The cobbled city streets of Malordún teemed with life as usual. Stray cats and dogs bob and weaved through the jam-packed market square, some looking for scraps, whilst others began sounding off in a cacophony of barks and meowling. Those at the stands and visitors passing by, paid no heed conversing among each other in worlds of their own.

"Please, move out of the way!"

The sea of humanity parted way in a mix of confusion and fear as a great shadow shot across the cobbled streets. Atop and having the time of his life, was a teenager who looked to be sixteen or seventeen years old. He wore a maroon linen riding cloak, currently flapping over his broad-shoulders. The wind had threw back the hood, revealing sea green eyes, close-cropped curly black hair, and developing strong features.

[Someone's bound to get hurt if I don't slow his pace]. Leondre signed rather sadly, but made the effort to pull the reins, wrapped in one hand, toward him while leaning back.

Bête Noir, or Noir, as Leondre liked to call him. Craned his neck ever so slightly, eyeing the young Knight menacingly. As if to say: 'I dare you, try and stop me.'

Sometimes he got the feeling the rhoan could speak to him. But soon Noirs training kicked in, and the chargers gallop slowed to a trot. Leondre rubbed his charcoal ears for good effort, it seemed there and on his head were Noirs weakness.

[Now what?]

He was at loss on what to do, he hadn't expected his dream to become a reality. It had happened so quickly Leondre had just gotten swept away with the flow. Almost like it was all planned before hand.

The more Leondre thought about, the more clearer the picture became. How else would the Grandmaster have had such an important family heirloom in his possession? His parents must have sent it several weeks before. He was also certain the Headmaster knowing this, ordered his room to be cleared ahead of time to speed his departure.

[I'll send Mother and Father a letter when I get the chance. They're probably waiting to hear all the juicy details, back home.]

Home.

After being away for two years, the word brought with it, a sense of nostalgia. The family estate was an eight-weeks ride away, he yearned to see those forests of red, orange, and yellow again. Some of the cooks at the academy had been kind enough to pack him some food from the kitchens. It was enough to last him a couple of days, and there was also plenty water from the canteens.

Reaching for one of the saddle bags, he pulled a neatly folded piece of vellum. Carefully, he smoothed out its many crinkles, until it was flat once more. In his hands was a map of the local region, he bought from a merchant for fifteen silvers. Leondre wasn't sure if it was a fair deal, the finely dressed man had been far too eager for his liking.

But atleast he would not be wondering aimlessly, and besides, the cartographer who created it seemed to know his stuff. The map was simplistic but detailed, it was easy to find a point of reference relative to his location. Leondre was right now in Malordún, a free port city under the jurisdiction of an elected mayor, approved by the governor.

Spartha was unique in it's own right. A patch work of unclaimed wilderness, major holdings, and minor settlements. The Crown could not be everywhere, so the land was divided into more than a dozen regions. Each region was appointed a governor representing the crowns interests. Under them were magistrates, or civil officers, who's responsibilities included traveling from villages to small cities, collecting taxes from the kingdoms vassals and administering law.

Most cities were run by a mayor elected by the people, or the noble patron, to oversee the lands in their stead. In some cases the overlying villages and towns lived autonomously despite being under the domain of local nobility. It was a mess that even Leondre struggled to understand.

Being the fourth son of a Marquis, some might say he was unlucky. Kindcaid Marras had content himself to leave most of the family's major holdings to his three eldest sons. Leaving the fourth son with little else, but that was far from the truth.

So what if Thurston was now Duke Alden, married to the fourth princess? Thurston was the first son, and Alden was one of father's most wealthiest holdings, it rightly belonged to him. Leondre wished them happyness and luck on their endeavors.

And what's this about Jormund becoming a prince of the Northern Isles, with a entire fleet under his command? Apparently Grandpa was grooming him to become his successor. Leondre found it touching, the old Seawolf only had a daughter and she left to marry the man she loved. Good for Jormund, keeping Grandpa company.

If there was anything to be disappointed about, it was Marcel recieving a Knighthood first. Leondre hoped he would also be known as, Ser Marras. But unless they had come from different family's, any other siblings would go by their first name. Marcel planned to travel the world a bit before taking over father's position, as The Marquis of Saloma.

Noir stopped abruptly, raising his head, and released a low growl from his chest.

'Stop daydreaming.' Is what the horse seemed to intent, as if sensing it's rider to be lost in thought. Noir recieved a good rubb on the head, washing away his annoyance. While Leondre resumed consulting his map, particularly for any towns within the vicinity.

[I should probably save my money, and besides we're in summer. I'm sure the guard or local militia patrol the normal roads just fine.]

Leondre had already passed the gates of Malordún, by then, he narrowed his options to three locations:

Gwaldon, four days away from Malordún. Probably would be better to reach using the Imperial highways, seeing how most of the other roads lead into long detours.

Yvorwick. Almost a two weeks worth of riding, it was a trading hub and major base of operations for The Knight's Seeker. It was also Leondres least likely option, only because the Earl of Yvorwick wasn't exactly on best terms with his brother; Lord Saloma, Kincaid vae Marras.

According to the map legend, Crestwood was a small farming town three days away, situated near a freshwater lake. The star next it indicated it was a popular destination for merchants, adventures, and travelling tourists. Several gray crumbling buildings, representing ruins, were close by.

Leondre recalled a story his father once told, about a Knight stumbling across a damsel trapped in the depths of the ruin he had been searching.

Kindcaid Marras proclaimed it was love at first sight, when his wife overheard she in her own words replied,

"Load of bull, what it is. This entire country of tit-sucking pisshats, all of 'em, obsessed with stories like 'hat." She then threatened to beat her son raw if he didn't go to sleep, and proceeded to drag her husband out the room.

Leondre wasn't sure who to believe, but he did decide Crestwood would be his next destination.

— Not because of any ruins or bedtime stories of course!