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The pounding of the knight's headache after a night out at the pub with a few fair maidens ended the same way as always; his head was slaying him. His ears would constantly ring and nothing seemed to not give him a hard time that morning. His coin purse was gone- again- and he had begun to look around for his armor as he first placed some clothing underneath his grey griffon inspired plate. Along with the uniquely made armor of his, he wore a red garment over the shoulder that wound up through his armor and out the other end. About done as he was preparing to leave, he realized he had forgotten to put on his trousers. Stripping back down to put them on, he scrambled to place his armor back on and stepped out of his chalet, near secluded away from the rest of the world. This was the only thing he asked for from the royals who offered him anything in the world.

He went back to the pub the night before and ordered up their best tasting once again. But, when a brawl began to start, he just continued to drink his liquor concoction as they fought over whether the Ilphoscient family line was one of traitors or heroes. The one arguing they were heroes was a scrawny fellow, probably never even heard of a brothel in his life, wherever the other one, accusing his family of being traitors, was a rather built man, followed by another, and another... and another. He got up and placed a single Klartaca on the counter as he walked out of the pub. His hangover was still not over, and it was made worse when he bumped into someone.

what I request:
Good grammar
Possible royalty
That's it.

His day simply couldn't get any worse.

It began with discovering his lover's affair and ended with him getting evicted from his shabby, one-room apartment. Somewhere in between several bodies were discovered and his most treasured knife was stolen, among other things.

He felt, for the sake of what little sanity he had left, it would be best to spend the next week in a drunken stupor in lieu of dealing with his emotions. In all honesty, he was more upset about the knife than anything else.

He made his way over to one of the rougher establishments in town, more wanting to watch other people get beaten up then anything else. Sometimes, all you need to lighten your mood is to watch angry men patting each other and being overly dramatic about the 'wounds' they receive.

Just as he reached for the tavern door, it swung open and he collided with a solid body...

...and promptly fell flat on his ass.

"Gah- bloody hell," He said, in pure annoyance due to his hangover which had just been made many times worse. He sighed, covering his eyes from the blazing sun. He may have been named "The Griffon" of the late queens decided to make in honor of his saving of her kingdom, and near half of the world from the gods of old. But, uncovering his eyes, he looked around before looking at the ground to see the sorry sod before his eyes. Looking at this man before him, he decided to put up with his hangover that slight bit longer and continued to, reluctantly mind you, outstretch his arm for the man on the ground. God... blast it... why am I doing this? He thought to himself. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY!

He was quite annoyed to be blatantly honest... and he felt that he was going to regret his choice in just a few moments. If the strange bump in his path accepted the hand, he would offer him a drink, if not... he'd still offer him a drink as he was a gentleman to both men and women. Besides, keeping up appearances is one diplomatic skill you must have, because, without them, you'll end up getting assassinated. Attempting anything else and he would lose his family's honor, if not already by that little fight that broke out. Awaiting the very... feminine looking man's hand, he would soon be getting impatient.

A noise of discontent unknowingly left his mouth as he dragged a slimy, mud-covered hand over his face, trying in vain to get his hair out of his eyes. It seemed like his whole body was coated in squelchy filth. And now his face was too. Delightful. There are few things more annoying (or more embassiring) than having your last clean outfit ruined by falling over.

Grumbling about how this and that did made to day simply marvellous he glanced around for anyone who may have seen, ready to beat them into silence. What he saw instead was a nicely calloused hand attached to a rather muscular figure, who’s rough face was seemingly stuck between annoyed and resigned.

Was this the guy he bumped into? Rather handsome under all the angst and pressure.

And idea slid into his head.

Flashing the guy a (slightly) manic grin, he clasped the out stretched hand tightly and tugged with all his strength.


sorry for any mistakes i’m mildly dyslectic and on mobile this time

Having been attempted to be pulled into the mud, Vasial's hair glew a bright orange for a split second... as all the mud evaporated, and instead, his hand hit against solid bricks, clean of any muck. Standing up, people began to turn around corners to see what the sudden burst of heat was. His hair, back to its original state of midnight black, had an eery feeling around it and the rest of his body. Though Vasial was a gentle-man on most occasions, this was not one of them. His hangover had now ended, but his attitude remained. Pushing himself off the ground with ease despite the amount of metal he had on him, being on his feet would allow him to tower over the man who had attempted to ruin his suit.

"You've got some nerve elf... you clearly don't know who's armor you've tried to ruin." He bore his eyes into the elves eye, and he seemed to stare right into his soul. His body was slowly engulfed in a green gas, and when it dissipated, his other set of armor, or more commonly known through the family as his elemental state, he grabbed his blade and turned it around as to hand it to the elf. And with hollowed voice, he spoke very little. "You, elf, have decided that you are one that will not be punished by attempting to dirty the late queen's number one soldier. If you want your execution to come now, or later, I will hear your last words." His eyes were now a green, but his armor faded, and sword remained. Turning around, he spoke once more. "If you apologize now... you're executioner might find a way to get your sentence lifted." And he stood there for a few moments.

"I can do what I wish to, human, and besides, you put me in the mud first," he said in a low, angry voice, acutely aware of the crowd that was gathering and not wanting to make a scene. The visibility itched at the back of his neck.

So he didn't mean to offend Mr.Expesnive armour but in all fairness, his bow is caked in congealing mud. So was his hair. So was his ass.

"Sorry for pushing your buttons, big man. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get drunk enough to forget what day it is. Good day, fine sir! Although its the evening..." Aelrindal trailed off and turned yards the bar door.