Attentions could not help but to drift over the faces present, a fair few recognizable from gatherings of nobility. Those he had briefly tended to when it came to affairs of the house. Even then, within the eyes of the damned, they hardly seemed suitable for this sort of thing. Ill experience of the youth shining ever brighter in mere glimpses of their chosen practice sparking a short breath to slip free. This king would only be sending them to their deaths - whether from their own quests for glory or the refusal of those ‘more important’ to stand in their place. Either way their fates would be sealed.

So many names rang out.

Not all of them crossed off that list. Not all houses heeding the summons.

It came of no surprise that none would step forth on initial calling for Lyon. Of course the boy’s father had expected him to fill the role, however, after a particular incident he was hardly in good health. No matter what those lyrics may have claimed that man was in no shape for combat. So it is upon his name that Ajax would step forth without missing a beat, offering a short wave and answering the call for an, “Augustus Lyon.” Hardly would many of these men recognize the face of a house keeper, few he doubted would care to point out they knew he did not hold the goat’s name. If they thought to they would simply have to be silenced.

Such tasks held for another time. A faint mist swirling over skin as magic sought to subtly shroud flesh from the burning heat. Anything the marshal had to say falling upon ears not wholly willing to listen, the deer’s tongue held as an antlered crown merely nods in silent acknowledgment before shifting away. The sword already held at his hip a stark reminder of a long chosen specialty though there had been little announcement of just where one would be assigned. This Louis would no doubt work to find their strengths, allowing the devil a small chance to experiment with something he was less familiar with.

Unconsciously chasing the steps of another fingers would coil easily about a bow, the subtle rattle of arrows within their quiver a sound not beheld for years. This would serve as a useful refresher, he couldn’t do any worse than those who nearly shot their own feet. Even from here he could hear the way their blood pumped wildly in their veins at those near misses, how hearts hammered in the chests of those who still stood back and awaited their calling. But he couldn’t focus on that now, he shouldn’t focus upon it. It would only make that unbidden thirst rise.

So Ajax sought distraction. And it was to he that eyes would fall, upon the obscurities of an over sized hat. Something he himself would have perhaps taken to if antlers allowed such accessory - surely a far less exhausting way to combat the sun’s glower.

Fixing the stranger with that red tinted stare an easy - yet notably fanged smile - would cross his lips, “Heimdall was it?” The name he swore one had answered to, “How do you fair with one of these?” For perhaps they could make this exercise a bit more thrilling, not that there was much to gamble with but shooting targets and attempting not to harm themselves (or any other for that matter) should not have to be a complete drudgery.