scars--only a keen eye or someone at close quarters would notice them.
Kearan follows Annalise's suit, also sliding his sword away after wiping it on a spare sash. The knight of Carim's ill manners make him bridle indignantly, but he doesn't say anything--perhaps a rare blessing of his wounded throat.
As something of a counterpoint to Ordric, I'll boost my Strength at this Advance, going to a d10. (Astora Greatsword, here I come!)
Emboldened by his allies' successes, the ailing of the enemy, and the renewed vigor of the fallen knights, Kearan decides to seize on the moment. He once more puts all his weight into a mighty blow, hoping to end this battle with one decisive strike!
Kearan grimaces beneath his helm as the enemy stands strong, but Ordric's strike seems to cause some damage. The knight himself sets his feet and attacks again, this time keeping his shield up to protect himself.
Kearan gasps as the trident spears through his armor. It's only mail, but against lesser foes, even that much can fend off a thrust. Against this monstrosity... The knight can only fight through the pain as the weapon draws back out, and he sets his feet. So be it.
Kearan raises his shield for a moment, but upon seeing the enemy gathering energy, he swings it about to gain momentum. Just after the bolt of lightning surges from the trident to strike Alder, Kearan comes in with his own mighty attack, a heavy slash that disregards defense in favor of putting all his strength into the blow!
Hey all, posting this in all my games to let people know I'll be away for a few days. My family is headed to camp later today, and I won't have Internet or my computer while I'm there. I should be back and posting Friday afternoon/evening (Eastern Time), but please push the game as needed, botting my character if you need to do so. Thanks!
Kearan steps into the chamber after throwing open the doors, sword drawn in one hand, shield raised in the other. He quickly surveys the room, and his eyes settle on the tall, armored figure with the trident. The knight starts to hold, and even try to call out, but then the light flashes and the Catarinan is flung into the wall. Even as she crumples, Kearan dashes forward, bringing his sword to bear against this new threat.
When Kearan closes with the armored figure, he swings his blade in while retaining his shield's defensive poise. Best not to strike too wildly before knowing your foe's skill, and this being is clearly more than a mere warrior.
At Alder's words, Kearan steps forward and shoves open the doors with all his might. He may have a duty to his lord, but even more than that, a knight must act with honor and protect those who can't protect themselves. If a woman may be in trouble, he must do all he can to help.
Kearan breathes heavy for but a moment as the fight finishes, and then wipes his blade clean on a rag before sheathing it. What madness is this? Dark sorcery of some kind, I'd wager. Behind his steel helmet he scowls at the corpses, but he makes no outward motion of distaste or distress--merely nodding and keeping side-by-side with the Onion Knight.
At the doors, the Astoran knight gives pause. He glances to Ordric, wondering if the lord has any inclinations, and draws his sword in case combat lies ahead.
Kearan continues to slash about with his sword, thankful that he's fully armored as always--what chance might the common folk have against creatures such as these?
Kearan starts as the first villager dies on his sword, and he quickly shoves the body off of the blade with his shield. What manner of dark magic is this? He has little time to wonder, though, as the creatures seem set on injuring the party. With a glance at Ordric, Kearan turns and strikes at the nearest foe, his sword coming around in a mighty arc.
In the chamber, Kearan readies his sword and shield as soon as he hears the sounds. The appearance of the enemy is disturbing, no doubt, but Kearan is a well-trained knight of Astora. It takes more than sallow cheeks and hollow looks to frighten him. He steps between the creatures and Ordric, his shield raised, ready to strike if any approach with ill intent.
Kearan rides into town at the forefront of the party, but nothing that he sees makes any particular sense to him. It just seems... off.
Kearan shakes his helmeted head, and lifts the visor in order to speak up. "No. Our duty is to help. We should press on." After a moment he looks to Ordric. "Milord?"
Kearan rides forward at the sign of the corpse, his horse moving into a brief trot that brings him closer to the body. He dismounts and rolls it over after examining the visible wounds. What's happened here? Some errant mage, flinging about dangerous magics? Or is it connected with the rest of this land?
Kearan nods and shifts the lance in its stirrup, keeping a wary lookout from astride his horse.
"What is it you seek?" Kearan asks, his voice coming soft but audible from within his helmet. He keeps his eyes on the sky, following the passage of the drake, but he feels the need also to learn what this Catarina knight is seeking. Strange times, these.
Kearan nods at his lord's command, and begins working to carry across all that he can, focusing on the heavier and bulkier items first. His years of training in combat have toughened his muscles and endurance.
"Not yet, my lady." Kearan speaks up, although still briefly. His eyes are open, and his helmet doesn't obstruct his vision, but it seems there may not have been much to find of yet...
Kearan nods and begins making his way to the right, keeping ready for any trouble or signs of a way across.
