A handsome man gazes into the sparkle-clad mirror that stands higher than himself. He twists and turns with a smirk of pride. His fashion, his status, his wealth, and all the praise he’s received have all been a welcomed, yet expected, blessing. How grand is he that wears the crown of his birth in an ignorant display of charity to those beneath him?
Griffon Nodure now stands with no armor covering his flesh. Now, brilliant blacks, crimsons, and golds were stitched together with the most delicate of mastered hands to mold an almost divine presence about the man. He wore it as if it were his own, unblemished soul manifesting around him.
“Fabulous. It seems fit enough for the Emperor himself!” Sir Nodure had been granted many a title, land, business, and duties over the years. He’d benefitted greatly from his birthright and that of his spouse—the fair lady of the house that sat quietly in the corner of the room.
Her eyes were a glorious blue that contained neither sparkle nor waves. She sat at attention with their youngest caught in her arms. The servants would take care of the child for most of the day, but the mother found comfort in holding the remainder of her life against herself. She watched her husband parade himself about the chamber. Her lips couldn’t manage a smile at the scene, but she did her best to agree with him.
“It is lovely, dearest.” Her voice was as soft as the swallows that darted through the skies. She nodded slightly in approval of his garments. The tailor, who had stood near the door while his client moved about with glee, had bowed at her compliment. “You will be well compensated.” She spoke with sincere and honest intentions.
“My Lady, please do not trouble yourself with such matters. Your gracious cousin, our dearest Emperor, has already taken care of the expense.” He spoke quietly through the bristles that hung heavily over his thin lips. His voice was kept low so the conversation was relatively private for the open room. “I promise my finest work with every client, and I believe my work reflects the victory.”
“Indeed.” She smiled without moving her brow. The colors and fabrics were surely that of the highest nobility. Her husband’s victory over the barbarian hordes that had managed to break through the blockades had spread far and wide. Griffon Nodure had always climbed the ranks at an incredible pace, yet this sole survivor now spread wings and flew above the rest. “It is perfect.”
“My deepest thanks, my Lady.” The man bowed again as the hairs over his lip shuffled with the words.
“Jealousy shall surely spread.” Griffon pulled at his puffed collar. It barely moved, but he felt more satisfied with it. “Is it the look of a Destined Blade?” The man grinned widely from ear to ear at the woman unable to force a reflection.
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“It would be fitting for even my cousin, dearest.” She nodded gently; as did the tailor who accepted the additional praise.
The Destined Blades, an elite force in the Empire, were often regarded as the best options for any Emperor’s replacement. They were the most skilled of tacticians, the deadliest of warriors, and the most respected of all the ranks in the empire. Casters like priests, wizards, and the like were also seen as extremely important within their own rankings; however, there were currently none on the Destined Blades. There were always to be ten with such a wondrous title. To be a Destined Blade meant that you had reached the pinnacle of the empire’s forces and were a face the people thought fondly of.
Of the ten currently seated, each had been a member of the military; save one. Each was a proficient wielder of weapons and mind. One knew a few spells, but he’s a far-cry from being called a mage. Yet, these ten are known throughout the empire and beyond the surrounding maw of the mountains. Should you find yourself on the field, face-to-face with one of these warriors, you best fight as if every movement treads the edge of death.
Griffon Nodure had been elevated by the recent spread of his name and victory. The sole survivor of the barbarian attacks and an accomplished tactician able to use several combat skills. To the common man, he seemed the perfect choice for one of the seats on the Destined Blades… perhaps, even a replacement for one that had lost favor.
But to other eyes, more trained eyes, this would be a mistake. Though his wife cared for him and his insatiable ego, she couldn’t bring herself to see him with such a status—to see him ready to take her cousin’s position. She couldn’t believe that he was a warrior capable of standing as equals with those already on the Destined Blades.
Her lips tightened as she thought to herself, Teegan would have my husband’s head in mere sparring. This thought neither chilled nor excited her.
She couldn’t foresee such promotion, but she’d pretend at the very least. He was still her husband, and they had two children that needed a strong father and a loving mother. She would force the smile in reflection to his. Force it with all her will.
Griffon Nodure looked to his wife with overwhelming joy. He’d accomplished so much and acquired all he’d wanted in time. He stood in a well-built home of warm rooms, decorated walls, fine pillows, and of daily meals. His life was more than fantastic, yet he stood before the mirror that reflects who he is. As he faces away from it we see his back shown clearly in the glass.
The same back one might have seen that day in the north. As young boys were dying and barbarian fighters were flying through the air, this man was running away. Can you blame a man for wanting to survive or fleeing a power far beyond his own? That is a debate each may have words on.
But does a man run and spread lies to gain fame, status, and wealth? Does this wrap up his tale nicely with a bow as if delivered as a present for his proven skills on the battlefield? The man struts about his glorious home with a vanity few could match… all the while, to the northern region of the empire, one of his soldiers is finishing his task.