A Roleplay By StormWolf:
In the earliest morning can be without still being night, a dark shadow moved across the Great Plain of Kislev, heading towards the capitol, Kislev City. The full moon played off of the armor of the figure as it moved swiftly on a horse as black as hell.
The Dark Rider approached the mighty city of Kislev, stopping before the gate guard when the man commanded him to.
"You are in quite a hurry lad, are the Hounds of Hell on your heels or...." The guard walked up to the rider, armored in a dull gray metal with a cloak of black draped over him, hood concealing most of his face. The guard's words failed him as he made eye contact with the man, eyes of molten gold glowed in the darkness of the hood. The guard sucked in a near-strangled breath as he saw the ring upon the black leather gloves of the rider.
"A... a.... BloodGuard... Forgive me.... please, sir! Pass, forgive me." The Rider said not a word, but passed in cold silence, making way to the castle at the center of the massive stone city. It was no secret that the Royal Family of Kislev was.... special. They seemed to have the same king for the past several mortal generations.
Reaching to courtyard of the Royal Palace, the Rider dismounted, showed his ring to the guards, and got easy entry, along with muttered apologies for keeping him. The Rider in black entered the Throne Room, a massive hall of polished marble and burnished metals. Tapestries and wall scrolls. Trophies from centuries of conquest. The Rider pulled back his hood and bowed to the serene King and Queen before him, going to a knee and humbling himself.
"Qui mortem invitavis, mihi veniet" The Rider swore his Oath in the First Tongue. You who invite death, I come again.
The king arose and clapped, "Welcome, loyal BloodGuard. We have been looking forward to your arrival for quite some time." The BloodGuard remained kneeling, his wulven eyes cast to the ground,
"I live to serve, my lord." The king smiled and patted the loyal warrior on the head. "Rise." The King said. With that single word, the BloodGuard rose, standing tall, very tall. The king looked the man up and down, inspecting him with those crimson eyes of his.
"What is your name?" The King more demanded than asked. The BloodGuard answered.
"Kaenan Al'Andhun, sire; BloodGuard Maester de Mortem." The King nodded with a smile of approval. "A Master of Death, impressive. Only a handful known in myth and legend," The King snapped his fingers, and two guards brought forth a beautiful young woman with her travel bags, "Do you know your mission, Kaenan Al'Andhun?"
"Yes sire. To escort M'Lady Azkadellia to the city of Al Habok, in the Nation of Araby. I am to prevent all injury and discomfort to her even to the point of giving my life." The King nodded, pleased.
"You know why she is to go to Al Habok?" The king inquired, arching an eyebrow. Keanan hesitated for but a moment,
"Y-Yes, sire. She is to be wed to the Car'a Carn." ((Car'a Carn = King of Kings.)) The King smiled, his fingers knitted together beneath his chin.
"Very good, Keanan Al'Andhun. Now, begone. And daughter; do not disappoint me."
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In the Royal Stables, Kaenan stood close by the Princess as servants prepared her horse with her travel pack and saddlebags. The BloodGuard was silent, ever watchful with those fiery eyes.
"I need you to stay close to me at all times. I need you to stay within earshot, at the least, no matter what. You are more important than a legion of soldiers like myself, and I must keep you safe. Do you understand?"
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