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Lander

Age: 24

Personality: Lander enjoys life to the fullest. He works hard and plays hard (when he has the time, of course), and he strives to look out for the needs of his fellow villagers. He can have a sarcastic attitude at times, but he hardly ever means any offense. While he is friendly towards the other members of his social class, he also treats royalty the same way. His lack of reverence for their status tends to irritate them. As such, he is not very well liked among members of the royal family who know his name.

Short Bio: Lander grew up in a village in one of the outer provinces of Camelot. His family was poor, hardly able to keep up with the king’s taxes. As a result, Lander had to begin toiling in the fields from a very young age to help them make their payments. In his free time, his father taught him basic swordplay using hand-carved, wooden blades. Lander went on to improve and perfect his techniques as he got older, honing his talents until he became a formidable opponent in battle.

As he grew into adolescence, it became apparent that Lander had a natural affinity for magic. This worried his parents, who were well aware of the king’s law: all sorcerers were to be put to death for treachery against the kingdom. They taught Lander to keep his powers hidden, to only practice them when he was absolutely certain he was alone. However, they never stopped worrying that his recklessness would get him caught and executed someday.

I didn’t bother writing out a painfully long CS, since we already partly discussed our characters in PMs :)

Beo stood as his servant strapped on his armor. He had a fighting tournament to go to that day and the prize was a hefty sum of gold, given to the winner by the king. Of course, Beo was not competing for the money or to impress his father. He wanted to show the spectating royals and knights that he was the best fighter in Thyra. It was the prestige of defeating all the other competitors that made him step into the arena and pick up the sword.

He winced as his servant strapped on a piece of armor too tightly to his arm.

“No, no,” Beo groaned. “You’re doing it all wrong. Could you be any more useless?”

“I-I am sorry, Your Highness,” the servant stammered, fumbling to correct his blunder.

Beo yanked his arm away from the servant. “I’ll do it.” He adjusted the strap to fit more comfortably against the inside of his bicep. The servant moved to help him with the rest of his armor, but Beo waved a hand to dismiss him. “Never mind that. Go make yourself useful and get my sword.” The man bowed quickly and hurried off to complete the task. Beo finished putting on his armor by himself. He preferred to have someone else do it for him because it was faster, but his most recent servant was a complete idiot. Beo suspected he would get rid of him by the end of the day.

The servant only made his situation worse when he tripped on his way back to give Beo his sword. The sheathed blade clattered across the ground and landed at Beo’s feet. He sighed and bent to pick it up. Yes, he would be getting rid of this nuisance of a servant before the sun set that day.

“A-anything else, sire?” the servant asked, trembling.

“That’s all for now,” Beo said. “Now come on. The tournament is going to start soon.”

--

The sequence of battles went by fairly quickly. Beo had gained a widespread reputation for his swordsmanship over the years, so when word got out that he was taking part in the tournament, many of the other fighters quit. It was also no surprise to anyone when the king’s son cut down all of his competitors and won with hardly an injury to himself. The king presented him with his prize money and the crowd either cheered or groaned depending on who they had been betting would win. Beo made a show of lifting the sack of gold, the symbol of his power, over his head to display to his audience, and hollering in victory. His father grinned from his pedestal on the sidelines. He was proud that his son was the best fighter in the kingdom. It was something he could boast about to the kings of other allied lands.

Afterwards, the crowd dispersed and Beo returned to the castle where he and his father sat down to eat dinner. The king put himself at the head of the table, and Beo sat a few chairs away on the right. He looked around as they waited for their dinners to be brought to them by kitchen staff. Made to seat a large number of people, he always thought the table felt uncomfortably vacant. His father never invited other royals or knights to eat with them, so most of the tabletop remained unused. Beo tapped his foot impatiently. The king gave him a sharp look.

“Stop that,” he scolded. “A prince should conduct himself with poise. You are always going to be watched for signs of weakness or immaturity by both friends and enemies. You will do well to keep that in mind.”

“Yes, father,” Beo said, silencing his foot.

Their personal servants entered the room carrying platters of food from the kitchen. Esben, the king’s servant, set his platter down gracefully, removing the lid with a subtle flourish. He gave his master a deep bow and left without a word. Almost laughable in contrast, Beo’s clumsy servant dropped his plate with a thump, and when he removed the lid it slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. His father raised a brow and Beo put his head in his hands in embarrassment.

“That’s it,” he said. His servant froze and stared at the floor. “You have to go. I can’t take this any longer. Take your things and leave the castle. If I catch you here by nightfall, I swear I will have one of the guards arrest you.”

“B-but sire—” the servant began to protest, his eyes wide with horror.

“Do you think you’re in a position to talk back to me right now?” Beo said icily. “I am your prince. You are nothing but a lowly peasant. Now get out of my sight.”

The servant swallowed and hurried out of the room.

“You handled that well,” the king said approvingly. “We cannot stand to have careless servants in this castle. However, it seems you need a new one.”

“It seems so,” Beo said, taking a bite of his food.

--

“Your Highness? I have brought a gift from your father.”

Beo heard Esben’s muffled voice through the door. He got up from his bed, where he had been reading some books his father gave him about knighthood and war strategies. After all, he would have to lead the knights in battle when he became king. He set the book down and walked to the door. Finally. It had been three days since he lost his last servant. He had been borrowing some specialized servants from the king’s staff for some of his needs, such as laundry and cooking, but he still had to do more for himself than he would have liked. At last, he would have a personal servant to take care of those tedious chores.

“Thank you, Esben—” Beo opened the door, and then stopped when his eyes landed on the new replacement. A girl? This was odd. Personal servants were traditionally the same gender as their masters, as they had to perform certain tasks that were, well, personal. Esben read Beo’s wary expression and jumped to explain.

“She was the last of the Gorman prisoners sold at the market today,” Esben said, bowing. “I apologize, Your Highness. It was my fault. I arrived late. Unfortunately, there won’t be another prisoner auction for some time, so this was the best I could do.”

“It’s fine,” Beo said. At least he had a servant again. Male or female, someone had to get his work done. “You may leave.” Esben bowed again and walked back down the hallway.

Beo turned away from his father’s servant to examine his own. So she was from Gorm? It made sense. She had the darker hair and complexion that was characteristic of her people. He smiled a little. If the knights were taking Gorman captives, it was a strong sign that Thyra was winning the war.

“I don’t know if Esben filled you in on your duties yet,” Beo said, leaning against the door frame and gesturing for her to enter the room. “So I’ll make your first task simple. Tell me: what is your name?”

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