Kearan doesn't recognize the armor instantly, but upon Alder's comment of the stranger's knighthood and origin, he nods and pulls his horse up short, alongside the wagon with the others. He focuses more on the bridge than the knight--Catarina is no foe of Astora, so there's little chance the knight would attack, and honor would dictate a formal challenge and warning be declared. What could destroy such a construction? The burned flags and tatters... some siege engine of war, perhaps. But why destroy a bridge with such a device?
Kearan assists with the bulk of the gravedigging, his strong back and arms and physical stamina making it quicker work. When Alder takes the ring, he sniffs, but doesn't comment, and merely looks to Ordric. "Where to, m'lord? Toward the Prince's man?" After the question, he replaces his helmet and pulls his lance from where he planted it in the ground.
Kearan glances around, relying more on instinct and his eyes than any sort of strategic searching.
Kearan is wary of danger once the Count and Drystan point out the signs of a large fangboar, and he stays close to Annalise and the others in order to defend at a moment's notice. When the group finally comes upon the ruined campsite, with the great beast rooting about, he narrows his eyes under his helmet and shifts his demeanor from alertness to battle-ready. He gently pulls his arm from the fire keeper with a soft, "Beg pardon, milady," and steps forward, planting his feet and raising the lance in both hands. He doesn't rush in to attack just yet, but stands ready to leap forward and thrust should the beast come closer.
Kearan rides his horse to the edge of the deeper woods, but dismounts when he must, looping the reins to the wagon. When he notices Annalise disembarking the vehicle, he steps to her side and offers his arm with a slight clearing of his throat, prepared to help guide and protect the fire keeper as they enter more dangerous territory.
Kearan glances at the boars that Drystan points out, and he nods, silently agreeing with the lad's interest. He's left his horse back at the village for now, but his lance is in hand, held in place resting on his shoulder. The great weapon is odd enough to be used on foot, especially in quarters like this, but it could provide very useful for fending off a great wild beast.
Kearan nods and gives his lord a slight bow. "Of course, my liege." His voice is soft and somewhat muffled by the helmet, but his words can be understood. The developments in this village are troubling, and if there's one witch about, who knows what other darkness could be prowling? It is the duty of an Astoran knight to protect the people and serve his lord; these now fit hand in hand.
Kearan stands by as Annalise sets to work, respectfully leaving when she requests it. The news of the Fire Keeper returning to life is surprising, and he glances to the others, but cautiously enters all the same. The story of her attacker is strange, and worrying, but Kearan has no mind to ponder or solve such mysteries. There are many things beyond the knowledge of men like myself. Perhaps that is for the best.
Kearan stands by, and when the villagers pull the smoking corpse from the fire, he draws his sword. He can't help some curiosity as Annalise steps forward, but when she reaches out as though to take the strange flame within the rib cage, he grips his weapon in both hands, ready to step forward if anything happens.
Kearan frowns within his helmet as the news is given, and he rides forward behind Ordric, dismounting as they near the fire. His lord's discovery is disconcerting to say the least, and Kearan reaches for his sword, hand resting on the grip and ready to draw. Dark magic, indeed. How are we to assist in this?
Kearan's gladness continues, the presence of a Fire Keeper quickly paying off as the group's journey begins. He spends the riding in silence unless anyone attempts to start a conversation, in which case... he still remains mostly silent, preferring nonverbal responses whenever possible. He also keeps his helmet on nearly the entire time, only removing it to eat or drink. In the evening, the knight wordlessly takes the first watch: as soon as he's stripped the gear from his horse and fed and watered it, he finds a good vantage point and sits down, his lance planted into the earth beside him so it arcs up like some forgotten reminder of ancient days. Even with her flame, best to be wary.
At the village, Kearan draws up his horse. Upon seeing the town ahead he'd ridden to the front of their small entourage, and he's glad for it as he spies the armed men approaching. When they ask about intentions, he cocks his head turns to glance at the others. Intentions? Surely they should know a knight and lord by sight. What low curs have we here?
Kearan looks around the smithy with an appreciative eye, his helmet off for the time being due to the heat, but he doesn't make to purchase anything. He only keeps a relatively small amount of coin in his purse, not enough to purchase anything meaningful here, and the equipment he has for being a knight is fine enough. Heavier armor could be useful, but it's also expensive--for now, his fine mail will do more than well enough.
At Annalise's question, Kearan looks up, surprised for a moment, and then he smiles and hands it for her to look at. "Children," he comments simply. Once she's finished looking at it--along with anyone else who wants to do so--he holds his hand out to take the bear back and hold onto it for the time being. At dinner, Kearan is as always quiet, savoring the fine food and wine. He raises an eyebrow at Alder's grumbling, but saves his voice from commenting, figuring Ordric may well offer his own thoughts. Two horses are all needed to pull the wagon. And I have my own to ride.
