Cayden Black — Roleplayer Guild

The citadel was a silent place in winter. Many of the Order had been sent to the north to reinstate order among to kingdoms people. It was a difficult time to end a war and beckon peace through a people who have only known loss. Alastair stood at the balcony watching the remaining members being drilled by their respected masters. Even Daemons had to keep their skills honed, like everyone else. And Obedience was mandatory within the Order.
“Sit down Alastair, you needn’t worry yourself yet.” Fredrick beckoned to the chair beside the fireplace. He was eating his breakfast of freshly baked bread and cured beef. His platter was never one of extravagance. He was even wearing his leather armour ready to begin his drills in the next hour. Even the master Templar had his duties above doing the tedious paperwork. Alastair seemed far better for such tasks.
“Forgive me Fredrick, but I am not so sure things will be as well planned as we hope. JurlMach has mobilized again, our reports place them a weeks march from the capital of Gjern. I for one do not wish to see this war begin again.” Alastair always wore his iconic mask. His age was kept a mystery to outsiders, even some of the young Warlocks had been tricked into thinking he was the first grand Warlock. It was only due to his garments. They were ceremonial among the order, a way to show them all he was the Keeper of Contracts. No summoning was permitted without his consent. For good reasons too, the last unauthorised summoning had been rather messy.
“You worry too much my friend. Only a fool would raise a hand to the Order. Besides, if they did we have the strongest men in the realm.” Fredrick had his doubts though; no bravado would hide that from his old friend. Alastair and he had been brothers in arms for decades now.
Alastair hovered over the chair before instead heading to the door. “I have to brief the detachment we shall be sending to negotiate a truce. I shall see you at lunch.” Alastair left the room and the comfort of the roaring flames. His old bones always complained in the cold now. How he hated growing old.

The Main hall was always a constant flow of bodies. It linked every barracks to the rest of the complex, a circle with each respective living space in a grid corner, the Templars to the North West, the Warlocks to the North East, and the Daemon kin to the South West. The South East being the citadel entrance. It was a place built more like a church than a fortress.
Alastair walked through the hall, Templar members stood on guard, a group of Warlocks passed him discussing the machinations of the elemental arts, debating the unity of their strengths. So much these younglings had to learn. He took a small passage through the myriad of doors and hallways that honeycombed the entire complex before finding his way to one of the small rooms used to assign members their respective groups and orders. None had arrived as of yet, just as he expected.

He sat at the large rectangular table and placed his scrolls on the old oak surface. He would await each of them. Today was going to be a long day indeed…

Cayden Black Member

The Lost Poet

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts