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knightsoflegend2012-01-19 07:57 pm
wynn) wrote in knightsoflegend2012-01-19 07:57 pm
Entry tags:
- abbie mills,
- abigail hobbs,
- aedan cousland,
- andrea dodge,
- astrid mädchen,
- bo dennis-gatewood,
- brantley river,
- caroline forbes,
- chiaki yoshida,
- chris ramirez,
- derek hale,
- desmond d. descant,
- dimitri belikov,
- elena gilbert,
- felicity braddock,
- fyrel lear,
- haymitch abernathy,
- jameson bennett,
- jimmy novak,
- kate beckett,
- kate bishop,
- kyla whelan,
- lila zacharov-gray,
- maggie-may west,
- mars dacey,
- martha jones,
- morgan mccleary,
- nels llendo,
- nick hawley,
- phineas dantalion,
- richard riddick,
- rose hathaway,
- sam winchester,
- sebastian trevethor,
- skye,
- snow white,
- soo-jin song,
- spike,
- sterling archer,
- sven van tol,
- tallisibeth enwandung-esterhazy,
- the doctor,
- violet reedhym,
- wynnefalshond
prologue ♔ chances are more than expectations
WHO || Wynn and any characters newly joining the Knights
WHAT || Initial recruitment meetings with Wynn
WHERE || Knights Headquarters outside London, England
WHEN || Anytime before the 1st of each month
HOW || Prose OR Actionspam (I'll follow your lead!) Please make a new thread for your character's arrival below.
♬ [When you see this note in a post or NPC tag, click for musical accompaniment!]
The paths to the Knighthood are as unique as the individuals who comprise its widespread organization. But all of their tales have one aspect in common: their first trip to the castle that serves as the primary headquarters for their operations occurs blindfolded, generally with the member who had recommended them for service as their escort.
Only when the car had pulled up to the front steps of the opulent building are they unmasked and allowed to follow inside.
Within the wide front hall is what looks like a receptionist desk to the left, manned by any one of a number of usually young Knights, who make the newly arrived sign into an ancient looking tome with hundreds of yellowed pages, along with today's date, usually accompanied by a look of curiosity from whoever's working the desk. Either way, they ask no questions.
They are then directed down the main ground floor hallway, which seems to stretch on for a great distance, passing tapestries of a mostly medieval flavor, suits of armor and weaponry lining the walls, and archways that open into opulent ballrooms, extra wings with numerous doors, poshly decorated parlors and more.
It's in front of an incredibly large painting that they come to a stop, drawing some kind of keycard out of their wallet or pockets and using it to open a small glass case containing a fire extinguisher to the right of the artwork. They pull the extinguisher upwards like a lever, making it clear it's just for show, and a loud mechanism creaks behind the wall, as the entire mural swings aside slowly to unveil a torch lit hallway. Escorts leave their charges to go on from here alone, usually with a nod or word of encouragement.
There's something solemn about the long stone corridor, made only more so by the fact that almost every inch of the walls on either side is covered in paintings, tapestries, rugs, artifacts, carvings, etc. that depict various images from the Knights' history, of those in armor battling against all manner of twisted and dangerous creatures. There's another constantly reoccurring image as well - of a gigantic silver dragon battling against armies of dark elves, or just one dark elf in particular, who is often depicted with a certain circular symbol somewhere on his wicked looking armor.
More prominent than this collection of madly arranged images is the incredibly large lettering inscribed over the large doors at the end of the hallway.
Thou Shalt Defend the Knighthood.
Thou Shalt respect all Weaknesses, and Shalt constitute thyself the Defender of them.
Thou Shalt not recoil before thine Enemy.
Thou Shalt make War against Injustice, without Cessation and without Mercy.
Thou Shalt never lie, and shall remain Faithful to thy pledged Word.
Thou Shalt be Generous, and listen to and Respect All.
Thou Shalt be Everywhere and Always the Champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.
The room that stretches out beyond those doors, however, is enough to wrench the eyes off the inscription. It houses an incredibly large, thick, wooden table constructed in the round, surrounded by at least twenty five chairs. Rising from the center from the table is a massive statue that appears to be made of glass or crystal, depicting a dragon in flight. Suspended in the middle of the statue is a proud looking sword, that looks as if it's merely hovering there because of the statue's transparent nature. The statue rises up towards the vaulted ceilings as if it means to break free and soar out of the room, creating a very otherworldly aspect to the setting.
It may take a moment for those who enter to realize they are not fully alone, as Wynn waits on the exact opposite side of the table, facing a pair of incredibly tall sealed doors, that appear to be gilded in gold leaf. His hands are locked behind him, laced white cuffs falling over them, one ring visible on his left hand. His height is intimidating, at a full six foot seven, and his posture rigid and impeccable. He wears an old-fashioned tailored coat worked with silver and dark blues, over a silver and white doublet, framed with gleaming buttons that have tiny dragons worked onto them in brushed silver. He says nothing - doesn't even so much as turn, as if he doesn't even register that anyone has arrived.
