[table][row][/row][row][cell][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/U9kwQtG.png[/img][/center][/cell][cell]
[color=#50b0f1][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjcyLmU5ZDkxOC5RWFZuZFhOMFpTQkJiR1JsYmlCRVlXNXliM05sLjA/feathergraphy-decoration.regular.webp[/img][/center][/color]
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[indent][sup][color=#EEDC5B]Attire:[/color] [url=https://i.imgur.com/F4eUur9.png]Light armour with an insignia of Caesonia.[/url]
[color=#EEDC5B]Interaction(s):[/color]
[color=#EEDC5B]Mention(s):[/color] Edin Danrose [@princess], Wulfric Danrose [@SilverPaw]
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[indent]A robed, armoured figure sighed as his own fight approached. Altare Remulus, a veteran knight who participated in numerous wars and skirmishes. Recently he had been promoted to a Lieutenant for his distinguished efforts in the military. Altare had heard rumours of Auguste's penchant for the blade. He was of two minds, it was considered taboo to fight royalty and potentially tarnish their honour but Prince Auguste also disdained others losing matches due to his status.

As Altare ruminated these thoughts the Prince called to him from outside the arena. Auguste Danrose, a warm and gleeful smile crossed the prince's face. [color=#EEDC5B]"Lieutenant Altare. Congratulations on your promotion."[/color] Altare paused, taken a-back at the Prince knowing of his promotion. He had forgotten how uncannily well-versed the Prince was in matters of the military. [color=#50b0f1]"My thanks, Prince Auguste."[/color] Altare saluted in the traditional military-style, which the Prince returned respectfully. A few members of the crowd clapped and whistled at this exchange. Truth be told, Altare had not observed the prince in combat personally, only hearing of his prowess through tales and whispers. It would be fun to test his skill against a master of the blade.

The Prince's atmosphere changed with each step strode into the arena. His ever-present smile faded into unnerving neutrality as his emotions dripped away from his countenance. The aristocratic air and dignity surrounding him had all but vanished. His eyes, usually filled with a merry luster, turned sharp and focused; similar to how a predator would look upon its hapless prey. [i][color=#50b0f1]Is this.. really Prince Auguste?[/color][/i] He thought, a bead of sweat ran down the Knight's neck. The hiss of the Prince's blade being unsheathed was almost deafening to Altare.

With a gulp, Altare did the same. The atmosphere was choking, the pressure he felt was almost akin to what he has felt in a battlefield. Where one's life was [i]truly[/i] at stake. How was it possible that he was feeling this way in-front of the Prince? Auguste dashed towards him, [color=#EEDC5B]"Focus."[/color] He heard the Prince let out with a stony voice. Altare barely had time to place his blade up to block the blow, sparks flying as his blade chipped away at the heavy strike. Unconsciously, Altare lifted his blade and stabbed towards Auguste's midpoint with deft precision; a response built up by years of battlefield warfare. He didn't mean to attack like that.

The Prince's blade met his own as his attack was deflected away with relative ease. Altare noticed the Prince's dark smirk. The two now exchanged a flurry of strikes. He knew that he was at the disadvantage. It took all of his effort to barely deflect or block each sword stroke from Auguste. Altare had noticed that the Prince was now more passive than before. The Prince attacked, sure, but with considerably less aggression and force compared to his initial attack- it was as if the Prince was simply just observing him and responding in kind. Altare struggled to meet Auguste's gaze; the cold, golden hue of the Danrose's eyes looked terrifying.

Perhaps it was due to nerves or how tired this short exchange of strikes had made him, Altare fell for a simplistic feint. He slashed at at a perceived opening after an 'opening' after one of Auguste's attack. The next thing Altare knew, however, was his blade leaving his grasp and careening into the air and then digging into the stone to his right. Auguste had hit Altare's gauntlet with the flat side of his blade and disarmed the knight. The force of The Prince's counterattack pushed him backwards as he fell on his rear.

The sun cast shadows overhead, blanketing Auguste's face in shadow. His dull, golden eyes seemed to glow as they bore down on Altare. It took everything in him to not run away in fear. Auguste's eyes flicked towards Altare's blade then back onto him, as if goading him to pick it back up. Altare dared not move. Auguste strode towards him, each step in his direction caused his heart to palpitate. The sounds of his heart beating drowned out the noise from the crowd. The Prince was now over him. His hand reached towards Altare. The Knight shut his eyes in fear.

[color=#EEDC5B]"That was well fought."[/color] Auguste said, causing Altare to open his eyes. A hand was outstretched towards him. Augsute's cheeks and smile rose in equal measures. His eyes regained its usual luster. His presence was once more pleasant and inviting, a sharp contrast to his earlier presence. The foreboding atmosphere lifted and Altare felt like he could breathe again.

Altare took the outstretched hand and he was hoisted up. He took a few breaths to compose himself after that fight. [color=#50b0f1]"My- my thanks, Prince Auguste. The rumours do not do you justice."[/color] He finally said. August simply chuckled mirthfully as he pat Altare's shoulder.

Altare noted to himself to avoid sparring with Prince Auguste and to keep good relations with the Prince in the future. He truly did feel like his life was about to end. He hadn't felt as much fear as when he was in the depths of the battlefield or even in the presence of King Edin and Prince Wulfric.[/indent]
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[indent]Auguste bid Altare goodbye. The man was a skilled swordsman. Able to perform and respond under stressful conditions. Altare almost had him with the initial riposte. Truly, the knight lived up to his reputation of surviving numerous wars. Auguste wondered he looked petrified.[/indent]