he snows were coming.




Legion was infamous across Remnant for frigid winters that even the creatures of Grimm struggled to tolerate, and through the chill in the air that the north wind carried into the city, Sol could sense that the towers of glass and steel would see a storm in the near future. He wondered vaguely if the storm he'd seen gathering in Rift before he left, and that which he now sensed crawling down from the Mantlian peaks were somehow related. It was an absurd thought, the two kingdoms were a literal world apart, and Sol wondered what inane crevice of his mind had birthed such an idiotic notion. Part of him clung to the sentiment, though.

He carried no baggage, as his driver was already transporting the bulk of what belongings he'd brought, to the family compound that occupied the western city limits. All he had on his person was the finely tailored suit that he wore for formal appearances, and his sword, which glistened like a loyal hound from it's sheath on his left hip.

The suit was a masterwork of the tailor's craft. A swallow tailed riding coat, that seemed fashioned from a brilliantly blue sheet of whole cloth, hung open across a shirt of gorgeous red satin which shimmered like woven ruby. The snugly tailored dress pants, and knee high greaves, polished to a mirrored surface and embossed with a stylized representation of Remant's moon, served to complete the look. Simple in design, but decadent by way of material and construction, hands as large as bear's paws looked even more imposing when sheathed in featureless black leather, whilst steel shanked and capped jack boots gave his flowing serpentine stride the same effect as being followed by a one piece percussion section.

The sword that was fixed, not dangling but firmly placed with purpose by some intricate mechanism, to his hip made his attire look drab and pedestrian. Five foot long from pommel to tip, hand woven threads of red stained carbon fiber encircled the hilt, while a disk of some red metal that ominously resembled a pool of fresh blood in both hue and shape, made up the guard. The mouth of the scabbard was a complex firing mechanism, complete with a block trigger that would have looked perfectly at home on an anti-armor rifle. The box-clip of eight inch long charges that sprung from the assembly just below the trigger seemed to imply that whatever reaction took place at the depressing of said trigger would be able to match the might of the elephant gun it resembled. The rest of the sheath was overlapping red scales around a shaped blue core, the latter seeming to glimmer with it's own dull luminescence.

He may have been carrying no bags, but any debt to equal what he had upon his person could have bankrupted a small duke or thrown an island nation into recession.

One might have thought, given all that, as well as the severe expression that dominated a stony visage that blazed with the light of single muzzle flare golden eye, that the young man had some urgent business to attend to. The crowd certainly seemed to think so, because even the ones whose obliviousness would be considered impressive, made the wise choice to give the swordsman plenty of room as he passed into the street. This was sadly, though fortunately for anyone who might delay him, not the case.

Sol had no better reason to be in Legion than many students returning or visiting from Vytal. He was here to pay respects to a person he'd never met, though that was not for some time. It was one of the rare moments in his life where Sol could claim to have time to himself, and he planned to go out on the town, and get very drunk, and then get in a great many fights, not necessarily in that order. It seemed like a fine way, given being brought up in a sub-culture that glorified violence as a nearly divine tool, to honor the life of a Legion citizen who had died a hero. This was after all, his town, at least as far as he saw it, and he was entitled to at least that much for all he and his family had done for the kingdom... and it's new prime minister.

Perhaps it wasn't a surprise that he wasn't exactly paying attention to where he was going, as notions of sport played through his mind, because his graceful stride, that of a trained swordsman who only ever moved on his toes, carried him right into a difficult position.

That was how the searching gaze of another golden eyed youth found him. Ravens furious glare, scanning for the culprit of some slight that Sol hadn't the mind to give two damns about, certainly not in the same day at least, fell squarely upon the arrogant lordling. Sol followed the other man's gaze, and continued to stand erect beneath the weight of a fury that would have crushed a lesser man with it's weight alone. Sol glanced towards the shattered remains of some item in the street and understanding became a cruel twinkle in his lone eye.

Ignorant of the actual culprit who had gone unnoticed by Sol via twin boons of being both short and moving rather swiftly, and thoroughly amused by the misery of someone who wasn't him, Sol cracked a venomous grin that could have soured milk. He then, perhaps unwisely, proceeded to uttera chilling and acidic chuckle at the golden eyed peasant and his misfortune.

tag(s): Aegle Vitus , Raven Clovis ━ words: 000 ━ notes: please keep it short