The Knights of Artorias » Places

         A lone man walked the path towards the castle, dressed in armor that had been hastily strapped on, leaving him to adjust it every once in a while. His expression was sullen, trying not to make eye contact with those that looked upon him. They whispered to one another, keeping their distance from him like he were some ill omen. He was a strange man, of the like from a foreign land, darker complexion and eyes a hot yellow, messy hair black as night with a strange bluish glisten to it.

He had no real name, no lineage that was obvious to him, things that even a lowly peasant would have in comfort. Rumors spread about him, that he was born of a devil, or cursed at birth, and he wouldn't be surprised if they were right. They called him Editus Rayne, a bringer of misfortune. Ever since he could think on his own, he has known only a cycle of unending struggle, and the cruel cold within and without. He didn't even know why he had survived this long, or cared to do so. He was here, now, hand picked to be sized up for the role of knight.

Why am I even doing this? This is laughable, I'm not fit for a knight, they know it well, and yet... picked by the king himself? Why? he wondered as he scratched through his hair with slight visible frustration. From everything he knew, from what all people have said, the king wasn't the kind to pull such a cruel prank. They say he is a good man, a righteous man, concepts foreign to an unwanted child grown into a cynical man. Everything to him was a subject of suspect, as much as his own existence was. Just, what the hell even is a righteous man? he wondered in frustration. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, what is truly the brightest of virtues.

He looked ahead to the gate, taking a deep breath and exhaling, blowing his messy hair from his eyes. By no surprise to him, others had come before him, likely more enthusiastic than him. What sort would these others be? Glory seekers, looking for their slice of fame and fortune? Were they the noble sort that looked down on blots like himself, was there going to be a fight as soon as he entered their presence? He wasn't afraid of conflict, he wasn't afraid of battle, and he certainly wasn't afraid of being honest.

"Well then, o' noblest of parties, the stray mangy dog, Editus Rayne, now walks among you!" he cried out with an irreverent yet smooth tone, thick with flagrant disregard of even his own self. He then fished out something from his bag, a rolled up piece of parchment with the undeniable royal seal. "Perhaps I was mistaken and this is my arrest for some crime instead, but this summons I received seems to indicate that I was called for... service?"