Ostus Osaron stepped confidently through the lawn that surrounded the archery area. Tall, his broad shoulders and muscular build easily filled in the plate chest-piece, matching leg guards over dark leather pants and boots he wore as he sighed, eyeing the figure in the distance. After accepting the contract from the king and queen, he had wandered all over the damn palace looking for the princess; he had checked libraries, sitting rooms, dining rooms, and how-ever-many other rooms that all looked the same but probably all had different names... so much wasted space. At last a servant informed him that she was probably outside practicing her archery.

Since when did a princess mess around with a bow and arrows? Did she think she was a Berinike princess or something?

Ostus expected to see a girl in a loud, ridiculously puffy dress, big hair, and a face hidden beneath a mask of makeup. Noblewomen typically looked like this; he could smell them coming through their overuse of perfume before seeing them. Instead, his gaze fell upon a woman in practical clothing holding the weapon in a correct, familiar stance.

Ostus was an elf; he was quite familiar with archery, though he preferred the satisfying resistance of his broadsword as it cleaved through the enemy's body to an arrow impaled through the enemy's chest at a distance. Ostus wasn't so slender in build like his brethren; in a crowd, he could easily pass as human. However, he did retain the the typical elfish chiseled features -- a handsome face framed by short, unruly dark hair that he would forget to comb smooth half the time, like now. 

Sharp storm-grey eyes widened a little in surprise; he would have not believed this woman was the princess if she wasn't the only one on this field. The public image of herself she portrayed was apparently very different from the princess behind closed walls.

So she could shoot with a bow for show. Didn't mean she knew anything about using one in combat.

Ostus cleared his throat as he stepped to her side. "And here I was expecting you to be drinking tea with a gaggle of pretentious twits out in the... the... sitting room or whatever the fuck you people call a place where you sit and have tea."

He cleared his throat again and straightened to attention, suddenly remembering his place. She was the princess; he had to watch his tongue, as irritating as that was. He bowed stiffly to her. "My name is Ostus; I'm your new bodyguard."