O nobly-born, harken and heed, entomb in your soul’s soul that the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, are the blood-essence of life upon the First World, as the Great Mother and Great Father, Highest Glory Is Theirs, wrought it from the nothingness of the Hollow Sphere. Praise the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, for it is the right of the supplicant to give its immortal soul to the glory of the Lords and Ladies of the High Sphere.
The Diviner of Time, Book III.21
As year 1241 of the Third Age commenced, Erkenwald, the king of the Kelgwayn, on seeing that the power of the Elves was increasing and that the whole war was being directed against Kelgwyn, became much alarmed about the future. He therefore sent envoys into Lower Seldonia to King Sylpherion, asking him to come to terms with him. But when Sylpherion replied that he recognized only one basis for a settlement — Erkenwald's surrender of the princedom of Lys-Tyras with all its steadings and people, — Erkenwald was made afraid and summoned Queen Ermengarde from Archtouria to take concerted action in regard to their highest benefits.
When these monarchs had taken counsel together about their common interest, they sent envoys to Roland, the duke of Fal-Tyras, and to Iustin, the duke of Lys-Tyras, revealing the arrogance of Sylpherion's answer and showing that the danger arising from such a war was common to all. For they said, if Sylpherion should gain control of Lys-Tyras, he would at once be able to attack all their lands; indeed he had given proof many times that he was covetous and regarded any borderlands of Mannish nations not to be shared but taken. It would therefore, they said, be advantageous for all to make plans in fellowship and jointly undertake war against Sylpherion, before the full strength of Elves from Lower and Higher Seldonia could be mustered. Now Roland and Iustin, believing that the statements were true, eagerly agreed and arranged with Erkenwald to assist one another with strong forces.
History of the Old Continent in the Third Age. Book XXII.47-58.
Erchonboldos, called Ercenfald in the tongue of the malakiai, was a man of striking appearance and remarkably skilled in warfare, and also in character he was not at all like a malakios; for he was for the most part sober, and one noticed in him a certain gentleness and depth of sentiment that could be mistaken for one of proper birth.
Cytheron’s Histories of the First World. Book πζʹ:ιεʹ
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Some of the first beams of the Orb found its way through the flaps in the tent, reflecting on finely polished, bright metal plate laid out on a wool rug. One such reflected beam stabbed outwards and hit Selenike right in one eye, and she hissed and recoiled by instinct, baring her white teeth in an annoyed grimace.
“Lyssa,” she said angrily, “close that flap and return to your duties.”
“Yes, noble Aïs,” a youthful female voice replied and the offending, non-covering piece of tent-cloth was secured back with a pin. “Though it is said to be a good omen to be kissed by the Orb directly thus before a battle,” the squire said in a nervous tone as she got back to laying out her mistress’ armour.
“As if,” Selenike spat, rising from the stool she had been sitting on and stood up to her full height, and held out her arms horizontally, “who is saying such nonsense, and what fool are you to be listening to them?”
Lymethissa of the Troadtowers swallowed before she started strapping a belt around Selenike’s waist.
“A truthmancer in the train’s camp said so, Mamzel,” she said as she finished tying the inner belt fast around the long leather tunica Selenike wore, before moving on to pick up the mail hauberk which had been lain out the previous night. She almost dropped it, forgetting in the moment that she had oiled it thoroughly so the rings would not catch.
Selenike bent slightly to allow her squire to slip the long hauberk over her head, and adjusted her arms into the sleeves, the long split skirts of steel rings slapping against her shins.
“You know better as an Aïon from the house of an Anthypatos to listen to some drunkard who claim they can commune with the Gods,” Selenike replied in a less sourly tone, and accepted the thick leather sword-belt Lymethissa offered her, tying it tightly over the hauberk. Lyssa made a quick sign in honour of the Sun God.
“Where is Rhylin anyway? He should have been up by now, assisting the both of us. By the Seaspirits of Ouranos, if he is off getting drunk on the morn of battle, I will hide him, noble blood or not.” Selenike finished her angry comment with tightening the knot of the belt.
