He calmly walked through the opened gates, glancing at the battlements filled with soldiers. He was satisfied, he could see their professionalism through their every movement. A good soldier doesn't need to be powerful or talented, this was covered by the rising heroes of the younger generation. Soldiers needed determination and unity, they need to be united under one command to truly show the efforts of their training. Magnus waved his hand at one of the passing groups, giving them a nod and salute after making eye contact. This was how a man should act, proud under the sun and sky, not skulking around in the shadows like a vile pest. His thoughts quickly flew to their resident spymaster-in-training, Givain. Although he understood the importance of what Givain did for the kingdom, he still found it displeasing that the man would just decide to flee or hide away from an enemy, instead of taking them head on. Through the years, he had pestered Givain to join him in his training sessions, but the sneaky snook would just slink away into the shadows before he got a good grip.
"Bring these to my room, you can rest there if you need to. If you don't want to rest, visit the quartermaster and ask for another set of training dummies. Tomorrow, it's your turn to break them.", he beamed towards his squire before heading towards the keep, not noticing the youth's pale face. The youth's name was Wheatfield, named after the yellowish coloration of his skin, but this yellow was quickly turning white the moment he heard the last line. He'd be tasked to break 3 dummies, with each symbolising his meals. If he didn't break the corresponding dummy, he wouldn't get to eat anything for that time. Normally it wouldn't be hard, especially if one was allowed to use weapons, but he was limited to his fists and legs. According to Magnus, 'The fists are a symbol of a warrior's unbreakable will, while the legs are the unstoppable force of their being. Before you are allowed to bear a weapon, you need to deserve the weapon first.', although Magnus wanted the best for Wheatfield, his methods were a bit too extreme for the squire's current self. Wheatfield just sighed and went towards the cellars.
Magnus walked through the gilded halls of the castle, his eyes dazzled by the amount of silver and gold scattered about. There were golden chalices, archaic vases, he even saw a glimmering sword that felt warm to the gaze hung on a wall. He never really appreciates design and flashiness, he usually sought usefulness and efficiency first. He eventually found himself standing in front of the heir's, Ashlin, room. He was carrying one of the satchels with the trinkets, he wanted to gift her some wondrous objects to at least help her with the boredom of having to stay indoors. "Requesting entrance, Magnus Wargen, the Captain of the Guard.", he knocked while respectfully asking for permission, he smiled inwardly when he called himself the Captain of the Guard. In truth, he was still training to receive the position, the seat is still held by his surrogate father, Nathaniel Wargen. The first knock garnered no response, as did the second, as the third. Cold sweat was already flowing down his back, worried about a possibility that he didn't want real. He hastily pulled out the spare key entrusted to him by the king and opened the door. The insides were clean, the scent of perfume filling the atmosphere, but no princess in sight. This was a routine of hers, she'd sneak out whenever his attention was placed elsewhere, and he'd charge out of the castle searching for her the instant he found out, finishing it with him complaining to her that these weren't the actions of a princess. But today was going too far, she was ill, she could get in an accident!
A bull-like bellow escaped him, thundering loudly as he charged back into the halls, heading towards the courtyard where he last saw Wheatfield. One might assume that this would attract the attention of the hordes of soldiers and knights stationed in the vicinity of the castle, but this tended to happen once or twice a month, so they just ignored it. The servants hopped to the side when they saw him rushing through the halls, his armor making a racket where he went. Most would blame him, but he couldn't blame himself, he was tasked to protect her! If she continued to do these escapades of hers without proper protection, he'd die young from worrying! "GET ME ROOK!", he screamed towards the stable, charging into the courtyard like a wild animal. And now he had to wait for these stablehands fetch his mount. A short but stressful wait.