GoodGuyMatt

Ser Brandt Barclay welcomes his descendant to the skies with open arms and a smile, making to teach her all the bargains and capitalist exploits he had learned.

"Okay but when are they summoning the king to the Duma?" pondered a growing Leon Barclay

Hieromonk Ernst signs the Hussariya, praying for those who, like him, used to call Savoy their home.

Ser Brandt smiled from the seven skies as his descendants' families grew wide snd rotund.

Ser Brandt Barclay smiles as he looks down on his descendants from the seven skies. His dream as a knight was to give raise to a line of chivalrous warriors who'd carry his blood and principles. His smile was wide as he eyed Reinhardt, for he saw that his dream had come true "Good job grandson. So well have you kept my legacy and raised sons worthy of knighthood that they must resort to calling you a nepotist because they cannot keep up with your success ." the Barclay's smile persisted as he finally sang the famous Reinmaren song alongside Ser Wilheim Barclay and Saint Tylos "Keep my head up high, for that flag I die, I'm proud to be a Reinmaren"

"147th time's the charm!" cheered Ser Brandt Bashar al Barclay, who had witnessed many university revivals during his life and after. He wished this ome would work.

Duke Erich continues enjoying the 40 years of his afterlife he's spent.

Leon Barclay travels the Reinmaren countryside with his cousin Arthur. Traditional Reinmaren drill music would play on the background as the youth sang a verse in particular. Meanwhile in the Seven Skies, Ser Brandt Bashar al Barclay, capitalist, plays his usual jam about money.

Ernst smirks the Savoyard smirk as he contemplates the Barclay Bargain.

"Only Arthur Barclay, the true King of Elysium can fix this." chips in a Barclay

word on the street is that gusanoarentonio is actually located in bosnia

they're all in paris...

Ernst goes to show the declaration to Arthur Barclay, the legitimate King of Elysium.

At that, Ernst found great comfort.

"How could his Princely Grace allow this!!!" complains Ernst

Leon Barclay lives his best young life blissfully unaware of the conflicts, too busy and hurt in his room as he'd drink his milk. He'd occasionally remember stories of Rutherns the grown Barclays had told him. He chuckled merrily, drinking even more milk as an impression of one of the stories... glup glup glup

Erich Barclay arches a brow from the Seven Skies "Did the Rutherns finally grow the balls to express their hatred for Barclay publically instead of hiding behind the king?" he wondered, scratching his long mustache "Maybe they simply don't have a mad king to use as a cover anymore." the former Duke shrugged then "Must be it" he concluded "How many little legitimate men must a Ducal house to request that only five of them fight? Maybe that's all the numbers they have?"

"Oh mein GOTT, drama!" yelps the young Leon Barclay as he hears of the ongoings from his brother Herman whilst still on his bed in Reinmar recovering after falling from a tree

Leon Barclay hears of the event as he'd play with his toys in Reinmar, wondering if he should go or not. He'd never experienced this kind of an event before... the thought if it made him nervous, though the fact that his cousin Johanna would be there swayed him a good deal too. Ultimately unsure of what to do, he simply dismissed the thought, leaving it for his future self to deal with it. The lad then went back to playing with his unnamed toy kight.

Former Count Ernst Barclay, now a hermit Hieromonk, weeps as he hears of the destruction of his past home town.

Brandt Barclay arches a brow as he catches wind of the report from the seven skies. He then remembers his own report regarding Edvard: The past treasurer scratches his hwad a few times "Ich definitely remember having to search for the missing krawns and pulling them from the basement after my predecessor's death..." he huffs then, his brows furrowing. He then searches for his coworker, High Seneschal Ingrid @MissToni in the Seven Skies, telling her about the happenings "Doesn't mean he did it on purpose... and he probably didn't. The man was rather old and tired before he resigned after so many years of serving the kingdom, could've been he forgot. But why is the new generation twisting the facts?"

