RENWICK
Such a boy had died upon the scorching sands of Solterra, speared through the heart and left to rot there, carrion for the vultures. Forged from those bones was a man, forged in the harsh realities of the Games of Kings and unfair odds. The realities of War, baptized in blood and grit, sand and spit and a hundred different curses invoking Calligo to give him her wrath and ruin, her luck and her strength. All those embroidered banners had been entrancing, the brave soldiers who held them had swept them all up in the heroic image of defenders and protectors. Each scar which lined lips and nicked their muscles a story worthy for a page in the tomes the Sages carefully inked.
Oh, the Man wrapped himself tight in his banners now, braided flowers in his hair and ran with the wind and exalted because he could. But he never forgot the boy who died in those dunes, that young foolish boy who everyone else forgot in the wake of something bigger, better, grander and oh so more charismatic. Everyone loved the roguish hero, the gallant but fearsome knight. The wolf with the rose. They didn't like the parts of the story where the boy became the man, faced with the truth of what such a man cost.
Ah, but the man didn't know the woman remembered a boy. This was just a story of two strangers stood at the lake for two different reasons. A chance encounter. Two souls who ebbed and flowed, and crossed at a point.
A flick sent long ombre strands against the breeze, momentarily adrift in the brisk morning air before they settled, plentiful and messily, around his hind hooves. His front ones touched idly at the water, daring to disturb it's mirror visage.
Yes, it is beautiful, though I come here every morning, I can't say I have any answers to show for it.
"Then, perhaps you are asking the lake the wrong questions?" Renwick countered, his tone still thoughtful. Whimsical in it's huskier notes and oh so distinctly denoctian. Her inquiry to his name prompted him to straighten and a familiar smile to appear on his lips. The one he used to charm the masses, the gallant smile of a knight at the faire. "Ah, where are my manners. I'm Renwick Theron." The knight introduced with a sweep of his head into a bow, low enough that the ample curls of hair fell forward in a curtain of pale cream as a leg extended out in front of him. "Lord Commander of the Brotherhood."
He straightened after a prolonged moment, all precision and practiced grace. His hair remained wild, if not a little more tousled than usual, as it fell back against his neck and scraped against it's knees in messy waves . Silver eyes, the color of the moon on a cloudless night, returned to glancing into storm greys. He's reminded of clouds which threatened to roar thunder and spit lightning, the foam of hurricane whipped waves which rolled into port. The glint of the dagger illuminated in Calligo's gaze. A cream dipped ear flicked in mild interest. Those were eyes of a dangerous woman, the unforgiving thorns of a rose not respectfully handled.
"And you are?" Her question is returned easily, with the tilt of a head and a ghost of a smirk.
TAG; @Rhoswen
NOTES;<3
