Skald

Drake was the smell of sweat and blood and steel. Coated in sharp black leather, layered points and edges overlapping, he had steel chain peeking through exposed areas where the need for flexibility was.  Thorns of steel warned that he was untouchable.  A mantle of black fur and feather draped over his left shoulder, the attached black fur cloak rolled down his back.  His left hand rested lazy over the hilt of the one blade he wore.  Still, seated he seemed always to be on the verge of sharp swift movement, and his movements could be so swift they would blur.  He wore no helm, no crown adorned his head, his hair yellowed with age, cut short, knew better than to stray, mustache and beard kept neatly trimmed.  No scars marred a face that age had not managed to tame, rich worn warm, but the King of Skald looked on with eye like blue ice, utterly bored.

No torches adorned the walls of this hall but stones set high in the walls cast lights of blue, orange or yellow at his bidding. Each stone as tall as a man, kissed a ceiling high enough that beast might fly through.  This wide winged beast was carved into stone, into the throne.  A creature of ages gone was pictured in colored tile on the walls and on the floor, devouring, burning, and mating. Dragon's etched themselves coiling around pillars, and sleeping around fingers, jewelry, tapestry, the kings goblet, flights of dragons silently watched and waited over every inch of the hall.

The Lords and Lady of Skald adorned themselves in black leathers and chain, not like uniforms, but personalized; black armor trying to be peacock feathers, to express as much as to protect.  Each lord of Skald knew upon entry into the hall the armor needed to be ready to defend its wearer from the other lords.  Older Skald lords stood in the back near the cold walls wise enough to find shadows and stillness to avoid attraction   But the young bucks, danced a circus before their king, with accusations, demands, challenges, grasping desperately like needy children for their father's attention. Attention that while Drake remained in his current brood they would not get. If Drake was immovably bored, his bound demon, Tempius was irresistibly excited.

Tempius was thin, alien looking, pale and blotched like soured milk, one wing folded rising gnarled over its head, it's twin long ago cleaved by the king the demon loyally served.  Tempius wore no armor, but was clothed in blood red velvet and night blue robes, and it held the book of law.  It wore a collar of gold that glinted against its slick pale skin, it was tethered like a dog to the throne.  Its face was boyish and handsome. Compassionate large brown eyes, expressed such empathy for each troubled young lord it sometimes seemed almost human, but its fingers were unnaturally long and ended in claws and the robes could not hide the forked tail that moved serpent like on the floor.

After Tempius listened, it spoke the word of Law.  Its voice was always passive, harmless and yet could clearly cut through the din of outrage and challenge roared by young lords, without much effort. The sound of it was rich and almost sweet, his demonic tones lingered in the mind if not the ears of its listeners. Tempius was always heard.  King Drake kept the leash tight on Tempius and the demon was only to speak on matters of Law.  And so it did, as the judge deliberating over each challenge.  It ruled each case as fairly as the law allowed and never forgot to remind its listeners that its word could be overturned by the king or settled by a duel.

While no one but Drake himself dared face the pale one winged demon,  Skald's Lady was the only one brave enough to stand near it.  She was not Drake's Lady, that is she was no queen or even princess of Skald but like the other Lords of Skald had made her way to the hall to prove herself worthy, her blade was quick her wits quicker and it had been more than a year since a young lord risked his life and fortune against her.  She came with no name and wore non but her title. Lady was enough.

Lady's Armor and chain were built utilitarian for speed and motion.  Her black hair bound in a chain braid down her back.  A ribbon of jagged metal thorns were weaved into the braid to cut an uninvited hand that might be tempted to grab it in combat, she had been rumored to behead a foe with that braid. The soft brown skin of Lady's neck was open and exposed, to show she wore no collar.  She was no one's slave.  Her eyes were so dark they seemed completely black at times, and often mirrored the chronic bored expression of the king.

It was the most unlikely thing, a seedling, held by fragile strands of white catching air currents, falling through the air in lazy motions and then rising again twisted in the air by someones motion and carried through the hall breaking into the gaze of the king.  Drake blinked and watched with eyes sharper than his lords enough to pick out the seedling as it timidly floated over the heads of his lords.  The young buck frothing in his outrage against another whose armor was still scarred by a previous duel from earler in the day caused the seedling to sway and swirl.  Drake slowly reached his hand out and the young challenger crowed thinking he was the reason but Drake kept his eyes on the seedling and timidly the seedling approached.

Tempius had noticed it by now and glared at the little seedling as if it were made of molten hellfire ash.  When the seedling moved to the king Tempius' tail stiffened and the forked end drummed anxiously against the floor.  The little brown seedling ignored Tempius, ignored everyone but continued its dance until it rested on the kings finger.

The Hall grew silent as Drake transfixed on the seedling stood.