Post by Joscelin de Valore on May 23, 2012 9:22:31 GMT -5
The Grand city of Ascalon was a beauty to behold and what was beyond her walls was ripe for the taking. He loved it there for he was out of the shadow and watchful eyes of his family, and he could drink, gamble, and rut away between the thighs of any woman he could win over with his charm. It also helped that the Duke of Ascalon, and his family, were a rather charming, welcoming and entertaining folk. They made him feel at home and they didn't judge him, although he suspected that they only treated him kindly because . . . well, he was the Crown Prince.
It wasn't as if they could quite get away with insulting him, but what was fortunate was that they supported him and his claim, at least as far as he could tell. Joscelin believed himself to be an excellent judge of character when it came to such things; after all, he had a mind and skill with politicking. His instructors, and own personal experiences, had amounted to shaping a man who felt at home in court. Yes, it wasn't the same as his passion for the art of war, but in truth it was just as dangerous. If one was not careful then court intrigue could swallow one alive . . . one never quite knew what someone may be planning for everyone, at least most of the time, had some sort ulterior motive.
It was simply the nature of man.
Nonetheless, Joscelin was safe. He felt it within his bones that he was as he rode down the main thoroughfare, although he wasn't gallivanting. Joscelin wouldn't dare attract too much attention, especially with the Kingdom at odds between the noble class and common folk. Still, he wasn't that sort of man anyway. Yes, he would womanize, drink his fill, and gamble, but he wasn't a fool. He was a man, and one who was still intelligent even when his mind was clouded when drunk, and in turn as sharp as the sword at his hip when he was sober and at attention.
His arrival hadn't been expected, however, because Joscelin was one that liked to keep the loyal subjects of Etrias on their toes. Unfortunately, that meant that the Palace was rather empty and lacking of the Maulesel family line. It seemed that they were busy with their duties, and although Joscelin could have interrupted them and called them to attention at any time, he had decided to settle in first. He smelled like sweat, heat, horse, and the road, and Joscelin took the time to scrub himself thoroughly in order to seem presentable. When he was clean, and dressed in fresh clothing, Joscelin sought out entertainment.
"Who is here?" Joscelin asked.
"I believe young Lord Siegfried Maulesel had arrived during your bath, Your Highness," Richard, a man twenty-seven years older than Joscelin and who worked closely with the Palace's staff, answered. Joscelin, shadowed by two men at arms and the servant at his heels, looked over his shoulder and nodded slowly.
"Have him meet me in the gardens," Joscelin said. "It has been some time since I have last seen him or spoken with him," Joscelin mused. "Yes, of course, Your Highness," Richard replied swiftly, bowing deeply to Joscelin before he turned away, only to be stopped by Joscelin.
"Oh, and wine . . . lots of wine," Joscelin said, smiled, and continued to walk away.
It was early in the afternoon and the sun was warm. The stirring wind was refreshing as much as the scent of the exotic plant life on display within the gardens. The statuary, as well, was something he appreciated too, which were spread out within. It reminded him of when he had been a boy and the first time he had come to Ascalon with his father. He had come here to the gardens, and upon a dare with one of the Maulesel boys, Joscelin had climbed one of the statues. It had ended with him falling off when he had reached the top, however, and splitting the underside of his chin. He had bled profusely and had tears in his eyes, but he had not wept. Unconsciously he rubbed at his chin now, although a beard hid the scar now.
What had happened . . . ? Idly he wondered about that boy, the one that would never say no to a challenge and feared nothing. He still feared nothing, yes, and he still took up challenges left and right, but of course he wasn't the same man. War had changed him for the better and worse, although he never told anyone about such. He more than likely never would. Instead, he shoved the thoughts away, stowing them away within him as he approached the statue that he had fallen from as a child. It was a man, a knight of high standing in Ascalon, although the decades of wind and rain had worn his features down. He set his hands on the foundation he stood upon, staring up at him.
One day there would be a child climbing a statue of himself and falling from it.
He only hoped the child would never regret following in the steps of heroes.
It wasn't as if they could quite get away with insulting him, but what was fortunate was that they supported him and his claim, at least as far as he could tell. Joscelin believed himself to be an excellent judge of character when it came to such things; after all, he had a mind and skill with politicking. His instructors, and own personal experiences, had amounted to shaping a man who felt at home in court. Yes, it wasn't the same as his passion for the art of war, but in truth it was just as dangerous. If one was not careful then court intrigue could swallow one alive . . . one never quite knew what someone may be planning for everyone, at least most of the time, had some sort ulterior motive.
It was simply the nature of man.
Nonetheless, Joscelin was safe. He felt it within his bones that he was as he rode down the main thoroughfare, although he wasn't gallivanting. Joscelin wouldn't dare attract too much attention, especially with the Kingdom at odds between the noble class and common folk. Still, he wasn't that sort of man anyway. Yes, he would womanize, drink his fill, and gamble, but he wasn't a fool. He was a man, and one who was still intelligent even when his mind was clouded when drunk, and in turn as sharp as the sword at his hip when he was sober and at attention.
His arrival hadn't been expected, however, because Joscelin was one that liked to keep the loyal subjects of Etrias on their toes. Unfortunately, that meant that the Palace was rather empty and lacking of the Maulesel family line. It seemed that they were busy with their duties, and although Joscelin could have interrupted them and called them to attention at any time, he had decided to settle in first. He smelled like sweat, heat, horse, and the road, and Joscelin took the time to scrub himself thoroughly in order to seem presentable. When he was clean, and dressed in fresh clothing, Joscelin sought out entertainment.
"Who is here?" Joscelin asked.
"I believe young Lord Siegfried Maulesel had arrived during your bath, Your Highness," Richard, a man twenty-seven years older than Joscelin and who worked closely with the Palace's staff, answered. Joscelin, shadowed by two men at arms and the servant at his heels, looked over his shoulder and nodded slowly.
"Have him meet me in the gardens," Joscelin said. "It has been some time since I have last seen him or spoken with him," Joscelin mused. "Yes, of course, Your Highness," Richard replied swiftly, bowing deeply to Joscelin before he turned away, only to be stopped by Joscelin.
"Oh, and wine . . . lots of wine," Joscelin said, smiled, and continued to walk away.
It was early in the afternoon and the sun was warm. The stirring wind was refreshing as much as the scent of the exotic plant life on display within the gardens. The statuary, as well, was something he appreciated too, which were spread out within. It reminded him of when he had been a boy and the first time he had come to Ascalon with his father. He had come here to the gardens, and upon a dare with one of the Maulesel boys, Joscelin had climbed one of the statues. It had ended with him falling off when he had reached the top, however, and splitting the underside of his chin. He had bled profusely and had tears in his eyes, but he had not wept. Unconsciously he rubbed at his chin now, although a beard hid the scar now.
What had happened . . . ? Idly he wondered about that boy, the one that would never say no to a challenge and feared nothing. He still feared nothing, yes, and he still took up challenges left and right, but of course he wasn't the same man. War had changed him for the better and worse, although he never told anyone about such. He more than likely never would. Instead, he shoved the thoughts away, stowing them away within him as he approached the statue that he had fallen from as a child. It was a man, a knight of high standing in Ascalon, although the decades of wind and rain had worn his features down. He set his hands on the foundation he stood upon, staring up at him.
One day there would be a child climbing a statue of himself and falling from it.
He only hoped the child would never regret following in the steps of heroes.
