Two Knights in the Soup

Log Info

• Title: Two Knights in the Soup.
• Emitter: Knightmare
• Characters: Knightmare, Paenitia
• Place: H03: Eldwyn Road
• Time: Wednesday, December 09, 2020, 12:01 AM, Wednesday, December 09, 2020 8:41 PM
• Summary: In a dark and icy fog, two knights meet while traveling to Alexandria. They could not be more different, nore more the same. One is a construct, shaped like a skeletal mare and walking with a dark destrier. Her trappings tattered and faded. The other is a Lucht Siuil, resplendent in crimson clothes and riding a white peacock hippogryph. Her furnishings all sun-aged with a patina. They hail greetings and walk together, explaining their origins and reasons for leaving their homelands. The destruction by Heth, for the Knightmare, and too much notoriety, for Knight Errant Paenitia. Paenitia talks about the origins of her order, the Smiling Man and the Mad Dogs. She goes on to discuss the Tenets of the Knights of the Pillar, then asks Knightmare to expound upon the ones for the Knights of the Lost Crown. While not exactly the same, they find enough common ground to pledge assistance to each other. Paenitia finally apologizes for riding while Knightmare is forced to walk, and dismounts, and this prompts the other to suggest and both to decide to make camp. They do so, talk about horses and lost comrads and then sleep comes.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* H03: Eldwyn Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The Eldwyn Road meanders continuously around hills, wilderness, and farmland, though it is occasionally broken by fingerlets from the great Tornmawr. At one point, the road crosses the Tornmawr itself, which takes place by use of a ferry.

Further east and past the ferry are the great Redridge Mountains. These mountains, which run mostly north and south, charge through the landscape, and even through the eastern end of the Lord's City of Alexandria.

Towards the south is the city, with its flags rising far above the walls. The fiery Rising Phoenix almost glows in the sunlight and airships may be seen both in flight and in dock, as they make use of a carefully sculpted section of the Redridge.

Towards the north, the landscape of rolling hills and farmland breaks into denser forest.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing, in Order  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Knightmare   6'4"     294 Lb     War Golem         Female    A knightly construct on the hoof bearing heraldry of lost Dragonier.
Paenitia     3'0"     34 Lb      Halfling          Female    A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Dragonier is quite a ways from here.

Hoofbeats strike the cobbles in a steady cadence... and also in a slightly less, more rapid cadence.

The reason for this is probably that the massive, fluffy legged destrier so frequently sounding alost four shoes against stone, is being led by the weathered construct leading him via the barest lay of hand upon the side of his neck. It is her own pair that sound more steadily with their travel, a hollow voice within saying, "Almost there, friend." in a reasonably companionable tone.

This night, tonight is a shroud of cold bleak mist. Dark, grey, colorless, it is akin to walking in Limbo. No lights, no sights, no trees. Only the road, fading out and fading back. To the sides, ground that is icy. Around, an air that is wet and seeping.

Through that nothingness comes a second pair of travellers, trailing the hoofbeats with a similar yet strange cadence. There is the strong striking of hooves, and the sounds of claws, hauling something along.

And a voice, calling out, child-like with an adult's confidence, "Ho, Hola! Is that voices? Do we share the road?"

There is a soft hiss of steel on steel, the creak of aged leather as the dark slots of a visor are directed past the bedraped shoulder to regard the source of the hail. The night meaning little to such as her, the ragged knight dips her chin and replies, "Yes. We do." she returns, the internal bellows straining a little for extra volume, "Well met, and peaceful travels, stranger!"

Knightmare draws her hand but a moment, then gently pats it twice against her companion's shoulder, "Steady, friend."

A large white form emerges from the foggy gloom, rapidly drawing closer. At first the shape will not resolve, a long necked lizard, a giant goose with wings, a ship. Then it is close and clear.

A white peacock, the size of a horse and part horse, with a trail of feathers twice it's incredible length. Seated upon the beast's back, is a small knight in red armour, saddle bestewn with weapons. "Peaceful travels, and we shall not be strangers. I am Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Haranna, Knight of the Pillar and Paladin of Tarien."

Her peacock screaches, and odd combination of avian utterances, a large peacock of great timber. The small knight adds, "And this is Ramirez."

Knightmare takes in the resolving sight before her as it emerges from the fog. There is a lift of her chin skyward a moment, a quick look about, then she turns more fully, drawing her own war bedecked companion about. She slowly draws a warn longsword from the array at her hip and brings the weapon up in a formal salute, "Hail, and well met! I am Dame Betrys of Dragonier, Knight of the Lost Crown."

