Hounds of Orion

Cameron Pellyn was not someone who embodied the ideal noble presence. The second-born scion to the royal throne of Ketris would rarely be seen rubbing elbows at fancy galas, or showing his martial prowess on the dueling field. Instead, he spent most of his time in the place he was found this morning; a dive bar in the lowlands, passed out, face adhered to a sticky counter top.

“You really should have called me.” Markus Creel, the royal tender of the second scion said, speaking to the bartender. He had a gruff, no nonsense timbre in his voice. Proper enough in his tempo and pronunciation to be among the highborn, yet still possessing the slight accent of the lowland working class. He was tanned and tall, with a muscular frame that tried to hide itself under his expensive suit. Likewise, his dark hair was slicked and combed in a dignified style, his beard, neatly trimmed, trying and failing to cover a scar that ran down the side of his square jaw.

“You know I would have Markus” The bartender said, still wiping down the counter from the night before. “But he gave specific instructions not to call you.”

Markus ground his teeth in frustration, speaking in a snarl “Of course he did.”

He sighed, taking a seat at the bar, holding his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to tear it out of his head. “This kid is going to be the death of me.”

“Look on the bright side,” John said, handing Marcus a bucket of water, “Least this part is always fun.” A soft smirk formed at the edges of Marcus’s mouth. “You’re absolutely right my friend.”

Without another word, Marcus walked his way up to Cameron’s unconscious form. “Rise and shine Master Pellyn.” He said as the bucket tipped and ice cold water ran down the young man’s back.

Cameron woke with a start, looking around wide eyed, trying to get his bearings. When his eyes found those of Marcus, he relaxed, a smirk forming on his face as he stood, holding his arms out wide.

“Alright, ya got me.”

“Indeed, I do Master Pellyn.” Marcus said, his frustration hidden behind a mask of professionalism.

“You know I gotta say,” Cameron began, “This isn’t the most ideal way to wake up after a night of heavy drinking, but it’s certainly not the worst. Remember Conroy’s Selection Party?”

“Is this the time you set the guest house on fire? Or the time you slept with his sister?” Marcus asked, a weary sigh hanging in his throat.

“That’s a trick question and you know it. That was the same party.”

“How could I possibly forget? You seem lucid enough.” Marcus said, tossing him a rag and a blue tunic lined with silver. “Clean yourself up and join me in the railcar. We have an appointment to keep.”

“Oh? What appointment would that be?” Cameron asked as he stripped off his grime covered shirt and scrubbed himself quickly in the sink behind the bar. John, the barkeep would have been offended, if he hadn’t gone through enough mornings like the one currently happening in front of him. Instead, he shook his head and reached for a worn out pipe, lighting it and filling the hazy room with another thin layer of smoke.

“Your father of course.” Marcus replied, “ Lady Miranda's coronation is a mere month away, which also means your ascension to Seneschal is quickly approaching.”

Cameron stopped, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to speak before Marcus cut him off.

“I think it would be best for us to discuss this in the carriage Master Pellyn. No sense in dragging John into the goings on of the royal house.”

“Oh, don’t mind me.” John said, looking between the two men in front of him. “I love drama. Especially when it comes to the rich and powerful. Or just rich in Cam’s case.”

“Hey!” Cameron complained, pulling his tunic on. “I’m a prince of the royal family. Show a little respect at least.”

John blinked, then spoke, unperturbed. “Last night I saw you fish a coin out of a patron’s belly button using nothing but your tongue.”

Cameron blinked. “Was she cute at least?”

“I think HE would rather be called handsome. And, no he wasn’t. He was at least fifty and his stomach looked like a shaved bear.”

“Did I at least get the coin?”

“You did not.”

“… Okay fair point.” Cameron responded as he made his way to the door. He stretched in a broad, exaggerated motion, before grabbing one of the bottles left on the table from the night before, and draining it of its contents. In one smooth motion he tossed the bottle in the trash before letting out a satisfied sigh and smiling at his servant.

“Ready when you are.”

***

The planet Ketris was one of a tropical paradise. Large islands dotted its surface, not quite large enough to form continents. Instead, these islands would chain into their own distinct city-states, using a gravity rail system for transport from one chain to another. Cameron found himself on one such rail system, a private line for those of the noble houses to give direct transport to the capital of the planet that shared its name. He was looking out the window, watching the islands fly by at a blistering speed as Marcus spoke.

“Ever since the colonies came from the mother planet,” he began. “We have had a noble house. At first it was just one, your family Master Pellyn. But over the generations, we have grown into many, scattered across the planet. Now, we have fifty houses, whose scions pilot the very A.R.M.S Squire units that protect our home from all dangers that would dare touch our soil. Just as the planet needs a ruler, an army needs a Seneschal, a general to stand in the front and hold the mighty shield of Ketris, should duty call for it.”

Cameron looked at him exasperated. “I know the tradition Marcus. I don’t need a history lesson. What I need is an answer as to why dad has his heart set on sending me.”

Marcus shrugged and gave and gave a look. “It’s how it's always been, Master Pellyn. The firstborn reigns, in this case Lady Miranda. The second born is the shield.”

Cameron gave a derisive chuckle. “I have three brothers.” He said. “Surely he can find a more qualified candidate from those guys.”

The Pellyn family was small by noble standards. With five children, one girl and four boys, they were often outnumbered by their distant cousins, who’s numbers could get as high as twenty to a single family. Miranda was the oldest, groomed from the very beginning to take on her father’s mantle. After her, Cameron came a few years down the line, followed by the triplets, Ian, Liam, and Dean. Those three were the more stereotypical prince type, chasing glory and skirts in equal measure. Cameron was just happy to settle for the latter.

“Ian is the muscle head.” Cameron said. “Liam too. He won the tournament last spring. Hell, Dean’s at least down to have a bar fight every once in a while.”

“But none of them are you Master Pellyn.” Marcus said, speaking in a soft and comforting tone.

“For all your frustration and anger at being chosen, I’m sure the young masters are in turn frustrated about not being chosen.”

Cameron considered this a moment before deciding not to speak, instead focusing on the ocean waves as they passed. After a moment, a soft ding echoed its way through the train car. They had arrived at their destination.