[centre][h3][color=ed1c24][i]Horath Evren Al'Montsar[/i][/color][/h3]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/tOl4DaW.png[/img]

[color=ed1c24][i]'Come, I know you are tired, but this is the way.'[/i][/color][/centre]

Horath whistled a little [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHYN0e2vBHs]tune[/url] to himself as he continued his patrol around the city. It was a chant he had often heard back in the Sultanate, some kind of religious song that they liked. When he had asked his brother, Aemon, what it was about, he and chuckled and told him that it was rather new, calling the people to march against the northern infidels and retake their rightful lands. Aemon, along with Horath's sisters and mother, were careful not to reveal their true faith, claiming to be Monarchists. They hid it pretty well too. Aemon was a merchant, often traveling to the Sultanate and brining back their exotic goods. Given the fact that Broacienian merchants generally did not venture into the Sultanate, it made him a rather prosperous merchant, and his sisters helped him, sometimes traveling to the Sultanate with him. The Servants had kept an eye on them in the beginning, but as their trading went on and they became used to them - along with Horath's position in the Servants - the Servants stopped watching them. Horath knew that if his father had been alive he would have been proud of Aemon, he had created a little monopoly for himself and was very well off for it. Last he had sat with him, Aemon had told Horath of all his plans to get to the nation across the western mountains - apparently there was a route around the mountains through the Sultanate. Aemon was certain that expanding his trade network west was the way forward.

As Horath continued, his thoughts were interrupted by some noise in a street up ahead. He hurried along and turned the corner to find a group of Black Shields walking off. He quickly hailed them and asked them where they were off to.
[color=ed1c24][i]'We are still on duty, you can't just be walking off...mates,'[/i][/color] Horath added.
'Naah, we been told to go up t'the feast. 'parantly they needs more ov us up there,' one of them responded. There were three in total, two of them wore partial plate, with cuir bouilli underneath. The third wore an aketon, but wielded a crossbow and had a small quiver of bolts on his right leg. The one with the crossbow pointed at Horath and waved for him to come closer.
'Actually, your armour looks pretty good, we could use you up there. Come along with us, there's nothing going on down here,' he was rather well-spoken and Horath suspected he was of noble birth, though he could not be certain. What noble would carry a crossbow, after all?
[color=ed1c24][i]'I have been told to ensure none are shirking their duties...'[/i][/color] Horath put up a little argument, but that was quickly batted aside and he was soon following the three up to the feast.

When they walked in, the man with the crossbow signaled to a few pillars and each man nodded and made their way towards one of them. Horath was not entirely sure if the crossbowman had the authority to give them orders, but he guessed that if he was a noble, he could do pretty much what he wanted, and so he made his way to one such pillar and kept his eyes peeled for anything suspicious. There was definitely more going on in here than outside, that was for sure. As he stood there, he noted the other Black Shields standing on guard. There was the undoubted form of the Commander Terryn, making his way to what appeared to be a Black Shield shirking his duties. Farther off was a huge man Horath did not recognise, and near the royal table was another Black Shield who Horath immediately recognised as the famed Warren Wyk, the Redsand Butcher, the Devil of the Desert. He had never met the man personally, but he had taken great joy in hearing of his exploits and had seen him walking around with his group of mercenaries. On the table, next to one of the princesses was another man Horath immediately recognised, and a cold hatred ran down his spine. It was all he could do to restrain himself from marching across to the table and cleave that bastard in two: Gregar Jeremiah Bluewall. One of the leading figures in the scheme which had seen Horath's family, along with various merchants and lower nobility, attacked by assassins. 

He calmed himself and looked away. One day he would have his vengeance against them all, but today was not the day. In his attempts to keep his eyes away from his sworn foe, he spotted a woman walking glumly through the crowd of nobles. At first he did not register her appearance clearly, other than the fact that she was, quite clearly, not a noble. She came to a  halt in front of him and her face became yellow with fear when her eyes fell upon Terryn, who was not too far away. Now that she was closer and he had the chance to get a better look at her, he realised that he had seen this woman before...

[color=ed1c24][i]'Floure?!'[/i][/color] he blurted out, louder than he meant to, but no one noticed in the already noisy feast hall. He did not know how he had not recognised her immediately, though admittedly quite a while had passed since he saw her. Almost a year in fact, back when Horath was still a Knight of the Servants, before the scheming blades and plots of those whom he thought were his allies dug into his back.

