The Smith and the Knight

Grand Tournament

Ovelia grasped the tome with care, the contents seeming familiar. She had received the book and found herself unable to comprehend an ounce of the words scribbled in it.

However, since the death of Stolzer and Eisener—two figures who shaped her life whether they knew of it or not—the ink took shape.

The title of the tome itself carried the name Alphonse Mortem. She shook her head in dismay.

Alphonse? I do not know an Alphonse. Stolzer kept trying to get me to accept that I had known an Alphonse... The Sanguine Overlord fidgeted within her bedchamber. Her work followed her often into her own quarters, for she was allowed little to no rest. Officers, viziers, ambassadors, had seen the state of her bedchamber at one point. The bed was tucked away near the corner, the curtains always drawn. She often slept at strange hours and allotted for darkness whenever possible. In the center of the room, much like her living area, a pair of couches faced a coffee table. In many ways, her chamber was similar to that of her living area, except for the enchantments which disguised her toiletries, wardrobes and other things as busts, weapons or other artifacts.

She poured over the contents of the book. The penmanship felt familiar, not quite like chicken scratch but something more refined. Despite the haste in which it was scripted, the tome was carefully documented with drawings of an object. This object seemed to be covered in ancient writing the likes of which she had only seen in the darker reaches of the Grand Library.

The door opening nearby took her from the book. She glanced to a nearby clock, which usually was used as decoration—as time in Sanctuary was convoluted and bled into other realms—but it relayed time passing by two hours. Ovelia brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Mother, why have you been shut in here all day?" Arden spoke to her, though it sounded leagues away. She approached her mother carefully, reaching out with her hand. The young girl neared her own height, garbed in similar clothes of a page.

"I've been studying, dear. I took to this book and I can't seem to tear myself away from it." The Sanguine Overlord shook her head and turned to Arden. "We have a tournament today, don't we?"

"Aye, mother. I can't believe you forgot. We should get going, its starting soon!"

Ovelia rested the tome by her bedside table. Carefully she tied her hair back into the familiar bun she had been tying for as long as she could remember.

Arden, however, remained impatient. The girl paced while her mother readied herself. Pink hair danced along with her movements and she swayed to and fro, like a small child. She appeared to be fifteen, though she acted younger. Her spirit was that of a curious tiger, but more kin to a master of no refinement.

Scornfully, the girl turned to Ovelia. "Mother, we are going to be late."

"I am the one leading the ceremony." She addressed the stressing child with a curt remark. "We are on time even if I arrive tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes.

They left the chamber shortly afterward. The living area passed them by like a dream and they were headed into the hallway. A scarlet carpet muffled their footprints. The dignified nature of Ovelia, the Sanguine Overlord, and the scampering of Arden, who was barely able to keep in step with her, juxtaposed one another. Though they were indeed in a hurry, their gait signified otherwise.

A plaza full of knights, their wards, mages, dignified nobles, dwarves, elves and their stock all stopped at once. They responded to her with a bow. She returned the gesture and Arden followed suit.