The Stars Foretold (Nothing)

Afternoon has come. Warm sunlight filters through the emerald leaves that so intricately decorate twisting branches overhead, casting dappled patches of sunlight onto the armor-clad men and women who ride along the path below. These powerful knights, with their steeds and their pristine weaponry, are the forefront of a glorious army nestled away in the jagged mountains. Banners of pale gray and cobalt bear the image of twin swords crossing over a white spiral, representing the righteous kingdom of Wyldren. At the front rides a brawny but rather dashing young man, only just past his twenty-fifth year. The jagged scar tissue that marrs the left side of his face only adds to his powerful image, crossing over a blind blue eye that still seems to see and notice all. His other eye, clear and bright, flashes like a sapphire in the scattered light as he moves. The dark crest of a raven adorns his blue cape, a symbol of his family and his status. "Sir Corbyn-!" He stops, numerous rows of knights coming to a halt in flawless coordination with him. He does not turn to look, merely c*****g his head to listen, the movement causing his ebony hair to fall across his face. "Speak, scout." The poor boy is winded, his chest heaving as he steadies his panicked breathing. "Sir Corbyn-" "I heard you the first time. What word do you carry?" "Bandits, sire- they control the crossroads ahead-" "I am not concerned. A single bandit camp cannot compare to an entire battalion of my men. Fall in line." The scout vanishes among the ranks of the soldiers, and their movement begins again. Corbyn leans forward to the head of his dark mark, a playful smile suddenly adorning his lips. "What say you, Umbra? Shall we take them head-on?" Umbra is unimpressed by his cockiness, tossing her glossy mane and snorting in response. A jovial laugh bursts out suddenly, belonging to the golden rider beside them. "You speak as though she will answer you!" Oh, Lionel. Ever the jester. "I assure you, my liege, she does answer me. Just not in the same way humans do." "Oh really? And what is Maverick thinking right now, then?" Corbyn raises an eyebrow, eyeing the pristine stallion. "That brute hasn't got a thought behind those eyes, my liege. He only thinks of feasting." "Are you calling my horse fat-" "Oh I would never, my lord-" "But you would! And you did!" Corbyn does not return the playful banter, his one good eye suddenly flicking from here to there as he assesses the area. Lionel recognizes that look all too well, his hand now resting on the blade at his hip as he surveys the area. The air is too still, the forest now silent. Corbyn knows he has to act, and fast. "Get to the center of the formation-" "I am a knight just the same as you-" "Dammit- now is not the time for this, you madman- get to the center!" Lionel begrudgingly changes positions, vanishing behind Corbyn in the ranks of the knights. An arrow sits lodged in a tree, a single bead of blood dripping onto the ground. A mere inch of a difference would have spelled disaster. Corbyn turns his head in the opposite direction of the arrow, a matching ruby droplet slowly rolling down his cheek. "Well now. You've given away your position."