Ser Jenson Silvercrest
Drip, drip, drip
A knight looked up as a soft drizzle began to fall around his shoulders. "Bloody hell... Rain too? This day is just getting better all the bloody time," the gruff voice griped from atop his chestnut mare. Reluctantly, the knight in the scarf and tan cloak pulled the hood up around his head. Jenson Silvercrest was just returning from the two week journey as well, near the end of the parade. Jenson was not a man who enjoyed the spotlight, nor liked to feel important and special. He was just another armed guard to Elias Hawke, his lord, and as such would protect the man with all of his might, thereby it was his duty to be close enough to defend him. Yet how was one to defend their lord against an unknown ailment? Perhaps that a factor in Jenson's recent foul mood. The rain was merely exacerbating facts.
Jenson's mare sauntered forward towards the ill Elias, and he watched as two of his comrades hefted his lord off of the horse and aided him into the castle. Seeing Elias in such a weak shape made Jenson feel helpless. Be it a sword, arrow, or axe, Jenson could defend against, but not sickness. Not this. If only Jenson had been more observent. Maybe if they all were just an ounce more observent, their Lord would not be in such a shape and could walk into his castle upon his own power. This irritated Jenson to no end.
Jenson then caught sight of Elias' son, Draiken, but quickly tore his eyes off of him. If Jenson felt awful about his Lord, no telling what the boy was going through. With a huff and a jerk of the reins, Jenson guided his mare away from the parade and towards the city. Probably to find some cheap swill to fill his wineskin up with. It had been a long, dry two weeks, and some alcohol sounded damn good right then. It was just as well too. He didn't wish to see Elias' in this shape. Who would? It was that man who gave Jenson a second chance. It was Elias who let him become a knight in his service.
It took no time for Jenson and his mare to find the Inn where he often drank. He frequented the place often enough, that it would come to little surprise that it's location was burned into his mind. True, it had been over two weeks since he last visited, but a lion does not forget it's favorite watering hole. It was close to the armory and blacksmith, to provide convenience for travelers who needed their equipment mended perhaps. Jenson was not a man to question street layouts or architecture of Lanchester. He was not born there, he was born in Axiom, in a dusty and roguish district. He was a warrior, not a builder. Jenson exited the Inn with a brand new wineskin bursting with his drink just in time to hear the ninth tole of the church bell. His eyes lazily drifted toward the bell tower, now just a shadow in the rapidly falling dusk. The man sighed and made his way to his horse, but not before catching sight of Draiken slipping into the armory. Curiosity halted the knight's progress. Opting to see what business the son of Elias had with the smith, Jenson left Berry in the Inn's stable and crossed the street into the armory.
As he walked through the doors, a familar voice assaulted his ears.
“Aren't you going to welcome me home?”
Dorian, Elias' step-son. Far be it to judge the boy, it was not his place. However, Jenson could not help but grit his teeth a little bit at the boy's remark. It had to be the tone in which is was said. So nonchalant. So... Snobbish. Jenson could not stand snobbery. Uptight people with a stick up their ass always tended to rub Jenson the wrong way. It was one thing being honorable and proud. It was an entirely different thing to being cocky. Something Jenson knew a little bit too much about. His childhood was not spectacularly flawless after all.
Jenson listened to the back and forth between Draiken and Dorian, both too far into their game of quips to notice Jenson standing beside the door. He was not about to interfere, especially if both were children of Lord Elias. He thought he'd just watch it play out and enjoy the show. After the words were thrown and threats were issued (none of which Jenson particularly believed in. It was one thing to talk, and it was another to back it up.) Dorian and his buddies made to leave. As Dorian passed by Jenson, the knight brushed a hard shoulder against the boy's, muttering an offhanded apology as he stepped into the room fully. He did not enjoy the way the boy insinuated that a Hawke was going to die tonight.
Once Dorian was out of earshot, Jenson finally spoke up, "That boy's a real bastard, yeah? Too bad he's protected by Lord Elias and Lady Hollister," Jenson said, bluntly. The man had no fear about repercussions. He was reckless like that, often saying what's on his mind before processing it. Even then, he hardly processed it. Continuing to speak, Jenson remarked on Draiken's new blade, "That's a fine sword there, Pretty Bird," He said with a playful smile. It was more of a jab to Dorian's inability to come up with a decent nickname than anything.
With a shrug, he made his way to the seat Dorian and his cronies had vacated sitting heavily and withdrawing his wineskin. He took a drink of the stiff drought. The burn was just right, melting away the rain's chill from his bones. He held out the skin to Draiken and asked, "Care for a swallow? It'll set your innards ablaze, but you got enough of 'em, yeah?" Jenson said, remarking on the boy's guts.