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[indent][indent]Dagongere held tight to the hilt of his longsword. For all of his perusal over the incursion of Camelot, he still had very little clue on what to do. On where to trek. On one hand he had the birthright of a king, in the other he held the lives of his men -- a kingdom really -- whom all expected to return Camelot to its former golden glory. In the midst of his men training, consisting of young farmers, anything between, and veteran knights, Dagongere flourished his skills with a mock-battle finesse.

[color=2F3ABD][i]I wish for the same miracle,[/i][/color] Dagongere thought. [color=2F3ABD][i]It's not beyond the realm of possibility. If I continue to excel, blade in hand, hope in heart, then I can bring the golden kingdom back.[/i][/color] He could revive his birthright.  

[b]"Your Lordship,"[/b] called out Palon as he approached. 

The veteran knight had rustic skin and kind eyes, though his scars spoke a different story. They zigged down his hard arms, bulky, near the size of a tree trunks. It could be intimidating for most; Dagongere simply saw the man as a tall hill; strenuous to overcome but doable. It was Dagongere's sparring with Palon that had earned him his men's admiration. A risky and enticing battle from what he could remember. 

[color=2F3ABD][b]"Palon, how may I be of assistance?"[/b][/color] 

[b]"Bebon and Cairet are engaging again,"[/b] he sighed with a shaking of his head. [b]Forgive me but only you can separate those two blunderbutts."[/b]

[color=2F3ABD][b]"Right."[/b][/color] Dagongere strode forward, his voice rising with authority as he ushered into the bed of chaos. [color=2F3ABD][b]"Cairet, Bebon, this best not be another foolish argument over a wench."[/b][/color][/indent][/indent]