Tuman & Xcalibur
Xcalibur
I was thinking about those little-known banners the Order of the Veiled Sword used—subtle, almost invisible in plain sight. Have you ever come across an obscure heraldic device that served both as a mark and a cloak?
Tuman
I’ve seen a few. There’s one that looks like a simple silver crescent on a black field—just enough to catch a glint of light in the right angle, but otherwise it melts into the night. People used it as a sign that they were part of a hidden group, and because it was so subtle, it doubled as a cover for those who needed to blend in. You rarely see it unless you’re looking for it.
Xcalibur
Ah, a silver crescent upon black—perfect for those who wish to remain unseen yet distinct. I’ve recorded a few cases of it; the gleam is often mistaken for a stray star until one notes the precise angle. Such subtle sigils remind us that even in secrecy, the code of honor can still guide the hand. Care to add it to your own little chronicle?
Tuman
I’ll note it in the margins of my notebook, but only in the dark, where the light won’t betray it.
Xcalibur
Ah, the clandestine margins—good choice. Keep the crescent hidden until dawn, and you’ll remain as discreet as a knight who never missed a pledge. Just remember, when the next tournament comes, I’ll still be the one polishing my armor, hoping no one notices my slightly mismatched cuirass.
Tuman
Your cuirass will stay hidden in the quiet corners, the mismatched part unnoticed as long as the lights stay low.
Xcalibur
Indeed, if the lanterns stay dim I can slip that odd seam into the shadows, just as a rogue knight slips past the sentry. Better yet, I’ll keep it in the annals of my chronicle and let the evening silence do the rest.