TRISTAN
I'll come to thee by the moonlight,
though hell should bar the way
T
he lingering silence was as familiar as it was oppressive. His most steadfast, toxic companion, bitter in its revelry of his misery.Today was a poor day.
The old knight had gone to Denocte’s bustling markets to purchase a few bundles of meager supplies and simple necessities. The din of the patrons upon the streets had been loud and cacophonous, seeming to rise up and swallow him from all angles. His pulse had quickened and his heart had raced, and beneath his mantle, a sweat broke out upon his skin. Tristan had taken care of his purchases as quickly as was able and had fled the city, resolutely not looking at the looming citadel as though it had ever held a beacon of anything other than uncertainty.
The supplies within the twin packs slung low across his hips carried his precious cargo, but he paid them little mind. Merlin, Gods bless him, had flown on ahead to scout and keep an eye on their surroundings. Now that they were out of the city proper, he could breathe. He could focus. His thoughts came clearer, his awareness sharpened, but the aftermath adrenaline of an anxious episode left him jittery and tongue-tied. Luckily, Merlin hadn’t needed him to say a word and had instead flown off to do his duty.
“You would be proud of him, Papa,” the grizzled stallion murmured sadly, a tone of yearning unhidden within his voice.
The thought, however brief, was quick to vanish as the sound of yipping and yowling from a canine broke through the trees the very same moment that Merlin’s little black body came crashing back through the forests of the Arma.
Tristan bristled. “What is it?” He asked the dragon, who swooped in low and immediately latched on and swung around the stallion’s neck, claws digging into the strands of his thick, greying mane.
’I don’t know,’ came the small dragon, their mental link giving Tristan a feel of Merlin’s heightened fear as the little wyvern buried his face within the knight’s mane as though to hide himself, ’A hunting party?’
A hunting party? In Novus? Whatever would they be hunting for?
Deciding not to draw his sword at the moment, Tristan hummed and narrowed his eyes before pressing on through the thicket of trees. The sound of barking grew louder, as well as the sound of bodies moving through the underbrush and surrounding thickets. It only took a few moments, but Tristan was already riddled with anxiety from the markets, so when the body of a buckskin fellow with two companions, one of which being the yipping dog, the old knight called out.
“Who goes there? State your business!” He did not draw his blade, not yet, but already the arcane hummed within his veins, a rich glow emanating from the turquoise of his eyes
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@Rylan
