To knight a mercenary..

[ShadowRose]

The resonance of her hard-heeled boots thundered against the walls of the chapter house, more than likely echoing out a sorrowful song for those who tried to oppose her, to keep her from -this-. With a brilliant smile cast to a bright-eyed boy, she stooped low and drew him near with the extension of a gentle finger.

"Please, dear child, let Sir Malaroth Deucalios know that I am here... to be knighted."

The boy nodded eagerly, and bowed, scurrying off to find Sir Malaroth and tell him of the news.

[Malaroth]

Miss Demarest had arrived, he was informed, while peering into the cold depths of an empty hearth that squatted in his private chambers. A thoughtful scowl darkened his haggard features as he arose with a muffled grunt, moving to tuck the black tabard firmly within his stout belt's leathery grasp. The woman's cool arrogance had begun to grate against his nerves, abiding it little and hating it in everyone. The shepherd's staff forsaken, as a weapon, for a broad sword, he rested a hand upon the simple handle and strode from his room.

Crisp steps echoed within the constrictive wooden corridors, each footfall sounding out a beat that soured his thoughts further. The woman had, despite an obvious streak of ripe arrogance, completed her tasks as required. He took some small measure of consolation that should she prove to be unworthy of the order he yet possessed the power to see her thrown out. Such power resided with the Grand Master alone.

"Humility should be added to the motto," he grumbled to himself while sparing errant fingertips to brush through the tangled length of blond hair, streaked with silver. A single breath before he brushed open the keep's doors and strode out into the cool sunlight of newborn autumn. It took only a few moments to spot Alessandra Demarest where she stood, tall and proud, arrogance her mantle and pride her apparent motto. Lips, framed by a trimmed goatee, quirked futilely aside as he struggled to cast away such thoughts.

He simply could not shake his hunch concerning the woman's nature.

Dour and pale, with bleak, black circles nesting beneath tempest-tossed cerulean eyes, he raised a hand in greeting to Alessandra as he approached. About them farmers moved with the beginning of the end for their harvests, while smithy's servants carted raw ore and finished weapons and armor for horse and man alike. Amidst them all, amidst the quiet bustle of activity that swept through the circular chapter house, he drew his sword and bid the woman to kneel.

[ShadowRose]

"Ah, my lord." she began upon seeing him, the ease of a kind smile gracing her lips, "It is good to see you so well."

And, like that of a fallen bird, the mercenary woman knelt before him, sweeping an arm out and low. Within the light of the autumn day, she felt at peace, and triumphed that she had finally overcome the odds against her. With her dark cloak splayed out behind her, and the fur of her collar nestled against the pale cream of her face, she awaited his words, and the chance to rise as a knight.

For the common good.

[Malaroth]

The kneeling mercenary and the manw ho stood before her, clad in black tabard and rustling chain mail armor, drew the imemdiate attention of the nearby knights. They, and those squires whose masters were not present to berate them or who wanted the youths to behold the ritual, trickled forward to form a respectful circle of silent spectators.

For his part, Malaroth held his sword ready and peered down upon the woman. Perhaps, he considered, she was merely eager to please and he was being too hard on her. Yet, he reminded himself, this was Myrken, and so little could be trusted here. Mustering up a grim smile, any serious display coming readily enough to the Grand Master, he touched the weapon's tip to one shoulder.

"Courage," he intoned in a strong, clear voice. The sword then lightly touched the other shoulder while a soft, cool breeze toyed the pair of soon-to-be-knight and Grand Master.

"Honor," he formally uttered. A moment's worth of silent hesitation filled the space between them before the sword's width pressed softly against the crown of her head.

"Wisdom," he finished. The weapon twisted in his hand, held away and by his side, as he extended a pale hand to help Alessandra rise. Behind him, a youth bore the iron-shod shepherd's staff Malaroth used to carry with him, even into battle. With a smile at his sudden importance, the squire raised the staff overhead where its occasionally dented but polished length caught the rays of sunlight.

"Arise, Lady Alessandra Demarest, Shepherd Knight of the Silver Staff."

[ShadowRose]

Oh, but it took every fiber in her being to cease the cold smile that would certainly not envelop her face, the gentle of doe-brown eyes gazing at him as she rose, only to bow in appreciation. "It is my honor to serve you, Sir Malaroth. May I bring to the name of the Shepherd Knights of the Silver Staff wisdom, courage, and honor.. But let us speak of other things, inside, I wish to tell you of an unfortunate event.. a sin that I have committed."

Once inside, Alessandra Demarest, filled with genuine sorrow, told her new master the tale of Rhaena, and the report he would soon receive from Calomel Cinnabar... just as Glenn had told her.

[Malaroth]

Inside is warm and stale, scented with the air of burning birch, as the pair sit in a pair of stuffed, high-backed chairs before a broad, gray hearth within Malaroth's quarters. A small, steel vase clutches a handful of dark blue roses with black, speckled centers and thorns that match the cerulean storms in his steady, often narrowed gaze.

Cinnabar's letter, for whatever reasons belated, rested loosely between long, pale fingers as she confessed to her sins. Her doe-like eyes waxed between bright, startled, alluring things that coaxed and teased with vulnerability - only to harden the next breath with the promise of hidden steel for the unwary. For his part he remained quiet as he related her story, or at least her side of it. His thumb traced mindlessly across Calomel's yet sealed message as he took it all in.

He could not, he concluded, condemn a woman who might have blundered into something so similar to his own fate soon after arriving. A gentle touch to the back of her hand, a brief punctuation of reassurance that no one was perfect, affirmed her recently bestowed place in the order.

Yet they both knew, must have known, that as Grand Master he retained the right to dismiss any knight at any time.