Lymethissa, Lyssa to those who knew her, hastened to reach for the cuisses and poleyns, and bent down to tie them to her knight’s legs and knees. There were sounds coming from outside the tent now, Selenike and Lyssa both could hear the quick rapping of drums and the trilling of pipes, here and there cut through by the blasts of silvery trumpets. Shouts could be heard as well, urging warriors to rise and ready themselves.
“He said he went to see to the horses, Mamzel,” Lyssa mumbled while struggling with the laces of the leg armour. “Rhylin wanted to make sure Pixie and Ghost were properly watered and fed before they donned their caparisons and armour.”
“I thought that was Hyck’s job?” Selenike reached for the scabbard of her longsword, leaning against the central tent-pole, and fastened it to the metal clasps of her belt.
Lyssa grimaced before wiping her brow clean of sweat. It was barely dawn, but the heat of summer was making itself keenly felt, despite the Orb just barely having cleared the low mountains in the horizon.
“Wyck, my Aïs,” she said delicately, trying not to sound like she was correcting Selenike, “and yes, normally it would be his job, but he was hanged last night for stealing from the provision wagons belonging to Strateron Maglor’s chiliarch.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Selenike blinked a few times.
“Huh, what a moronic thing to do, stealing victuals belonging to Helikiai troops, even if only commoners. Well, he was only a thyfilai, so no great loss in the grand scheme of things. Hope he was faithful to his Gods and was diligent with his prayers. But that still leaves me short a groom, by the Spirits. Where’s Gage then, did he do something equally stupid, like get drunk and cause mischief or some such?”
“No, Mamzel,” Lyssa replied, while attaching the tassets to the front and back of her mistress’ brightly polished cuirass, “Gage is probably over at the smith’s party by Strakomas Eleuseia’s camp, gathering up your reserve lances and your coif. It was missing a few links, remember?”
Selenike was about to answer that she did not in fact remember, when the entrance flap to the tent opened, and another young Helikios entered, this one a male.
“My apologies, noble Aïs,” Rhythailon of the Order of the Bloodied Lily said quickly as he immediately went to a hitherto untouched cloth bundle in the opposite corner of the tent. The tent the trio shared was quite spacious, with a large central pole that held up a metal ring from which lines of rope ran that was attached to the grassy ground by solid iron pegs. There was a foldable wooden bed with a mattress of packed down for Selenike, and a pair of bedrolls of coarse linen for the two Aïonai. A small wooden table, three stools, three wooden chests –one quite sizable and two significantly less so–, a pair of lanterns mounted on iron poles, and a glass mirror set in a golden frame hanging from the central pole rounded out the furnishings. It was about the expected minimum for a high-born Helikios knight and her pair of squires on a campaign.
Selenike sat down on the stool she had been sitting on earlier and whistled at Rhylin, who turned around, dropped the bundle he had started to unpack with a loud metallic clatter, and rushed over. He dug out a gilded comb from the large chest and went down on his knees facing Selenike’s mailed back. Gently, he started to comb the knight’s long, luxurious hair, taking a hidden delight in how it felt like silk in his hands. The Firstborn of the Great Mother and Great Father were given many gifts, some of them deemed unnatural, some such being their controllable hyper fluctuating metabolism, and lack of some bodily functions like sweating or the build-up of fats in their skin and hair. They regulated body temperature by raising or lowering it depending on outside influences, and were impervious to nearly all known diseases. Longevity was a given; there were sages, nobles, sorcerers, artists, and great knights who had walked the sacred ground of Hieras before it had been united under the Celestial Throne, who still walked the same ground this day. But the Gods touched those they regarded with especial favour, and Selenike Startears of House Starborn was one of those.