Once inside, the doors fall shut with a ponderous thud, of what seems to be their own accord.
WHAT || Initial recruitment meetings with Wynn
WHERE || Knights Headquarters outside London, England
WHEN || Anytime before the 1st of each month
HOW || Prose OR Actionspam (I'll follow your lead!) Please make a new thread for your character's arrival below.
♬ [When you see this note in a post or NPC tag, click for musical accompaniment!]
The paths to the Knighthood are as unique as the individuals who comprise its widespread organization. But all of their tales have one aspect in common: their first trip to the castle that serves as the primary headquarters for their operations occurs blindfolded, generally with the member who had recommended them for service as their escort.
Only when the car had pulled up to the front steps of the opulent building are they unmasked and allowed to follow inside.
Within the wide front hall is what looks like a receptionist desk to the left, manned by any one of a number of usually young Knights, who make the newly arrived sign into an ancient looking tome with hundreds of yellowed pages, along with today's date, usually accompanied by a look of curiosity from whoever's working the desk. Either way, they ask no questions.
They are then directed down the main ground floor hallway, which seems to stretch on for a great distance, passing tapestries of a mostly medieval flavor, suits of armor and weaponry lining the walls, and archways that open into opulent ballrooms, extra wings with numerous doors, poshly decorated parlors and more.
It's in front of an incredibly large painting that they come to a stop, drawing some kind of keycard out of their wallet or pockets and using it to open a small glass case containing a fire extinguisher to the right of the artwork. They pull the extinguisher upwards like a lever, making it clear it's just for show, and a loud mechanism creaks behind the wall, as the entire mural swings aside slowly to unveil a torch lit hallway. Escorts leave their charges to go on from here alone, usually with a nod or word of encouragement.
There's something solemn about the long stone corridor, made only more so by the fact that almost every inch of the walls on either side is covered in paintings, tapestries, rugs, artifacts, carvings, etc. that depict various images from the Knights' history, of those in armor battling against all manner of twisted and dangerous creatures. There's another constantly reoccurring image as well - of a gigantic silver dragon battling against armies of dark elves, or just one dark elf in particular, who is often depicted with a certain circular symbol somewhere on his wicked looking armor.
More prominent than this collection of madly arranged images is the incredibly large lettering inscribed over the large doors at the end of the hallway.
Thou Shalt respect all Weaknesses, and Shalt constitute thyself the Defender of them.
Thou Shalt not recoil before thine Enemy.
Thou Shalt make War against Injustice, without Cessation and without Mercy.
Thou Shalt never lie, and shall remain Faithful to thy pledged Word.
Thou Shalt be Generous, and listen to and Respect All.
Thou Shalt be Everywhere and Always the Champion of the Right and the Good against Injustice and Evil.
The room that stretches out beyond those doors, however, is enough to wrench the eyes off the inscription. It houses an incredibly large, thick, wooden table constructed in the round, surrounded by at least twenty five chairs. Rising from the center from the table is a massive statue that appears to be made of glass or crystal, depicting a dragon in flight. Suspended in the middle of the statue is a proud looking sword, that looks as if it's merely hovering there because of the statue's transparent nature. The statue rises up towards the vaulted ceilings as if it means to break free and soar out of the room, creating a very otherworldly aspect to the setting.
It may take a moment for those who enter to realize they are not fully alone, as Wynn waits on the exact opposite side of the table, facing a pair of incredibly tall sealed doors, that appear to be gilded in gold leaf. His hands are locked behind him, laced white cuffs falling over them, one ring visible on his left hand. His height is intimidating, at a full six foot seven, and his posture rigid and impeccable. He wears an old-fashioned tailored coat worked with silver and dark blues, over a silver and white doublet, framed with gleaming buttons that have tiny dragons worked onto them in brushed silver. He says nothing - doesn't even so much as turn, as if he doesn't even register that anyone has arrived.
Once inside, the doors fall shut with a ponderous thud, of what seems to be their own accord.
no subject
At some point she'd leaned a little out over the table, bracing her hands on the edge. Now Scout straightened and habitually stretched one arm by pulling the elbow against her chest with her other hand, then did the same with her other arm.
"So what do you think I can do to help? I'm sure you know how I did back there." Having her lightsaber broken, bleeding everywhere, getting distracted enough trying first aid on the bystanders that local lawfolk had been able to catch and subdue her... Honestly, Scout mostly saw the negatives there and didn't think she'd done very well.
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And she couldn't curl around the past to the neglect of the present. That was folly. That was unJedi.
"And I'd still be a-" no, she couldn't say it- "what I am. Part of my Order." Her tone was somewhere between a question and an almost argumentative statement.
