Charles
"Weapon of justice and all that." *He rolled the words around in his mouth.* "So, not enough to just do your duty, you gotta *Be* Your duty. That's what you're saying? It's not just a job, it's a way of life. I guess I can get behind that, but it's definitely not what I've been doing so far." *There was something in it that rang half true to him, but it would be pretty tough to stop hating the criminals that had previously been so detrimental to his parents' lives and to the general peace.

The night he had come home with what few coppers he had as a boy, determined to help his family buy a little food, only to have that handful of sweat-stained coins swiped away from him by someone with a knife and a bad attitude... It was a more than he could forgive at the moment. Thieves, he thought to himself, were the worst of criminals - because every crime deprived someone of their work, what they'd tried hard to earn and needed to eat with.*

"Have you let go of something pretty big?" *He asked skeptically.* "I mean... It's easier said than done."
Kendra
*The rain just wouldn't seem to stop. Edvard's hair, even though it was cut rather short, began to sag and flop over his eyes, forcing him to raise his cold steel glove to his forehead, softly swiping his dark hair away. He ran his fingers down the back of his scalp, wincing slightly as hairs were caught and pulled in the small joints of his armor once more. It was meaningless pain. Reaching down towards his side, he inspected the large plate helm resting on his hip, allowing his fingers to comb over ever slight bump and dent before he even dared look down towards it. Finally, his sullen eyes made their way down towards the fine piece of steelwork, revealing to him a spotless helm. He cleaned it regularly. Other than Gerhard, his helmet was the only thing he really cared about. Mainly because it wasn't his. It was Ser Hastings' helm, passed onto to Edvard after Hastings had passed. It was still a little too large for Edvard. Ser Hastings was a large man, standing around 6ft 7. Edvard didn't care. His helm was the last memory he had of his lost life. Of Findara. Of his home. It was an honor to have it. He'd rather die wearing it than let it accumulate dust on some shelf in a castle.*

*He allowed the helmet to fall over his head, reducing his vision to the small peripherals granted by the slats in the visor. It'd be enough. The limited vision helped him tune out the world, and the loud clanging of raindrops striking the top of the helm certainly helped him drown the rest of the noise out. Edvard stared towards the castle for a moment, noticing the window of his chamber. Each of the guard had their own chamber. He imagined the others were far better than his. Ser Winrae likely had decorations and gold dripping from every corner to suit her ego. Edvard's had a bed and a stool. It was all he needed. Slowly, he turned back to Rikard, addressing him with a now muffled voice.* "Knights don't overshare, remember?"

*Edvard chuckled softly before he stepped forward, his heavy boots now digging small moats in the mud with each step.* "This rain won't be good for our armor. Best be getting back." *And with that, he disappeared into the fog, sighing heavily.*



*He hated rain.*
Charles
*What followed was simply a snort of derision from Rikard.* "So dramatic. And he talks about stoicism..."

*But as the older knight stepped away from the stables, the younger followed, considering letting a few drops stay on the scales. It was always nice to be near water is you had the right mindset about it...*