Thread: A Knight's Tale (SevenRose/Fun_And_Games)

Everything about what she did was proper. Had she been yet another male squire arriving who had made the same grievous mistake, Z'Avar would have been appeased. He would have perhaps mocked the lad, swatted him upside the head, and told the boy to take his place amongst the trainees. Such a lad would have a hill to climb, but a folly on the first day would be quickly forgotten and forgiven...maybe even a point in his favor, for at least Z'Avar would know his name, which other squires might not even possess after a month in camp. But instead of the laughter and forgiveness, there was only a flush of disbelief that flowed up onto the knight's face. What ...did you say? Yet, even as he asked the question, he blocked her answer with a demanding hand. To even think of such a ridiculous possibility was to suggest the sky had shifted to red, the sun had decided not to rise that day, or that gravity might any minute take a break. Shaking from anger, he tried to speak very precise, very measured words, Even those lads who yearn to one day be called knights...some, at least...have stood on a field of battle. How...dare... dare ...you play whatever sick game this is, to mock... Calm yourself, Sir Z'Avar. The voice that cut through the moment could best be described as sharp. If it was not connected to Sagaris by being in this camp, 'sinister' might be the more appropriate description. It came from a robed shadow of a figure, robes covered in flowing runes, with eyes that all but glowed from a blue-white bearded face with an ageless quality that could not be quite placed for origin or age. It was well known that every Lord Knight of Quality connected himself to a sorcerer of some capability. Some, to little more than hedge mages capable of granting their knights a small boon on the day of their Knighthood. Others, who could conjure hellfire on the fly and conjure gifts that would see a knight through countless battles unscathed. This man...was quite obviously the latter. The Sorcerer, Yasirrith Z'Avar snarled, I did not ask for your words, Yasirrith. The sorcerer returned him a grim smile, the look of one who didn't care what was being requested or not. And yet, you have it anyway. At times, it is necessary before you make a fool of yourself. Z'Avar stabbed a finger at Elizabeth, This GIRL... Yasirrith cut him off, Was personally invited by the Lord to join this troupe as a Squire. Embarrassing for our reputation? Perhaps. Time will tell. But if you feel such shame from her being here, how much more shame will you feel to exile her only to have the Lord emerge and reverse your decision, and call you down for having defied him? Z'Avar stopped...caught. He clenched his fist. Yasirrith let out a small, Ahhhh. There it is. Calmer heads prevail. He drifted away, down the street...a haunting presence that gave no chance for Elizabeth to really thank him for intervening. Especially not when Z'Avar turned back to her, as thunderous and angered as before, but no longer heading straight for a rejection of every claim she had. I will NOT forget your insolence, nor your...DARING to suggest you might stand amidst our squires. Mark my words, you'll be working the whore tents before the week is out to pay for your way home, hanging your head in embarrassment. Now take your horse to the pens and go...go make your report to the Lord. He smirked...and something in that smirk. He EXPECTED her to go whining to the Lord about being maltreated. Almost daring her to see how far THAT got her.