Personal Duties

1

Awake, he had spent the hours before sunrise sitting alone with his thoughts, letting his stress wither off of his shoulders, in the final moments before his downfall. The sun had finally set upon the most golden, ancient, and feared of all the world's royal dynasties.
Leonan felt no remorse, or anger about this. His heart was sunken, yes, but all emotions were twisted around the humbling grandeur of this position. It was too surreal for him to express anything but a cold irrelevance, and slowly accept that he would do his blood-bound duty, face the consequences, and hope that in the afterlife his ancestors would be forgiving.

This palace was the jeweled tip of the spiraling city to dwarf all others, the pinnacle of all the world's most grand architecture, wealth and craftsmanship. It had all been built ages ago, before humanity as it presently was had existed; the world of terrible wyverns that preyed on mankind, and an empty, black sky. From the throne, he looked down upon a great hall with two high wooden doors, which connected the bridge and the castle.
A gentle downcast of snow fell upon the bridge, and the envoy of foreign conquerers who now crossed it. When they'd enter those doors, they'd find Leonan, strangely being the only one present. Wearing an ornate red robe, with only a ceremonial dagger at his hip, and his laurel crown, this would be nothing but the formalities. His surrender of the city, under the terms of the victor's will. He became as tense, and still as a statue, as the two tall doors opened, and the foreigners entered. No man had ever drawn the blood of his family inside these walls. A man like his father would be inspecting their grand armies, glorifying their ancestors, and exerting his divinity upon all in his midst.
But today, the hall was silent, dark, and flurries of dust were visible where shafts of sunlight cast down onto the marble floors.
He had made his peace, and stared down upon the opening doors, and the look in his red eyes conveyed nothing but the characteristics of a tired god amongst man; only now, he helplessly expect to be cut down. If not by them, it would be more honorable if by his own hand.

As if thunder were walking it's way into the castle, the hundreds of men that made up the Frelen military, shook the floor of the great hall with their footsteps in sync as they entered through the overly large wooden doors, soaking the long decorative carpet that was rolled out the length of the room.

Men of dark skin stared stoned face to the end of the hall, there bodies covered in leather and heavy armor. Different colored plumes could be seen in ranks l, sprouting from the backs of their helmets, along with a similar shade draped across their shoulder on a cape. Infront were the swordsman, their silhouettes all larger in stature, expect for one near the end of the line who dwarfed in comparison however had the darkest aura, each dawned a bright crimson red on their matching plumes and robe. Small uniform tic mark scratches could be seen on the thighs of each of them, easily could be mistaken as regular wear and tear if not the four across and one tic crosses diagonally through each quadruple set. Long swords sat casually infront of each of thrm, hplding them uniformly infront of their faces to exaggerate how thin and dangerous they are. Behind them stood tall men with long poles, steel extended grips were in the grasp of each of their right hands, there was one or two that had it in their left but it must've been from personal choice since that hand was not covered in a glove. Dark green marred their matching items, a string of the color spiraling up their long weapon, ending in a wide paperthin and overly sharp blade. The ranks continued onward behind them, archers splattered with blues, Officers on horseback coated in yellows, and in the front of all these were 3 men draped in a royal purple.

On the right, Xavier Onmore, General of the armed forces that marched behind us, his body covered in full iron plated armor, purple cords had been tied around his shoulder. A similar theme ran along on all of the armor clad personnel, that their joints such as their elbows and knees be slightly gaped, chainmail covering this area to increase mobility in their movements, and the general was no different. Edging on this armor had been stained the purple of his rank giving on overall regal look.

On the left, Aaron Huntington, highest court official and most trusted friend to the Lord. He wore traditional robes that dragged behind him, interwoven wool and cloth with silver trim tugged at every step. His hair let free to grow untamed as how he enjoyed it.

Finally, standing centered upon his entire battalion, stood Lord Mateo Dragonair, leather straps crossed back and forth across his chest leaving half of it bare. Out of everyone he was the most exposed, however that is how he had wished it. He trusted in his abilities and was not to look a coward being the most heavily dressed, besides, the less equipment he had on the more freely he could move. He trusted his men enough that if he wore in a tough situation they could protect him. Brushing the hair out of his face, a grin on his lips, he led his men down the hall to the sickley boy that ruled this land.

His feet stopping at the bottom at the bottom steps and together all of his men stopping behind him as one. His voice loud and clear, "We've come to seize your land." A roar of men shouting behind him.

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Authors Note:

The photo is the same as how they stood from left to right is:

Aaron (Court Official), Mateo (Lord), Xavier (General)

Underlined I wrote, Not Underlined my Partner wrote