The erratic beat of hooves upon moist earth filled the brisk air. It was a sound uncommon to this particular stretch of country, dense in trees and few in people. But on this particular morning, three riders broke the silence of the land. They rode at a gentle stride, leaving muddied hoof-prints in their wake. Above them, a single standard snapped against the breeze. Green and grey, emblazoned with a black Croweagle clutching two golden swords. However, with no man or woman nearby to notice the lone flag, the party rode onwards, turning right on the damp path into the dense expanse of Oberhainzen Forest.
The sounds of the forest surrounded the three as they rode through, slowing occasionally for the periodic tangle of roots or the irregular overgrown brush upon the path. Croweagles screeched from overhead, while crickets and small mammals buzzed and chittered from somewhere in the distance. None of them spoke. They rode in silence, their presence made known only by the noise of their steeds and the clinking of their saddles. It seemed almost as if none of them dared to break the serene atmosphere that the forest created.
Finally, the leading rider raised a black gloved hand, signaling the others behind him to stop as he slowed his own pure black horse, tugging gently on the reins. After a drawn out moment, the lead rider released a slow breath, swinging a leg back over his horse, dismounting onto the soft underbrush below. "Shall we accompany you, Your Grace?" the left rider asked, clutching the oaken flagstaff that held the now furled standard. ".. No. Stay." He responded after a second pause. His voice sounded shaky, distant from the deep authoritarian tone of command that his household staff had become accustomed to. The retainer bowed his head, while the lead rider clutched his gloved hands into a gentle fist. They seemed to tremble subtly, as the rider took his first steps towards the clearing ahead.
It was a picturesque grove. A single, sturdy pine tree sat alone at the edge of the Ritzenfeld Lake. The morning sun reflecting atop the glassy surface, pouring through the lone pine tree, creating small flecks of golden light atop a stout, gnarled boulder that sat entangled in its roots. Casting one last glance back behind his shoulder, ensuring that he could not be seen by those he'd arrived with, the lead rider ambled forwards, staring down at the mossy rock. He drew a short breath, before suddenly collapsing down into a seated position on the dew-moistened grass, peeling off a glove and running a bear hand through his greying hair, his gaze still fixated on the stone below the pine tree. "You were right," the rider spoke to the stone. "Right about all of it. And I never listened. Too much damned pride. I didn't listen." The rider shook his head, his voice becoming hoarse and weak at the end of his sentence. He sniffled. "My son. My daughter. My pride. My actions. The state of my damned life. All of it." A few small teardrops snaked down from the rider's eyes, glinting briefly, before falling from the rider's cheek and onto his black riding trousers, creating several dark splotches. "I sometimes wish you were still here, you know. In situations like these. Even if I wouldn't admit it while you were still.." The rider trailed off, stifling yet another brief sniffle. The rider lowered his head. His eyes closed, he seemed to shake silently for a moment or two, muttering words under his breath that it seemed not even he could hear. Drawing a slow breath, and releasing it with just as much pace, the rider raised his head once again, facing the weathered boulder once more. "I'm sorry." He said simply. "Forgive me, fa--" A Croweagle, perched at a distance across the crystalline lake, gave a powerful screech, which seemed to reverberate as it traveled across the lake and into the forest behind him. Tilting his chin up slightly, the rider nodded weakly, rising to his feet, the early morning dew dampening the back of his trousers. He mouthed a few silent words as he cast a final glance at the inscription carved upon the face old rock, before turning, and retreating back into the forest alone, to his waiting men.
Hadrian Diedrich Typhonus
230 A.C. - 304 A.C.
@LumosJared @Suzzie
The sounds of the forest surrounded the three as they rode through, slowing occasionally for the periodic tangle of roots or the irregular overgrown brush upon the path. Croweagles screeched from overhead, while crickets and small mammals buzzed and chittered from somewhere in the distance. None of them spoke. They rode in silence, their presence made known only by the noise of their steeds and the clinking of their saddles. It seemed almost as if none of them dared to break the serene atmosphere that the forest created.
Finally, the leading rider raised a black gloved hand, signaling the others behind him to stop as he slowed his own pure black horse, tugging gently on the reins. After a drawn out moment, the lead rider released a slow breath, swinging a leg back over his horse, dismounting onto the soft underbrush below. "Shall we accompany you, Your Grace?" the left rider asked, clutching the oaken flagstaff that held the now furled standard. ".. No. Stay." He responded after a second pause. His voice sounded shaky, distant from the deep authoritarian tone of command that his household staff had become accustomed to. The retainer bowed his head, while the lead rider clutched his gloved hands into a gentle fist. They seemed to tremble subtly, as the rider took his first steps towards the clearing ahead.
It was a picturesque grove. A single, sturdy pine tree sat alone at the edge of the Ritzenfeld Lake. The morning sun reflecting atop the glassy surface, pouring through the lone pine tree, creating small flecks of golden light atop a stout, gnarled boulder that sat entangled in its roots. Casting one last glance back behind his shoulder, ensuring that he could not be seen by those he'd arrived with, the lead rider ambled forwards, staring down at the mossy rock. He drew a short breath, before suddenly collapsing down into a seated position on the dew-moistened grass, peeling off a glove and running a bear hand through his greying hair, his gaze still fixated on the stone below the pine tree. "You were right," the rider spoke to the stone. "Right about all of it. And I never listened. Too much damned pride. I didn't listen." The rider shook his head, his voice becoming hoarse and weak at the end of his sentence. He sniffled. "My son. My daughter. My pride. My actions. The state of my damned life. All of it." A few small teardrops snaked down from the rider's eyes, glinting briefly, before falling from the rider's cheek and onto his black riding trousers, creating several dark splotches. "I sometimes wish you were still here, you know. In situations like these. Even if I wouldn't admit it while you were still.." The rider trailed off, stifling yet another brief sniffle. The rider lowered his head. His eyes closed, he seemed to shake silently for a moment or two, muttering words under his breath that it seemed not even he could hear. Drawing a slow breath, and releasing it with just as much pace, the rider raised his head once again, facing the weathered boulder once more. "I'm sorry." He said simply. "Forgive me, fa--" A Croweagle, perched at a distance across the crystalline lake, gave a powerful screech, which seemed to reverberate as it traveled across the lake and into the forest behind him. Tilting his chin up slightly, the rider nodded weakly, rising to his feet, the early morning dew dampening the back of his trousers. He mouthed a few silent words as he cast a final glance at the inscription carved upon the face old rock, before turning, and retreating back into the forest alone, to his waiting men.
Hadrian Diedrich Typhonus
230 A.C. - 304 A.C.
@LumosJared @Suzzie
