The next few weeks were back into the maelstrom of training; Audrey spent her mornings in Mass or, if Mass should be cancelled, sparring with the other Squires and some of the Thanes—who were beginning to warm to her and the other members of the Chivalric tradition. Her afternoons were spent at Sir Vieux's side, drilling the motions and exercises required to properly utilise the methods of the Hordebreaker style.
That Reinald had the right to teach a Ring Style from the Continent still struck her as surprising. The masters-at-arms famously kept jealous guard of their secrets, rarely giving out ring-right save for their most exceptional apprentices. That Reinald has ring-right speaks lengths of his training and talent.
"It was a messy business, not worth repeating in polite company." When pressed on the matter, Reinald had merely brushed her aside with words that only stoked her interest further.
"But Master!" Audrey cries as she follows him out to the sparring fields.
"But nothing," he shuts her down in an instant, a sharp glare silencing any protest she might have mustered up. He sighs after a fashion, shaking his head to dispel some dark cloud, "If it'll put your questions to rest, I'll say this: there are more mortals on the Continent than there are people in all the Isles. Sometimes, a mortal can go their entire lives without seeing a cultivator in battle. Sometimes, that makes them overconfident. And sometimes, that overconfidence leads them to acts best left unspoken of."
Silence reigns supreme as Reinald takes position on the training field. "The mass slaughter of mortals has never sat well with me. It…" Reinald pauses and takes a deep breath, "Nevermind."
"Nevermind?" Audrey stares aghast, "Bu-"
"But how are your preparations coming along for the tournament?" Reinald's words take her by surprise, completely throwing her off and leaving her a stumbling mess.
"Tournament?"
"The Wessex Armed Championship, yes," Reinald says as he leads her through the motions, "Though, you'd be participating in the Wessex Adolescents' Championship, for obvious reasons."
"Is there a prize?" Audrey's ears perk up at the answering nod. Prizes are a very good way to display her superiority without having to spell it out for the simple-minded masses. Of course, back in Cornwall, she had numerous accolades plastered about the walls of her room, all won through shows of skill and excellence.
"Many," Audrey's heart soars as a cheer leaves her lips, "including an invitation to the North Sea Internationals."
"Another tournament?"
"One encompassing all the cultivation methods of the North Sea, yes," Reinald's words only bring yet more excitement to Audrey's soul. A chance to show off her excellency to all the peoples of the North Sea? What luck!
"When is the Wessex Adolescents' Championship occurring?"
"Sometime early next year, around your birthday," Reinald says as he gently corrects a maligned swipe, "Speaking of gifts, I have received word that your bird is ready for you. Sister Caoimhe said that she would bring it to you later today."
Audrey freezes. That's not just any bird, that's a companion. A bird of chivalric quality, one to accompany her through her life. One to be her eyes, one to guide her on the battlefield and finish off wounded foes in her battle-wake.
Oh, she can't wait to lay eyes on her new companion!
But, as she makes her way towards where Sister Caoimhe was waiting for her, a certain annoyance kept pressure at the back of her head. Was it possible that she was forgetting something?
…
Chancellery: Rolled -2 successes, no progress on "Slowing down for the Commons"
Nah.
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Dark, glassy eyes meet slashed-through blue. Audrey tilts her head to the side and a beaked face mirrors her perfectly. Glossy feathers streaked in black and hooded grey sway in the wind, the faintest brush of deep blue adding an iridescent hue.
"This…" Audrey's voice wavers a little as she observes the caged bird placed before her. Brass bars glint in the lamplight, reflecting in the eyes of the avian in a dance of shining colours, "is to be my first companion?"
The crow bobs its head as the Falconeer—Sister Caoimhe, an old, Pictish nun with cracked lips and heavy wrinkles shadowing her one working eye—drills a stare deep through Audrey's soul.
"What?" The nun eventually starts with a huff as a shock of worry spreads through Audrey's chest. Did she make a mistake? When? How? "Too good for a crow?"
Audrey blinks, "The crow is the symbol of my house."
"Ah," the Nun purses her ragged lips as creases line her face, "I retract my words." Clearing her throat, Sister Caoimhe turns the conversation down another path, "What do you wish to name him?"
"I have to name him?" Audrey asks, a crooked finger running down the crow's glossy feathers. "I would have thought he would already have a name."
"It is an important part of the bonding process," the Nun says as she unveils a two-sided mirror from her habit. "When God made the world, He saw fit to give Adam the right to name His Creation. Just as Adam named all life, so too must you name your companions."
What does Audrey name her crow?
[ ] Write in
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AN: We made a mistake in giving you two focus actions. That will not be happening again. We wound up cutting the squire interaction in order to make everything fit properly.
