#bc i have banner maker cub thoughts

[convexicalcrow]

Sir Cub's banners always had a strange aura around them. The colours were always so vivid, and the metals shining brighter than the sun. Some swore up and down that they'd seen the air shiver and shimmer as they faced him down for a joust, somehow losing sight of their opponent as they prepared to fight.

To be fair, the knight was a rogue who spent his time wandering between kingdoms, going where the money and the tournaments were. He belonged to no king, and that was how he preferred it. But every time he fought in tournaments, he won, and no one really knew how. Something always seemed to happen. An accident. A horse going lame. Shimmering. Blindness. A distraction from the stalls.

Sir Cub laughed all of this off. Of course they were just coincidences. How could something happening during the first round of the joust really be responsible for him winning? That was absurd, and most agreed, which was how Sir Cub liked it.

After all, if they knew how he crafted his banners, how the paints were made, and the patterns decided upon, and the way the spells were weaved in a magic circle in the thickest part of the woods, then maybe they'd never let live. And Sir Cub couldn't have that. His masters would never forgive him.

He sat by the fire, sketching out the next design. A spell woven into the banner itself, from the paints to the texture of the wool used to craft the banners. A spell designed to confuse, nothing more, nothing less. The tournament in the next kingdom was calling, and chaos was on his mind. Let them decide who he was. Let him be in many places at once.

He smiled as the design took shape, seeing the image in his head as dictated by his masters. It required precision, and marking the design on the banner would take all night to meet that level of precision. But the effect of it once it was done would be worth it. He felt his masters watching over his shoulder, and a cold hand touching his head. They had a plan, and they gifted him the languages he needed to complete the spell. Tomorrow. Tomorrow at the full moon. Tomorrow, the banner is finished.

Of course, no one bore witness to Sir Cub in the woods. No one ever saw him when he didn't mean to be seen. He would disappear into the fog, or around a corner, or suddenly be travelling the other direction, or seen halfway across town. And no one would think it strange because they'd forget they ever saw him. And that was how he liked it.