TWO SWORDS He was unsure as to how, but he found himself amidst many gazes. His eyelids laid open more than usual, his heart pumping like it never had before, not even during his first quest. A figure - a tall one - stood by his side, fully armored in darkened Haeseni steel. They had both waited patiently, and their turn had finally come. Leon’s eyes were glued to the ground, unwilling to peer at any of the many gazes directed at him, he simply waited in his own confusion. “What is happening?” he asked himself “Why did papa bring us here?” he thought long and hard, and he had all the time to. His usual nervousness was nothing compared to this, it was as if time had stopped, and he was given all the time in the world to deduce what was about to happen. A dim voice echoed about him. It was The voice, the one that the many around him had gathered to hear. It spoke plainly, yet boldly. “Is that my favorite holyman I see behind vy?” asked the voice, yet Leon did not flinch or depart his gaze from the decorated, clean carpets of the courtroom. The speaker wasn’t talking to him anyway. “ … Because knight's are holy,” he coughed, laid-back and relaxed as ever. Still, his voice and authority were taken with any kind of regard but a light one. It echoed once again, filling the courtroom, making it sound as if there were no side-talks within the hall. “Welcome, Guardian.” The figure standing by Leon replied, it was his father’s familiar, deep voice “Your majesty,” the knight dipped his head into a low nod of respect. He then spoke loudly, it was now his voice that overtook the petty conversations of the court “My son, Leon-” he laid a gauntleted hand upon the boy's shoulder “I see in him a passion- determination to pursue knighthood like no other.” He spoke the truth, his mind recalling the boy's unforeseen participation in his own knight's quest… “He seeks to follow the path of his forefathers- Ser Brandt, Ser Cedric, and Ser Reinhardt.” he failed to mention his own name amongst the listed. Casting a short glance to the ground, he paused then, before returning his gaze to Sigismund with determination shining in his eyes. It was awfully similar to Leon’s own determined eyes, the boy had taken after his old man “..Should it please you, I ask that you take Leon as your page- to be taught both the stories and the realities of knighthood.” At that, silence fell around the courtroom. The atmosphere became numb, and no other voices emitted. Or at least so it seemed to Leon. He was overwhelmed by the surprise. So much so that he was unsure of what to do. His eyes widened further, his thoughts raced faster, overtaking his own mind. His posture remained somewhat crouched, as it always did. On his back laid a sheathed blade. It was forged by Ser Reinhardt himself, intended to be yielded single-handedly. Yet, in comparison to Leon, it appeared similar to a claymore, spanning but nearly fifteen centimeters shorter than the Barclay’s height. He was still unused to it, only yielding it for a few moments whilst they waited in line before the King. “Leon?” mused the king above the podium, his eyes sliding to the boy. “Hm. Let's have a good look at vy, then. Stand straight.” Unsure as he was, further confusion washed over Leon, but he was able to snap out of his rushing thoughts. He eyed his father with furrowed, indifferent, yet somehow proud eyes, and then looked towards the king, his head finally tilting up. His pupils dilated as he stared at Sigismund , unsure of what to do. He cleared his throat, and straightened his posture, following orders. “Hm. And what makes vy think vy are up for this role, Leon?” the king spoke plainly. The Reinmaren lad looked Sigismund straight in the eyes for the first time. Shy and indifferent of a boy as he was, he understood what he had to do. He'd then answer the question instantly, almost as if having prepared for it somehow. However, as he spoke, the words were all in Waldenian “I have been told of many knights and have seen many knights, Your Majesty! I have wanted to become one for two years now… and…” he hesitated somewhat “Some days ago I went on my first knightly quest!” he uttered rather proudly, a smirk creeping on his face. His gaze glided to Emil then, who appeared to have forgotten of his son’s inability to communicate in Common. So, he translated word for word. Sigismund’s eyes narrowed on Emil. “ … Is there a reason he does niet speak Common?” “..Both of my children are rather.. Antisocial, your majesty. All the books he reads about knights are in Waldenian.” He admits, dipping his head a bit in regret. Behind him, Leon could hear Konstanz Barclay’s voice mumble “They're being translated!” The King then proceeded “I know some Waldenian, but I canniet have a page I canniet speak to plainly. “Does he know common or Naumariav?” “He understands Common well enough, and he was able to communicate just fine with Dame Emelya and Dame Marie.” Once again, Leon was reminded of his first quest. Yet another smile creeped on his face, easing him up somehow Sigismund’s eyes rolled, and he squatted down to be closer to an eye level with Leon, staring at the lad as he in turn stared back “Can vy answer me vyrself, Leon?” The lad huffed a bit at that before nodding “Y-yes” he said with as much of a Waldenian