RENWICK
It is a pity, that their nations had continued their long standing animosity toward one another, or rather, revived it. Revived it with a vengeance, it seemed, like how a flame errupted at it's summoners command. Raven's come and go, each one with a report attached to their leg. One cannot account for the whims, choices and fancies of the other however, there are too many variables in the form of equines scattered across Novus. If one wanted to cause a fight, they wood, and it mattered little if they did or didn't wear a crown.
Renwick didn't put much stock on faith, and the Gods. They had long grown silent, if the stories were to be believed, less interested with Mortal affairs. But he cannot help but wonder if Calligo and Solis had sowed discord into their lands for each other, as they faced the opposite way, dooming them to continue to play a game they did not enjoy.
It's that knowledge, and the scars visible and invisible upon his skin, which caused him to tense. To stiffen before he relaxed. It is hard to beat it out, when it had been what kept you alive. This is his first conversation with a Solterran, in seasons. A real conversation, a real meeting, with the Queen no less.
His reply to her words, does not come as immediately as he liked. His moon colored gaze lingered on that darkened expression, and he briefly wondered what caused it. Renwick preferred it when a ghost of something had brightened those features, there is something luminous about it. The barest hint of what he thinks is amusement, a smile provoked to surface, not fully, but lurking. "The cocky ones are the most gratifying, when you knock their ass into the dirt." Renwick commented with a huffed laugh. "You've got that to look forward to." How many had he caught like that? Their cockiness eventually became their weakness. He's also no fool, anyone who tries to pick on a wounded nation is poking at a den of serpents. Renwick didn't dwell too far on who or what banners those individuals could fly, he's too caught up in the snort he emitted when she mentioned Solterran nobles. "Solterran Nobles, last I heard they were all far too concerned about their legs giving out underneath their girth. Have they finally gotten off of their piles of gold?" He wondered outloud humor dripped generously over every word.
The Knight cannot help but preen, ever so slightly, at the surprise he provoked out of the Queen at his compliment. Not so much that his words had an effect, no, he's more transfixed on the way her face changed in response, right down to the fine details of her cheekbones and the corner of her eyes.
I’ve always thought that Viceroy chose it out of irony, personally.
"There is power in owning a name. This Viceroy might have given you it, but he doesn't own it. A name can mean many things, depending on who hears it, or what they see from it's meaning or who it belongs to." He stated, his mother had named him Renwick. Raven's Nest. Calligo only knew why. He supposed she wished to invite fortune with the Raven's cunning and intelligence. To make up for what she had lost, considering that it had been Renwick's father who had left her wanting, her future an uncertain, tattered thing. Well, she had got that somewhat, she had a son who had done well — but she had not profited from it. He'd upped and left her to join the Brotherhood and that had been that. Briefly, his mind wandered to her, it had been some time since he'd seen her. Would she still have the same disappointed, but hopeful look in her eye?
He can worry about that another night.
That suits me.
"Perfect." It is much more comfortable like this, beneath the canopy of stars, whose faces glittered and glimmered on the mirror like lake. There is the sound of rushing water from a waterfall somewhere near, a constant rippling sigh. Strange, perfectly so, is this chance encounter. Here the Lord Commander and Solterran Queen tossed aside their cloak and crown, he should fear her. But he doesn't. Silver eyes remain on her, warm despite their cool color, drinking her in. She's as silver as the swords he's wielded, the swords who had bitten against his own. Touched by the fog of the mountain and the mists of the sea. The stars paint her in a luminous glow, and Renwick could almost believe the moon had gifted her, her silver strands. Or perhaps it is fire who gifted her the lustrous molten strands, white fire given by the sun.
At Seraphina's question, and explanation of the absence of information about Denocte, his features turned attentitive. Pensive. It would make sense, that not many know the infamous Court of Smoke and Stars, and Solterra even less. Lack of communication had nearly ruined them before, and trading history is not an evil. History lead to understanding, a common interest. "We're an ancient order." Renwick nodded, as he mulled over his words. "We were founded just before the Night Court elected it's first Sovereign. Our founder was a Noble born son, but he cast it all away so he could protect Denocte truly, and he hid that until he died. So to make sure the Nobles could not interfere. He understood that power was a fickle thing, an addicting thing. He didn't want our citizens to suffer, if the Nobles and King ever allowed it to go to their head. Rather than use his talents for ill, he used them for good, and founded us. They say he was loved by the commonfolk, and the highborn alike." He shifted a little, aware that his voice had turned soft, the kind of soft when someone recited their favorite story.
"When the truth came out about who he was, the Nobles tried to summon him back to Court. To advise the King, apparently he burned the letters and sent the ashes back in a box. The didn't ask after that. Then there was Paxtan, who by all accounts was a bit of a twat, and that's the Maester's words, not mine." The knight grinned, that part had always tickled him, if only the scholars had recorded the Nobles' reaction in ink, to Harlen's rather clipped response. "Then Alester the Bard, Nysah who was one of the two female Commander's of our order, Sanah was the other. Then there was Elrin, there's been a lot of Commander's but those ones stood the test of time. Each one has a statue in their likeness at our Fortress. Our last Commander was Alavin. They called him the Sun Bane, but he found it to be a rather silly title. He'd grouch about it whenever someone mentioned it..." He didn't mean to trail off, but. Well. Old friends no longer present always managed to hit a nerve. Slid the knife in such a way that it twisted just a little bit deeper. "...He died during the Solterra and Denocte War. He didn't want to march, but he understood duty, there wasn't much choice. So now there's me, Renwick Theron." Renwick added the last part with a smile, one arguably brighter than the sadness in his gaze, which drained as he shifted his focus onto Seraphina's land.
"So, what about Solterra?" The knight queried, the messy curls of his forelock slid over his face as his head tipped, forcing him to shake the ombre strands from vision. There's no masking the amusement, the burning look of interest in his gaze. "I don't know much about you and your culture either. What was it like? I doubt the Nobles really shat gold, like the rumors said they did."
TAG; @
NOTES; let it begin!