With a practiced flourish belied by the shoddy appearance of her shell, the construct Knight returns the blade to it's place and gently strokes the neck of her beefy, yet also quite fluffy Destrier, "This is my trusty steed, Cysgodawyr."

They draw closer. Ramirez has a proud gait, stepping high with forelegs that end in a talons, and the source of the strange clicking. Paenitia looks down from his back, a cloak of feathers wrapped about her, face obscured by a strange rusting mask. One with a wide smile and moustache that contrasts with her obvious feminity of voice and form. She gazes through and past it. She scrabbles around, pulling her sword from its sheath and returning the salute. "Fair greeting, Dame Betrys and noble Cysgodawyr! You are a fighting construct? Still under yoke of your creator or free?"

Knightmare returns the masked smile with one of her own, perhaps a bit of gallows humor on her armourer's part.

The question cocks her head a mite, as a gentle zephyr sets her plumes mildly to dancing. She straightens, "I was built for war, yes, but now I bear my service by choice and with solemn pride."

The choice of facial shielding is odd, she surmises, the indication of facial pelt befitting a male though other measures say 'female', but as the two Knights are only recently met, it is perhaps not for her to ask just now. Instead, "You have travelled far?"

"Yes, from Isobar through Myrddion and the lands here." Paenitia says with a wild gesture, waving the sword behind her. Her mask may suggest one thing, but there is no mistaking the great mane of black curls that cascade past her shoulders and over her feathered cloak. Springy, it bounces with her every movement, moreso as she fights the sword back into its sheath.

"A long adventurous peregrination, the ground passing, faces met and friendships forged." She explains further, "and the great anticipation of completing my Quest in Alexandria."

Knightmare nods crisply on that score, "I, also, have business in Alexandria, though Cysgodawyr threw a shoe some miles back, and I would not burden him with my weight until I can have it reset." She strokes the great beast's neck some more, then looks back to the other pair, "Would you and brave Ramirez share miles with us, or does your quest demand greater haste?"

Ramirez, who has been peering side-eyed at Dame Betyrs for several steps, twisting his head to sometimes use his other eye, understands the appelate and squawks appreciation in deep baratone.

"We have no haste!" Paenitia replies, excited, "We would add the warmth of companionship to this night. Our journey has felt like struggling through vast emptiness, grasping for details. We shall stick with you until you may re-shoe."

Knightmare gives a dip of the head anew and leads Cysgodawyr alongside the proud aerial steed, "Gladly would we have it, friends." a warm tone in her lilt. She considers the pair sidelong, though the peculiarities of her construction make that nigh unreadable, then, "You have been companions for a long time, then?"

"Yes!" Paenitia says proudly, standing in her saddle. This doesn't add much height, though either way her mount allows her to gaze down. She pats high on Ramirez's neck, just behind his head, "I hatched him from an egg."

An egg that must have rivaled her in size. One she would at best be able to reach halfway around.

"His was in a shipment to the Iron Baron. For the dinner-table, imagine! Liberated by the Mad Dogs, with my aid, and claimed as my share. I had raised many chickens, know the ways of the incubator. It was the same, but much, much bigger!"

She grins eagerly, which is hidden by her mask, but audible in her voice and matched in the passionate waving of her hands. "The anticipation! What would come forth from the giant egg? Day after day I wondered. My grandmother called me foolish. I persisted. Talked and watched. Would it be a giant lizard, a roc, a snake? a yuan-ti, a turtle, a spider? A dragon? I guessed so many things and did not guess what he was!"

She throws herself into a hug around the peacock-horse's neck.

"I can imagine." Dame Betrys returns, facing along her shoulder to her lofty companion, "You have reared a fine steed, Sister Paenitia, I hope your bond is long and graced with glory and honor."

Cysgodawyr, noting the affection overflow from the other pair, whickers slightly, and the iron maiden turns her mind to gently stroking his neck anew, "Just a little farther, old friend, I've not forgotten you."

Her mind turns to other things, to a Dragon served.... a Dragon lost.... and with it, the country of her birth to little more than memory. Her chin dips a touch, then, "What happened to the Iron Baron?" a subtle shift in timbre for the musings.

"We broke his hold! The fuse that had been lit on Gilday spread and exploded the spirit of equality and resistance throughout Isobar. The common man, who had supported us before now rose up with us." Paenitia says proudly, "That was when my order was founded, to support the pillars of society in seeking their freedom."

