Uproarious laughter filled the banquet hall. The King's various guests were having a fantastic night as it waned on. Cassian was… having a less-than-stellar time at the event. There was nothing worse than finding himself in this hall, especially when his lover, Adair, was trapped elsewhere, imprisoned for a petty crime.
He glanced around the room, taking note of others who were present. There was the court jester, an ever-present individual. He watched as they performed some kind of practical joke, the punchline being egg on their face, of course. Florian had no quarrels with making a fool of themselves as long as it drew attention. They seemed to thrive on the stuff, something Cassian didn’t quite understand - not a profession for him. Close to the King sat the court Scribe, always prepared for notation. Bruno wasn’t out of place at events like these, even if many found his presence… bothersome. It was no fault of Bruno’s of course, people are often simply troubled by those who know far, far more than they ever could, even if those individuals are best described as a wallflower more likely to tip over with a gust of wind than flex any sort of superiority (a superiority he highly doubted Bruno even felt to begin with). Then, of course, there was King Rynauld Alastair Ekkehard V. His Father. Cassian sneered at the thought, wishing for nothing more than an opportunity to properly get away from that fact. Difficult, when everyone from here to the sea existed under his thumb.
A crash, followed by a shrill scream, interrupted his train of thought. He watched Bruno’s head snap towards the door of the banquet hall like a meerkat that just heard the too-close roar of a lion. His eyes swept across the room. Florian’s latest props fell limply from their hands to the floor, the ever-present grin on their face growing taut. Finally, his eyes cast to the door after what felt like a century. It was like looking into a void, the candles in the hall snuffed out. There was a shape in the darkness, a shape that moved with a horrible scraping of metal on stone, and the ragged breathing of a man half dead. As the figure emerged from the dark, Cassian blinked in confusion. For a moment, he could’ve sworn that whatever had been moving in the dark had been… taller. Regardless of his poor perception, there was no mistaking the threat that the figure posed as they entered the hall: a knight clad in black armor, patterned with strange swirling shapes. Their helmet was pointed like the snout of a beast, a large plume of ebony fur emerging from the back of it. He held an iridescent black sword in his pointed, claw-like gauntlets, the pommel twisting into strange branches in the guard.
The towering intruder's harsh gaze, though obscured, showed clear disdain – disdain for this party in its glamour, for the aristocracy staring in shock, for the King on his gilded throne. The knight’s gaze swept across the room with a flash, sword rising to point at the King in silence. He stepped forward, hoisting up onto the banquet table. His sabatons fell with heavy clanks as he made his ceaseless march forward, knocking goblets of wine out of his way, sending them clattering to the table and floor. He stopped at the end of it, looking around once more, his haggard breathing louder than ever as the court looked on in shock, not only at the audacity of this figure, but the lack of explanation for what was transpiring before them. Cassian realized a quick choice must be made, and from the looks on Bruno and Florian’s faces… they were thinking the same thing.