accent as it got… he seemed to understand just fine. “ … Dobry. With confidence, my lord. Do niet stutter. Now. Do vy have vyr own sword, Leon?” Leon’s smirk grew even bolder as he nodded singularly towards the King. He then turned to unsheathe the sword resting on his back, yielding it with both hands “My papa…” he paused a bit, trying hard to remember the Common words so as to communicate. “My papa gave it to me!” by the accent alone, anyone could tell Common wasn’t his first language by a long shot. At that, another voice emerged, a higher pitched, yet pleasant one. The new knighted dame in front of Leon spoke, it was Emelya Kortrevich “Vyr Majesty? Ea actually had an idea for such, if vy would allow.” both Leon’s, Emil’s and Sigismund’s eyes averted towards her. “Hm? What is it, Dame?” “Well, where Lord Leon is standing now, ea was gifted a glimmering sword of starsteel that carried eam through mea training as a squire. Ea thought that maybe ea should pass it on to Lord Leon, as he reminds eam quite a lot of mea younger self, both his determination, and nervousness.” the Dame chuckled slightly. In her words, especially the last ones, Leon was caught off guard. He had held himself rather confidently for the last few minutes, but then it was almost as if his shyness kicked in once more. He fought it, and kept his posture despite his lack of confidence. He smiled at Emelya, and dipped his head “Ich will yield it like der best knight there is!” he replied rather abruptly in an unkempt Common. “A generous gift for a boy so young.” spoke Sigismund, and Leon seemed to agree. Surprise after surprise, today was in no way an ordinary day for the youth. Actually, none of the last few days had been. Nevertheless, he smiled once more, his posture somewhat more confident now. Perhaps so from Sigismund’s orders, or maybe because he was enjoying himself… “Two swords now, lad- wield them well.” whispered the newly-knighted Emil, his lips forming a smile much similar to that of his son, who now sheathed the sword he was given beforehand. “Pass it to him, then. I want to see how he holds it.” ordered the Royal atop the high podium. “Vy can tell a great deal about someone from the way they hold a sword.” So the Dame obliged. She unsheathed the sword. It was beautiful. The metal that composed the blade was nothing like Leon had ever seen, or ever imagined seeing. It had a bright tint to it, the little light that came from the windows behind Sigismund reflected in a rather unusual manner. It was Lunarite. Leon grabbed it with both hands, it was shorter than the sword his father had given him, definitely more convenient for a child his age to yield. If anyone were to pay close attention to the kid, it'd be obvious that he wasn't feeling his best. His legs shook very lightly, though he extended his hand rather stiffly, and nodded once again as he received the pretty blade. The King watched closely. “Raise it on high, let the sunlight touch it's blade.” spoke the Kortrevich dame softly with a gentle smile, tranquil smile. As Emelya let go of the sword, it recoiled down as it landed on Leon’s hand. It was quite heavier than he anticipated, but then he picked it back up. There was nothing special about his handling. It was neither good nor bad, neither talented nor hopeless. He simply kept it up, like anyone would. He then huffed, and attempted to do as he was told. Despite his blooming determination, the lad lacked in physical strength, his age was not an advantage to him, especially now. He simply raised it up, the motion was shaky, barely anything that anyone would call 'exquisite' about it. Yielding it with both hands, the sword appeared to be just about taller than half the boy’s height. Strong rays of the sunlight penetrating through the complex windows behind the podium touched it. So the blade reflected back a dim silvery glow, one so pretty that some would describe it as majestic. Sigismund peered intently, seeing the way he held it with his shaking legs and nerves. The middle-aged king appeared to see through the lad's lacking abilities. His lips seemed to be forcing themselves off a smirk. With years of experience and wisdom on his shoulders, the King appeared to have been satisfied by the showcase of his young noble. As Leon held the sword up, the Royal gave a satisfied nod. “Very well. Vy start tomorrow.” The young noble inhaled greatly. The sound of his teeth gritting just before Sigismund spoke. He smiled then, a smile so wide even his mother hadn't seen it before. In his youthful excitement, the lad offered to bring the sword down in a childish slash “I… I will nicht dissapoint!” Amongst the gathered, a few head bobs were shared in synchronization as the lot looked towards the boy. Ser Reinhardt, standing by Sigismund’s side, let a smile appear on his face as he glanced at his grandson. His son did the same, and so did the Kortrevich dame. “We will see, then,” Sigismund said firmly, and gave one last stern nod, his gaze watchful and wise as ever. “Thank you, Dame” Leon bowed his head ahead towards Emelya, still holding the sword with one hand, and placed a fist on his heart, pounding it singularly as he uttered the famous Naumariav words even he knew… the accent however, was anything but Naumariav “KRUSAE ZWY KONGZEM!”

