The term 'knight' was rather antiquated and often vague. Is a swordsman a knight? Is a noble's guard a knight? How about heavy infantry, were they knights?

In truth, the term was often thrown around without great meaning.

So it was for this reason that Clypeus identified himself as a 'vassal knight', even if the term didn't quite fit. The term originated overseas to describe knights who dedicated themselves to serving a specific noble house. There were some other details as well, about land and whatnot, but that didn't apply to him. It was the dedication part that Clypeus wore as his mantle.

He walked in step with his lord. Lord Vecklor, the man that had taken Clypeus from being a lowly peasant to a knight. It was a tournament he'd hosted which a young Clypeus won, a tremendous feat which got him, to his surprise, a knighting from the lord and lady. Instead of recruiting from noble blood or trained soldiers, Alistair had chosen him.

It was hard to describe how grateful he was. How truly and honestly happy he was with his life now. From dreaming of heroic deeds as a farmhand to the personal protector of two first nobility. He'd repay them with his unwavering service. No matter how long it took.

His steel boots followed the firm footsteps of the noble as they descended the manor's staircase, leather and steel clanking against the sturdy wooden steps in tandem. Following the long rug with patterns depicting historic slayings of ancient monsters, they crossed the floor of the entrance hall as they headed for the grand oaken doors. Servants rushed about, dusting clocks, washing windows, preparing as best they could before the guest arrived. Lord Vecklor smiled and nodded to each of them as the duo passed, offering words of encouragement and praise.

Clypeus was a quiet man. He spoke when spoken to unless there was actually something to say. He nodded to the working folk he knew personally while keeping a careful eye on those he didn't. You could never be too careful, he'd thwarted more than one assassination attempt that tried to sneak the culprit in as a servant.

If one were to see him, they'd probably think he was going into battle. Tense posture, full armour, constant awareness. In a sense, he was. Just not the kind of battle which was easily fought.

They emerged from the building and entered the manor's front, descending the few carved stone steps before striding across the open-air garden front to the road which entered it. Between the high timber and stone walls of the manor, interspersed with glass windows and hanging banners, and the woodland which surrounded the grounds, the area appeared almost as its own little world. A world about to be invaded by an unwelcome intruder.

As the scouts reported he would, their guest rolled into the courtyard inside an opulent carriage pulled by pure-bred griffins, noble creatures whose beaks turned up derisively at the pair.

Clypeus stood silently in full armour, one hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed longsword. His helmet was fashioned in the style of the Warden's guild knights, a gift from House Carcer when they last came to visit. It was an intimidating visage, a grey steel helmet shaped not unlike a skull, complete with a ventail styled as a jawbone and teeth. The visor itself bore two small holes like eye sockets, shadowing Clypeus' eyes as he stared guardedly at the carriage as it finally rolled to a stop before them.

When the extravagant carriage door opened and the tall, impeccably outfitted form of Lord Alcrae stepped out of it, he did not bow. Usually, showing such disrespect to a lord, a first lord at that, would be an invariably dangerous action, one that would certainly warrant punishment by his own lord. However, the one he served had specifically asked him to do this.

When the darkly dressed Lord Alcrae finally reached the solid cobbles of the manor’s front, he raised an eyebrow at Clypeus. The noble’s gaze made him nervous, but he still would not bow. His own lord’s orders took precedent by far. Amittedly, showing such disrespect was far easier when veiled behind a mask. He didn't have to worry about controlling his expression as a bead of sweat rolled down his face. Most people, no matter the circumstances, would dare to disrespect any noble. The power and influence they held over Patriam was immense, it was akin to disrespecting a diety. Disrespecting a first lord, one of the founding nobility of Patriam, was like giving the Goddess herself the middle finger. You just had to hope she wouldn't smite you.

Tirran Alcrae eventually scoffed and looked away from him, finally giving a shallow nod to Alistair, who gave an equally shallow nod in return.

While a commoner might not have recognised this as anything significant, as a knight Clypeus had enough etiquette training to know such a show of disrespect between lords was a very hostile act.

“Tirran. I hope your journey here was safe and comfortable.” The grey-haired Lord Vecklor addressed his rival. It was a powerful stance he had, one which combined with his old blue marshal's uniform cut an imposing, yet regal figure. Clypeus stood behind and to the right of his lord, and almost chuckled when he noticed the scowl flash across Alcrae’s face, the rage of being addressed like a commoner.

“Alistair. My travel was uneventful, yes, however far too long for reaching such a… modest home you have here.” The lord sneered, casting his green eyes around the manor’s garden. Personally, Clypeus thought it was beautiful. It was just understated enough so as not to be garish, however of course the Lord Aclrae would see this as lacking. He suspected that Alcrae’s own manor was extravagant enough to fund a small war, if sold.

The two noblemen exchanged some more terse formalities and thinly veiled insults before finally heading into the manor together. Clypeus followed silently, steel boots clanking against the smooth cobbles leading to the grand oak doorway of the manor.