It was the Knight-Priest Jonathon Cragg who brought her in, claiming that she was a witch and heretic and had attempted to seduce him.
'The Monarch preserve us all. Praises are to him for the moral and upright characters of those who faithfully serve him. Thanks to him, such temptations are easily brushed off,' he had told Horath brashly. It was rather ironic that Horath knew just how immoral, decadent and craven Jonathon was. If there was any reason the poor girl had been brought in, it was probably due to rejecting his approaches or somehow irritating him. There was certainly no feeling of moral duty to the monarch in this particular Knight-Priest's breast. Given the fact that Horath knew Floure and was very well-acquainted with her grandmother did not help him believe Jonathon very much. 

Floure's grandmother had, during one of her journeys, come across the young Evren Trejik Al'Montsar - Horath's father - as he was walking on the road. He had been very young then, having just taken leave of his father's lands. Floure's grandmother, then still a woman in her thirties, had taken pity upon the young man and taken him with her to Coedwin. The old woman would often visit Evren when she passed by Coedwin - and Horath would delight at the gifts she brought with her. But more than that, he delighted at the wild tales the old woman spun, and many were the nights that he would fall asleep by the fire as she awed him and his brothers with one tale or another. When he had been younger, Floure would accompany her grandmother there. Horath remembered, though it was a haze, his ten year old self staring at the one year old Floure in her grandmother's arms.

As Floure grew, the little girl would often run about the city with the adventurous Horath on the occasions the Travelers stopped in Coedwin, and when Horath became older still, he would visit Floure's grandmother and watch as the eight year old Floure was taught the ways of the Travelers.
[i][color=ed1c24]'Haha! How'd you do that?'[/color][/i] Horath had laughed once when she had read his palm, but the little girl only tapped the side of her nose in imitation of her grandmother, [color=ed1c24][i]'that little trick will get you in trouble one day though, watch out whose palm you read,'[/i][/color] he warned her with a smile. She had only poked her tongue out at him and run off.

[color=ed1c24][i]'Yes,'[/i][/color] Horath replied to Jonathon, [color=ed1c24][i]'may the Monarch preserve us all...'[/i][/color] and with that, he had excused himself.
[color=ed1c24][i]'I think I will take her to her cell, Brother,'[/i][/color] he had bowed before approaching the chained young woman and taking her chains. When his eyes met hers he feigned ignorance and kept his eyes cold and pulled her along roughly - gentleness, he knew, would simply raise eyebrows. Not that Horath had shied away from raising eyebrows in the past. 

He had led her down some stairs and asked her - in as disinterested a tone as he could manage - what had happened. When they had reached the cell he had unlocked her chains and pushed her in lightly before locking the door. The cell was mostly underground, though there was a single barred window which let air and sunlight in. He looked around at the dark and empty passageway before looking back into the cell.

[color=ed1c24][i][i]'I told you that your little tricks would get you into trouble one day,'[/i][/i][/color] he said, his cold facade melting and a smile breaking across his face, [color=ed1c24][i]'your gran won't be happy about this at all,'[/i][/color] looking around carefully, he slipped a hand through the bars and told her to bring her hands forward before he dropped the key into it.
[color=ed1c24][i]'Tonight, when the sun sets, we will be having a meal with the Prince-Priest Marcus Harloin,'[/i][/color] he whispered, [color=ed1c24]'there will not be many guards and you should be able to slip out easily with your skills,'[/color] he paused for a few seconds before adding one last thing.
[color=ed1c24][i]'And, lock the cell when you leave. If you leave the key with one of my brothers, I will be able to take it back at a later point,'[/i][/color] with that, he had nodded to her and backed away.

'Is the heretic locked up, Brother?' Jonathon had asked him that night as they sat eating. Horath had looked up and given him a quizzical look.
[color=ed1c24][i]'But would you not know that she is, Brother? You were checking up on her every half hour or so,'[/i][/color] at this comment, Jonathon blurted out the soup he was drinking before quickly wiping his mouth and grinning sheepishly.
'Just...uh...testing you, Brother. Knew you were on watch today...haha,' Horath allowed himself a few chuckles before returning to his soup.
[color=ed1c24][i]'It's good to know that you are so dedicated to ensuring heretics do not escape, Brother. You never know what these witches might do. For all we know she was sitting in there gibbering some hellish words which would see her escape the Monarch's justice. That would not do, would it now?'[/i][/color] he did not look at Jonathon, but the man was giving Horath a sightly freaked out look - this Horath really did take this magic nonsense seriously, didn't he.