Kearan smiles as he reads the note, and it widens as he sees the gold piece attached at the bottom. And so we have six. He wonders about how best to carry the bear along with him, not even questioning leaving it behind. Perhaps a sling to balance on a shoulder? Or on the saddle of my horse. That may be best.
Kearan considers speaking up about the bear, but decides it isn't worth the effort just to disagree with his lord. Instead he simply sees if it will open at a weak stitch or a fold in the fabric, and failing that, he opens it slightly with his dagger.
Kearan wordlessly accepts the equipment, taking as much of the heavy goods as he can carry, and brings it outside with the others. There, he pauses to take stock of things, and discovers an oddity between the bundle of torches and the sack of rations. He silently holds up the bear and looks at the others, a question in his eyes if not on his lips. What have we here?
Kearan remains still and quiet as the others speak further, taking a moment to think on the surroundings--although his mind is neither quicker nor sharper than the average man, he is thoughtful, methodical. He recalls the rumors of the Prince's servants, and he wonders how close he himself came to serving Ricard directly. But I still have some voice, even thin and painful. He fights a wry smile from his face and glances at his companions. Ordric is a good man, the youngest Count Ethelred in years. The loss of his father and brother still weighs on the house, and as with any similar circumstance there had been whispers that he wasn't ready, that another noble family would move in to absorb the Ethelreds forever. But thus far Ordric was a fine leader, if inexperienced, and if nothing else the knights of Ethelred remain loyal. The Fire Keeper's presence is unexpected, although appreciated. She's an oddity to Kearan--blind, but she's capable of so much on her own. And of course her more overtly mystical powers: the way she could manipulate flame, and the additional warmth and comfort that comes from a fire she tends. Kearan has come to think of her as a kindred spirit in a way, with fate giving them each great strengths and then crippling them with a weakness, although hers are more grandiose, certainly. Even from just a practical standpoint, having Annalise along makes sense, but even beyond that Kearan is glad to see she's accompanying them. The cleric and the other young man, he doesn't know quite as well. He recalls their names, of course, and remembers Drystan participating in some hunting, but they aren't as close. Nominally, Kearan follows the Way of White, but he isn't a very religious man, and has only really interacted with the priests when someone needs healing. And Drystan, well--he's a stout enough youth, but a tad off, and certainly not in the same vein as a knight. His reverie comes to a close as Ricard finishes answering the first round of questions, and he brings his eyes back to the Prince, then follows his gaze back to Annalise. More of them? Are there Fire Keepers and masters of the flame beyond Astora?
Woo! I took a small liberty of attaching myself to Ordric--I know we discussed the possibility of all being related to the same noble house, but I'm not sure if we 100% agreed that's what we'd do. I also assumed that as a noble house we'd have some sort of manor or keep, presumably with a courtyard for training knights. "When you get to the border, seek out my man there. He goes by the name Patches." What a trustworthy sounding fellow. I'm sure we'll have no trouble from him.
When the summons arrives, Kearan himself is sparring, drilling with younger knights and squires in the courtyard of Ethelred Manor . Most warriors would deign to wear leather gambeson or other simple padding for such work, but Kearan, almost as always, prefers to wear his full armor, mail burnished and in fine repair, steel helmet glinting in the sunlight, and his crimson scarf trailing behind. When the messenger arrives, Kearan is engaged in a unique drill, pressing two squires to work together against a strange opponent: the older knight wields a lance on foot, using its reach to keep the pair off-balance and mobile. It serves as fine practice for both parties, allowing the younger warriors experience with unorthodox fighting styles, and giving Kearan a chance to practice using the same. When he spots the messenger, however, he quickly calls off the bout, listens to the summons, nods, and makes ready to meet the prince. At that meeting, he's dressed in fine form, with his surcoat over his armor, his sword belted on his hip, and his shield--emblazoned with the Ethelred crest--slung on his back in the proper custom. He gives a formal bow to the prince and listens to his commands, nodding at the end. Although his helmet is off for the formality of the meeting, held in the crook of one arm, Kearan still refrains from speaking overmuch. For another knight it might be considered a slight affront, but even someone as high-ranking as Prince Ricard is aware of the knight's condition. Even so, he forces out a thin, hoarse affirmation: "We are honored, m'lord."
No, by all means, if you'd like to be Chronicler, take it away! I was offering in case nobody else wanted to do it.
"Kearan, Knight of Astora, at your service." I'd be happy to serve either as Chronicle or Curator, depending on what anyone else wants to do. I enjoy writing up stories, but I also like finding fitting music and artwork. I have a strong total of 25 coins left from equipment. Huzzah.
Still in ape form, Kearan growls as the cold washes over him, but he maintains his spell and presses forward, swinging viciously down at the other wizard.
|
Shopping Cart
|
