Morning of the 42nd Vhalar, 715
"Do you even know where you're going?"
Irkall rolled his eyes at the question, Lizbeth following closely behind. There was a wicked smile across her face as she teased him. "Have I ever led us astray before?" he returned with a questioning look. She playfully placed a hand on her mouth, posing as if she was really thinking about it, although both already knew the answer. "Hmm. I seem to recall a time on the road to Venora, a 'shortcut' you insisted we take. How late were we to that dinner again?"
Immediately, a chuckle left Irkall, his smile wide as the two continued to walk, each holding their own belongings rolled up in a bag in one arm. Irkall had, of course, brought his sword for travelling and Lizbeth had brought some blankets from their home and rations for the journey. The road they travelled down was beautiful this time of year, a long journey they had taken more than once on the outskirts of Rynmere. Stopping at taverns along the way was far too much hassle for his liking - but Lizbeth seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was because of how many Arcs she'd spent trapped away with her family, helping run the business, doing the hard work. Trapped in a cycle each trial.
Leaves littered the dirt road, growing orange as they fell from the trees and marked the path, only disrupted by passing carriages and pedestrians. Trees were bare yet still beautiful and the sun shone through their branches as the pair walked. Vhalar was always such a pretty season. Even as a child he had enjoyed it, seeing the leaves fall from the window of his room, watching as the trees shifted and changed before the cold truly struck.
"You make a fair point. It's a wonder they never invited us for dinner again. Shame. I quite enjoyed the food" he smirked mischievously. "Oh yes, your opinions at home were so glowing. 'I wish I'd taken more wrong turns, this fish is dryer than the mud outside' was your main feedback, no?" she returned with the same sarcasm that had drawn Irkall in to begin with. She was nothing like other nobles he had grown up around, nor was she like the peasant servants that served him. She knew how to say no yet wasn't pompous or uptight.
She was just perfect.
As the pair approached a small hill Irkall knew he had found a good place. It was looking over the treeline, meaning they would get sunlight for the many Breaks left that trial. They started to walk away from the path and towards the hill as Irkall placed his free hand in hers. "Perhaps I was simply spoiled by your cooking? Maybe I'll never enjoy a meal again" he shrugged, causing her to burst out in genuine laughter. "Of course! The noble boy from Krome, is spoiled because of his peasant-born lover. That must be it!"
"Peasant-born? Last I checked your father was wealthy long before you were born, hm? Don't play the saint act now" he turned to face her with a raised eyebrow, stopping atop the hill, sun shining bright behind him. He dropped his bag to the floor as she did the same, stopping in front of him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "If you were anyone else I'd smack you for that" she grinned up at him, Irkall's eyebrow raising even higher. "Oh? And what if I'm not anyone else?"
With a softer smile across her face she moved her hands up to cup his cheeks. "Shut the fuck up and find out" she whispered, eyes meeting for just a moment, Irkall feeling his heart race in his chest. She leaned forward and closed her eyes, kissing him as his own eyes closed, hands resting along her back. Warmth flooded through his body as he felt comfort. Pure, undisturbed comfort. She was his world, the light that had shone through the darker parts of his life. Moments like these felt precious every trial.
After a few more seconds the kiss broke and Irkall simply smiled. "Well then. Suddenly, I'm glad to be me" he spoke through his smile, voice carrying a breeze of joy with every word. Eventually he stepped away from her, gesturing out to the sun in the distance. "So, the Trial is ours, we can do what we please. You have any requests?" Irkall asked as he took in the hot rays of the sun, warm beams shining down onto his face. The breeze was the perfect temperature, the sun shone bright and not a single cloud was there to ruin the view.
Lizbeth paused before kneeling down at the bundles they had dropped to the floor, unwrapping Irkall's sword and holding the hilt. Her eyes showed mischief as she raised the blade and handed it to him, the large bastard sword heavy in her hands. "Show me how to fight" she demanded playfully, Irkall taking the blade into his own hand with a small scoff. "You want me to teach you how to fight? After such a long walk?" he questioned. Of all the romantic endeavours he hoped for on their walk together this was not one of them. Perhaps resting under the stars, or some relaxing music at a local tavern together that night. Dancing together or just holding one another and talking.
"I'm sorry, let me rephrase for you" she smirked, before bowing her head, overdoing the gesture intentionally. "Please, Lord Krome, may you please show me how to fight with a blade, with all your awesomeness and nobility" Lizbeth teased in an over-the-top tone, mocking the nobles that would often suck up to one another. Irkall's shook his head with a grin, taking the sword into both his hands. "Not one noble has ever referred to my 'awesomeness', so you know" he corrected her sarcastically, taking a stance with the sword. Truth be told, he wasn't very good with it. Good enough to swing it, good enough to know which parts you were meant to attack with. But that was the extent of it. There weren't many opportunities to truly fight when you lived life as a sheltered noble.