Later that night, with the meal over, Jonathon had made his way down to the cells to check on the girl again while Horath made his way round the city, checking the house of each of his brothers to see if Floure had passed by. It turned out she had passed by Rejys' home, the farthest one from the cells and therefore the last one Horath checked.
[color=ed1c24][i]'Did she tell you where she is headed?'[/i][/color] Horath had asked, to which Rejys had shaken his head.
'No, just said she had to leave quickly. Said to tell her gran that she'll be fine and not to worry about 'er,' Horath had nodded and returned to the keep where Jonathon was causing a fuss.

'Who let 'er out? Where is that damn wench?' he was roaring. Horath made his way to the storage room where the keys were kept and returned the key to that particular cell before joining the others around Jonathon.
'She can't have gotten out on 'er own now could she? We've a traitor among us!' he was not declaring, much to the anger of those present - it was no good to go about declaring that a traitor was among the Servants. Horath, however, knew that there was a traitor - there was no greater traitor than Jonathon Cragg and his like. They had betrayed themselves and had betrayed the Monarch, and terrible indeed would be the punishment of those like him.
[color=ed1c24][i]'Brother, you are the one who apprehended this witch. You know more than any of us how powerful her arts were. So much so that you were checking on her every half hour. It is not surprising that she managed to cast a spell to escape while we were eating - those two hours were more than enough time, I would say. You should have gone and checked on her during the meal too,'[/i][/color] Jonathon looked towards Horath, his eyes wide at first, but then they slowly shrunk as he scowled.
'Yes, Brother. You are...right,' he had growled. Jonathon had been one of the plotters and schemers.

And now, of all the possible to places to bump into Floure, he found her here at a feast in the capital. 
[color=ed1c24][i]'What in the Monarch's name are you doing here?'[/i][/color] he hissed in shock, this time lowering his voice slightly and unconsciously stepping towards her.

[hr]

It was the tall stately figure of Horath that made her eyes widen in surprise and her heart fill with joy. He looked very much like a Broacion noble man if only for his olive complexion, which betrayed a drop of desert blood. He was a joining of two different worlds, as she was herself. They had grown up together, he lived in Coedwin to which she traveled often to deliver supplies and other goods or services to the Servants. For as long as she could remember he had been part of her life. They'd spent their childhoods together and according to her grandmother even before that he'd seen her as a small babe. She loved him, like she did any of her brothers. Even when he became a Servant it never changed the bond they shared. He had his calling in life as did she, it was nothing more than that. So they had parted ways after that. 

The Travelers rarely if ever met the Servants in their abode. Goods and services were always provided in a small nameless village or town close by, never within the castle walls. It had been quite a long time since she'd seen Horath. He had saved her life when he freed her of the Servants and she had not expected to see him ever again. To be reunited at a feast hosted by the king was a strange coincidence which Floure found hard to believe. She was never one to consider coincidence as a valid reason. It did not exist and coincidence was a push of the faiths into the right path. Maybe this was her opportunity to thank him. How did you repay someone who saved your life?

Her happiness at seeing Horath was short lived when she felt a strong hand wrap around her arm and drag her to an off corner of the feasting hall. Horath watched in shocked silence as Floure was dragged off right before his eyes. For a few seconds he did not quite register what had happened, but he quickly shook himself from his shock and turned his head to see Terryn dragging her off. He was not doing it in a friendly manner at all, either. It reminded him slightly of the time he dragged Floure off in chains - he wondered if it had looked as bad as what he now saw.
Without hesitation, he made to follow them, planning to give the commander a good earful.

Floure suspected what was going on. It was the commander of the Black Shields Terryn who was forcing her to speak with him. She had purposefully avoided his presence during her short time with the Black Shields. He was a very intimidating man and she wasn’t easily intimidated by men. There was always a way to get what she wanted, a sweet smile, a gentle touch or a whispered promise. None of that would help her with Terryn which meant she couldn’t manipulate him to do what she wanted. 
When he commented on the way she dressed all she could really do was laugh.  After all it was the announcer Frederick who had her change into a dress of his liking. So Terryn was insulting a royal servant, not her.  If he was out to scare her he was succeeding, even though she would never let it show. She wanted say something, shoot him some witty reply but he wouldn’t give her a chance.  The young woman crossed her arms in front of her body and frowned at the man in front of her. She was determined not to let him get at her. Still Floure realized that it wasn’t impossible for her to be violated in the way Terryn described. She wasn’t surrounded by her family anymore and her safety when plying her trade wasn’t guaranteed because of that. It sent cold shivers down her spine, to think of what may happen. 