Servants opened it as they approached, scurrying about as meekly as goblins while they rushed to ensure everything was perfect for the noblemen. The pair of lords walked side by side, albeit with a hostile distance between them.

When at last they entered the entry hall and made their way through an adjacent door to the lavish sitting room, Clypeus noted Lady Vecklor lurking at the top of the back stairs, peering down at them. When he met her eye she gestured with one delicate hand, and he quickly made his way up the wide staircase, bowing once before her.

A normal person would never be able to move so swiftly up stairs while wearing the heavy armour he did, but Clypeus prided himself on his physical ability. He was in his early thirties but still moved with power far outweighing that of cocky younger knights.

Lady Vecklor had been leaning against the wooden bannister on the landing but quickly moved to meet him. Once he rose from his bow, Clypeus swiftly removed his helmet, revealing his dark hair, equally dark stubble, and yet darker eyes. He smiled warmly at her.

“My Lady.” He greeted her, a smile on his face and passion in his eyes that few saw.

“Sir Clypeus,” She responded with the gentle, motherly smile he so loved, “Pray thee be vigilant. You have surely noticed the tension between my husband and his foe. I suspect that Alcrae is treacherous enough to attempt some vile trick. Prithee, be on your guard.”

He nodded solemnly, face hardening and eyes turning from gentle to determined. He too suspected that Lord Alcrae might attempt foul play. He could not let that happen.

While it would be political suicide to attempt anything personally, he knew the lord had no need. A hired assassin or mercenary could strike without any provable connection to him.

“I will not fail you, my Lady.”

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When Clypeus arrived at the sitting room, the two nobles sat opposite each other at a square wooden table by the hearth. They seemed to have concluded their formalities, and as Clypeus took his place behind his lord, they both seemed to straighten in their chairs, a sudden tension buzzing in the air.

“Now Vecklor, let us not dally any longer. You know why I am here.” Alcrae clasped his hands together on the table, leaning forward with an intense gaze. Alistair grimaced, the furrows in his time-weathered skin deepening. When he replied though, he was anything but frail sounding. He carried the gravitas and weight of a true lord.

“I suspect I do, Tirran. This is about the guild, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. You know I have just as much right to the Adventurer’s guild as you do, Alistair.”

“We had an agreement. You would control the church, I would control the guild. The Emperor expressly stated that we were to each control one of them.”

Clypeus’ head rose slightly at the mention of the Emperor. The ruler of the continent was so far removed from normal society that he was practically unknown to commoners and even lower nobility. Any details about him were considered valuable knowledge.

“The Emperor,” Alcrae spat, eyes narrowing, “isn’t around anymore, is he? His opinion on the matter no longer counts.” Clypeus’ eyes widened to dinner plates under his helmet. The Emperor was dead? That was… that was impossible, even commoners were taught that the Emperor ruled the nation; he was worshipped almost as reverently as the Goddess.

If the Emperor was dead, then who ruled Patriam? Did anyone?

“You would dare disrespect his memory, Tirran? The rules he has established need to be the foundation for the duties of our houses. Just because he is gone does not mean his commands were any less wise.”

“The man was a fool, Alistair! Rather than establishing one true royal lineage, he has divided us first lords and divided the nation with it. How is our rule to last if we forever are at odds with each other? He was a fool to think ten noble houses would ever cooperate.” The lord had half risen from his chair, hands moving passionately as he spoke. An indignant, rageful scowl covered his face.

“From my position, Tirran, it seems as if you are the only one who is at odds with the rest of us.” Lord Vecklor spoke calmly, a tiny smirk on his face as his words further enraged him. Alcrae practically shook with rage, wearing an unrestrained visage of hate. “However Tirran, I do see a simple solution here. We settle this the way our kind always have. War.”

Clypeus looked at his lord with bare surprise, wondering if he had misheard him. War was unheard of on Patriam, the landscape was simply far too treacherous to facilitate it. Dense woodlands and high mountains covering most of the continent meant that moving an army around was logistically impractical.

Alistair calmly reached under the table and withdrew a long wooden case. He placed it on the table’s centre and undid a latch, causing it to unfold across it as the wooden panels slid apart and extended. Clypeus’ eyes widened once more in confusion, the case seemed to have turned into some sort of game board. Numerous models of mounted knights, footsoldiers, archers and even magi were included, which Lord Vecklor quickly arranged across both sides.

“Really, Alistair? War?” Tirran had an unamused expression. Clypeus' lord glanced over his shoulder to see the knight looking back and forth between the board and the lords in clear confusion, despite being unable to see his expression beneath the helmet. “War was a game created by House Ludus to settle disputes non-violently. It's how we decided who would be the Emperor, the smartest and greatest tactician would take the throne.”

Clypeus nodded and pondered this new information. The First Lords decided who would rule the continent based off a game? He was no genius himself, but that felt ill advised.

“Well, Tirran? Shall we War?” Alistair leaned forward with an eager grin, his rival scowling slightly before shrugging and moving his chair closer to the table.

