Rain pattered against the window as Nomad tightened the leather strap on his shoulder guard. Although his armor was considered Royal, it was unique and customized to his own liking. The right shoulder piece metalwork was jagged, sharp and taller than the left. The outermost jagged edge was as tall as his lower earlobe. He preferred this shoulder for ramming his opponents. Etched in tiny print are dates of battles he’d lost. There weren’t very many. On his left shoulder stood an older issue ridged metalwork which he simply preferred for its maneuverability. Nothing was etched on his left side. His breastplate was molded to match his physique in size and appearance and joined with his plackart and pauldrons to create an exceptionally menacing look. The fauld consisted of multiple interwoven metal plates, etched with royal symbols and markings and underneath that a layer of enchanted dark-chainmail backed by triple woven-leather layers. His legs were protected by jagged cuisse plate – he preferred not to have a dangling tasset. He also had no poleyn, but that’s because his greaves came all the way up to cover his kneecaps. In organized battle, he wore a gladiator’s helmet that matched the ferocity of the rest of the regalia.
Despite all the plate, Nomad preferred a lighter armor set, so he kept the metal thin and light. Any gaps in his armor were simply there to allow for movement and flexibility. All the metalwork, chainmail, and leatherwork on his armor were blackened and had a shine as if crafted from onyx. Instead, it came from a special ultralight alloy found only from the volcano of Mount Frojan. In the center of his armor and once more on his larger shoulder piece was the blatant markings of the Caburyo Guard, “Kings Protector.” All in all, Nomad was a terrifyingly awesome sight to behold – the armor said it all – he was not to be trifled with.
The symbols often drew unwanted attention from bystanders and the occasional gasping and pointing (if the armor didn’t already do that itself). The Caburyo Guard is infamous for the warriors they produced and the culture they upheld. Members of the guard are trained ruthlessly for decades in the wintery harsh village of Resolute, in the northern mountains. It is a special order ordained by an old King named Klay Toorson, who attained the throne via assassination and wanted his enemies to not follow suite – thus created a vicious military guard-order that would sacrifice everything to serve and protect the king. Members cannot introduce any weakness, such as families and friends. They must be members for life and willing to die at any moment for their protectorate. They are often given specialized armor that they customize themselves as a rite of passage – a deep part of their identity. Nomad cherished his armor and was meticulous at keeping it clean.
He slipped on his gauntlets to finalize his set and pulled his trusted swords out of the glass cabinet. The swords were twins, forged by the King’s personal blacksmith on the same day. The hilts were intricately etched with royal symbols that meant protector and servant and made from the finest leather in Shylo. The blade was made from the same lightweight alloy as his armor. They were both short swords, Nomad’s preference – despite being beyond proficient with every weapon type.
Nomad regularly kept his head & facial hair shaved. He found no use for hair that would get caught on equipment. His skin was dark, much like his armor and he stood over 6 feet tall. He was strong in most ways possible and practiced a healthy routine to keep his athletic form maintained, although this wasn’t necessary since his immortality charge kept him rigorously healthy.
Nomad sighed as he looked out the rain-splattered window onto the countryside. He had a decent room in the palace, overlooking some of the more beautiful mountain slopes. He had been summoned to the King’s court, unlikely for any benevolent reason. He had just returned to the castle after having been on leave for a few weeks, with the permission of the late King.
He pondered what Kaelsis wanted with him. Kaelsis had never really earned Nomad’s respect, but in the recent days and weeks following the King’s death he had all but lost it. Nomad had deep suspicions that Kaelsis had something to do with the death of Thimoteo but hadn’t been back long enough to prove anything.
When he entered the court hall from the side, he found the newly crowned king seated on his throne with a set of advisers flanking his sides. Nomad did not recognize any of them.
Kaelsis was no meek man in appearance, either. He donned his freshly polished crown with spikes and fabulous jewels abound. It rested firmly against his pulled back hair-bun such that even a whiplash might not knock it off his broad face. He unfortunately truly did have the look of a king – his darkened thick hair with skin tanned and a well-kept beard and moustache. His neck was encased by a royal red cape that was draped over his left shoulder. He wore his usual flashy Major General armor, except it had undergone a few sparkling upgrades and had numerous plating removed to showcase his profusely bulging arms. He sort of looked like he was chiseled out of a large boulder. In less than a week, Kaelsis had managed to scrap together a wildly savage set of King’s armor – as if he was plotting to upgrade it all along.