She leans back and pats a numerous collection of polearms strapped to the back of her saddle, "Arm them, if necessary."

She wraps her feathers about her some more, "He was put to trial, by his own laws, with a jury of those he had imprisonned." A nod, then, and the construct considers that.

"I expect it ended badly for him." Betrys says simply, then looks to her horse, "What do you think?"

The destrier swings his proud head up and down a couple of times with a short whinny.

The little Lucht laughs loudly and settles back into her saddle, bouncing happily. "He is smart, Cysgodawyr. I like him. Ramirez likes him too."

Another squawk of some sort of agreement is made by the bird.

"We had many struggles, spreading the word, and much travel. Days flying along the Gusty Furrows, living amongst the wilds. Ramirez like he was born to it, at times so reddened by dust he was like a sunrise."

Two pairs of travellers roam the roads. One, a masked Lucht Siul in resplendent gear riding a start white and red hippogriff, the other, a ramshackle War Golem leading a barded, fluffy Destrier who walks with a slightly uneven gait.

The Knightmare, Betrys, considers the other Knight via the corner of her visor and nods, "I remember when the sky was free." in a thoughtful, hollow tone.

"That sounds like a long time ago, my friend." The masked Lucht Siuil says, twisting in her seat so she can observe the other pair. So strange, the equine knight leading the equine. A powerful image she doesn't remark upon. "The skies have been divided and owned in all the places I have been. Not that I asked! I will go where I am needed and Ramirez will take me!"

There is a deep chirp of agreement from her peacock-andalusen.

Knightmare is silent a moment in the wake of her new comrade's observation, but deigns to refine her statement, "In my homeland, once Great Hyrenstralza was felled by the Deathless abomination, the skies stopped being safe... "

The low whicker from the Destrier, the stout hearted Cysgodawyr, prompts a nod, and two quick patpats of the golem's hand against his shoulder, "You're right, old friend."

Still, all the same, the construted one lifts her chin for a quick scan of the sky.

Paenitia looks skyward as well, seeing only fog. "Ha! They will need good eyes to see us in this soup!" Pursuers could be hiding anywhere, she does not doubt the other knight's caution.

"I am sorry, that your homeland and homeskies are lost. I know the heartbreak of exile. My face is too well known at home, I had to leave. I have hopes to return once the fires have died down."

Knightmare nods anew as the fog seems to be putting things to their favor with a polite, "Thank you," though as Paenitia's condolences turn into exposition, her head pivots to more overtly regard her small companion, "Can you not replace the shell?" she inquires, as the door's been opened. For clarity's sake, her off hand lifts to wave before the toothly grim in repousse beneath the border of her visor.

Skrch-skrch, clop-clop, the beat of Ramirez's walk makes for a curious comparison to Cysgodawyr's, as the talon's of his forelegs make a quieter scratching noise compared to his shod hindlegs. Even his fluffy fetlocks, encasing his legs from the knees down, do little to muffle the sound. His tail is silent, it does not drag, he holds it off the ground and far stretched behind.

Paenitia has pulled her legs in so she is sitting on her saddle instead of the wide straddle required to keep her feet in the stirrups. She holds the horn to keep herself steady, and at first is confused by the question.

"My breastplate? No. It is long and storied, a relic of my family, passed down from Great-Aunt to grandmother. Oh wait! You mean the mask? I cannot, for we all wear the face of the Smiling Man. It is a symbol of the Mad Dogs of Isobar! Any might be one, any can be one. In anonymity we are strong and invisible."

"It is the face beneath the face, that has been seen too much and I cannot show."

"I do not understand the imagery." the construct concedes, "You are called Mad Dogs... but your symbol is a happy man?" She turns her head then, to Cysgodawyr, but the burly stallion simply side eyes her. He's not going to explain it for her. Back toward the Sister does the Reaper's smile turn.

"Yes!" Paenitia says, rocking forward in her saddle and reaching out to pet Ramirez's neck. "The Smiling Man was the first to rise up in the Gilday Revolution. The resistance was before, but we wore bandannas, like banditos. He said that we should not be afraid to show our face, our cause was just, but if we could not for fear for our families, we should use his."

The little Lucht looks over at the golem. Beneath her mask, she is grinning wildly. Suddenly, she barks her head off! "We speak the language of the gnolls! They live in the wilds. Only they, Mad Dogs, would go out in the noon-day sun." <gnoll>

It sounds strangely like a language, and not, "Only Mad Dogs go out in the Noon Day sun. They treated us like dogs, so we spoke like dogs."

