[img]https://i.postimg.cc/j59VPxCj/coollogo-com-18695232.png[/img] ______________________________________________________________________________________________ The carriage ride is uneventful but notable for the tension hanging over in the air. Egil travelled light, with only a few retainers of persons trusted deeply and known to be loyal. A gloomy overcast hung over much of the carriage ride, along with a grim quiet that made everyone appear stone faced, gray. and mute. Marya, one of the last shield sisters from Illemania would tap the resting Egil on his shoulder. “We’re approaching now, milord. Look sharp.” Egil’s party had arrived later than most in a carriage with a lousy left wheel and tatters and scars on the right side from weather. The shabby and furred mule like horses of the Mistlands were scoffed at by their higher bred southern cousins. “Are you prepared for this? It has been some time since Engelhardt visited here.” “You mustn't speak to me that way. Not anymore. After today, I am a ruler and no longer a child.” Egil scoffed as he stood from the wagon, landing on his feet on the dry ground below. “Do not forget your humility in power, my knyaz.” Marya smiled, glad to see the boy’s fighting spirit. “And do not forget I have read all the books your whimsical proverbs come from.” Egil cocked a grin back at his lifetime companion. After this he would walk to the front of the wagon and made sure his gathered party could see and hear him about to speak. “I will go the rest of the way with a small guard. The rest may stay and set up camp. The ceremony will go on for some time. Be prepared to leave at a moment’s haste however.” “Why’s that sir?” A man spoke up. “Fraid somethin gonna happen?” Egil felt a rage at the tone of the question. Still now his men looked at him but he was a mere child. They would’ve never acted like this to his father. Though that comparison brought with it a maelstrom of sorrow as well. Weight of expectations as Egil struggled to see himself as half the man his father was. He dare not voice such bottled up aggression. Marya looked intently at the lord, with eyes like that of a hawk. Be calm. “No. Of course not. I just want to put miserable louts like you to work, now go on then.” Egil waved and dismissed the gathered men. Unceremoniously they’d turn to their given task and return to the baggage train for supplies. [i] Not the best encounter. Need to be better. Can’t have men second guess my judgement so openly. Maybe a punishment is necessary.[/i] ______________________________________________________________ These thoughts weighed on Egil’s mind as he moved on with his entourage of Marya and two other armored warriors through the castle gates. Servants and envoys would come to receive his gifts for the deceased’s family. Several hundred bags of coins and furs from a great gray wolf. The gold was pitiful compared to other donations and many didn’t understand the significance of the wolf hide, putting it along with the other miscellaneous junk. Egil braced himself outside the cathedral doors, a sudden melancholia gripping his heart. He’d stare upward at the graceful marble statues hanging overhead. With wings outstretched and sword held high, they looked too serene and beautiful for the gloom that staggered him. “Something wrong?” Simon, the foreign steward asked in a polite tone. Egil had been standing motionless for several moments. “There was no fanfare such as this here, for my family. My family gave everything for the old crown. When they were hunted and killed like dogs…they were not remembered by the crown. The very same held by that madman who killed them.” “Sire. This isn’t the time and place for this. You must collect yourself.” Simon insisted. “This is not their day. The Crown Prince’s death has had serious ripples across the entire kingdom and the situation is tense.” The servant feared for his master’s reputation with such outbursts. “And mine did not? They were not important in the scheme of things?” Egil spat. “Egil. This is not the way.” Marya again stepped in, standing in front of the boy and towering over him in her plate armor. “You want to go in there and demand justice? With the situation as it is? Do not be foolish. Such recklessness will get you killed in these times. Contain yourself, and preserve for the next battle. There will come a time, young knyaz.” A firm steel gauntlet clasped the lord’s shoulder as Marya straightened him out. Resentment built up in Egil for a moment, but came to pass. Marya’s words carried too much truth, but he would push his loyal maiden aside. “I will go in alone. Wait here outside.” Thinking deeply about the previous exchange and letting the doors close behind him, Egil stepped into the gathered crowd He would blend in wordlessly in the back of the group with no fanfare and a solemn look on his face. Other than some glances, the other lords paid him little mind as they focused on the ceremony. The claimants would give their speeches. Egil noted that Anyamara’s speech was full of passion and bravado, and genuine grief. It made Egil respect her much more, though it was undeniable there was a certain aura of malice in her actions. Something he could only detect since often he felt such malice too. A promising young woman but the tyranny of the mad king was not forgotten, least of all by the knyaz. Egil preferred a weaker king to rule. It would be a good remedy after the previous tyranny and inviting yet another person with Colyt’s blood seemed disastrous no matter what honeyed words she said. Sharles seemed like the weak king to be. His speech had a tough act to follow up and to say he surpassed his rival would be a lie. Egil would politely offer his applause among the crowd, for political concerns than anything else. His gentle calm tone was reliving from Anyamara’s passion, though his strengths were mostly what he was not instead of any positive accomplishments. In these times perhaps that would be good enough. After the funeral, Egil would gather up with other Sharles supporters. He’d peer over the stone casket at least once, staring over the beautiful effigy of the fallen prince proudly posed with his sword in hands. His avatar to represent the crown prince for rest of eternity. [i]There too will be a stone casket for you, some day. As one for your father, as for Daymian, as for you too. [/i] The cold hand of mortality crept over his back. A panic that if he did not accomplish his goals, himself and his ancestors would be doomed to obliteration. Egil quickly turned and faced away from the casket, feeling a strong need for a hard drink. Hopefully discussion with the other lords would ease his mind, but that came with troubles all of its own. [hider=too long didn't read lol] Egil Engelhardt arrives with his companions and inadequate gifts, questions on his authority and many grudges against the crown to bear. He likes Anyamara's talents and speech but fears her passion and blood will lead to another tyranny, keeping him on Sharles's side. He joins Sharles supporters to discuss. He has a brush with mortality and the beer served here probably stinks. [/hider]