Thread: Tales of Fantasia ~~ Ironic and Isenhart  (Discontinued)

RE Tales of Fantasia Ironic and Isenhart The two men exchanged an odd look when the silver-haired elven woman had posed her question. The rumor had been that the elves had staged the entire attack on the wedding. Though the truth of the matter was that the masked figures had killed anyone and everyone whom they could when they descended upon the marriage ceremony, the figures had stolen away the corpses of all of the elves and left only those of the slain humans. To anyone who was not there, it certainly looked as though the elves had launched the attack and that they had taken their dead with them for a proper burial. That was the story that had been floating around the imperial city of Talador. Fortunately for Eirika, these two men belonged to an order of individuals who did not fully buy into this theory, despite the fact that Prince Gadwin fully supported the idea and that he had placed a bounty on his fiance's head for her to be delivered to him alive. Did he still intended to force her to marry him and steal control of the elven kingdom of Numeria? The fact that this woman had to ask about the events only served to fuel the two men's belief that the elves could not have been responsible for this slaughter. Sure, no one but the elves had more reason to want to see the human kingdom dismantled for the past twenty-five years of war and recourse swindling, but the elves had never seemed to be a vengeful people. Well, not these elves, at least. The dark elves might have been a different story, but the dark elves had nothing to do with this. The girl could have been playing innocent, of course, but somehow the two men doubted that. After what she had just went through, it was unlikely that she would put on such a nearly pointless act following being saved. What are you going on about, the demonically armored man asked as he turned his attention back to the elf. Have you been running from the Prince's headhunters this whole time? Have you not set foot in a town in the past couple of days? She would have been apprehended if she had, Caine, the other man cut in before Eirika could mutter an answer. He, too, turned his attention to the elven woman and he offered her a quick bow before he continued. Please excuse my companion here, he continued, Social graces are not his strong suit, but there aren't many other people that I would rather have at my side. I am Isenhart, Isenhart De'Rathe. This walking chunk of iron here, the younger man motioned toward the tall behemoth, this is Allister Caine. We were sent here to eliminate the bandit encampment that was rumored to be in these woods, but I was expecting more than this, Allister cut in. From what the townsfolk had said, there were the better part of a dozen of these filthy mongrels hiding out here. If I had to guess, I would say that these four did not want to share their prize with the whole camp, a new voice came from the forest behind the two armored men. The voice was deep and aged. The very sound of it held an air of wisdom to it. It would have been easy to guess just by the sound of the voice that it belonged to an older gentleman. Not a moment later, the owner of this voice stepped out of the shadows and into view. He was an older man, roughly the same height as Isenhart and roughly the same build as the younger men. Age had slowed his metabolism and had caused his waist and gut to grow more than that of his younger companions, but aside from that, he was just as fit as either of the youngsters. He, too, was armored, but his armor was much simpler than that of the other two men. It was forged of steel, like Allister's, but there was nothing fancy or assuming about it. The only thing of note about this man's armor was various cloths that hung from his waist and lay tucked beneath the shoulder plates. At his side, sheathed in an unassuming scabbard, was a longsword. On his back, a simple pike. His face was aged perhaps in his mid to late forties. Perhaps even his early fifties? A long beard of course brown hair grew from his cheeks and chin with a matching mustache sitting upon his lip. Medium-lengthen hair of a matching shade was trimmed and cleanly kempt upon his head and his dark, chocolate-brown eyes fixed themselves on the elven woman as he approached her. My name is Frederick Walhart, the old man said as he offered the elven woman a shallow bow. What might I ask is yours, young elf?