THE QUEST OF LOST BALIAN He found Reinmar just as he had left it. Birds chirped and the domestic animals performed their usual musical routine. The sun was still high up in the sky, white clouds dotting the atmosphere. It was warmer here too, much warmer than the northern capital. Yet, Leon felt cold. It was a cold that ran through his entire body. No. Through his entire existence. Still catching his breath from the long run, the lad sat on the wooden docks with a teary face. He’d stare into the distance, void of motion or words. His head was too occupied for him to do anything. Thoughts of guilt and shame engulfed him. “Knights don’t cry!” were his last concrete thoughts. The ones that ran through his mind now were a mess. He thought about his father and grandfather, both strong, brave men. He thought of the knights he had so imagined in his fantasies. Gallant and honorable, determined and unwavering. Tears didn’t fit these pictures at all, at least not in his mind. He could then see himself back in the Duma hall, crying and yelling, his face was that of a coward. So long and hard was he thinking that he couldn’t hear the footsteps behind him. He only noticed the other’s presence once his shoulder was touched. This caught him off guard, and the lad jumped from his place with a yelp. Unlucky for him, he had jumped towards the lake in front of him, it wasn’t the most ideal situation. It was a moment of panic, and Leon was unable to do anything about it. The other’s hand reached for him then, tugging at his wrist just in time before he was too far gone. A familiar face appeared in front of Barclay as he turned his head to see both his frightener and savior. It was Johanna. With slight struggle, she pulled him back and onto dry land. It seemed she had chased him all the way from Karosgrad to comfort him. And so she did. As they sat by the Reinmaren docks, the sun appeared to become progressively more intense. The few clouds that blocked it had dispersed, and the children’s faces were hit by slight heat waves, coupled with the northern breeze traveling down from the mountains nearby. So they discussed. “Vur ok now. You can stop crying” she would gently pat the boy’s head comfortingly. A handkerchief was then pulled from her pockets. It was white as they got, and appeared exceptionally clean. “En-entschuldigung” he said mid-sniffs, apologizing in Waldenian as he shook his head at the offered handkerchief “N-nein, es ist gut.” silence befell them, though Leon broke the silence soon after “Ritter weinen nicht.” Knights don’t cry, he added, taking yet another sniff, his skin still somewhat red from his weeping. His gaze traveled around the scenery. First towards the still lake below, then the wooden docks, the legs of which had been covered by moss, and lastly the clear blue sky above. He seemed to inspect just about everything, save for Johanna’s gaze. It was as if the shame he felt was visibly radiating around him. “Hey. There's nie reason to be ashamed. Ea fall over all the time. Ea once fell off the chandelier at the keep. Badly sprained mea ankle.” replied the lass, her gaze following Leon’s as it jumped around the landscape. Leon somehow asked if she had cried then, mostly using gestures and single words from Common to communicate. The Ludovar lass confirmed that she had indeed cried, and cried lots too. The heavy aura of shame and guilt began easing around Leon, he was put at ease somewhat, though then repeated what he had said before “Ritter weinen nicht.” “Trust me Leon. Everyone cries. It’s human nature. Emotion.” It took him a moment of processing, but he finally gave in and agreed. He smiled as he finally turned to Johanna with a nod. He felt at ease now, his mind wondering whether or not his father or grandfather cried. Even if they had, Leon had definitely not seen them. The rest of their time was filled with idle chatting, mostly so by Johanna as she’d carry the conversation, and Leon asking questions and trying to express himself through fingers and gestures. Time passed more quickly now, and before they knew it, the sun was nearing the horizon. It was time for them to part ways, and Leon opened his mouth, ready to say something. “Can we be friends?” he wanted to ask, but the words couldn’t escape him. He had no friends other than his younger brother, Herman. So, his mouth closed shut, unable to seek friendship. He huffed, and after greeting one another, the two cousins went about their separate ways. “Cling! Cling, cling, cling!” the air was filled with dark smoke, the smell of burning moss and seaweed spread around the small bridge. Steel clinged with steel to the right, and the crackling of fire emitted from the left. Leon was crouched up like a turtle protecting itself, his head lowered and his tears dripping on the oldened stone beneath him. He had not been injured, but his surroundings had overwhelmed it. Four dark figures were positioned all around him. Three to his right and one to his left. The moon shone brightly, lighting up what would have otherwise been an area only lit by the still-burning flames engulfing the moss. He wasn’t in Reinmar, or in Karosgard. He was far from home, a place he had never seen before, a region he had never traveled to. Three of the four figures were covered in steel, and yielded steel. The fourth, even he was unsure what the fourth was covered in and yielded, but it was clearly putting up a fight. A dagger stood not far from him, resting on the ground unprotected, but no one was paying any attention to it. The figures covered in steel could perhaps hear him mumbling in Waldenian as he cried “Knights don’t cry, knights don’t cry.” Yet, he was down and crouched crying. But his words were true. None of the three soon-to-be-knights around him were crying. They were battling valiantly. The two dames, Marie Ruthern and Emelya Kortrevich fought the fourth figure to the right, whilst his father had just laid flame on the previously attacking tendrils of moss and seaweed. It was indeed rather chaotic. Emil saw tongues of bright fire through the smoke. The seaweed had caught aflame properly at last, and in a few seconds, they became nothing but darkened ashes. Leon’s mind was elsewhere, he was unaware of the specifics of the ongoings, but he knew the knights would emerge victorious… they always did. After many curses, grunts, slashes and stabs, the noise surrounding the boy quietened down. His eyes opened, watery as ever, and he directed them towards the knights. The trio now stood above their enemy, a figure made of more moss and seaweed. It laid motionless. “Lad, it's alright - it's over for now,” one of the dames