"The bastard sword is used in either one hand or two, depending on the situation" he explained, keeping both hands on it. "Hence the name. It has no family of blades. It stands alone. A bastard" he continued with a nod. Lizbeth watched intently. It was one of the few things Irkall seemed interested in, one hobby he maintained and enjoyed. Perhaps if he was born outside of nobility he'd have been a soldier instead. Then again, with his dislike of being told what to do it was hard to imagine him standing in line and following orders. Maybe a mercenary would work better for him.
Irkall gestured for her to step closer, holding the sword out for her. Once she took it into her arms he stood behind her and held her wrists, helping her get into the correct stance. "You need your knees bent a little, it'll help you keep sturdy. With a weapon this heavy, falling can happen" he whispered, hand drawing small traces along her arm as she smiled and maintained the stance. Using his own arms to guide hers, the blade raised up. "Its weight makes it more dangerous, though."
With a sudden drop, Irkall guided her hands, stopping after a cleave downwards. "Means a swing like that is enough to cut through whatever you need to cut through" he smiled, letting go of her arms slowly so she could hold the sword by herself, taking a step back. Lizbeth simply turned, lowering the sword before offering it out to Irkall. "No. Show me properly. Not the 'I'm scared you'll hurt yourself so I'll hold your arms', let me watch you. Please."
Something about her expression seemed serious, something Irkall didn't understand. Why did she care so much? Truthfully, she cared because she wanted to see him do something he loved. But the reason mattered little to Irkall. If it made her happy so be it. His hand stretched out and took the bladed weapon, holding it with two hands and taking some steps back to the open grass, sun shining behind him as Lizbeth rolled one of the blankets out for herself to kneel on.
She watched intently as Irkall practiced some of the swings and techniques he'd learned from his instructor, basic swings that he was assured were the bread and butter of any fighter. Perhaps it was true, or perhaps the instructor was too scared to teach the boy anything more in case he injured himself. Regardless of which it was, Irkall took steps forward with his swings, some heavy overhanded cleaves and some lighter stabs and cuts. After a while his arms got tired and he felt sweat starting to build up, panting a little as he let the sword drop, Lizbeth clapping and standing up.
"See? Was that so difficult?" she smiled at him, picking up the spare blanket and bundling it together, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Now, when evil bandits and terrifying monsters come running I know how to...hide behind you!" she chuckled, causing a wide grin on his face, even as his body was tired. Rather than respond, Irkall simply pulled her closer, closing his eyes as her head rested against his chest. There was silence for a while as the sun shone down on the pair. It was magical. Even with all the time they had spent together they still found moments like this.
"I love you, Irkall" she whispered softly. The noble smiled against her, holding her a little tighter. "I love you too, Lizbeth."
Irkall rolled his eyes at the question, Lizbeth following closely behind. There was a wicked smile across her face as she teased him. "Have I ever led us astray before?" he returned with a questioning look. She playfully placed a hand on her mouth, posing as if she was really thinking about it, although both already knew the answer. "Hmm. I seem to recall a time on the road to Venora, a 'shortcut' you insisted we take. How late were we to that dinner again?"
Immediately, a chuckle left Irkall, his smile wide as the two continued to walk, each holding their own belongings rolled up in a bag in one arm. Irkall had, of course, brought his sword for travelling and Lizbeth had brought some blankets from their home and rations for the journey. The road they travelled down was beautiful this time of year, a long journey they had taken more than once on the outskirts of Rynmere. Stopping at taverns along the way was far too much hassle for his liking - but Lizbeth seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was because of how many Arcs she'd spent trapped away with her family, helping run the business, doing the hard work. Trapped in a cycle each trial.
Leaves littered the dirt road, growing orange as they fell from the trees and marked the path, only disrupted by passing carriages and pedestrians. Trees were bare yet still beautiful and the sun shone through their branches as the pair walked. Vhalar was always such a pretty season. Even as a child he had enjoyed it, seeing the leaves fall from the window of his room, watching as the trees shifted and changed before the cold truly struck.
"You make a fair point. It's a wonder they never invited us for dinner again. Shame. I quite enjoyed the food" he smirked mischievously. "Oh yes, your opinions at home were so glowing. 'I wish I'd taken more wrong turns, this fish is dryer than the mud outside' was your main feedback, no?" she returned with the same sarcasm that had drawn Irkall in to begin with. She was nothing like other nobles he had grown up around, nor was she like the peasant servants that served him. She knew how to say no yet wasn't pompous or uptight.
She was just perfect.
As the pair approached a small hill Irkall knew he had found a good place. It was looking over the treeline, meaning they would get sunlight for the many Breaks left that trial. They started to walk away from the path and towards the hill as Irkall placed his free hand in hers. "Perhaps I was simply spoiled by your cooking? Maybe I'll never enjoy a meal again" he shrugged, causing her to burst out in genuine laughter. "Of course! The noble boy from Krome, is spoiled because of his peasant-born lover. That must be it!"
"Peasant-born? Last I checked your father was wealthy long before you were born, hm? Don't play the saint act now" he turned to face her with a raised eyebrow, stopping atop the hill, sun shining bright behind him. He dropped his bag to the floor as she did the same, stopping in front of him and placing her hands on his shoulders. "If you were anyone else I'd smack you for that" she grinned up at him, Irkall's eyebrow raising even higher. "Oh? And what if I'm not anyone else?"
