[center] [h1] _______________ ◊ ᗩEᖇᗯYᑎ ᑕᗩᒪᒪIOᑭE ◊ _______________[/h1][/center] [right][sub] __________________ • ȶɦɛ ʍօʊռȶǟɨռɛֆ - Kυɳʅυɳ • ȶɦɛ աʏʋɛʀռ ʀɨɖɛʀ ƈǟʍք • ϝҽαƚ. CσɳʂƚαႦʅҽ Láιԃιɾ Cαԋιʅʅ • 7:45am __________________ [/sub][/right] The crisp Mountaine air cut at Aerwyn’s rosebud cheeks like shards of glass. Today was especially windy, powerful gusts whipping at the Royal Mage’s thick, glossy jet black locks. It sliced through her nostrils with every inhale, chilling her bones beneath the thick, Tunnbaq fur coat she adorned. The coat had been a Royal Gift for her most recent birthday, one she’d accepted graciously and worn loyally since. The dense fur caressed her jawbone, enveloping her slight frame and trailing behind her in a waterfall of opulent white hair. Aerwyn had set off at sunrise, tasked with some Crown comms between the Royal Family and the Wyvern Rider corps. The Rider camp resided fairly deep into the Mountaines, set into the windward versants; Wyverns rode best with the aid of Mountaine air. The Camp was not a place of luxury nor comfort. Built entirely by practical hands with nothing but the basics for the Riders; Shelter. Camp beds. A kitchen compiled of a stove and artisan chopping board. The Riders needed very little save for their armour and winged battalion. Aerwyn’s fur-clad form so juxtaposed to the rocky fissures and grey-washed scenery turned the heads of Rider passer-bys. Chin lifted, shoulders broadened, the Royal Mage glided up the mountain path to where Constable Láidir was sharpening his blade. The morning sun bathed the mountainside in an amber glow, cottonball clouds rolling across the skyline dotted with the airborne Wyverns that circled overhead. Aerwyn’s steely gaze, like Antartik ice, raised to watch the Wyverns fly. Their large, dragon-like wings beat methodically, riding the harsh breezes with practiced elegance. A smile twinged her blushed lips. She marvelled in the Mountaine’s beauty for a moment, revelling in the patriotic electricity that crackled beneath her skin. [quote] [i]“Your Grace,” [/i] came the gravelly tone of Constable Cahill. Brandishing his freshly-sharpened blade like a staff, the towering man’s grip flexed on the handle, the steel glinting in the morning light. [i]“And to what do we owe the honour of your presence on this fine morning?”[/i][/quote] Cahill’s heavily bearded face and wiry brows were absent of expression. Nothing save for a hint of inquisition danced behind his dark eyes. He stood like a doorway to the Camp, blocking her entrance with his body built like a house. Standing at 6ft4, the Commander loomed over almost anyone, constantly looking down on everyone as a consequence. He had an air of defence around him at all times, an impenetrable force field of professionalism and dedication to the throne. Cahill’s bravery was the helm of the Wyvern Corps, the respect of every Rider tattooed across his scarred, leathered skin. Aerwyn was fairy-like in comparison, his beastly form dwarfing her on the mountainside. The Mage pulled the Tunnbaq fur coat tighter around her still, the wind splitting the fur follicles like parting seas. Her icy gaze locked on Láidir, unwavering and unnerved by the Constable’s physical presence. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“Crown business,”[/i][/color] Aerwyn responded in a clipped, bored tone. She discarded the Constable’s facetious question to the wind, letting it drift away, weightless. [color=6ecff6][i]“Why don’t you invite me in, Láidir? Give me a tour of the Rider’s recent progress?”