Prince Maesinius

The bane in the southern region was often described as an impenetrable fortress, with walls that reached towering heights and were as strong as steel. But despite its reputation, few ventured to the city and even fewer knew of its existence in the south . Bane was not just a fort - it was one of the few remaining cities in the northern lands.

Divided into two distinct parts, the first was a formidable fortress, built between the rugged mountains. Behind its walls stood hardened men who had defended against countless attacks and raids throughout the years. And beyond the fortress lay the city itself.

As the prince sat atop the southern wall, he couldn't help but marvel at how alive the city seemed. Down below, miniature figures bustled through the streets, their movements accompanied by a deafening cacophony of music and revelry. The north was celebrating - feasting and drinking in anticipation of their upcoming march south.

But amidst the festivities, there were also darker pleasures to be found. Prostitutes roamed from house to house, flaunting their bodies to eager soldiers looking for a final romp before heading off to war.

"It's time to return," he thought, tearing his eyes away from the bustling city below. Most of the lords had brought their sons along for this feast, knowing it could be their last before heading off to battle. The last time they had been able to go to a war that was not fought behind a wall, was before they bent their knee.So many thought of it as a way to honor their ancestors , who raided and pillaged all the way south, back when the north was feared by the south as a land of mighty warriors.

Leaving the heat of the feast behind him, the prince stepped outside for some fresh air. But even outside, he could hear the rumblings of violence within. Some guests had grown restless and started a brawl, while others simply made bets on the outcome and cheered on from the sidelines.War made their blood boil and they needed something to fight the steam off.

The prince had had enough of the chaos outside. The sight of yet another brawl erupting, and the ale soaking his clothes as a result, was the final straw. With a heavy sigh, he pushed open the door and retreated back into the keep.

Descending the stairs, he entered the warmth of the feast once more. The contrast between the cold, calm air of the keep and the bustling energy of the celebration below was stark. Servants hurried about, weaving through the throngs of guests, their cheeks flushed with the heat of the crowded hall. It was as if the very atmosphere crackled with excitement, fueled by the intoxicating mix of ale, music, and anticipation of battle.

The prince's gaze wandered over the assembled guests, pausing on the host's family. Edmund, the jovial young lord, was surrounded by a group of maidens. He liked the attention , he was smiling and blushing .All happy and gleeful.

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If Edmund was the water , however his sister was fire.At the start of the feast as soon as the first drunken young lord approached her, she threw him to the ground and spilled a cup of whaterver she had on his face to wake him up. From there no one approached her.And even then she was sitting , drinking and eating , with a bored expression. The host of the feast Harold was instead sitting in his seat, looking at the congregation with the eye of an hawk.

Before the prince could fully immerse himself in the revelry, he felt a firm grip on his shoulders. Turning, he found himself face to face a man with a crooked nose, a result of having it broken many times , scarred face, and a long braid trailing down his back.He was Mjorn Breakshield

His rough voice cut through the clamor of the feast , thrusting a cup of ale into his hands before downing his own with gusto.

"I had wondered where the prince went," he began, his words slightly slurred from drink. "Haven't seen you at the feast. Where were you hiding?"

The prince raised an eyebrow, amused by Mjorn's blunt manner. "Gone out to feel some wind," he replied casually, taking a sip of the ale.

Mjorn scoffed, burping loudly as he spoke. "Bullshit," he exclaimed, the scent of ale wafting toward the prince. "Not even us northerners like the winter and snow. One can get fucked in the arse only so much before he hates it."

Chuckling, the prince nodded in agreement. "Gone out to watch the city," he admitted. "It seems like tens of thousands entered it, not just eight."

"You know how long it's been since we went to war?" Mjorn asked, releasing the prince from his grip. "The people clamor for it, they want to raid the south like they raid their purses right before every winter."

"Well, they're in luck then," the prince replied with a wry smile. "There will certainly be stubborn bastards that won’t open their keeps for us. Their lands they can raid freely."

Mjorn raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Not worried about the people?"

The prince chuckled softly. "Aye, but not so much about getting in the way of northern soldiers with their groins full and hands empty. I like my life very much, thank you."

Mjorn's laughter echoed through the hall, louder than before. "Well, get yourself acquainted with this bunch of beasts," he declared, slapping the prince on the back before walking away. "I'll get myself something to drink and eat!" With that, he tossed his empty cup to the ground, leaving the servants to clean up the mess.

In the end the prince decided that the violence and shouting was not for him and went to sit back on his table. Harold’s eyes moved to him as he entered the scene and sat on the seat reserved for him. His old meal was still there, it had grown cold and he did not felt like eating it.So he pushed it away.Normally he would have retired to his room , yet this was the feast before the war his absence would be noticed .

His eyes moved among the lords, taking in the raucous scene of drinking, feasting, and fighting. He had seen it all before, and his gaze drifted with boredom until he caught sight of Elenoir looking at him. With a raised eyebrow, he awaited her next move. She beckoned him over with a wave of her hand, and with a resigned sigh, the prince rose from his seat and made his way towards her.

As he drew closer, her figure became clearer in the dimly lit hall. Her blonde hair was intricately braided and cascaded down her back like a waterfall into a lake. She was bundled up in layers of beasts' pelts, a precaution against the cold night air. But it seemed that alcohol was also providing warmth, as she had clearly indulged in several drinks. Her face was flushed and her eyes glassy as she lazily looked down at the table in front of her.

Her mouth hung open slightly, revealing slightly crooked teeth, and her unfocused eyes slowly came into focus as she noticed his approach. A broad smile spread across her face, more pronounced than usual due to the influence of alcohol. And apparently it also made her more handsy, or better yet punchy , as she immediately greeted him with a punch to the stomach. He doubled over, feeling the breath leave his body, and then felt a hand grab onto his hair and pull him closer.The drinks apparently made her violent side shine a bit more.

Their faces were now only centimeters apart, and he could see the color rising in her cheeks. Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel the heat spreading to his own face as their proximity increased.As if drawing him to a kiss.