[center][img]https://cdnb.artstation.com/p/assets/images/images/000/084/143/medium/Alleyway_001.jpg?1443929933[/img][/center]

[color=gray][center][b][color=f26522]Time of Day[/color]:[/b] Night
[b][color=f26522]Season[/color]:[/b] Late Summer[/center]

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[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180603/be53d9364c99330d19f98edc0d023570.png[/img]
[color=#008080][b]Interacting with:[/b][/color] No one, at the moment[/center]
The night was black as pitch. Above, the sky hung moonless and barren of stars. If it weren't for the fires coming from inside the manor, Tristan wouldn't be able to see his hand if he held it in front of him. Dressed in a black cowl and cape that shrouded his features in darkness, he silently glided down the pale halls of the Baske manor. No one was awake at this time. And for that, he was thankful. The guards would most likely alert his father if they saw him sneaking around. And if that happened, there was no way in hell he was going to get out of there without his father's nose up his ass. 

Carefully, he stepped into the main hall. On the walls hung horrendous visages of beasts that his father slayed during his hunts. Yes, the men in the family were known for hunting. But Tristan found bows to be bulky and hard to hold... and, not to mention, he could hardly string one even if his life depended on it. He stood in the middle of the furnished room, warily eyeing the snarling muzzles and gleaming fangs glimmering from above. Tearing his gaze from them, he instead pinned it on a case that rested below a window. Like a specter, he walked toward it. A black blade, blacker than Vaucluse's nights, rested atop a blood red cushion.

Severance. 

Hundreds of years ago, it was a dragon slayer. Now it was just sitting there. Waiting for someone to pick it up again. Waiting for [i]him[/i].

Light from a nearby candle rippled over its ebony sheen. Captivated by its beauty, Tristan tried to imagine himself holding it much like his ancestors did. Glorious. Fierce. Riding upon the back of a ferocious stallion and brandishing the dragon-killing sword. Biting the inside of his mouth, he cracked the case open. If his father were to catch him, he would surely be hanged for even touching Severance as a bastard. A smirk crossed his lips. A bastard wielding a blade meant for full-blooded lords. Already, he could feel his father twist and turn in his sleep.

With a flourish, he lifted the sword out of its case. It caught more of the light and its edge danced with a beautiful flame-colored hue. To his dismay, it felt heavy and sat awkwardly in his palm. 

[color=#008080][i]I'll get used to it.[/i][/color]

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The light from his torch illuminated the way to Vaucluse's stryx aviary. Tristan walked with a bounce in his step, no matter how urgent he was. He had food, water, and Severance-- all he needed was a blasted bird. It was easy to get to the aviary, and before he knew it, he was already in the area where they kept the giant carnivorous birds. Tristan never saw a stryx up close. He just knew that some weren't nocturnal, and some were, which meant he had to be extra careful around them. 

Huffing, he marched over a small hill and saw two beasts nesting near the Durand household. A light still shimmered from inside the house, making Tristan give a little groan. Out of all times to be awake, of course [i]these[/i] were the people who stayed up until past midnight. He twisted his mouth. Great. 

Cursing, he slid down the small slope and slowly picked his way to the stryx. A tawny, earthy-red colored one lifted its head and growled at him. [color=#008080][b]"Calm down now, boy,"[/b][/color] he tried his best to sooth it. All it did was look at him with beady yellow eyes and snap its beak. Crap. Now that he thought about it, how was he supposed to drag this thing out of here?  [/color]