The Saga of Krelar
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Dirigible on 01-01-2010, 09:08:19</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Saga of Krelar</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>01-01-2010, 09:08:19</strong>
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				The heralds lifted iron trumpets to their lips,and blew a ringing crescendo.<br><br>The notes echoed through King Loram's hall, stilling conversation amongst the gathered nobles and hanger's one, and drawing all eyes towards the great double doors at the far end. The great hall was designed to echo the inverted hull of a great wargalley; indeed, many of its timbers had belonged to the flagship of Loram's grandfather, the privateer who originally seized these lands. Support beams rose like the ribs of some leviathan, lignified whale, deeply carved with runes and rising to a tall arch reminiscent of the keel. Windows of smoky, yellowed glass diamonds sat high between the beams, letting in rays of evening light to augment the candlelight. Long tables ran through the hall, groaning under the weight of sumptuous dishes that steamed invitingly. Geese swam in their own juices, fish wore coats of salt and spices instead of scales, roast vegetables bobbed in troughs of gravy and fruits were arranged into sweet and colourful bouquets. <br><br>At the head table atop a low dais, King Loram met the eyes of his castellean and nodded slightly. The castellean bowed, and barked the order to open the doors. As the great iron-bound portals started to swing outwards, Loram sat back in his velvet-cushioned chair, tapping his fingers uneasily against the chair's arm. He was a smallish, slight man of middle years, fair haired, with clever eyes, quick hands, and a pointed blond beard to conceal his weak chin. He was not an especially kind lord, but neither was he unnecessarily tyrannical; a weak king, perhaps the best that could be said about him was that he knew how to listen to good advisers, and when to hire capable outside help.<br><br>Help like the outlander sellsword that swaggered through the doors, bringing with him a charge in the air like an encroaching thunderstorm. He brushed past the crossed spears of the guards without so much as a glance, prowling into the hall like a lion returning to its den. Loram's jaw tightened, and around the hall noblewomen looked suddenly thoughtful, while knights' knuckles whitened around the hilts of their swords. For this warrior, this <em>Krelar</em>, was that sort of man; one who created enemies and allies instantly, with little middle ground.<br><br>His barbaric blood showed through in his stature and stance. He towered over any man there by a good four inches and thirty pounds of rugged muscle, his skin sun-baked brown, not lilly-white and soft and perfumed like the courtiers. Dark hair was pulled back from his face with a corded silver band, and his features were split with a confident grin. He wore a storm-grey cloak thrown back, and a leather breastplate worked into the shape of a muscular torso – that could not have done justice to the real, formidable physique beneath – which creaked as he slapped his fist against it. Over one shoulder he carried a pair of saddlebags that clunked with heavy, metallic noises.<br><br>“Hail, King Loram,” he called easily, his voice booming through the hall like a second sound of the trumpets. The mercenary reached up, unbuckling his cloak and tossing it to the page that scampered after him and already carried his battleaxe. Powerful muscles flowed against each other with the motion, betraying tremendous strength and toughness. “Those brigands that were bothering you, and their would-be robber-baron of a leader? I have scattered them to the four winds. And I see you have put on a feast in my honour!”
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