Towards the entrance of the hall civilians gathered, waiting for some sort of royal service for this or that. Per usual there was a guard stationed in front of every arch-pillar leading up to the throne and a set of guards at the initial steps. They noticed the black knight enter the brightly lit court hall and motioned to the king. Turning head away from one of the advisors, Kaelsis stood without smile or warmth and glared at Nomad as he approached. He held an stone elegant staff in his right hand, marked with symbols Nomad could not make out. A king’s scepter – used for nothing more than pounding the ground and looking regal.
Kaelsis raised his left-hand motioning for Nomad to stop, and Nomad opted to take a few extra steps in rebellion before halting. “Your majesty,” Nomad said with a slight bow. His voice had always been deep, but in the king’s court it echoed and sounded more powerful than usual.
“Ser Nomad, the King’s so-called protector,” Kaelsis said loudly, as if to draw everyone’s attention – his voice not-so-deep in contrast.
Nomad wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes, annoyed.
“Where were you on the night of our great beloved King’s death?”
“King Thimoteo permitted me holiday for three fortnights and –”
Kaelsis raised and slammed his stupid scepter on the ground in anger, interrupting Nomad and confirming Nomad’s assumption about the use of the regal stick.
“The law does not permit the king’s sworn protectors–”
“The law permits our beloved King to make an exception as he pleases,” Nomad shot back. Nomad figured that the court’s mind had been concluded before he ever entered. The people needed someone to blame – at least until they caught somebody else more reasonable - and Kaelsis had chosen him. Nomad couldn’t really fault him for it – the crowds had been asking about the Caburyo Guard and if they were even effective anymore. If anything, the residents of city had given him an easy choice. Regardless, Nomad knew he was going to lose this battle, but he would do as much damage as possible on the way down.
“I was King Thimoteo’s trusted ally for over fifty years. He never once spoke of an exception and you insult his name by suggesting he would be foolish enough to give one,” Kaelsis said with a growl.
Nomad smiled. He hadn’t left Thim’s side in 189 years, if we’re comparing loyalty sticks. He looked around at the guards, relaxing his posture. “Naturally you could ask any of his normal chamber guards to confirm.”
Kaelsis’ eyes narrowed, “Why should we trust any of his guard when they allowed him to be killed? Yourself included?” The irony was thick in the air, since the guards mentioned were currently in the room protecting Kaelsis – presumably because he was too busy polishing his armor to hand pick a new personal guard unit.
Nomad took this opportunity pause the talk and pace in a small local pattern, almost toying with Kaelsis.
“Hmm…. How can we call you ‘trusted ally’ when you were the only other seven in the castle when he died? He only permitted me leave knowing you’d be in town.” Nomad said, inserting the proverbial knife. Kaelsis began to fume. His face quivered in shaking rage. Nomad noticed he struck a nerve and opted to twisted the knife further.
Raising his arms around as if to speak to the entire court, “You all ask: ‘Who was meant to protect him? Who from our own kin is to blame?’” Nomad then raised pointed hand at Kaelsis. “Well, there he stands. You’re all looking at me for my failure to take a simple holiday when you should be looking at him, the Major General, who was assigned by the King himself to serve.”
“Enough!” Kaelsis shouted and pounded the ground again with the scepter. From the impact point a crack formed and continued to grow at alarming speed, descending the throne steps and out toward Nomad. The ground vibrated, then buckled and creaked. It split through the decorated floor marble and stopped right at Nomad’s feet.
A not-so-subtle reminder that Kaelsis was a geomancer, an incredible one at that, and if he truly wanted to, he could turn every stone and marble contraption in this room against Nomad. Nomad struggled not to flinch at the display of incredible power.
The guards at the throne’s feet and at the pillars unsheathed their swords and took a few paces toward Nomad. He raised both his hands, palms facing out to slightly calm the situation.
Kaelsis rose from his seat and gingerly strolled down the throne steps – his eyes started flickering tannish orange, and the floor began to mend back to its original state. The cracks in the steps mended and looked innocently fresh right before Kaelsis would step on it. He paused at the bottom of the steps and let the mending continue until the hall was restored.
“I am not the King’s sworn protector. You are. The king’s sworn protectors are to always be at his waking side. His death was in-part your failure, and you share in the blame,” Kaelsis spoke with a booming voice, eyes still glowing. He tapped the bottom of his lame-stick once on the ground, motioning the guards to move up.