"Bold of him." the construct Knight remarks with a little nod, her horse turning his head slightly in her direction with a soft whinnie.

The Pillar's linguistic escapades is met by an immutable mask of Betrys's own, but she doesn't ruin the mystique by confessing she has no idea what was just said. Instead, "Intriguing."

"It was. He did suffer greatly, captured and interrogated." Paenitia says solemnly, her head bowed. Enough so that when she takes off her hat, her dark curls fall forward and surround her head. Her face is obscured from the side. She holds her hat in her hands, turned around so she can look on the smiling visage. One of implied suffering. "The Knights of the Pillar were born that day, with his bravery. Resisting Tyranny and fighting for the safety and security of the weak is never wrong. Strike the root and destroy the heavens if the lords and their system say it must be so."

She reverts her hat, sweeps her hair back and has both it and the mask on in an eyeblink. "We have but one life. It is not to be lived under heel."

Knightmare nods, "You do him honor, Sister Paenitia." she says solemnly. There are a couple of her singular hoof falls before she speaks anew, "I have not heard much of your order, nor the Mad Dogs. In fairness, my own works kept me often from the company of others as I sought to guide our people to safety."

She considers her companion, "Some array of common rules must prevail, or there would be no lasting peace, no basis of shared understanding, but to live unchoosing under thrall, as you say, is not a life to live."

"Agreed! We do not strive for Anarchy, or absence of restraint and morality. No, it is against those who would claim Birthright and God-Given right over another, who would use laws to imprison and entrap without flexibility and insensitivity to circumstance." Paenitia says, with conviction.

Ramirez squawks a loud 'waaauuh' in agreement, when she pauses to take a breath.

"Even my steed knows, one mistake should not be a lifetime of servitude. Mistakes must be paid for, yes, but not pass on father to son, mother to daughter. There are those who would draw lines around our lives, and they do so with the power they take, and that we give them." The red knight states, "against this, one must stand. Are not the Tenets of your order similar?"

"We are sworn to serve our Rightful Lord." the Knightmare replies, "To protect our sovereign and nation. To make our country greater."

More hoofbeats follow, now unbroken by words, and then, in a small voice, "... all I have left, now is to protect our people... and one day restore my home."

"Yes, to protect people and home!" Paenitia hears what she hopes to hear, "I shall help you in this, Dame Betrys of Dragonier, when it is time."

She stands in her saddle, pointing dramatically ahead, "Firstly, warm beds and full bellies!"

A sideways glance at the other pair, "For Cysgodawyr, Ramirez and myself, and what sustenance and respite as suits your needs. Out of this cold, then to our quests."

She glances sideways again, "Do you sense cold?"

Knightmare nods, "Yes. I do not... shiver, nor take ill, but extreme cold causes me trouble. I would like to get someplace warm for your sakes, though."

She then goes back to address the first pronouncements, "You have my thanks, Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Haranna, and the hope that I prove worthy of your aid."

Cysgodawyr, seemingly inspired, mayhap by the legendry concept of hope, a full belly, seems to pick up his pace a touch.

Paenitia continues to stand on her saddle to look past Ramirez into the foggy night. It provides her a little bit more height, she looks down on the knight beside her. She annouces, "Ramirez, I dismount!"

The peacock-andalusean extends a wing low to the ground, and the dark Lucht leaps and slides down it to land on her feet. Thick feet, well soled and surrounded in curls, suitable for lots of walking. Which she will have to do, as Knightmare has one stride to every two of hers.

"I apologize, I should not let you struggle the road alone. Ramirez shall be relieved of my weight, I will walk with you."

She smiles upwards at the constructed knight, her smile hidden by her mask. Fortunately it's smiling as well, and the expression is in her visible eyes.

Knightmare is always smiling, albeit in a mortally distressing way, but such is the way of her crafting. Perhaps one day, she can get restored to proper order, and perhaps a makeover.

Till then...

"You are kind, but I do not mind the walk. The night has gotten on, though, if we do not reach a town soon, we should probably set up camp and fire to keep warm and rest."

"A camp, yes!" Paenitia hopped as her feet touched the ground. It was colder than she was expecting and halflings are loathe to wear boots. The suggestion of camp becomes a great one.

"Guards are loathe to admit at night, and sneaking in would be a bad portent for the heroic deeds we intend."

Ramirez calls out another deep, 'waauraah!' of agreement, or perhaps punctuation. He would surely be warmer if he nested, and his mistress much warmer under a wing.

The red knight turns off the road, "There is a clearing, we can camp here. I have a tent and fire supplies that Ramirez graciously carries."