called over, her voice was mature. Over her shoulder rested the hand of the other dame, the younger one, Emelya, as she was helped up after their struggles. The younger Barclay sniffed as he raised his head up. He gritted his teeth, and with a deep breath, stood up without uttering a word. He reached for the fallen dagger and stared at it. His father was just in front of him, but Leon was unable to see him in the eyes. He had cowered and cried once more… What good of a knight could he become? Emil was brief as ever, “Come on, then-” he murmured a few comforting words in Waldenian before ushering the boy forth with another sweep of his gaze towards the moss. Brief as he was, his father's words were warm, but his son’s youthful pride was violated once again. He had followed them to show himself. Just the other day, he had found himself in Karosgrad, preparing to greet his questing father as he prepared to depart for his last trial before becoming a knight. Mindlessly determined as ever, Leon had to follow behind. What if his father needed help during the dangers? How else was he going to show himself as a knight? It was clear that he did not understand that he was only six years of age, his imagination and knightly fascination had become his entire existence. So he followed, to a region unknown, trailing his father and his companions behind on his pony. He was young, but even those younger than him in the house of Barclay were introduced to the basics of horse riding. He had watched the knights from a distance approaching the ancient ruins of Lost Balian, a city half-emerged into the sea. The crumbling, eerie fort was the only standing monument nearby. The knights had begun their journey, climbing through the fallen houses surrounding the fort, and so had Leon. He had struggled greatly, his age was a terrible disadvantage, though his desire and resolve had him going. “I will be a knight” he thought “This is what knights do!” The warriors of the kingdom had seen it before Leon. It was barely noticeable at first, but the moss and seaweed crawling around the ruins was moving. It didn’t take long before the magic had taken a rougher, more hostile stance. The plant wrapped around itself in a tendril, functioning as a whip to get a hold of the knights’ feet as they ventured atop what used to be residences of the people of Lost Balian. The sun was still visible, just above the horizon. Dusk was a few hours away. As the stalking young Barclay followed behind the struggling knights, it appeared that whoever was controlling the magic had little regard for him. Perhaps his size or look contrasted greatly with that of the tall, armored knights. He had only been whipped lightly by a tendril as he watched the knights fight against their own struggles with admiration. He ran away, losing sight of those he was stalking. This proved to be an advantage. He was disregarded completely by whatever was controlling the moss, now free to explore around to his heart’s content. He first explored around the ruins, trying to find a way in. There appeared to be some potential entrances, though they were too far for him to climb. Round and about he went, before he found it, a formation of stone easy enough for him to climb, leading right to the palisades of the fortress. So he got to work, his feelings, which were a mix of fear, wanderlust, and duty had engulfed him entirely. His steps were uneasy, but confident; indifferent, but persistent. And so he climbed up, and finally saw a hole on the wall big enough for him to go through. The persistent ruins of the fortress of Lost Balian stood in front of him. Carpets of moss had taken hold around the cobblestone floor of bailey. Yet, it didn’t seem to attack it, and so he ventured. He checked every corner and every tower in his proximity, though was unable to find anything useful. That’s when he saw the bridge, leading to the tall, main fort. As he was passing the bridge, his eyes caught a glimpse of black figures to his left. He turned, and looked down, just to see the knights struggling with even more seaweed. They had crossed the oldened ruins, now seemingly scouting around the castle. One of them was being pulled down into the sand by the seaweed, whilst the other two had their own tendrils to worry about. It was hard for Leon to distinguish who was who, at this distance their armors all looked the same. Nevertheless, he remained hidden still, watching the handy knights at work as each of them fought with their planty aggressors. Slash, slash, slash. In no time they had gotten rid of the many tendrils surrounding them, but it was clear that wasn’t the last of what was to come. “****-” cursed Emelya as she slid through the sand, coming to a stop as she raised herself to her feet once more. Beneath her helmet, her pupils dilated, the potion of acuity she had drank previously taking effect in through her veins, her reflexes heightening, “We need to get to higher ground!” At that, Leon glanced at the bridge’s surroundings. That’s when he noticed a slope leading straight to where the knights were. It seemed climbable, a way for them to reach inside the castle. Without hesitation, Leon decided to make his presence known, and let out a childish shout “Papa, up here!” All of the knights were caught by surprise, their helmets turning towards Leon in synchronized motions. Their faces were hidden, but their body language alone seemed much too confused at what they had just heard, especially Emil. His heart dropped as Leon's voice rang out, his hidden expression one of terror as his eyes lighted upon the boy. “Who the ****?” Marie’s muffled voice inquired to no one in particular. She was as shocked as any of her companions “My- my son- he-” mumbled Emil as he stumbled. Clearly, his panic had overtaken any notion that what he was seeing was a magic trick. “This is why yam niet having kids.” commented Emelya in frustration. Soon, the trio began making their way up the rocky slope leading to Leon. In turn, the lad would continue shouting in Waldenian for them to come, his voice ringing quite loudly. Unfortunately for him, the three Haeseni were not the only ones who had taken note of him. Behind him, yet another tendril formed, one which he did not notice until it was too late. A single whip sound was heard as Leon was attacked by the splashing tendril, it was a hard hit, especially for a small child his size. It was the first time Barclay had ever felt like he was gone flying. He was launched straight towards the trio, who stumbled back, but got a hold of him. After making their way up to the bridge, with the child in tow, the group of the Haeseni had found