First Shield
Fifteenth Day of the First Month 294 AC
The basics are easy enough to deal with. All aspirants for Praetorian enhancement should have a good record with a recognized Imperial institution or to have served with distinction with an allied power. Further, they are to be checked with divination. Not necessarily for moral character, for this is hardly the hallowed order of some kindly power, but a willingness to accept orders, tempered of course by common sense and a will strong enough to resist temptations.
For now, all Praetori are to be assigned into the Praetorian Guard, a formation organized as a Legion battalion with small numbers detached for specific missions. As their numbers grow other units of Praetori leaving the oldest and most prestigious formation to be what its name suggests, the palace guards.
Better than seven men with swords, of that you are certain.
Much as with the Legion, a term of service for a Praetori would have a set limit of ten years with the possibility of five year extensions. When one of these warriors should wish to lay down their sword with honor, they would receive a land or gold grant commensurate to their service and should they fall in battle beyond hope of return, the compensation shall be paid to their next of kin.
Having laid down these regulations in ink and paper, there remains the matter of the men who would fill the guard, the first of their service to which all future Praetori will look to. The boldness of those daring to volunteer to be first in under the knife is all fine and good, but you have someone particular in mind as well...
***
"Sandor?" asks a startled Dany, rising from her seat next to Vee where the two of them had been enjoying a rare free moment looking out the high windows onto the city bellow.
"You don't think he would accept?" you ask, bemused in turn. That was not how you would have judged the man, but Dany knew her sworn shield better.
"Oh, he'll accept in a heartbeat if it means a better chance at taking on his monster of a brother. Especially now..." she sighs. "He's been drinking less and less since he came here, and not just because he's been sent off to all manner of strange places, I think. Sorcerer's Deep is good for him, but two weeks back he got drunk, falling-down-drunk. I went to pick him up after the innkeeper sent word to the palace, and from the things he was saying to himself, I think he must have marked the day when Gregor... killed their sister. He's been getting better since, but I'm not sure he's ready for that sort of choice."
"What do you think Clegane would say if he were here to hear that?" you ask carefully.
"Well, he probably wouldn't curse at her. He likes her, you see," Vee interjects dryly. "The man knows his own mind, Dany. He doesn't need you mothering him."
"I guess so, it's just that it's such a significant step, but I'd be a bit of a hypocrite to argue against that, wouldn't I?" she asks with a wry smile.
"A bit," you agree honestly, your own smile taking the sting out of the words.
***
You find Sandor Clegane in the courtyard training against the Seeker. What would be a form of self-inflicted torture for most warriors is a surprisingly even trade of blows. The warrior would still loose most fights against the construct's relentless many-armed assault, but the construct does not deal as well with purely mundane means to impair it, such as common grit in the eye as it would with sorcery. The match ends with two lightning quick blows from the servitor and the sickening sound of breaking bone as the Hound's wrist is crushed.
Without a word Dany walks over to heal him, a fact which the warrior accepts in equal silence, though his expression lightens and not you suspect solely from the relief from pain. "Your Grace," he greets you with a bow that would fare very poorly in certain corners of the empire, followed no doubt by whoever made a comment about it faring just as poorly against Clegane.
"How would you like that fight and others like it to be a touch more fair?" you ask bluntly.
"Fairness is for knights and the minstrels kissing their asses," he growls, though without any real heat.
"Unfair in your favor then," you correct, going on to explain project praetorian both in its nature and more importantly what you hope to achieve by it. "I need men that can stand against the monsters of the world and not give an inch. And then stab those monsters in the bloody gut. Interested?"
The warrior looks at the Seeker a long moment as the construct stands motionless at the other side of the court, the fruit of the same craft that would change most of his flesh and in some measure even his soul. "Aye," he nods slowly, "that sounds good to me, Your Grace. I'm your man."
That he was, more than the sign upon his shield, beyond the transformations he had pledged to undertake, Sandor Clegane will ever be a man to count upon.
For now Oldtown and the Reach waited.
Where do you seek news in Oldrown?
[] Meet with Lord Hightower
[] Meet with The Lantern Bearers
[] Renew your tentative connections at the Citadel
[] Write in
OOC: And here we are, not the strongest vote, but it would have felt a bit incoherent to jump right into Oldtown. Not yet edited.