With a softer smile across her face she moved her hands up to cup his cheeks. "Shut the fuck up and find out" she whispered, eyes meeting for just a moment, Irkall feeling his heart race in his chest. She leaned forward and closed her eyes, kissing him as his own eyes closed, hands resting along her back. Warmth flooded through his body as he felt comfort. Pure, undisturbed comfort. She was his world, the light that had shone through the darker parts of his life. Moments like these felt precious every trial.
After a few more seconds the kiss broke and Irkall simply smiled. "Well then. Suddenly, I'm glad to be me" he spoke through his smile, voice carrying a breeze of joy with every word. Eventually he stepped away from her, gesturing out to the sun in the distance. "So, the Trial is ours, we can do what we please. You have any requests?" Irkall asked as he took in the hot rays of the sun, warm beams shining down onto his face. The breeze was the perfect temperature, the sun shone bright and not a single cloud was there to ruin the view.
Lizbeth paused before kneeling down at the bundles they had dropped to the floor, unwrapping Irkall's sword and holding the hilt. Her eyes showed mischief as she raised the blade and handed it to him, the large bastard sword heavy in her hands. "Show me how to fight" she demanded playfully, Irkall taking the blade into his own hand with a small scoff. "You want me to teach you how to fight? After such a long walk?" he questioned. Of all the romantic endeavours he hoped for on their walk together this was not one of them. Perhaps resting under the stars, or some relaxing music at a local tavern together that night. Dancing together or just holding one another and talking.
"I'm sorry, let me rephrase for you" she smirked, before bowing her head, overdoing the gesture intentionally. "Please, Lord Krome, may you please show me how to fight with a blade, with all your awesomeness and nobility" Lizbeth teased in an over-the-top tone, mocking the nobles that would often suck up to one another. Irkall's shook his head with a grin, taking the sword into both his hands. "Not one noble has ever referred to my 'awesomeness', so you know" he corrected her sarcastically, taking a stance with the sword. Truth be told, he wasn't very good with it. Good enough to swing it, good enough to know which parts you were meant to attack with. But that was the extent of it. There weren't many opportunities to truly fight when you lived life as a sheltered noble.
"The bastard sword is used in either one hand or two, depending on the situation" he explained, keeping both hands on it. "Hence the name. It has no family of blades. It stands alone. A bastard" he continued with a nod. Lizbeth watched intently. It was one of the few things Irkall seemed interested in, one hobby he maintained and enjoyed. Perhaps if he was born outside of nobility he'd have been a soldier instead. Then again, with his dislike of being told what to do it was hard to imagine him standing in line and following orders. Maybe a mercenary would work better for him.
Irkall gestured for her to step closer, holding the sword out for her. Once she took it into her arms he stood behind her and held her wrists, helping her get into the correct stance. "You need your knees bent a little, it'll help you keep sturdy. With a weapon this heavy, falling can happen" he whispered, hand drawing small traces along her arm as she smiled and maintained the stance. Using his own arms to guide hers, the blade raised up. "Its weight makes it more dangerous, though."
With a sudden drop, Irkall guided her hands, stopping after a cleave downwards. "Means a swing like that is enough to cut through whatever you need to cut through" he smiled, letting go of her arms slowly so she could hold the sword by herself, taking a step back. Lizbeth simply turned, lowering the sword before offering it out to Irkall. "No. Show me properly. Not the 'I'm scared you'll hurt yourself so I'll hold your arms', let me watch you. Please."
Something about her expression seemed serious, something Irkall didn't understand. Why did she care so much? Truthfully, she cared because she wanted to see him do something he loved. But the reason mattered little to Irkall. If it made her happy so be it. His hand stretched out and took the bladed weapon, holding it with two hands and taking some steps back to the open grass, sun shining behind him as Lizbeth rolled one of the blankets out for herself to kneel on.
She watched intently as Irkall practiced some of the swings and techniques he'd learned from his instructor, basic swings that he was assured were the bread and butter of any fighter. Perhaps it was true, or perhaps the instructor was too scared to teach the boy anything more in case he injured himself. Regardless of which it was, Irkall took steps forward with his swings, some heavy overhanded cleaves and some lighter stabs and cuts. After a while his arms got tired and he felt sweat starting to build up, panting a little as he let the sword drop, Lizbeth clapping and standing up.
"See? Was that so difficult?" she smiled at him, picking up the spare blanket and bundling it together, using it to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Now, when evil bandits and terrifying monsters come running I know how to...hide behind you!" she chuckled, causing a wide grin on his face, even as his body was tired. Rather than respond, Irkall simply pulled her closer, closing his eyes as her head rested against his chest. There was silence for a while as the sun shone down on the pair. It was magical. Even with all the time they had spent together they still found moments like this.
"I love you, Irkall" she whispered softly. The noble smiled against her, holding her a little tighter. "I love you too, Lizbeth."