“I will continue the search for my King’s killer,” Nomad said resolutely.
“No, you will not,” Kaelsis snapped back. “Ser Nomad, you have been stripped of your knighthood, your duty, your privileges and your armor. You don’t deserve to wear that armor,” referring to Nomad’s customized marvel. “You are to be exiled.”
Kaelsis then turned his back to Nomad, walking back up to the throne to be seated. Guards inched closer to Nomad, most with swords drawn and a few with hands held out, reaching for his armor. They were going to strip him of it and confiscate his weapons.
Kaelsis must have known Nomad wouldn’t fight back physically – the arresting guards were his friends and family. And Kaelsis had been cunning too, picking exile for sentence. Nomad’s lifelong role was to protect the king. He was born with the privilege. It was sacred. He cherished it. The identity was the source of his value and losing that identity would be worse than prison or death. Nomad knew how to hide his anger well, as it can be seen as a weakness, and opted to do so. He would cling to his only respite: knowing he had caused doubt to trickle through the royal court.
The guards were now upon him. He looked over at one of the guards reaching out to dismantle and nodded in submission. Nomad recognized him. “Go ahead Luka,” he said quietly. Luka’s eyes were full of sorrow, and he whispered to Nomad “I’m sorry…” as he began removing his armor.
Piece by piece his armor fell to the floor while Nomad maintained an emotionless glare toward Kaelsis. The clanking sound echoed through the otherwise silent chamber as he sat on his stolen throne glaring back at Nomad with disappointed fumes. Even as Nomad was drug from the hall, he did not break his gaze – four different men grasping at his hands and shoulders dragging him backwards toward the entrance.
Once the hall doors slammed shut, he shuffled to his feet causing the guards to pause. “I’ll walk,” he said to them. They released their grip. He stood only in his under-armor cloth, an old shirt and drawers. He began to walk, his head still held high.
“My orders are to escort you to the city’s gates where a new different set of guards will take you out into the countryside.” Luka whispered as they marched down the hallway past shocked servants and civilians.
Nomad wondered why Luka was telling him this – the information wasn’t particularly helpful, but he appreciated it, nonetheless. Luka had gone quiet, however, since they were passing more high-ranking royal guards and seemingly having more to say but opting to wait.
The group emerged from the main gates of the palace with Nomad in the center, now descending the steps. Nomad’s mind began to fill with nostalgia – all the times he stood on these very steps guarding Thim as he gave a speech or handed out food rations to the poor. He allowed himself to lower his head as the sadness began to seep in.
Nomad knew the walk to the city gates was far and bound to be riddled with gasping pedestrians. Kaelsis would have his mocking parade. It wasn’t the guards that confined him, really. He could defeat them all in mere seconds, escaping into the streets – but this would make the optics worse – it would confirm the unspoken allegations that he might have something to do with the Kings death and his crimes would escalate from complicity to straight up treason. He would be hunted and possibly killed, if they sent someone good enough. Besides, the guards who “let him get away” would likely be killed if he didn’t kill them himself. And they were decent folk from Thim’s time, Luka included. No, he had to suffer through this embarrassment, too.
Eventually they arrived at the city gates and passed through them. Instead of more guards, there were two black stallions saddled and packed with various gear held in place by a stable boy holding a lead.
The other guards turned back and re-entered the city, leaving Luka alone with Nomad. Nomad balked at the situation.
“I anticipated that you would flee from the guards at the entrance, and Kaelsis would have me dead if he learned that you had escaped,” Luka began to explain.
“I wouldn’t do that to you Luka,” Nomad replied, still looking at the horses with confusion.
“I know, but Kaelsis doesn’t know that. He’s a fool.”
Nomad agreed of course but remained silent. He then nodded in the direction of the horses, questioning Luka’s intent.
“Oh,” Luka blurted as if he’d forgotten, “Since you had fled, I ordered a few of our faster steeds be readied with full hunting gear so that I can pursue.”
Nomad couldn’t help but let out a small smile. Kaelsis had underestimated the family Thim had built around him. He was proud of Luka. Luka was a two, but he had been as brave as any seven.
Nomad approached one of the steeds and patting the underside of its neck. He glanced back at Luka and nodded. Luka was beaming… it apparently was all the affirmation he needed. Luka was young, only in his twenties, but for some time now Nomad knew Luka had made him into a role-model. The king may have died, but as far as Luka was concerned, he had just rescued his hero.
