Waiting, watching, wondering

=Kinsen stands on the wall above Icehold's main gate, gloved hands resting on the cold stone as he looked out over the snowy fields, the faint dawn sunlight filtering in over the horizon.

He found himself sleeping much less than he had before his..death, of sorts. Usually morning found him in the Chapel, but this dawn found him on the wall, with a man he felt the oddest sort of kinship with. Besides, up here on the wall, few disturbed his thoughts, and his companion was not much of one for idle talk.

He closed his eyes as the wind blew acorss his face, reveling in the sensation across his skin. Every stimulus brought an exquisite sense of pleasure to him now. Allowing his silver-grey eyes to slowly slit open in the wind, he admired the gleam of light upon the ice crystals. the red crescent upon his face was a muted crimson, his handsome features marked by a severity that belied his youth.

He was dressed to fit his near-constant state of readiness. A forged breastplate, graves, and bracers, over scale and leather. The armor was all black, matching his raven hair. His cloak, the white of fresh-fallen snow, stood out in stark contrast to the darkness of his armor. from over his shoulder peaked the hilt of his family blade, leather grip worn and stained from sweat and blood. A dagger and mace both hung from his belt. He found himself wishing for the open sea, the salt spray, the wind, the creak of sail and slap of oar that put him truly at home. Oh, to be sure, he was no stranger to mounted combat...horse or wolf, he handled lance as only the knights of his order could. Still, the sea was his home.

Clenching his hands into fists, feeling the play and pull of muscle and tendon, he rested forward on the stone in a more relaxed pose, forearms against the crenellation to support his weight. Why was he here? He had no answer for that, and still thought the cost too high. Mother Winter asked much, and she was as unforgiving as the season.

"Let Honor be my armor, that I may stand before the darkness. Let Duty be my shield, that I may fear not the wounds of pride. Let Truth be the sword with which I lay absolution upon the deceitful. Let Faith be the star that guides me to my destiny."

The words were uttered in a barely audible whisper, an old oath, and old promise. Still, he wondered how a mother would weigh their cost against the life of her child. It was a hard road he had chosen for himself, and that had been chosen for him, and his nightly vigil of the sky, beseeching the heavens for answers, did little to allay his conscience...=

=Catona moved from the shadows of the upper gatehouse, even fully armored his movements offered little sound, and he moved with the practice ease of a man born to battle. His armor was obviously newly forged, the bright metal marred nowhere by dents and scratches. It was also plain, unadorned steel. Across his broad shoulders hung a cloak of bright blood red, falling near to the ground. a sword was in the scabbard on his hip, a storied blade that few had seen, let alone seen used against a foe. His short cropped hair and green eyes accentuated a face that was handsome, and finely formed, though the complete coldness of the gaze detracted from the comeliness of the man.

His eyes swept over the ice fields before the keep, weighing them from the tactician's eyes, for their value. He couldn't deny the inherent aesthetics of the place, but his was not a life made for beauty. Standing still as stone beside Kinsen, he heard the muttered words as they came out, and old memories leapt back into his head. For a moment he was lost to his own thoughts.

He knew his friend was conflicted in their return, had yet to come to certain realizations about the conditions which had been met. Still, he respected the informed questioning of uncertain principles more than blind faith. This man, though well past Catona's own time, was no conniving conformist. He had died worthy of a song.

Turning his eyes upon his companion, he examined him closely. The tension seemed almost palpable around him, an aura of unease and confusion that could only be quelled from within. Looking back out over the snow and ice as dawn broke fully in a flare of fire across the snow, he hoped that he found his answers before the storm broke. If he was needed, he would be needed with clean conscience and a clear head...=

=Kinsen senses, more than sees, Catona's approach. He sighs deeply, his breath frosting the air. He stares out over the dawn-lit fields, speaking without turning his head.

"I have seen what awaits, at the end. I have never had so strong and sure a conviction. My faith in the divine is not weak. My sense of purpose, though, fails me. I cannot accept that the cost was paid for some petty secular war. If that is the case, the implications are...staggering." He shakes his head, the long, loose black braid of his hair swinging behind him as he does so. He turns to look at Catona, his eyes a burning silver.

"Far be it from my right to question the decisions of the divine, or Mother Winter's motives for answering the prayer that has sent us here, but I must question what our greater purpose is here. Are we simply pawns, to be used and discarded, or was there more to our return, which has yet to be revealed? Are the circumstances beyond my will to fathom?" His voice is soft, almost sad, and he turns back to look over the wall, not expecting an answer from his companion.

"I feel this impatience is uncharacteristic, and unbecoming of me." he smiles thinly. "I fear my doubts sound more like the fretting of an old woman than honest concerns."=

=Catona holds the silence a long moment, his green eyes unwavering. He doesn't seem to blink to even breathe, being still as the stone upon which they stand."You question yourself, more than the gods, and your doubts blind you to the truth."

His voice is low, calm, a smooth tenor edged with ice."Faith, Kinsen. We are men, doing our duty. We know not the end, but we know the path lays before us. Have faith, then, in the cause, and in yourself." he turns to face his companion, his face a cold mask.

"All men know doubt, and fear in their heart. You ask if this is worth the cost, but you fail to realize the truth of it." Turning back to the sun-lit fields, he continues. "it is our duty to make it worth it."=

=Kinsen looked long at his companion weighing thew words heavily, remembering similar words he had in fact said to Angel. He laughed then, a low, quiet laugh, and shook his head. His companion was right. He was being plagued by doubts of his own making, and the course was clear to him.

Smiling now, a small, genuine smile, he straightened, and looked down at Catona. This was necessary as to the height difference, yet he always felt he was looking up at the quiet legend. He studied him closely. His features marked him as decidedly non-Auroran. His face was well-formed, and there was more grace in his bone structure than in the men bred by winter. The short-cropped black hair was worn in a foreign style, and though not uncommon, green eyes tended towards rarity in their northern climates. He wondered where the man came from, what his story was.

Looking down, he lingers his gaze on the weapon the man wore at his hip. One blade, always near him. Oh, the poleaxe and crossbow were never far, not when he was on the wall. But both swords were always present at his sides.

Kinsen faces him fully, nodding in deference to the man, and his words. "Thank you. I see the truth now, in your words, and the foolishness of my fretting." he grins, an expression that still comes easily to his face. He turns to walk from the walls, and stops a few steps away from Catona, a sudden thoguht coming to him.

"How do you know where to take a stand between faith, honor, and your duty?" His voice was very quiet, almost sad, but he had to know. Perhaps this man could offer an insight into this conflict he had always had.=

=Catona let's the silence stretch on a few moments. Not looking back, he speaks. "Duty, honor, faith. They are three facets of the same stone. They are bound in love, and from love these things arise. The knowing where you stand is in knowing yourself, Kinsen. We cannot act on one without acting on the others in some way." he lets the silence drift off again for a few long moments. "Some questions have no answers, but answers must always be sought."=

=Kinsen nods, smiling faintly. It made sense, and the man's simplistic view gave him the boost he needed. Flexing his left hand slightly, he gives silent thanks to his God, for his good fortune and good friends. Still standing, both men faced away from each other, he spoke. "The fleet is mobilized, and we commence our voyage within the day. I wish you the best of luck here, my friend. May spring find you." He ended with an old blessing for life, a fitting benediction for men marching to war, before beginning to walk towards the gatehouse=