Knightmare nods, tipping her chin then for a longer 'smile', "That sounds good."

Her attention turns to her friend, and with a gentle, brief pull on the reins, steers the massive horse to follow her fellow Knight, "I have some to provide for Cysgodawyr when we're about, as well as an... interesting knife. The inginuity that goes into Gnomish work is astounding, sometimes."

She's not tooting her own horn, deliberately.

That would be unseemly.

"I have a Lucht knife, for travelling!" Paenitia declares, and searches around on herself. Finally producing it from a shoulder sheath that's around to her back. "A-ha! I am always travelling, so I always have it."

She steps into the grass, which crunches under her feet, and then under Ramirez's. Her instincts were correct, there is a place wide enough to set camp, start a fire. As the little Lucht busily clears the firepit, Ramirez struts around testing the ground, raking it with his claws. Finally he finds someplace suitable. 'Waaauah!' He settles on the ground, lowering his hindquarters and then his fore. Once he's fully down, the illusion of being a giant peacock becomes even stronger.

"That is good, I shall make the fire there."

Knightmare nods, "A proper state of affairs." the golem affirms. Her hooves sound upon the grass to muted bass compared to her brave steed, and, once the spot is selected, she takes the time to more fully unburden her friend, "Be at ease, Cysgodawyr." She sets her burdens down neatly and roots through their supply pouches to fiddle with a feed bag.

"DO you require an extra hand, friend?" she wonders of the halfling.

Sparks! She blows on the fire, hat off so her breath is unobstructed, hair held back on one side, the other serving as a windblock. The tinder catches, smoulders. Small flames, "Wood. I only carry the kindling. Tend the flames if you will, while I unstrap Ramirez so he can lounge and sigh. I shall get a pot out for morning."

She steps back, still enshadowed, her face still framed, and blocked by hair. "I still seek to hide the light. Old habits die hard. Good ones harder, you treat your companion well. That is a good sign."

"We are partners and friends." Betrys returns, making sure Cysgoddawyr is set with dinner and gently strokes his fur several times, to the horse's evident contentment.

She turns, then to aid her colleague and nods, "Of course, I will return soon." and the golem draws a hand axe from her belt as she moves out to begin foraging fuel for the fire, returning with a couple of dry branches, first, breaking and chopping them to tinder, then begins to poke and adjust the lay of things to keep the warmth up while her fellow Knight sees to her mount's comfort.

"As our we," Paenitia confirms as she sees to her steed. She unbuckles her saddle, runs around to his opposite side and waits with hands upheld and he leans and shakes a wing to jiggle it off. The weapons brace is next, weapons braces, as she seems to have one for her frequent weapons like lance, warhammer and sword, and another for the multitude of pole-arms she might hand out. Next follows a pack, from which she pulls a large blanket. She drags it over Ramirez's back while he watches. His tail is left uncovered, but it's practically impossible to do so.

"So many think them machines, without personality or care. To be ridden, ignored otherwise. The things we have seen, Ramirez and I! He might not understand, but he is the only one who knows all."

Especially if he's been with her since hatching.

Stirring the embers, in a deep crouch, the Knightmare, then leans her cheek a bit closer to blow a little more upon them from what must be holes between 'teeth' and 'jawbone', then inserts more wood before straightening to her haunches, "I have been the machine without personality or care. I am not... certain our steeds were ever thus."

She gestures almost languidly toward the feed bag, "He has a fondness for food, and on occasion, he gets a bit unruly when there is a mare in heat about."

She considers the mount, her friend, then, "It is... unpleasant when they are destroyed. Even in glorious battle, there is an... emptiness I prefer to steer my thoughts from."

"Ramirez, never! He has been proud since hatching and moreso once his tail grew in." Paenitia declares, getting out a brush and working over the hair of his hindquarters, "Loud and amorous around anything he might court. As a man should be! Even if his partners be most strange."

Airships, clouds, rocks, loud noises, mares and hens. Likely dragons, were he to meet one. Perhaps a hippogryph heritage lends itself to confusion.

The little lucht's voice goes somber. "As would I. I have lost too many friends of four and two legs." She brushes quietly, "too many."

Knightmare neatly stacks the bits of wood she's got for a brief reserve, her visor turning toward the sober mood taking the halfling, "Still, it is the way of things. Triumph and tragedy balance the scales of existence. Know that the Grey Harpist sees to all those passed with due care to the reams beyond." Such is the answer she was given when asking after such feelings. The construct rises to her hooves then and steps closer, "I should gather more wood, and when I return, perhaps we can speak of brighter days." While the priorities are tenuous, the proceedures synch with what she'd seen her past comrades do.

