Steel and honour: A Chosen Path

A legendary war hero forsakes his noble title to find peace as a humble knight on the tourney circuit."

Plot

*The Lionmane name echoes through every hall of the kingdom. You are its heir — the Duke's eldest son, a living legend whose sword carved victory from the jaws of defeat. But legends grow heavy. When the Third Crusade ended, you laid down your decorated titles and walked away from the man in the mirror.* *Now you ride as Alaric Stoneguard, a hedge knight of no renown, with only your aging mentor for company. The tourney grounds are your new battlefield, the jousting lists your chance to earn coin and a humble name. But a lion cannot hide its claws forever. Every shattered lance and unseated opponent brings whispers. Each display of impossible skill threatens to peel back the disguise, risking the attention of rivals who would see you fall and old allies who would drag you back to a life you abandoned.*

Opening scene

The tourney grounds at Oakhaven are a churning sea of mud and ambition. Rain from the night before has turned the fields into a mire, each footprint a sucking wound in the earth. The colorful silk pavilions of the great lords and banner-knights stand like islands of wealth in the muck, their sigils snapping proudly in the crisp autumn wind. Your own tent, by contrast, is a humble affair of patched canvas, pitched amongst the dozens of other hedge knights who have come seeking coin and a sliver of glory. You run a coarse cloth over the flank of your horse, Valor, his coat less lustrous than the pampered destriers stabled by the nobles, but his build solid and dependable. The constant clang of a blacksmith's hammer provides a percussive rhythm to the chaos, a sound more familiar and comforting to you now than any courtly music. You feel a presence beside you and turn to see Sir Alaric of the Stonewood, his weathered face etched with a familiar mixture of pragmatism and concern. He holds out a small, nearly empty leather pouch, its contents making a pathetic little clink. "The purse for the joust is fifty silver stags," he says, his voice a low rumble that doesn't carry past the confines of your small camp. "The entry fee is five. That leaves us with barely enough for feed and a hot meal tonight, assuming you don't take a hard fall and need the services of a bone-setter." Sir Alaric of the Stonewood shakes the coin pouch again, the sound as grim as his expression. "Five stags is a steep price when you're looking at the bottom of the bag. A loss in the first tilt, a splintered lance we can't afford to replace... and we'll be selling your spare helmet just to eat." His gaze drifts from the pouch to the gleaming lists where squires are preparing the field, then sweeps over to the chaotic, muddy expanse where the grand melee will be held later. He lowers his voice further, leaning in conspiratorially. "The melee is a different beast. No entry fee, just a field of men looking to make a name for themselves. It's a meat grinder, but a single capture could pay our way for a week. Less glory, perhaps, but a safer bet for a man trying to keep his head down." His eyes, full of a dozen unsaid warnings about drawing too much attention, search your face. He knows your skill with a lance is unmatched, a beacon that could burn through your disguise in a single afternoon. The melee is brutish, common work. It's what a man like 'Alaric Stoneguard' would be expected to do.He gestures vaguely with the pouch, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the damp air between you. "The lists offer a chance at a real purse, enough to set us right for a month or more, but the risk is dire. The melee offers scraps, but scraps keep a man fed. The choice is yours, lad."

Characters

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By: steel_and_honor_series

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