1st of Saun 721
The avriel woke up in an irritable mood. His sleep had been troubled by fits and starts of terror, as he dreamt he was one of those poor roosters that had been pitted in mortal combat against their own kind. Their minds swept of all their nature, with only one thought. That of seeking violence at the tip of a razor-sharp beak and talons. He tossed and turned, and unbeknown to himself, his transformation gem, the one socketed into his ring, had slipped his finger. He’d reverted back to his natural and glorious form, that of an avriel.Calendar wrote:1st of Saun: The Undefeated
A Knight appears as dry lightning flashes crisscross the sky. He claims to be the duelist that nobody was able to defeat the prior season at the end of Cylus. He takes to challenging anyone bearing a blade to duels in the middle of the Stormlands. None have been able to defeat him, and he declares himself a Knight of the First Light, and that he is from the land of the Eternal Suns. Some presume he is a madman, others speculate that he may be a follower of Faldrun, as per his mention of the Suns.
His red wings splayed out over him, sheltering him from the intrusive rays of the suns, beaming in through the windows. His eyes fluttered open, and he nearly leaped from the bed, unaccustomed to the lightness of his natural body, he went flying backward, stumbling over the lounger he slept in and into a standing candelabra. It went teetering over, the sticks getting sent rolling across the floor. Fortunately, they’d not been lit and had guttered out during the night. He reflected this was fortunate, but that he’d have to invest in finer candlesticks. Perhaps beeswax.
He didn’t spend too long contemplating the sticks of wax, before he rose to his full height, his wings shaking out the frustration of the prior dream, which had caused him to stir violently in his sleep. He had a mind to track down the man that had pit those birds against each other in mortal combat. But first… He approached the ring, containing the rainbow gem that allowed his transformation into Karolis. He regarded it a few moments, before slipping it into his domain bag, which sat by the resting place.
He didn’t want to don the human disguise anymore. Not now, anyway. He was sick of hiding behind a grotesque human guise. A wingless fool who looked like anyone else out on the street. Although he had the bearing of nobility, as was proper for an avriel, even in disguise, he would much rather indulge his true self. In a sense, it was a source and expression of vanity, in its highest form. There was little to be gained by posing as such, other than to stretch his wings and see if he still knew how to fly.
With this in mind, he began dressing and even decided he’d put on his bardic armor, in case anyone tried his patience on the way into the wilderness. He would also be putting on Karolis’ bespoke jacket, which did contain a few wing slits for his wing limbs to sprout through. It gave them ample room to flutter and flap, as they should. A full range of motion was needed for the act of flying, being the very intense physical activity that it was.
He donned a white linen tunic and leather trousers of the same white. His bardic plate he began strapping to his form, placing it over the tunic. It was colored the deepest bronze cobalt. Masterwork, containing all forms of bird-like motifs. In short, it was perfect for the Voice of Calamity to wear, while going on a wilderness flight.
Over the thin cuirass, he donned his jacket, which fit nicely. His wings slipped through the wing-folds. They fit perfectly, as he’d specified they should.
Thus ready for his expedition, he took one last warm glance in the mirror, and then stepped up to the window and flew out.
The Glass Quarter was situated just beneath the military complexes of the Lightning Knights, he didn’t quite remember the Quarter’s name, even having lived here for a time, he never made it a point to visit them. He cast a quick glance about as he slipped out his window which overlooked an alleyway, and then when assured that nobody had seen him escape the window, he flew out toward the Earth Quarter and the Dust Quarter beyond the gates. Once beyond the gates, and the exterior of the city, he landed at the edge of the Dust Quarter. There he began making his way into the sunny landscape of the Stormlands.
His flight was pleasant for the most part, the sun shining on his feathers felt as if it was cleansing the shame of posing as a human for so long and for so many seasons. He felt free for the first time in an arc, perhaps. And for a moment there was peace in his chaotic and vividly drawn mind. He flew over the countryside, enjoying the view from the skies. He saw some people here or there, prey animals scurrying about their business, and villagers in Mistral not far west of Rharne.
Eventually he took a turn to the south, down toward the fields of the Stormlands, just west of Storm's Edge. The fields were golden green, their grasses swaying in the breeze, appearing as an ocean of fibers from Kalortah's vantage. He mused that the Rharneans did have something worth protecting in this land, and that although he was not one of them, and never would be, he could respect their holdings. If only as a thief who wished to plunder them.
Further down south, he sailed over the Stormlands, he saw a glint of metal on the ground. One of those knights in a plated metal shell perhaps? Kalortah flew in for a closer look, alighting to the ground in front of this figure, which stood impassively, just ... standing there with its sword angled downward, tip toward the ground. Kalortah quirked a brow at this stranger, wondering what he was doing in the middle of nowhere.
"Filth!" The knight announced, clattering the hilt of his sword over his chestplate. Behind the visor, Kalortah could see two orange eyes peering out. This intrigued him, but more than that, what he'd said concerned the avriel's sense of pride.
"What did you say to me?" Kalortah asked, inching toward the knight, who towered over him by about a foot. He stared up at the man, scowling, and letting his hand rest on the hilt of his rapier. His brilliant red wings spread out behind him, his bardic plate shining in the suns. How could any deny his resplendence?
"You are filth, avriel." The knight intoned, "And I challenge you to a duel, to the death." The knight's graveled, baritone voice was rich and deep. Richer and deeper than Kalortah believed he had a right for it to be. He had half a mind, if he wasn't so incensed by the insult, to ask him where he'd gotten his voice.
As it was, Kalortah was barely holding his temper in check. But he'd dealt with unruly hecklers before. He could stand a few minor insults from an armed goon, such as this. He wouldn't be goaded into a situation that was beyond his ability to deal with.
Yet, Kalortah's hesitation to take the knight up on his challenge proved a grave disadvantage him going forward. The knight drew his blade, a two-handed war sword, and held it in front of him, prompting the avriel to buffet his wings to jump backward. In seconds he drew his own blade, and felt a sudden thrill of panic.
"Stay your filthy tongue, buckethead." Kalortah intoned, striding forth impassively. "Or I'll have your tongue as breakfast."
"Savage." Said the knight. His self-assured superiority annoyed the avriel, and he felt compelled now to test his mettle. However, he wasn't the one to decide. He barely got his sword out in time to intercept the strike of the knight's own sword. The Knight lifted the sword over his shoulder, clearly telegraphing a downward strike on the avriel. Kalortah drew his light fencing blade, but it wasn't clear from his sheath before the knight's blow fell upon the forearm of Kalortah, which sprouted with wings of steel, protecting his arms as it were.
The impact of the blow was difficult to bear, but Kalortah managed to brace himself until his sword cleared of its scabbard.
Then he buffeted his wings and flew backward, but not before testing the knight's defenses with a swift riposte. The duel, it seemed, had begun.
