Kassarock — Roleplayer Guild

The blast of the hunting horn rang out across the camp as the herald pressed it to his lips. Its sound called the inhabitants of the hunting encampment to attention. The noise and bustle of busy servants and bantering nobility died down as the assembled people turned expectantly to the dais raised upon the knoll. 

Ozragad surveyed the crowd below imperiously. Who were they? All these hangers on that had been considered important enough to invite along to this performance. The presence of servants and soldiers he understood, but surely he was already preaching to the converted here? These were the nobles of central mountains, the green western valleys, and of the Kazadun River. There were a few from the far north and Iron Town, fewer still from the southern marshes and Port Kazad. But the people of this Kingdom he truly needed to win over, those hardy folk of the Bleak Coast and the war-like Ashlanders, where were they? Truly, this is a fool's errand.

It was then that his eyes caught sight of her again, the Princess, a droplet of purple and gold in an ocean of black, red and grey. She was easy to pick out of any crowd here in Morganyth, the pale peach of her complexion marking her out against the dun Formori. A thought occurred to the King then, maybe this display wasn't so much to acquaint his nobility with her, as it was to acquaint her to his nobility. Convince her she was not quite as despised in this country as others, himself included perhaps, had suggested. Or its to win these peace loving loyalists round to slaughtering their cousins when the civil war you have created comes around. Or this is just another opportunity to assassinate you.

As he watched her from the dais she too turned to look at him, immediately he glanced away again. Why did he just do that? He was a King, he was a warrior, he should be able to stare down anyone if he wanted to. It's because you're ashamed. You're ashamed of how much you are thinking about her. And you don't want her to know.

It was then that Lord Iria, the chancellor, began his announcement. 

"My Lords and Ladies! Gathered nobility of the great and powerful realm of Morganyth and the ancient and venerable Formori! We are called here today to witness a time honoured tradition of our people!" Iria was in full flow, arm outstretched to gesture theatrically like some great statesman or orator. Ozragad supposed he did have a way with words, especially when he had not been drinking. In another life Iria could have been an actor. 

"In the days of yore, when a young suitor-" He snorted at that, even the most deluded flatterer would not have called Ozragad young these days. -wished to take a bride from her mother's hearth, he had first to prove to her family that he could provide their daughter with sustenance and protection. Hence, the bridegroom would be tasked with the hunting of a great beast and laying it at his the hearth of his betrothed."

"Today, our beloved King, Ozragad of the House of Gwydion, shall undergo this trial to prove his worth to the Princess Elise of the House of Hydaelyn. He may nominate three champions to accompany him on his quest! Your Majesty, whomst shall you name?"

It was Ozragad's turn now. The champions had already been decided well before hand. The first would be Rhiathon, the captain of Ozragad's personal guard, who would be acting as Ozragad's personal bodyguard for the duration of the hunt. The second would be Lord Urathon, the Lord Justicar, a prominent councillor and a skilled hunter in his own right. The final place would be for Manawyndan, the Lord Steward and permanent right hand of the King. 

But lately, Ozragad had found himself less and less sure of the trust he had placed in Manawyndan. There had been failures in his abilities recently, the riot, the assassination attempt. Failures? They were only failures if you believe he had nothing to do with him...  He cleared his throat and stepped forward to speak.

"I, King Ozragad of the House of Gwydion, name my champions. Rhiathon, of the Royal Guard. Lord Urathon, of the Royal Council. And...  

There was a pregnant pause. Ozragad turned his head to examine the cluster of figures who stood with him on the dais, waiting expectantly for the last name. Manawyndan was amongst them, and for a moment Ozragad swore he saw a flash of annoyance flit across the old Formori's face. His resolve suddenly hardened as he felt the coals of his anger kindle once more. But who else could he name to the party? It would have to be someone of high standing, and someone he could trust. His eyes roved further over the dais, and landed on his cousin Lady Cheldarine, and the two Formori youths standing beside her. 

"And Elethiomel, eldest son of my dearest cousin, and of mine own Royal Family."

There was a burst of cheering and applause from the gathered crowd, with something of a more subdued reaction from those standing upon the wooden stage, including some visible confusion from those who had known the intended composition of the King's hunting companions. Ozragad saw Manawyndan approaching him, eyebrows raised. 

"Sire, I thought we had already agreed tha-"  

"Plans change, Lord Steward. See to the running of the camp in my absence." He brushed past Manawyndan, barely giving him a second glance. "Elethiomel, get your bow and saddle your horse. You ride with me today."
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