Flowery, poetic-filled fools spun tales of lands and people that were protected by men as he. Except, their stories were often wrong. They lacked the grittier details of sacrifice and strife, of pain and anguish. When he was younger, he would swiftly point this out. But as he aged, he acquired the understanding that there was a need to keep some of the truer aspects quiet to make for a better storytelling and not to upset the more faint of heart.
Still, he sat there within the Hall and listened to the latest of jesters — or whatever this reedy excuse for a man was calling himself — spin another yarn. He had taken a lean within a corner of the room that was cast heavily in shadow. His shoulder was in the groove of it where wall met wall and his arms were crossed over his chest.
"...and the Boar rose up and ripped the steel from its scabbard. Fierce with fiery hatred in his eyes for the dog that would dare to even breathe the same air as the great Lady!" The gangly storyteller's hands waved about as if he wielded an invisible sword. "It was glorious! Songs could not be helped but be written of it, I tell you all!" The group before him was of impressionable young women and a few lads, all in the service of the Lady he spoke of.
Boerath knew the truth. It was when Lady Hesaltra of the House of Gailshorne was traveling from Thanecreed into the starklands of Ghulvanaer. He was in her service, Bladebearer to the Lady and protected her closely when she called him to do so. It had not been in the dead of night or storming, as the story was being told it had been. Nor had it just been one highwayman, but three men. Boerath had not fought them single-handed and had not felled them with one stroke of his sword.
"He tells it as if he had not been afraid the entire time," The softness of that known voice met his ears like a gentle breeze against silk.
He took to his right knee. A forearm met with his left knee and his head bowed deeply. "Lady Hesaltra,"
"Rise, Boerath. I do not wish them to notice me yet. There is still a story being told and many ears enthralled with that listening." She smiled upon him, though he did not see it in that moment.
He stood and was easily a head and a half taller than the Lady. Boerath found her lithe, fair-fleshed, and lovely. He had known her since the day she was born and the Lady has always been beautiful. Before him, the woman-child of sixteen wore layer upon layer of silk, satin brocade skirts and stomacher. Her sleeves covered her slender arms from her shoulders to narrow wrists. A piece of lucid chiffon, pale-yellow in color, covered her flaxen hair that was up in a bun with little locks of it curling down to either side of her young face.
"You look well this day, my Lady." It was an observation, stated quietly as he turned his gaze from her to look to the storyteller and his audience. Leather jerkin whispered as his stance shifted and then quieted. He wore it with a tunic, gloved, trousers, boots and a mantle about his shoulders with the cowl of it lowered and against his back.
"Thank you, Boerath." She paused and followed his line of sight. "I had hoped that you were here."
Boars' head lowered a little, out of habit so not to tower too high above the royal young woman. "Were you in need of something, my Lady?"
"Your advice," Murmured. She had a little habit of lightly biting her lower lip. "But let us wait until we finish listening to this...pleasant fiction."
He found himself smiling at the young woman and chuckled quietly, then turned most of his attention back to the ridiculous tale being told.
The Lady Hesaltra* (artwork by Eve Ventrue)
http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn30/boerathkoltar/__melancholy___by_xxkalixx-d3i7sr4eve%20ventrue_zpsplcc3iv6.jpg
*NPC
Still, he sat there within the Hall and listened to the latest of jesters — or whatever this reedy excuse for a man was calling himself — spin another yarn. He had taken a lean within a corner of the room that was cast heavily in shadow. His shoulder was in the groove of it where wall met wall and his arms were crossed over his chest.
"...and the Boar rose up and ripped the steel from its scabbard. Fierce with fiery hatred in his eyes for the dog that would dare to even breathe the same air as the great Lady!" The gangly storyteller's hands waved about as if he wielded an invisible sword. "It was glorious! Songs could not be helped but be written of it, I tell you all!" The group before him was of impressionable young women and a few lads, all in the service of the Lady he spoke of.
Boerath knew the truth. It was when Lady Hesaltra of the House of Gailshorne was traveling from Thanecreed into the starklands of Ghulvanaer. He was in her service, Bladebearer to the Lady and protected her closely when she called him to do so. It had not been in the dead of night or storming, as the story was being told it had been. Nor had it just been one highwayman, but three men. Boerath had not fought them single-handed and had not felled them with one stroke of his sword.
"He tells it as if he had not been afraid the entire time," The softness of that known voice met his ears like a gentle breeze against silk.
He took to his right knee. A forearm met with his left knee and his head bowed deeply. "Lady Hesaltra,"
"Rise, Boerath. I do not wish them to notice me yet. There is still a story being told and many ears enthralled with that listening." She smiled upon him, though he did not see it in that moment.
He stood and was easily a head and a half taller than the Lady. Boerath found her lithe, fair-fleshed, and lovely. He had known her since the day she was born and the Lady has always been beautiful. Before him, the woman-child of sixteen wore layer upon layer of silk, satin brocade skirts and stomacher. Her sleeves covered her slender arms from her shoulders to narrow wrists. A piece of lucid chiffon, pale-yellow in color, covered her flaxen hair that was up in a bun with little locks of it curling down to either side of her young face.
"You look well this day, my Lady." It was an observation, stated quietly as he turned his gaze from her to look to the storyteller and his audience. Leather jerkin whispered as his stance shifted and then quieted. He wore it with a tunic, gloved, trousers, boots and a mantle about his shoulders with the cowl of it lowered and against his back.
"Thank you, Boerath." She paused and followed his line of sight. "I had hoped that you were here."
Boars' head lowered a little, out of habit so not to tower too high above the royal young woman. "Were you in need of something, my Lady?"
"Your advice," Murmured. She had a little habit of lightly biting her lower lip. "But let us wait until we finish listening to this...pleasant fiction."
He found himself smiling at the young woman and chuckled quietly, then turned most of his attention back to the ridiculous tale being told.
The Lady Hesaltra* (artwork by Eve Ventrue)
http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn30/boerathkoltar/__melancholy___by_xxkalixx-d3i7sr4eve%20ventrue_zpsplcc3iv6.jpg
*NPC