Several hours passed.

The lords finally retired to dine, seemingly having finished their game of War. From what Clypeus could gather, his lord had forced Alcrae into a stalemate, eventually leading to a tie. And of course, a tie meant that nothing would change. Things would remain as they were, much to Alcrae’s disdain.

The two noblemen sat across from each other at a long wooden table draped in a fine white cloth. Lord Vecklor’s minstrel sat in the corner of the room, playing a gentle tune on her violin which permeated the dining hall. Emma Vecklor sat next to her husband, and carried most of the conversation while Alistair smugly ignored his rival. Tirran was clearly furious about his loss, but conversed with his rival's wife politely, regardless. It was a curious thing, Clypeus thought. Noble men were allowed to act as hostile as they wanted towards each other, but were required by noble etiquette to never speak unkindly to a noblewoman. The opposite wasn’t true however, and nothing forced Emma to try and keep the atmosphere light, which he saw as a sign of her good nature.

There were many things about nobles which Clypeus found confusing and unnecessary. One of those things was the way they dressed. Noblemen wore boots, long coats, and tight clothes, all of which had sharp edges and straight looking materials. Meanwhile noblewomen wore intricate outfits consisting of many interlocking pieces and flowing materials, typically covered by a loose robe-like piece of clothing that Clypeus didn’t know the name of. Noone had ever explained the purpose behind the clothing to him, and he suspected that many of the nobles themselves didn’t realize it, but Clypeus reckoned it was to do with what they represented. A nobleman was to represent the strength of a house, and wore striking, powerful looking clothes to match. Noblewomen represented the house’s intelligence, and wore complex and elegant clothing to represent that.

At least, that was Clypeus’ opinion. Could just be random.

He shook his head. He had gotten distracted there thinking, he had to be focused. Alcrae might try and pull something sneaky. He stood for a while against one wall of the room next to the fireplace and carefully observed, watching not only the table itself but the various servants standing against the opposite wall beside the windows.

Smell of roast pig. Sound of the minstrel’s music.

All was calm. Lady Vecklor’s laughter chimed at a bad joke Lord Alcrae finally relaxed enough to make.

Clypeus straightened. The nobleman had relaxed and wore an easy grin, but still had a hateful look in his eye as he observed the eating form of Alistair.

That did not bode well.

The food couldn’t be poisoned, Clypeus knew the chefs personally. None of the servants appeared to have any weapons on them or were preparing to make a move.

As he panickedly but vigilantly cast his eye around the room, his pupil locked onto a shape outside the window like an arrow eying a deer. The brief flash of movement in the garden abated, the person trying to go undetected by seemingly moving only in short bursts.

Well, if they wanted to take their time and be sneaky, that was just fine to him. He'd make it there while the fiend still thought themselves undetected.

Swiftly, Clypeus strode to the dining hall’s exit, heading for the manor’s door. His armour clanked as he moved hastily past the table, Lady Vecklor looking up at him and nodding but continuing to speak as if unconcerned, keeping Lord Alcrae from questioning and delaying him. The lord cast him a baleful look, teeth gritted as he couldn't interrupt the noblewoman. Clypeus chuckled slightly, mentally taking note to thank Emma later for the quick thinking.

He quickly moved through the entrance hall and opened the heavy wooden doors with a strong push from his gauntleted hands. Turning, he hurried along the stone walls of the manor to the garden outside the dining hall windows.

Lush hedges and rows of flowers rushed past him as he moved, skull-like mask perpetually staring with violent intent. He headed directly to what he saw out the window, a dark shape shifting in the bushes at the garden’s edge.

When he rounded the corner and entered the garden square, the figure saw him come around the corner. They stepped out of the bushes, glaring at him under their hood as they fired a crossbow his way.

He swiftly dodged, the bolt scraping off one of his pauldrons with a metallic screech. His armour may have blocked the bolt, but he didn't want to risk it. If that hit his visor or neck it would pierce the thinner defence easily at such short range. Despite his heavy armour, he moved swiftly, darting for the figure as they hurriedly reloaded.

They cursed and dropped their crossbow, drawing a short sword and swinging as Clypeus approached rapidly. Their strike was sloppy, and rather than dodging he battered their sword aside with his sturdy gauntlet and shoulder checked them, sending them flying back into the bushes as his armoured form crashed into their chest with a bone-snapping crunch.

He continued his charge, storming into the bushes and grabbing the assassin by the neck with a gauntlet, hoisting them high into the air.

Their hood fell back and the dirty-looking boy stared at Clypeus fearfully as he struggled to escape his grasp, limbs flailing about, weakly slapping at the indomitable grasp.

Clypeus glanced over his shoulder. In the window, Lord and Lady Vecklor stood grinning at him while Lord Alcrae glared at him hatefully, mouth running as he no doubt expressed his utter shock and surprise that someone was going to attack them.

Clypeus gave them a thumbs up as he carried the assassin over his shoulder.

He loved his job.