themselves in the sticky situation above the bridge. Surrounded by a magic knight from one side, and attacking moss from the other. The father-son duo focused on the sea of moss enclosing around them. Whip. Yet another tendril had wrapped itself around Emil’s left hand, as the senior Barclay attempted to grab his dagger with his free hand. The moss was quick at noticing, and sent yet another whip to immobilize him. As such unfolded before him, Leon clenched his teeth, adrenaline had begun rushing through his body ever since he was struck and sent flying some minutes ago. Without second thought, he launched towards the tendril attacking his father, successfully preventing it from immobilizing Emil, who made quick handiwork to cut it off, handing Leon the dagger soon after. It was that same dagger that the Reinmaren lad stared at now. His eyes traveled between his father’s weapon and the downed magic knight, its posture composed of more moss, seaweed and tendrils. It was obvious to the Haeseni that this was the work of a druid, and so they proceeded forth. The deep dark of the night had settled in by now, and the area was only luminated by the reflecting moonlight. So to not waste any time, the group of the Haeseni made their way into the main building. The only visible entrance appeared to be a set of ladders leading up to the roofs. They climbed in one by one. Despite the age of the ruins, the quality of the ladders seemed to have persisted. Weird… Once at the top, scaffoldings appeared in front of them, raised just to the sides of the roof. It was unclear whether it was always there, but it definitely wasn’t strong enough to hold the weight of the three fully-armored warriors. They had to go one by one, and so they did. As they went around the roofs, Leon had gone on his own once more, his mobility allowing him to see and move more easily than his companions. He began climbing the roofs, an activity somewhat familiar to him already. He had practiced lots of it atop the many roofs of Whileburg, even though he probably would not want his mother to be aware of it. Eventually, his climbing proved fruitful. He found a way to climb onto the window of a tower, and, upon inspection, he saw an opening leading straight into the building. He called for the three to approach, and so they did. “Papa, can I go in? It’s easier for me” he requested as he eyed Emil. Indeed, the opening leading inside was rather small, and full of cobwebs. Either way, Leon wanted to be useful now, his previous weeping had caused him great shame, one that he had to repay. After consideration, he was allowed to go in, and so he did. Upon entering, he took a couple of zig zags, and finally found himself in a room. It was an aviary tower, some birds still flew around, and the place was surprisingly well kept, especially for some abandoned ruins. “I am not telling Kaytlyn about this.” admitted Emil as he awaited for his son to report back. “We're niet telling Kaytlyn about any of this.” responded Marie, the two of them seemed rather on the edge already, considering the previous fight, though in contrast, Leon was as enthusiastic as he’d ever been. He wanted to be useful, and this was his chance. With no armor on him, the lad had it easy to move around, and so he found some letters. The writing on them was foreign, nothing like any of the knights would’ve encountered, or likely anyone in Haense for that matter. As the young Barclay explored, Emelya had found another way into the room. After handing the writing to the to-be Dame, Leon decided to push his usefulness, and perhaps even his luck, to another level. He went to explore on his own. The armored trio was left behind, having to figure out another way to get in. The young one amongst the group had used this opportunity to go further in. He passed rooms and halls, going lower and lower into the keep. Finally, he entered a particular room, bigger than any he had encountered before. To his surprise, lit chandeliers and torches provided proper lighting into what’d otherwise be a pitch black hall. Stairs led down to an open area, many paintings remained hung on the walls. He looked about, now completely on his own, the others were still some way off. Then he heard it, from ahead, a narrow tendril of moss quietly - but quickly - whipped out from the shadows, going to wrap around Leon's neck. It had come out of the dark, but the lad had been quick on his feet. Despite going in alone and quickly, he had been cautious. His eyes caught a glimpse of the oncoming tendril before he pushed himself backwards. In turn, the green whip moved far quicker than the ones outside; as the young one moved, so too did it, tracking him as it continued to try and snare him. Leon reached for the dagger his father had given him, trying to protect himself, his fear of the tendrils had escaped him. Perhaps watching them burnt so easily by his father had calmed his fear down. After all, he was here on a quest, he couldn’t back down. He swung the dagger in the most unkempt manner imaginable. It went left and right without aim, as if he was giving a last fighting attempt. It struck him again, this time rather speedily. The whip had become much thinner, it bent around easily, whilst maintaining its strength composure. Had it hit the boy, he wouldn’t have made it out easily. The whip was cut down as soon as it launched itself from an attack… but it wasn’t Leon’s blade that had accomplished the task… Luckily for the lad, Emelya had been closer than the Barclay and Ruthern behind them. She peered from the railing down on Leon, and, as soon as the lad was about to be snared by the incoming attack, she had jumped valiantly to his defense. So she had succeeded. The end of the tendril fell to the ground right in front of Leon, devoid of any life or magic that was once controlling it. Soon enough, the entire party had entered the large room and descended the stairs. The area around was maintained nicely, as if being used as a residence. Yet, thick cobwebs dotted the walls and corners, it was as if they were allowed to grow despite the hall’s otherwise orderly appearance. That’s when they saw it. From the doorway, a shape stepped out. “Please, let us talk this out instead of more fighting.” Emelya was quick to resort to peace, as she had even before during the quest. Their task was to collect ancient maps, after all. In the dim light that luminated the room, the shape was … odd. It was robbed in a long coat, and it wore an ornate mask of wood and metal. What was most bizarre, though, was that tiny strings of moss and weed seemed attached to every inch of its body, connecting to some