[/i][/color][/quote] Flinching at the dominance of using his first name, Cahill bowed his head in reluctant submission. With a theatric swoop of his hand, he gestured for Aerwyn to cross over the camp threshold. The Crown had ordered a visit, to check-in on the Wyvern Riders. The soldiers saw themselves as above Continent Law, arrogant thanks to their winged beasts they tamed and mounted. It was an exacerbated egoism specific to the Riders that the Crown had taken a mild irritation to. They rarely ventured down to Kunlun from their mountainside camp but when they did, they threw their weight around. Taking over taverns, brawling with ignorant drunkards, muscling in to exclusive clubs they were unwelcome to. Kunlun meretrixes cowering in brothels fell prey to the Rider’s heavy hands and the Crown had asked Aerwyn to reinstate the balance. A challenge only the finest of Mages would be up to. Rider brutes avoided Aerwyns eyes as she trailed behind Cahill, her face smoothed into an expression of passive disdain, pursing her lips in a way that established her head and shoulders above them. Wyvern cries echoed against the rocky walls of the camp, the smell of unwashed leathers and flesh desperate for a bathe stinging her nostrils. Cahill sheathed his blade as he strode the stony path, boots crunching on gravel beneath his weight. The Constable’s warriors bowed their heads in his wake, a sign of respect for their leader. If only they exercised the same restraint they showed here when they descended upon Kunlun. The air crackled with static tension, the Royal Mage’s presence in their camp setting them all on edge. Approaching a canvas-roofed gazebo, serving as an area for Rider meetings and briefings, Cahill whistled as if calling a dog to his heels and Aerwyn watched the seated Riders rise obediently from their seats. Wordlessly, they scattered like ants and Cahill inclined his head to offer her a seat at the wooden table. Tabletop scattered with an assortment of well-worn maps and tankards, Aerwyn ignored the offer of a seat. Instead, she remained standing, levelling her gaze at the Constable as he lowered himself into a chair at the head of the table. She let a chilling silence fall, the whistle of wind rustling the maps and flapping the fabric roof above them. Neither of them spoke for a moment, simply assessing one another with challenging eyes. It was Cahill that looked away first, adverting his gaze and submitting to the Royal Mage’s satisfied smirk. [quote] [i][color=6ecff6]“The Crown has learned of your insubordination, Láidir-“[/color][/i] his name practically spat from Aerwyn’s lips. [i][color=6ecff6]“Did you honestly think you and your bunch of vagabonds could behave just as you please, in such blatant disrespect to your King and Queen, and return to camp unscathed?”[/color][/i][/quote] Spoken like a mother scolding her child, Aerwyn’s upper lip quivered in a sneer. The image of those poor defenceless whores in Kunlun, wordlessly accepting their fate at the hands of the Crown’s Riders, drove her on. Their vulnerability, their fragility and nakedness, it pushed the Royal Mage forward. Her moral compass pointing her towards the inevitable, the Mage summoned her inner power, blue eyes aglow with the Magic that brewed inside her. She took a singular step toward the Constable, who sat indignantly at his table. An elbow laid nonchalantly on the arm of his chair, Láidir rest his chin on a clenched fist. Despite his aggrieved aura, Aerwyn saw how those knuckles were whitening, balled fists barely containing anger. Still, her power hissed beneath Aerwyns fingertips, expression unsettlingly calm. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“How quick you all are to forget Lucan’s punishment the last time you fell out of line like this…”[/i][/color] the Royal Mage tutted, shaking her head.[/quote] She lifted a finger, blue electrical sparks sputtering from the end, pointing it at the Constable like the tip of a merciless blade. A shrill, Wyvern cry erupted overhead and Cahill’s eyes shot upward, breath hitching in his thick neck. The man, always so fearless, inwardly cowered before the Royal Mage’s vengeful stance. Nothing the eye could see externally, no trembling hands, no quivering knees. Just resolute silence, steadfast in the face of a Royal scolding. No line of defence. No denial. No resistance. Just quiet. Adamant. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“No deed goes unpunished in Kunlun,”[/i][/color] Aerwyn said flatly, quoting the words of the Crown when punishing unlawfully practiced Magic. The blue-hued power at her fingertips fizzed ominously. Láidir’s hooded eyes watched it carefully, unblinking.