Horath had not gotten too far before a voice rose up above the rest, screaming, 'Lord! Lord! They're here!'
Horath turned around immediately and surveyed the scene. It had seemed like Terryn was threatening Floure, but Horath was on duty and it seemed like something terrible was afoot - guards running into feasts screaming their heads off never brought good news, that was for sure.

Floure was more than ready to make her leave and was about to walk back to Horath when the entire feasting hall erupted into chaos. Arrows were flying everywhere, which came from enemies she could not spot from her place in the corner. Terryn was gone before she could blink and even though she had wanted to be rid of him, she felt her life would be in better hands with the commander close by. She was a lover not a fighter. The nobles panicked as well as the servants and people were dropping to the floor left and right, arrows sticking out of their backs.  She didn’t have time to stare at them for too long and let the horror of what she was witnessing settle in. People were pushing each other to reach the exit. Floure began to realize that the corner in which she was standing didn’t have any doors or windows, no way out. She fought back the panic that was threatening to overtake her, trying her hardest not to give into it and end up like everyone else. Running for their lives. Instead she carefully stepped towards the wall, facing the hall so she could see what was going on exactly. Standing with her back to the wall she did not understand what she was seeing. All she knew was that she wanted to make it out alive.  She reached down to the garter strapped to her leg and took out the knife that was fastened there. Floure held it behind her back in case she would need to defend herself.

Immediately her eyes went to search for Horath, wanting to know if he was safe. She spotted him in the crowd, trying to help as many people escape as he could. Floure waited to see if he’d notice her, not daring to leave her spot and venture into the crowds. Upon the death of the poor guard, Horath had immediately positioned himself before a few drunk nobles and told them, as respectfuly as he could, to get the bloody hell out. That did not calm them down at all, and they ran off, trampling another drunken man as they did. He managed to push aside the tramplers and help the bloodied drunk to his feet, before pointing him in the general direction of the stampeding crowd. At this rate, Horath thought to himself, these fools were more of a danger to each other than any Cherwinian attackers could hope to be.
He could now see the detestable Jeremiah charging the Cherwinians, followed by a few others, while Terryn was handing out commands to some of the Black Shields. He left Horath to his own devices, however. Perhaps he had not seen him, or perhaps he did not need him, but Horath did not mind. He considered, momentarily, using this opportunity to corner Jeremiah and gut him, but something about that did not sit right with him. Keeping his shield raised against any incoming arrows, he looked around the hall to see where Floure had disappeared to. It did not take him long to spot the terrified figure pressed against the wall in one of the corners of the hall. While it was certainly out of the way, it did make her a very clear target - though a woman cowering in a corner was certainly not the kind of target one would be aiming to kill...in an ideal world.

He quickly backed away from the raging battle on his side of the hall and made his way towards her, keeping an eye on the seven footmen and three halberdiers in case Jeremiah and his group faltered - Horath hoped they would not, it would be a true tragedy if that sceming, plotting bastard met his demise at the hands of someone else. Then there were those damn archers, shooting merrily away into the frightened crowd. 

They were very soon set upon by one of the Black Shields. His stance looked rather familiar, and Horath was rather surprised when the man single-handedly took on the three archers, putting one of them down for good before turning to a second and spitting a hail of blood into his face. Only then did Horath recognise Warren Wyk, the famed Redsand Butcher, the Devil of the Sand. As Warren began dueling the last remaining archer, a terrifyingly accurate crossbow skewered the side of the Cherwinian's neck - the work of the man who had led Horath to the feast. Horath quickly reached Floure and signalled for her to follow him.

'You really have a way with finding trouble wherever you go, don't you,' he muttered half-jokingly - though her apparant misfortune was rather ironic for a self-proclaimed fortune teller! He scanned the hall once more, noting that the stampeding crowd was still trying to push and shove its way out.
'You need to get out of here, getting through that crowd won't be easy, but I'm sure your quick feet will get you to safety. Come, I'll get you to the doors, the crowd should thin out considerably when you're past the door's bottleneck,' he gave the fighters across the hall one more look, wishing he could join the fray. Protecting family came first though.