Enter Leonitius Of Roiye; A Bastards Bastard

[Proddy 2415]

(( Just a short little thing I’ve whipped up, as an introductory to a new character, hopefully my main. Might be a bit shitty since I’m rather inexperienced in writing things like this, but eh. Enjoy, anyhow. ))

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GLkvCrcExU

 

Bastardy. A black stain upon any house or nobleman. A constant reminder of ones infidelity, male or female. To be cleansed of such a curse would be some work for even the sovereign himself, a burden that is not so easily removed.

 

One particular young man, by the name of Leonitius, is perhaps doubly cursed. Himself forbidden to take the Basileus name, Leonitius was born to the legitimised bastard Marcellus and one of his courtiers. He is not without the typical Rhenyar features, alas; black hair, green eyes and handsome features. Though with basic understanding of his ancestors fore-tongue, Leonitius seems more comfortable to utter everyday-commoner riff-raff in his day-to-day speech, not being one for fancy wording or grovelling.

 

Though brought up mostly by his mother, Marcellus knew about the emerald-eyed baseborn since his birth, and did what he could to cater for the boy. When he had came of right age, he’d sent his son a tutor, with plans to bring him into the household when the time came right, though these plans however, came into fruition much later than expected.

 

Marcellus’s single trueborn son was a dire dissapointment to the Knight of the Iron Crescent, himself being more fitted for the role of a steward than a warrior, a mewling and scrawny coward in all. Ser Marcellus, however, did see potential in his estranged bastard boy, having lived as a labourer among the common folk his whole life. On his 17th birthday, Leonitius recieved a summon from his father, to head to the trading village of Kaphro…

 

~

 

Leonitius stumbled past the gates, eyes darting about the city. A lively little town, at that. Merchants yelled, trying to make a prophet. Guards patrolled the walls whilst soldiers trained in the barracks, preparing, readying…

 

“Where the **** you been, Leonitius?” a familiar voice rang out from behind him. Leo turned suddenly, to be met with a man of tall and lean posture, a golden mask covering his face.

 

Leon blinked, his lips unmoving. The man stepped toward him, grinning through his mask, giving him a rough pat on the shoulder.

 

“Ahh, son… come, let us talk over a drink…”

 

So it had begun...

 

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.