other part of the castle. Was this the true magic caster? “ … Heugh,” came a grunt from under the mask. The Kortrevich raised an eyebrow at the grunt, “We merely come for the maps, to spread the knowledge they contain. We seek positions of servitude in our Kongzem, as Knights, and this is our quest.” The figure slowly tilted its head. There was a … plant-like quality about it, as if weeds had long since replaced flesh. “Cvasa Flexia?” It murmured in some odd tongue, but when it spoke again, the words, though dry and terse, were Common. “Who told you … there was a Stone here …?” Whilst exchange continued, Emil's eyes roamed the room in suspicion. As its voice rang out in common, however, his head whipped back to face the keeper. “A stone..?” He murmured with furrowed brows. “You won't … have it,” the figure - it seemed to be male - rasped. Silence befell the room for a brief moment, before the shape spoke once more “Who told you,” he repeated, more harshly. The figure's cognitive functions were unclear, but it seemed capable of understanding most of what they said. “Tell me. Oviradal? Aska?” it mentioned strange, unknown names even to the Haeseni. They admitted such. The figure spoke slowly, though seemed to listen intently as the Haeseni conversed. They had inquired to receive masks, something that caught the figure off guard. It had spoken of a stone, and appeared to be fixated on such. “… M … maps?” “Of the lost city-” added Emil. “You … come for … maps …?” “We do.” confirmed Emelya as Marie affirmed with a nod. Leon didn’t speak anymore, and simply watched. The entire hall seemed to creak as one of the moss lines vibrated. “ … Heugh …. Where …?” “That's what we are trying to, ah, figure out.” replied the older, Ruthern dame. “ … You are … Temple … Knights?” It was apparent the figure seemed very disoriented, or … sleepy, even. “We come from the Kongzem of Hanseti-Ruska and merely seek these maps.” informed Kortrevich before replying to the question “Close enough, yes.” “Kong …. Zem …” The word was clearly unfamiliar. “Is that … Oviradal? He … knows there is a Stone here …” there was no doubt about it. The figure was as old as it seemed. It spoke of strange names, and was unaware of neither the current politics or entities. Whatever it was guiding, it was indeed something old enough to be found in such ancient ruins. Back and forth they went, and the to-be knights explained their origins, but it was in vain, the figure neither seemed to understand nor care, for such information aided none of its goals and tasks. It was clearly uneasy around them, almost scared now that it was facing them head on. “ … So you … only … want … maps?” it uttered yet again, its voice deep, almost mystic. “Yes,” “How do I know … Oviradal did not send … you? I will not let you have … the Stone.” None of them knew what stone he was referring to, neither did they seem bothered enough to ask. “Your stone is your business.” “ … Heugh …” The figure, however odd, did not seem crazy. It was clear from the power he wielded that he was protecting something here. “If you … take a map … you will … go?” He seemed apprehensive. “No, no … Oviradal would not … the Rimeveld … he … his own stone is … Heugh ….” the figure began mumbling. He seemed … overwhelmed. At least it was clear the fellow was only aggressive out of a sense of territory, but he seemed … difficult to place. “Rimeveld, the region of snow… how long have v- you been here?” it seemed Emelya wanted to dig in more. “TAKE THE MAP” the figure snarled abruptly, suddenly impatient. So the knights’ attention turned to their left, towards the wall filled with many paintings. They had noticed that maps laid atop the counter, and so Marie walked towards them. “WAIT!” the strange voice beaconed. “ … Not that one ….” At that, the questers stopped. Narrow moss strings suddenly sprouted from the roof and walls, pulling down certain maps. In the brief moments before that, they might notice all those maps had dots in certain locations. One of the dots seemed to be on this place, and another in the Rimeveld, amongst others they did not have time to place. It was clear to the trio that those were the locations of the stones, but they didn’t make much of it. They were there for other knowledge, after all. So, the quest was nearing its end, so far rather anti-climatically so, as some would comment. “If you … lie, I will … kill you, and Oviradal ….” it had warned them, and it seemed serious. Only then was Leon’s voice heard again. “Papa, can he pull out a book about knights too?” inquired the lad as he looked to Emil “I want to read about the temple knights!” The older Barclay glanced to the keeper for a moment, as if debating. It took him a while, but he finally asked “..Knight books.. Know anything about knights?” he paused once asking, as if hoping he weren’t about to regret the decision and have them all die there. “Temple Knights? You … you ARE … Temple Knights?” inquired the figure back as the nooses above quivered. At that, Leon smiled widely as he moved to eye the Keeper, tilting his head a bit, hoping he were to get his hands on some more knightly stories. “We aren't.” insisted Emil “We belong to the Order of the Crow.” “Not … heugh … not … to keep, to contain, to hide ….” without really answering the Barclay, the guardian only muttered to himself in a half-crazed way, the eyeholes staring straight at Marie. It simply stared, as if being locked in a debate on whether to kill them or not. “Let us leave him be.” insisted the younger Dame, already preparing to leave in an instant. “Never return,” he blurted at last, as if he had to force the words out. “Never. Balian … Balian sleeps. Yes, yes.” “Take this venture as your lesson, lad-” Emil turned to his son as he received neither books nor answers. The younger Reinmaren nodded singularly at that, and heeded the words. He then turned to the figure, and, still enthused by the thrill of the quest, waved as the lot prepared to take their leave. “Good night Balian! Sleep well!” greeted Leon in Waldenian. As they exited the castle, they found the rays of sun pouring onto the bailey. The night had passed, and so had their struggles. They had acquired the maps they came for, and did so without a scratch. As was customary for any occasion, everyone checked on one-another, if anyone was harmed or not. No signs of harm appeared, and they made their way out without a second thought, already greatly tired, the Haeseni party departed back on their stallions, taking their leave back to the Kingdom they served. So tired were they in fact, that Leon wasn’t questioned or scolded until after they were back home.