Had someone wanted a commission of a picturesque noble Helikios from a Highborn Stratoi-House blessed by the Lords and Ladies of the High Sphere, Selenike would have made a perfect model. Selenike Startears was just shy of seven feet tall –as Men counted lengths–, her figure deceptively slender, hiding wiry muscles underneath her leather doublet and hauberk, common for most of the Helikiai Knight-Nobles. Her face was long and narrow, but with the ever-so-slight pudginess of pre-maturity, a thin rosy mouth, and her eyes were the tell-tale lilac of House Starborn. But her hair made her out to be touched by the Gods themselves. It was long enough to reach beyond the small of her back, but it bore the unnatural colours of silver-grey and royal purple intertwined. When her Lady Mother had brought her into the world, the first sprouts of hair were already showing, deemed a very favourable portent by the godspeakers who oversaw the birth, and the whole Starborn clan made sacrifices that night for favourable omens from above. That very night, a star was born and within two hours and two minutes it was rendered apart, showering the night-sky with bright cascades. Thus, Selenike was awarded the given name of “Startears”.
“Rhylin, what is the matter? Braid my hair, quickly I might add, I need it ready before Gage returns with my coif.”
Rhylin caught himself, and with an excuse muttered under his breath, he started to comb and fashion his mistress’ hair into a thick braid so it could better fit underneath the leather cap and mail coif Selenike would wear under her theostali helm. Rhylin was not much younger than Selenike and certainly not younger than Lyssa, his fellow Aïon, but it was hard to judge the age of Firstborn. Rhylin was about as tall as Selenike, with close-cropped chestnut hair and copper eyes that shone like embers when he was agitated. Lyssa lived up to the name of her clan, and was probably just over seven feet tall, despite still being a youth who had not yet flowered. Her eyes and hair was both golden, and her face would be considered slim by the standards of Men, but Helikiai were as a rule seemingly much slimmer than males and females of Men, and to her kin, Lyssa still carried the facial pudginess of youth that their mistress was about to shed. Aïon was their title, which could be translated as “squire” in Mannish tongues, but to the Firstborn it was more akin to “Knight-Aspirant” or “Knight Youth on Their Martial Path”. Selenike was a full Aïs, female nominative singular declension of what might be translated to Common Tongue as gender-neutral “Knight Banneret” but in the implied understanding of the Helikiai and Thymai, “Proven Knight Who Flies Her Clan’s Crest”.
“It is ready, Mamzel,” Lyssa said with a noticeable twinge of pride in her lilting voice. She held up (arms trembling slightly due to the combined weight) of Selenike’s cuirass with affixed tassets, lower lames, pauldrons and gardbraces all affixed. It was a splendid set of armour, and no mistake about it. It was wrought by the chosen masters of the forge-lord of House Starborn, all of whom had experience of forging arms and armour for more than seventeen-hundred revolutions of the Orb under their proverbial belts. As Rhylin and Lyssa joined to fit their knight-mistress in her final armament, they could not help but admire the craftsmanship. It was what men called “white plate armour” in regards how it looked unadorned, but due to Helikiai craftsmanship, each set of folded theostali metal fit the knight perfectly, adorning Selenike in not as much as a set of armoured plates, but a suit made to fit her perfectly, that just happened to be crafted of some of the strongest metal known to all the Higher and Lesser Races. As the Gods had dictated, Men could not craft metals like the Firstborn could, and while Selenike’s armour could, at a distance, have been mistaken for one wrought by a Mannish mastersmith, no one who appreciated it up-close would have assumed so.
Rhylin clacked the gorget into place over the top of the cuirass, and Selenike was starting to look like the noble warrior that she indeed was. Lyssa tied the greaves fast on the noble Aïs’ shins, and Selenike herself tied aback the vambraces that would protect her lower arm from harsh blows.
“Grant the Gods mercy’s favour on the field that will soon be spilled,” Selenike started to pray; Lissa and Rhylin looked at each other and prayed in their own versions of the same prayer.
“Greatest of Glories is Selenaīs, she who grants the most choice of all the Godsgifts,”
“My ancestral gift has been spent as such, and will ever thus be like this.”
The rapid drumming outside the tent was closing on incessant.