[i][color=6ecff6]“No deed-“[/color][/i]Aerwyn repeated, [color=6ecff6][i]“Goes unpunished.”[/i][/color][/quote] The Mountaine air suddenly stilled as if someone had flicked a switch. No wind. No breeze. Not a single puff of air. Wyvern cried out in protest from the skies and Aerwyn took ahold of the winds in her grasp, mentally reciting an ancient dialect as she casted. Her hair began to dance around her angular face, eyes narrowing. The Tunnbaq fur coat flapped in her winds. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she sent the gale-force wind shooting forwards. It forced the Rider’s wooden table flying off its feet, the tankards and papers shooting into various directions. Ale soaking the maps, metal clanging as it dropped to the ground, the Constable’s chair was thrown back by Aerwyn’s wind as if he were light as a feather. Láidir grunted as his body thudded to the ground, landing in a heap. The summoned winds howled then dissipated. Stilling as quickly as they’d ignited. Riders, onlookers, watched wide-eyed as the Royal Mage knocked their leader down with a simple flick of her nimble wrist. This was the job of a Royal Mage in Kunlun. To oversee. To manage. To tame. To remind those that have forgotten that the Crown comes above all. The Mountaines, an unforgiving Continent full of testosterone-fuelled warriors, would only respond to offence. Aerwyn’s softened, gentle heart remained hidden for tasks like these. In an ironclad armoury, her vulnerability and her softness would be locked away, disguised by a veil of impenetrable authority. This was the job of a Royal Mage in Kunlun. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“Stay out of Kunlun, Láidir.”[/i][/color] Aerwyn’s voice raised in command. The Rider Leader had begun to rise to his feet, dusting himself off, face stony with suppressed rage and embarrassment. [color=6ecff6][i]“And remember you are under Royal Command. Whether in flight. On foot. Or between the legs of a whore. You are not above the Law.”[/i][/color][/quote] Aerwyn sighed. She lowered her hands, sliding them beneath opposing sleeves to shield them from the winds that had recommenced in the Mountaineside. No answer. No response. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“Don’t make me come back to this place again,”[/i][/color] the Royal Mage warned, scrunching her dainty nose at the camps smell. [color=6ecff6][i]“Your unwashed jockstraps are an offence to my senses.”[/i][/color][/quote] Turning on her heels, Aerwyn took the first slow, small steps of her descent. Láidir cleared his throat behind her and her head whipped round, challenge flashing in her eyes. [quote] [i]“Yes, your Grace.”[/i] The Constable gritted out. [/quote] And Aerwyn left, the smell of lavender and tonka in her wake. [center] _____________________________ [/center] The Royal Mage had retired to the Mage quarters. She’d retreated to the Library, burying her head in ancient tomes. Learning was never complete. Magic a lifelong lesson. Lucan had encouraged her love for reading, nurtured her thirst for knowledge. It was in the room surrounded by shelves of leather-bound books that she received the letter of summons. It was placed before her, just above the open book from which she read hungrily, waxed shut with a Royal Seal. Aerwyn arched a perfectly preened brow and took the letter between her fingertips. She slid her finger across the edge of the envelope, tearing it open. Blue eyes skimming across the quilled page, Aerwyn’s eyes widened. Every Royal Mage. From every Continent. Called to Aethelguard. That night. [quote] [color=6ecff6][i]“Lucan!”[/i][/color] she called. [color=6ecff6][i]“Lucan! Come quick!”[/i][/color][/quote] The letter crinkled beneath her pinching digits. She read and reread the words inked on the page as she awaited the Retired Mage, her predecessor, to arrive. She shook her head in disbelief, curiosity tickling her heart. She wanted Lucan to confirm what she read before her. Confirm that this was, indeed, a summons.