Midsummer Festival

Fledglings Phoenix meets a Lion Cub.

Ryse sat on the side of the road, cooking fire was withering and smoking. Eyes closed and mind focused. He took in a deep breath, his chest rose. Then he released it slowly.

The sun was at it's highest point in the sky, and there was a soft breeze blowing, shaking the trees and making the leaves dance. Ryse had been traveling for several weeks since he has left his Abby, where he has spent the last six years training day in and day out. It was a week away from the Midsummer Festival, the same day where he thought his life was over and instead it began.

On this particular day, the weather has been calm and he felt it should be enjoyed and have a nice lunch and meditate. Enjoy the day and a break from traveling. He got up from a sitting position and brushed off his yellow and crimson robes. A leaf landed on his crimson vest over his white sleeved shirt. It was fine material, unlike the silk nobles wear, this was material meant for hard, martial training.

The breeze also blew the smell of the stew that was cooking over a fire to his nose. His stomach growled. The half-elf smiled, "Maybe I meditate after I have a full belly." He grabbed the handle of the pot and picked it up off the skillet and pored the stew into a bowl. Ryse then pulled some bread out of his traveling bag and sat next the cooking fire and enjoyed a quite meal.

A few moments later, Ryse's ear perked up as he heard hoof beats and armored boots down the road he just came from. He looked down the curve, and saw two rows of armored horses heading in his direction. At the head of the row, knights carrying long spears and shields, looking strong and intimidating. They sported insignia's that depicting a roaring lion below a shining cup in front of a sun. 

They marched on and behind them were two rows of men-at-arms, some carrying halberds and others carrying crossbows, sporting chain mail and tabards with the same insignia of the lion. In the center of the formation was a regal young man. Bright, fair blond hair, wearing high quality plate mail. He looked about the same age as Ryse, but carried himself like he the world was on his shoulders.

Is that the Prince? Ryse thought to himself. The convoy moved on, neither the prince nor the soldiers or knights glanced at Ryse as he was enjoying his meal. They marched on, clearly a destination in mind. Seems like they are heading to Westmark. Soon the column marched on, the hoof beats and stomping boots faded in the distance. 

Ryse then begins to pack up his supplies, put out the fires and put away the cooking equipment. He shouldered his pack and picked up his staff and then followed the prints left behind by the prince and his guard. 

The half-elf walked at a steady pace, not in a rush to get to his destination. He was enjoying the cool breeze and the birds singing their melodies. Soon, about three miles down the well worn road...the soft melody of the birds stop singing. 

And the sounds of savage roars, metal clashing with metal, men shouting, horses screaming. Ryse sprints down the road. He rounds a cluster of rocks at the corner and he vicious battle greets his site. 

The young prince's men-at-arms were caught unawares and trying to rally as seven to eight foot tall orcs hacked and roared their way through. Cutting them off from the prince as he and his knights were engaged. Several of the knights were dismounted, including the prince. They were valiantly to get to their soldiers but clearly were losing.

Ryse throws his pack to the side of the rode, flourished his staff and ran forward. A young solider was on his back, holding his shield up as it was viciously assaulted by the towering orc's club. Ryse twirled his staff over head, giving it momentum as he brought the wooden shaft behind the orc's thick meaty leg, aiming for the ligament that keeps him standing. The orc roared in pain as he fell over. As it fell, Ryse brought the staff down on the raiders throat, silencing him by collapsing his air way.