Alaric was restless, constantly twisting and turning in his bedroll. His room was pitch black, but he knew exactly where everything was. It was almost like seeing in the dark. He could see the shelf on the rightmost side of the room beside the door, books and scrolls on sword and stance techniques filling each ledge.
He could see his desk, covered in tidily organized papers and quills, ink bottles lined up against the wall. He enjoyed art, it was a pass-time he took part in often. He'd spend hours just sitting there, sinking into his own mind as the quill scratched softly against the paper, the ink sinking into the white surface and dying it black. His hand would tend to simply move on its own, creating pieces of art he wasn't even aware he was thinking of until he'd finished the project.
For the most part, his room was empty other than those items and the boxes in which contained his clothes.
He was uneasy. He felt wrong, everything felt wrong. He wanted to get up and do something. He couldn't hold still any longer. He let out a sigh and sat up. He reached out his hand and grabbed his wakizashi and laid it in his lap, fiddling with the string attached to the hilt.
Then he heard the thudding of footsteps outside. His eyes shot up to his door. The footsteps grew louder and louder, then stopped. From what it sounded like, they had then stepped off of the wooden path and into the grass walkway.
Why would someone be out at this hour, Alaric wondered. It wasn't right, the guards patrols did not include the area he was in, they were only tasked with border and temple guard.
Something was amiss.
He rose to his feet, wakizashi in hand, and walked over to his door, careful to be light on his feet, staying on his toes. He placed his fingers in the hook of the door and, slowly, slid it open as quietly as possible. When it was wide enough, he poked his head out, looking down either direction. The firelight of the torches lit the walkway, and from what he could see no one was there.
Alaric turned his eyes out to the grass path where the firelight couldn't reach. All he could see was inky black shadows. Quietly, he stepped out of his room and slid the door shut behind him. He then moved forward, stepping off the wooden walkway onto the grass. The cold wet ground soaked his feet, sending a chill through his spine. He moved through the path quietly and slowly, blades of grass gliding across the underside of his feet as he moved.
The way the Royal area was constructed was there was a large open area of grass and bamboo, as well as some ponds and peach trees. On all sides of this open area was the wooden pathway, acting like a border around it, separating nature from the buildings and resting quarters.
As he walked, Alaric came upon the pond by the dojo. He stopped, peering down as the still water which reflected the bit of light that tickled down to the water through the tree above. He lifted his head looked about.
Nothing. He could see no one, and not just that but it was completely silent. Everything seemed normal.. but he still felt off. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, just wrong.
And so, Alaric walked past the dojo in the direction of the temple. He would come to reach the bamboo area, which would block his view to an extreme, so as he moved he focused all of his attention on the sounds he heard around him. At first he heard nothing but the sound of his own footsteps, it was dead silence, but then he heard the faint snap of a twig off to his right.
He stopped instantly.
Crouching low, Alaric began to swiftly move in the direction of the sound, his feet making almost no audible sound whatsoever.
His eyes had now adjusted to the dark completely, and ahead of him a ways he could make out the shape of a figure slowly walking through the bamboo. Alaric changed his direction, moving in a wide circle around the figure as to come up behind them.
One step at a time, he began to close the distance between himself and the stranger. His movements slowed down now, careful not to make any sound.
*shhhhhick*
He finally came up behind the stranger, swiftly drawing his blade and holding to their throat, the comforting sound and feeling of the blade sending vibrations through his being.
"Who the hell are you?" Alaric asked softly.
"Alaric?" The stranger spoke, "get your little toy away from my throat!"
"Esrian?" Alaric asked in surprise, still holding the wakizashi to his neck.
"Yes, who else? Now back off." Esrian growled, pushing the blade away and stepping forward, turning to face Alaric. "What are you doing here, you pest?"
"I should ask the same of you." Alaric responded simply, sheathing his wakizashi. "What are you doing sneaking about at this hour?"
"I simply felt like taking a walk. After all, we are about to have a new king. I needed some air, why does it concern you?"
"Some air? At the hour of sin?"
"Oh lord, do you believe I'm enacting some scheme? No, runt, I am simply taking a breath. Now leave me be." Esrian said irritably, then turned and strode away without ever glancing back.
Alaric was suspicious, but he didn't give chase. He highly doubted Esrian would do something against the Clan anyway, but he still couldn't shake the sense that something was off.
He would walk through the bamboo that night at a leisure pace. He didn't seem to realize it, but he too was taking a breather. The rosy night air filled his lungs, a refreshing thing indeed. The air was damp and cold, but he really didn't mind. The cold never bothered him.
His foot came down on the smooth surface of the wooden path as he stepped out of the open area, back onto the walkway. Alaric turned his eyes to the moon now as he strode along the path, his shadow dancing to the rhythm of the firelight.
Why couldn't he shake this off feeling? Was it simply due to the idea of war? Or was it something else? He found it intriguing how it would seem he wasn't the only one that was feeling off. Esrian seemed upset, more so than usual at least. Was it all just stress? Plausible. Alaric never really got stressed easily, but it was entirely possible that was what was happening now.
War..
His mind now returned to the subject of conflict. He wondered.. if it came to it, would he be able to lead the charge into battle? Would he be able to dye the land crimson? To take a life? Was he prepared to be stained with blood? One would think that preparation would come hand in hand with learning swordsmanship, but in reality he'd never truly fought to the death. He wondered what that would feel like..
The idea of clashing swords, putting everything he had on the line, his flesh, blood and soul, excited him. He felt that, if it came to it, he could kill, he didn't think he'd have much difficulty with it. He just didn't want to kill needlessly, he wanted to fight for a reason, for something genuine.
He had always found swords to be beautiful things, the most brilliant tools mankind had ever created. Even the art of forging a blade is beautiful, although the act of clashing two blades, the edges crashing into one another sending brilliant sparks through the air, this was the true beauty of swordsmanship. It was the most divine sight to behold when two skilled warriors would come to raise their blades against one another.
The awe inspiring glow of the blades as they streamed through the air, the reverberating feeling that would course through your arms when the blades hit each other, the speed and talent, the skill, the focus, the exhilaration. All of these elements came together in a beautiful mix that created the most perfect and gorgeous dance of all.
Then, as he was lost in the labrynth of his own mind, he stopped suddenly at the entrance to the temple. His eyes fell on the door. His foot shifted towards it, his finger twitching. He stared blankly at it for a long moment, unable to think clearly at first as he came to snap out of his own thoughts. And then it hit him, realization of what he was looking at.
Why was it open?