Lord Ren stood on one of the gordy decorated belconies of his estate overlooking the feilds of Ehllan and distanced watch towers in late evening. He was taller than most people his age,with a body which spoke of the sword though paler from practcing indoors. His coat a dark dark blue,embroided with lacework,crawled all the way till the rim of his neck. The silver falcon sewn stright across his chest from shoulder to shoulder reminded his followers of his stature,the soul heir of the Great lord Ehllan.

His burnished long sword hung by his waist,it looked at one with him. He had just finished his time in the dungeons,and had come up this far to clear his thoughts away from those watchfull eyes.

Ignoring the view,Lord Ren paced back and forth thinking with his fingers. "Why had his father send two legions of his best men down river towards his domain.","Why send the iron fists(The Iron Fist--Blademasters of the Great Lord of Ehllan) redied for battle." he noticed something amiss.

From the corner of his eye,a silver blade sprung from the depths of the blood red balcony curtains. Lord Ren acted on reflex,long sword flared from his waist,"crane takes flight" in two gentle steps. Head and arm was off the attacker,its dead and lifeless body fell limp across the marbeled floor.

He spun around taking in the horizon,he had anticipated this move from his father. Flame erupted from the watchtowers burning a hole in the dark of night. And in the distance the banner,the wind arrow of Ehllan shone high above The Silver Falcon which at that moment was set ablaze. Lord ren turned and charged down his estates weathered stairs.

Battle had already begun in the outer fringes of his domain, men fought men some screaming and others shouting battle crys. He had to ralley his men somehow,unite them under one song "For The Silver Falcon,The Falcon soars!". his one shout was joined by others,at first only a handfull recited in the frenzy,but after beating down the first wind arrow party he had enough men to form a legion. They fought through halls,along the square of meetings, form corridor to corridor. On one ocasion he took on ten men with five with as few as two deaths.

Sweat rolled from the corner of his eye,he stood alone in the Great Hall facing at least twenty armed spearmaen. the mixture of blood and sweat seeped into a gash under his lower jaw,left from a failed attempt at his head. Pain filled his face,he could hardly move his mouth without feeling that it would fall open. One of the intricately carved doors opposite the yong lord flung open.

...penned by Ron_chooi at 8:10 AM
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