"A KNIGHT DOESN'T CRY" He entered the hall as the city’s bells were still ringing, calling to the Haeseni populace to attend the yearly Duma. As the golden-haired lad entered the room, he immediately felt out of place. There were adults all over, with Lord Rhys sat at the Speaker’s chair in the middle. Leon blinked a few, his eyes looking around. Trying to find a better suited place, he’d try his luck at fitting in at the second floor. After climbing the stairs, more adults became visible, some even older. His eyes caught a smaller human however, she seemed to be his age, or at least just about his height. Nodding to himself lightly, Leon made his way to sit by the railing of the second floor, next to the lass, though he remained quiet. He was rarely the one to start a conversation, but he waved towards her nevertheless. His smile was rather awkward and his wave even more so. Her eyes turned to Barclay “Privej! Eam Johanna Josefina Ludovar!” she introduced himself rather readily, catching the young Reinmaren by surprise. His head tilted somewhat, his eyes looking down as always, though the awkward, yet friendly smile persisted. “Hallo" he replied with a typical Reinmaren accent “Ich bin Leon” he’d introduce himself briefly as he could “Vu look like Aedypapej Emil. Are vu his son?” she asked, the Naumarian accent different from Leon, but not by a lot, they were both somewhat rugged and harsh, much like their respective languages. Leon widened his eyes at the reply in slight relaxation, though his crouched, shy demeanor remained “Bist du ein Barklei?” He asked then, eyeing towards the Lord Speaker. She wasn’t, and so she admitted. However, Leon was informed the two of them were cousins. As Johanna explained the knowledge she had of their family tree, the young Barclay was unable to make any sense of it. Perhaps it was too complicated for him, or perhaps he couldn’t make sense of some of the Neumarian terms, Aedypapej in particular. Either way, he acted like he understood, and simply accepted the fact he had found a new cousin. “Das ist nett” he replied rather dryly. It was unclear whether he was trying to be rude, end the conversation, or if he was simply socially inept. “Was ist nett?” another voice could be heard, this time to his right. It was a much deeper, aged voice, one of maturity, yet of relative softness and warmth. Leon tilted his head, and eyed the Waldenian speaker to his right. His eyes brightened somewhat, hearing his native language be spoken to him. The old man proceeded to communicate in Waldenian “I don’t think she speaks Waldenian.” Leon was aware of this, yet, he could barely do much to fix the problem. His Common vocabulary was too narrow. As the duo conversed in the rough, unknown language, Johanna was left somewhat confused. “Nett ist… nice” translated Leon, taking a while to remember the word as he pondered. Johanna simply accepted that, and then appeared to space out, her attention caught by the complex ongoing of the Duma. Captivated by the Waldenian-speaker, Leon’s posture shifted somewhat towards him. He was a fine gentleman, as some would describe him. Around his 50s, his hair had begun to gray slowly, and his attire was made of quality material. The man looked like no peasant, or at least so Leon guessed. And so the two continued conversing, Leon’s speech and posture shy as ever, he had not yet seen the man in the eyes, deciding instead to keep his head down and fidget his hands about. As they’d dialogue in low volume, so as not to disturb the Duma, the Barclay’s speech was particularly hard to hear, his voice low and sheepish. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. The gentleman introduced himself to be Feodor May, the Aulic Envoy. “Hm, he actually is a peasant!” noted the young Leon in his mind, though in no way was the remark condescending. Far from it. It was a remark of admiration. He didn’t know what an Envoy was exactly, something to be expected of his age, but he had heard the term Aulic before. “Ah, and Aulic! Like uncle Johann?” as the conversation carried on, Leon’s posture seemed to shift little by little. It was a very slight, gradual change, hard for someone to notice unless they were paying close attention. He’d begin playing with his fingers more, and shoot glances towards Feodor every now and then. “I'm basically in charge of the country's diplomatic service. Da, Lord Johann is my colleague.” “Do you have an army too?” Leon looked at the man as he eyed him up and down, looking for any armor or anything for him to identify a marshal, or at the very least a soldier. He found none. “In these times of war his job is far more important than mine, I don't have an army. I've a group of diplomats who answer to me instead.” replied the Envoy, who then had to explain to Leon what a diplomat was. He explained how diplomats are sent on behalf of the King to communicate with other leaders. So the young mind of the Reinmaren wondered why the King could not discuss with the other Kings himself. After all, as he was raised within the Reinmaren culture, such a practice appeared to make sense. Back in the day of the Reinmaren tribes, the clan leaders used to settle scores and talk to themselves, so as to show power and presence. It was simply a Reinmaren tradition. One that Leon was taught about since his noble education in Whileburg began. As Leon inquired such, he received an answer. “Because he's a busy man of course.” Feodor explained patiently “If he needed to travel to other Kingdoms all the time, he wouldn't have any time to do things in his own kingdom. Leon offered a few thoughtful nods “That is true.” he chuckled a bit at the revelation then before shrugging. “Besides, diplomats also go to other Kingdoms when they don't have an agreement to make. They just go there to keep up with our contacts abroad, see how things are going there, and report that back to Haense.” “Ooooh, so like Knights?” The lad put clear emphasis on the last word. “Knights travel to other Kingdoms when the king tells them!” A few more lines of explanation proceeded then, and Leon was taught the difference between a knight and a diplomat, how diplomats are not intended to fight, and are instead used to make friends. “Oooh, I see. I'm not good at talking” Leon looked down, then let silence set before turning back to Feodor, finally looking him in the eyes with a wide smile on his face, his pupils seem to dilate “But I want to be a knight!” it was the hundredth-something time he had spoken these same words by now. He then heard movement to his left. With a quick glance, he noticed Johanna falling backwards. She was trying to lean on the wall just behind her, but there was none. Trying to save her in time, Leon extended his hand to catch her, but it was too late. He only ended up getting carried by his cousin’s falling momentum, and fell as well, rather awkwardly so. His body rotated somewhat, his extended hand reaching towards Johanna. So he fell with his head unprotected, bashing it hard on the wooden floors of the Duma hall. Anyone who'd witnessed the scene, or heard it, would know that the fall wasn’t graceful in the slightest. If anything, it must’ve hurt a bit. Faint words would be heard emitting from the crouched-down Leon “A knight doesn’t cry! A knight doesn’t cry!” his eyes had shut and his teeth gritted. As he was facing down, he was fighting the pain with all he could, but it was in vain. So it began. The complex and mature voices of the members of the Royal Duma found themselves outdone. “AAAAAAAAH!” echoed around the room. No. It didn’t echo. It simply blasted and continued. Youthful cries followed suit. “Tut weh, TUT WEH, TUT WEH!” he cried out in Waldenian. It hurts! It didn’t take long for whoever was near to take note of the ruckus, even if they tried to. A few people gathered about, the familiar face of Vèréne amongst them as she tried to examine the crying toddler, though Leon could neither hear or see anyone now. The young Ludovar lass kneeled down, hoping to comfort her sobbing cousin as she pulled out a pack filled with frostvine, trying to put it on his head “Vur good cousin?” “Ea think he mostly got startled, can't have hurt himself too much.” commented the oldened Envoy. Could he be right? After all, it was only a short fall. It was a wonder indeed. Whether the pain was justifiable or not, Leon had already reached a point where he couldn’t forgive himself. Guilt and shame had overlapped in with the pain of the fall, his feelings and senses now suffering even more greatly. The crying persisted, but the Barclay got on his knees and stood up. Not wasting any time, he simply began running, his red, watery eyes emitting tears down on the Duma floor on which he had fallen. The adults about him decided it was best to let him run off. After all, if he was alright enough to run, surely his pain wasn’t that great. Leon, however, would disagree. The pain of doing something so unknightly, showing weakness and vulnerability, crying like a toddler was nothing glorious. This was the pain that hurt him most, and so he ran. The debates of the Duma had paused for a bit, they could hear the child crying, though after a while they could hear the crying fading out as Barclay ran away. He ran towards Reinmar, his home, his heaven. “A knight doesn’t cry!” “A knight doesn’t cry!” “A knight doesn’t cry!” His thought didn’t leave him alone as he tried to run away from them, his shame following him on his escape. It was the first time he’d experienced such emotions, and he didn’t take it too well, especially his pride. He fled to Reinmar, with no one but his guilt tailing him. Or so he thought, the footsteps of a young girl made haste behind.

Leon Barclay as he was told of the news. Unable to understand what had happened exactly, he went up to his grandfather, Ser Reinhardt @Capt_Chief26 "Are you like uncle Johann and the old man Feodor now?" he asked rather enthusiastically in Waldenian, referencing the only two Aulic members he had ever met.