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Nothing.
It didn't surprise her. She asked it often, these days, but that wasn't how the Force worked, at least not for her. She made her own decisions, and only very rarely would it encourage one choice or another. Just often enough that she still asked.
She wanted this to be right. For once, let something be right...
"All right," she said at last. "As long as I don't have to - apprentice under Fred."
The Knight who'd brought her here had had a lot of trouble getting her to be blindfolded.
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Still, he looked as if a flicker of amusement passed across his expression at that.
"We might find someone more suitable. Particularly if you have some special talents you might be interested in exploring."
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He'd have known what she did back there before the hospital and Sir Fred. This was, she decided, more her telling him what she wanted to be known for her skills in.
"I'm good at the Art of Movement and Broken Gate style. -I mean, I can... cross difficult terrain, and I'm skilled in a martial art that lets me subdue people without hurting them. At least not permanently." Scout was confident of those, more than any of her others. Still, she winced slightly with memory, and had to leave a caveat. "It's best at close range and against someone unarmored."
She bit her lip, hesitating, then said, "I - People called me Scout. I prepare, I think ahead when I can, and I can read a situation fast." She didn't elaborate - it was too tied up in her one best Force talent, which she couldn't just tell anyone about - just rushed on.
"And... I have medic training. A lot, I think... But I'm not a healer." Jedi healers had always been so rare. If she'd shown any skill in it beyond helping herself, Scout guessed, her life would have been very different. "It's easier with humans and near humans, but..."
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"I think Sir Solace may be a good match. Certainly better suited than Sir Fredrick."
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The past caught up with her all at once. Scout's wide shocked eyes flooded and closed, and sagging in place she finished her sentence in a much smaller voice. "-Died. She's... a different Solace. Of course." Of course.
It was hard not to feel crushed. Wounded. Hard not to feel angry at him, though she knew it most likely hadn't been intentional. Harder not to feel angry at herself. Later. She could feel and forgive later.
Now, Scout wiped her slimy nose on her sleeve in a brisk gesture as the blood crept shamed back into her skin. She studied her roughened hands in front of her, for the first time not able to even look at Wynn. "It won't happen again," she said, as much to herself.
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"He is, yes." He let that linger for a long moment, so as not to push the subject along too callously, before saying: "So you remember much, then, of your own world."
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Scout was not ashamed of tears. They meant some emotional investment, but they were trivial compared to outbursts.
"Worlds," she said, since even feeling small and humiliated didn't stop her from wanting to correct people. "I heard about the forgetting. I lost some things - most of the last two years isn't very clear, and there are some other things, but I remember."
She was more subdued now, but still Scout never really stopped thinking. "Is that strange? Do aliens crossing the Veil tend to remember more?" By which she just meant people from entirely different planets.
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"Sample size of three now, right? Or three you know," she added almost to herself. "There could be more who forgot or haven't said, or never came here."
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"I'm - the Order handled first contact sometimes. Meeting peoples who'd never had anything to do with, um, aliens before, and helping them through that. I never trained for that specifically, but I can probably help, if... in whatever capacity is needed."
Because that sounded like she was offering to help him specifically and you just didn't do that with an authority figure you'd had an outburst in front of a few minutes ago, she hastily added, "If you end up finding any spacers who'll get starsick, or there's too much culture shock with someone."
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He gestured towards the doors through which she had entered. "Before you leave, you will be fitted for your ceremonial armor."
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She brought herself straighter to her full - basically average - height and clasped her hands formally. "Will that be all -" a hitch -"Master Wynn?"
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Scout came to the doors and pushed them open and stopped as if she'd come to a sudden wall, her posture stiffening as she realized that there was just one thing that she could not in good conscience leave unsaid, not if she was going to live and work with these people. Something she did not want to say. She did not turn.
"I can't put this gracefully, and I'm sorry, but- " Scout's voice flattened. The fact that this was not her native tongue worked in her favor; she could sort of disconnect from the words she was saying, and feel almost nothing. It made her vaguely-but-not-really-Scottish inflections stronger, too.
"My Order was destroyed from the inside. Two years ago our strongest and best Knight brought an army into the Temple and killed everyone who didn't run." She studied the corridor ahead to block out the images. Scout didn't hate herself for running, not anymore. The dead had wanted her to go, not be counted among them. But that night wasn't something to dwell on. Ever.
"Please know. This isn't an accusation. But sometimes the people who're trusted shouldn't be, and no one figures it out until too late." Masters who had been able to read things about Scout that she hadn't grasped herself hadn't had an inkling about the Traitor, or so she believed. Scout hadn't exactly been privy to their plans. Her voice was almost too quiet to hear, at the end. "I can't be there again."
Her back saber-straight, she went out through the doors without so much as looking back.