"Yes. More wood, good idea." Paenitia says firmly, redirecting her thoughts. "I am glad you are not the empty machine. I shall tend the fire while you search. We shall when you return."

The little lucht moves to the flames and works on them, waiting for the construct knight to be distant. Alone with the mounts, no one can say where her thoughts go, she does not speak them.

By the time Knightmare returns, Paenitia has removed her armour and the padding beneath. She is in a simple white shift and looks more doll-like than ever, curled up and tucked beneath Ramirez's wing. Unusualy, she has cowl for a sleeping hat, perhaps to protect her face from the cold. Or to hide.

Ramirez remains awake and watches Knightmare. Once she seems about to settle, he tucks his head under the same wing as his mistress.

Knightmare returns with a good armload of branches and again sinks to her haunches close to the fire though turned to the side with the knee closer to Paenitia slightly elevated to ward any errant chips and starts to break them down with care. It seems fatigue would see their tale share wait until the morning. But, just as well, they have more miles to share.

Cysgodawyr drifts closer to his rider and tap-taps his forehoof in the grass before dipping his head low to wait. She, in turn, sets her wor aside and turns to unfasten the bag and gently stroke his face, "We'll get you proper feed when we arrive, old friend. Thank you for being patient." She spends a few minutes fiddling with their gear, then sets up an overhanging tarpouline to ward off the rain, a blanket to protect him from the chill, then returns to take care of the fire.

And keep an eye otherwise turned skyward.

So another watch begins....

Paenitia and Ramirez
Small, dark and winsome.

On a Giant white peacock.

Sister Paenitia Snapdragon del Harrana, is a crimson knight astride an ivory steed. A dark skinned Lucht Siuil, her black hair hangs in ringlets to mid-back, wild, untamed, loose. Matching fetlocks curl about her shins, demure, tamed, tied back with crimson bows. She wears a broad feathered hat, a matching single shoulder cape, both crafted from the bold feathers of her mount; striking white with red eyes. Beneath that hat, a smiling mask with rosy cheeks and a wide upturned moustache. Her armour has the same patina, an elaborate breastplate, rusted to match the mesas of her homeland. Paenitia's deep eyes smoulder behind the mask, and her skin, where visible, is a warm mahogany that is both heritage and time in the sun. She moves with an intensity overwhelming for her size.

Ramirez, her mount, is an eye-catching hippogryph. An albescent peacock gypsy-andalusan breed. Glorious, the size of a strong warhorse, his tail could cover a cart and easily hides his fluffy equine hind. His forelegs are the delicate and deceptively strong legs of the avian, and his body flows well into his feathery trail. Almost completely white, Ramirez is blood red on his neck, shoulders and breast, with the same bold colour in his crown and his many tailfeather eyes. He struts about regally, staring imperiously, proud and beautiful. Paenitia's saddle straps his midsection and has its own tail fan, a scabbard candelabra of pole arms that lies along his back.

She's from the land of the wind, tilting against windmills. A self-appointed knight, tiny and trite, riding a fancy and brings twice the fight.

Knightmare and Cysgodawyr
A flutter of penant...

A clatter of steel.

An iron maiden hammered in battle

and patinaed in neglect.

This figure of artifice was wrought by the hand of a grim whimsy, standing most of six and a half feet from lobstertail sallet to the flats of pitted, steel hooves. Her posture is proud, and yet battered. A fluted vertical visor rests over a skull of the feminine jawline, with a gap to either side of the 'teeth' and a long, sable plume trailing from its crown. Her contralto voice rings hollow from within; words peppered with a particular lilt.

Her torso is clad in contoured, parallel slats rivetted to the underframe. Some from creation, some of later forging. These are caked in lingering swatches of flaked enamel, scarlet and gold, occasionally crossed by gouge and dent. The faded heraldry is matched by the large, embossed pauldron on her left shoulder, flagging the tattered remnants of a Dragonieri pennant. One dangling and chewed by the articulations of the elbow.

A heavy weapons' belt and chain tassets obscure the point where the taper of her waist transitions to the segmentations of the hip and counterbalancing tail. Her rear is capped with another sable plume, as matted as her head tassel. Mismatched poleyns protect her knees shortly past the calf, her legs crook in digitigrade format, with articulated greeves fluted to suggest the shag of a Myrrish destrier's fetlocks.