The Kingdom of Vice and Virtue
The ice of Acedia almost seemed to glow under the Gallant Unto Fail as the shuttle rocketed over the plains. Karathor stood with his brothers in battle and blood as the shuttle landed with a shutter. For the first time in many years the warrior was nervous, not of death like he had been when he had begun his mission to earn his name, not of the killing of others as he had felt before his first battle, not of how he would survive without the backing of his house, but of how he would face his father.
The shuttle's rear ramp lowered and the light of Acedia’s icy ranges nearly blinded Karathor through his visor. However the sight was unmistakable, two lines of warriors stood creating a path to the keeps entrance. Swords of all types silently flew out of their sheaths as the warriors of Acedia saluted a great warrior.
Karathor’s first step was that of a hesitant child, short, scared and weak, but Hedramen placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “We’re right behind you.” The sound of those words echoed throughout the comms channel as it had through every battle the warband had ever entered. Karathor’s next step was that of a warrior, his armored steps spoke of strength and honor as his warband followed him through the silent corridor of steel.
Before the great doors stood one man, Balrog Diligenza, a tower of steel and gold and it was all that stood between him and his home.
Thousands of warriors Karathor had faced and none stood up to the one that was awaiting him. Unlike those many years ago, Karathor looked the armored man in the eye and stood his ground.
The world seemed to hold its breath as the Prima of the Great house stood judgement. The silence invaded every inch of the ceremony even as the sword of the house was drawn. The massive blade was a bar of shadow against the golden pillar of its wielder, with movements of a master the sword swung through the air too fast for Karathor to react.
The sound of ice shattering and steel screaming were heard even in the frozen vacuum and Karathor waited for his life to end, his armor to fall away, his body to fold over, anything. But when nothing happened he saw the sword was standing out of the ground and the booming voice of his father echoed through his helm. “Welcome home Karathor Diligenza.”- Annuls of the great Wokeskald Pistonemius, 19th of his name.
The ice of Acedia almost seemed to glow under the Gallant Unto Fail as the shuttle rocketed over the plains. Karathor stood with his brothers in battle and blood as the shuttle landed with a shutter. For the first time in many years the warrior was nervous, not of death like he had been when he had begun his mission to earn his name, not of the killing of others as he had felt before his first battle, not of how he would survive without the backing of his house, but of how he would face his father.
The shuttle's rear ramp lowered and the light of Acedia’s icy ranges nearly blinded Karathor through his visor. However the sight was unmistakable, two lines of warriors stood creating a path to the keeps entrance. Swords of all types silently flew out of their sheaths as the warriors of Acedia saluted a great warrior.
Karathor’s first step was that of a hesitant child, short, scared and weak, but Hedramen placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and spoke softly. “We’re right behind you.” The sound of those words echoed throughout the comms channel as it had through every battle the warband had ever entered. Karathor’s next step was that of a warrior, his armored steps spoke of strength and honor as his warband followed him through the silent corridor of steel.
Before the great doors stood one man, Balrog Diligenza, a tower of steel and gold and it was all that stood between him and his home.
Thousands of warriors Karathor had faced and none stood up to the one that was awaiting him. Unlike those many years ago, Karathor looked the armored man in the eye and stood his ground.
The world seemed to hold its breath as the Prima of the Great house stood judgement. The silence invaded every inch of the ceremony even as the sword of the house was drawn. The massive blade was a bar of shadow against the golden pillar of its wielder, with movements of a master the sword swung through the air too fast for Karathor to react.
The sound of ice shattering and steel screaming were heard even in the frozen vacuum and Karathor waited for his life to end, his armor to fall away, his body to fold over, anything. But when nothing happened he saw the sword was standing out of the ground and the booming voice of his father echoed through his helm. “Welcome home Karathor Diligenza.”- Annuls of the great Wokeskald Pistonemius, 19th of his name.