A New Assignment East [Fel Sion]

[Jared Vanders]

Zoradin Fel

Zoradin dismounted his mare, a black horse with a white stripe on her nose he had name Daien. She was a beautiful creature. Zoradin left the horse with the stable master. His gait was slow.  As always, he was exhausted, but not nearly as much as he usually was. Last night he succumbed to his exhaustion. He had slept a few hours before he had started screaming.  It was never enough. 

A message from the new M'Hael had sent him on this trip. He had been stationed in Arafel, and was planning on investigating a fortress there. The whole thing stank, but when the M'Hael got through to him, he was ordered to immediately head or Shienar.  The situation was dire. 20,000 Andoran swords were on their way. That spoke of the dangers itself.  He was probably here to help hold the line, perhaps heal some wounds - if they weren't too bad.

He headed to the officers to report in. "Zoradin Fel, Asha'man," he said.

The officer scoffed. "I need an army and I get a single Asha'man that can barely stand," he sighed. "You can fight can't you?"

The Asha'man nodded. "I can hold my own with the blade and one power."

He looked at Zoradin incredulously. "Well - we'll need it. Need to hold until reinforcements arrive. We should have time if you need to rest for your trip."

"I'll be fine, Sir," he said. 

There was some more back and forth as Zoradin got more on the situation. He was led to a barracks so he could drop off his gear and he headed to the line. They had to hold until Andor arrived. That was his only goal.

[Kiyohito]

Lord Xavier Armendariz

Fal Sion boiled beneath its still surface, a fortress of quiet tension held firm by the will of its new lord. Xavier Armendariz had buried his father only a week past, and with the grave still fresh, he had taken the mantle of protector without ceremony or hesitation.

He was not a man prone to reflection. Action suited him better. So when report of an arrival of an Asha’man reached him, Xavier froze only a moment. “Thank the Light,” he breathed. Then, motion. Movement. Orders.

He strode to the high balcony overlooking the outer lands, expecting a procession of steel and banners. Instead, the horizon stretched empty.

Xavier turned sharply, understanding dawning.

“One Asha’man is worth a thousand spears,” he proclaimed proudly to all who listened. “Provide him anything he requires. Assign twenty of our best men to guard him when he goes afield. No.. twenty-nine.” He paused. I will be the thirtieth.

There was no need to speak that last part aloud. It was obvious to any who knew him: Xavier would ensure that such a power was protected at all costs.

“And summon Lord Kenta.”

The servant bowed low and vanished.

Soon after, Kenta arrived. Young, straight-backed, jaw clenched with a solemnity beyond his ten years.

“Father,” he said, bowing low.

Xavier regarded his son for a breath. “You have a new duty. An Asha’man named Fel has come. You are to be his personal host while he stays at Fal Sion. Do you accept this?”

Kenta blinked, and for a heartbeat the child showed through the stoic facade. But he recovered quickly, bowing again. “I accept. How may I serve Asha’man Fel?”

“Ensure his comfort. Guide him through the Keep. Explain our customs, as I have taught you. He is a guest of honor. Treat him as such.”

Kenta hesitated, then asked, “May I watch him in battle, Father?”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a low rumble, half sigh, half warning.

“You will defend this Keep long after my soul takes rest. You may observe the Asha’man and our warriors, but only from where I permit. Understand?”

Kenta nodded sharply, and without another word, turned and left to find the guest.

At the drawbridge to their inner Keep, the one that connected the Keep with the city beyond it, separated by two moats of spikes and poison, Kenta stood straight-backed between two armored house soldiers, the wind pulling at his long dark braids. He wore the formal blue and silver of House Armendariz, their sigil stitched proud over his chest. A knife hung at his belt, small but real. His boots were scuffed from training but sturdy, built for quick mounts and long rides. The sides of his head were still full with hair, the customary topknot not yet earned.

As the Asha’man approached, Kenta stepped forward and bowed, eyes roaming the pins of his uniform and their significance.

“I am Lord Kenta Armendariz. On behalf of my father and House Armendariz, I welcome you to Fal Sion Keep, Asha’man Fel.”