Completed A Friend In Need

[Lysanthir of Arapat]

“I'd stress if I were idle. Each day we conquer ourselves so that we are not conquered in turn. So, I'll find somewhere to drill, somewhere with heavy stone. Thank you for telling me of the way of things work around here.” Dal said, confident in himself. Lysanthir nods and smiles.

I suppose that is true. Simple tasks can be monuments, after all.

“Rebirth. I felt like a new soldier the first time I put on this suit. It's going to be...strange, melting it down. We've seen a lot of action.”

His smile wanes as Dal goes past him, entering. He follows Dal in.

Lysanthir shakes his head once as soon as the acridity of burning coals in the furnaces hits him, lightly rubbing his nose. He hums in recognition of Dal's words, for lack of a response that wouldn't ultimately sound syrupy to the man.

May you feel again like a new soldier, friend.

He then leaves Dal more or less to his own devices within the shop, finding himself drawn again to a little stiletto he's been pondering upon. He lifts it lightly from the stand and weights it, voice pitched down.

"Do I..."

Rulgak's busy entry- items caught under her arm and seeking those unwanted things -catches his attention, and he smiles to himself. He couldn't say he was absolute buddies with the master smith, but he liked her sure nature and attention to detail. She was quite personable- having tolerated more than one long-winded inquiry from Lysanthir himself, intrigued by her and her processes -if not particularly chatty, and there wasn't a piece of armour he'd ever brought down that couldn't be mended or quickly replaced, and every repair had strengthened his suit beyond it's original quality.

He returned his gaze to the stiletto, flipping it lightly between grip styles, when she speaks to Dal.

“Something you seek? You look new.”

“Quite correct Syr. I am new. I've been sent to melt my old gear. Recently had my gear sundered, so I am in need. Both in weapons and in armour. I'm Dal,” he replies, “Squire.”

Lysanthir hums and walks over with the blade, giving Rulgak a polite jut of his chin before dissolving into a happy grin.

"Good day, Syr Rulgak. I don't wish to interrupt, but I think I'll buy it. I'll bring you the coin alongside the payment for my helmet segment tomorrow, but only if that is alright with you." he says, presenting the blade to her for inspection.

---

Dal Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

The common tongue wasn't well constructed for the orcish mouth. It was filled with more delicate sounds, many of which called for her lips to be pursed in such a way that her tusks simply wouldn't allow. They weren't quite as pronounced as that of other orcs, but they still got in the way whenever she spoke. Her accent she could only do so much about, but doing away with her lisp had been a continued endeavour ever since she learned the common language more fluently. It took rather deliberate effort to make those sounds that came naturally to tuskless lips, one factor that dissuaded Rulgak from speaking lengthy sentences. Another was her disinclination for needless talk.

Rulgak did remember one human squire who dared to mockingly mimic the orcish lisp she spoke in when she first arrived to Anathaeum, responding to her with an exaggerated accent to his words.

She'd punched him in the mouth. She'd got in a little trouble for it, but needless to say, no incident like it repeated itself.

“Quite correct Syr. I am new. I've been sent to melt my old gear. Recently had my gear sundered, so I am in need. Both in weapons and in armour. I'm Dal, squire” The half orc spoke, even more devoid of the lisp and accent she herself concealed. Yet if she had only heard the man and not seen him, she'd have assumed him to be human. If he hadn't been raised so, then his impression of them was very convincing. Still, Rulgak remained with the mistaken assumption that Dal had always known their civilization and settlement. Half-orc by appearance, he seemed human by nearly any other measure.

Why, they'd even filed down his tusks so he could speak more properly, more like them. The humans ever saw it fit to make others suit their likeness that they'd defile an orc's fangs to better suit their customs. No doubt done as a child, lest the boy Dal once was carry the shame of being an orc.

All but mistaken musings, based on falsely formed assumption.

“Rulgak. Sworn.” She replied. Stoic but with little judgement on him. Believing him raised among humans, Rulgak could not blame him for the loss of the orcish way. Doubtful he'd ever even known it. But it was good to see an orc make his way through human society, at least.

“And timely. We need the salvage. I'm sure we have gear that will suit. What weapon?” Rulgak added, expression unchanging but nonetheless elated. They did need salvage, and what Dal had left them might enable them to see through a few more commissioned orders before materials ran low. Lysanthir spoke next, holding a stiletto dagger in his hand.

"Good day, Syr Rulgak. I don't wish to interrupt, but I think I'll buy it. I'll bring you the coin alongside the payment for my helmet segment tomorrow, but only if that is alright with you." Lysanthir said, and Rulgak briefly eyed the dagger he'd selected. Not a costly item, nor was Lysanthir likely to be lacking the funds for them. Happy to make a sale and content with the offered terms of it, Rulgak returned a nod to the request.

“Sounds good, sold. You can take it now and bring the payment tomorrow.” Rulgak said, before turning to Dal again.

“I can take the gear now, if you have it.” Rulgak spoke.

Dal Lysanthir of Arapat

 

[Dal]

Dal felt more comfortable by the second in this place with Rulgak speaking so succinctly. Dal had made an almost life long commitment towards being understood by humans, so it was refreshing to be in the presence of someone who knew how to direct words as required. While he left his orc home at an early age, that preference for direct speech was always comforting and less tiring on the mind. Even Dal found his own speech to be tiring to utter, just on how much he had to say from time to time so that he might be understood and regarded well as someone who was worthy of trust.

Anything to avoid to become part of disposable units. If you had the ability to speak properly, you often were considered more civilised, and the act of sending one on suicide missions became less palatable to command.

Or so Dal had reasoned over the years.

He looked over at Lysanthir making request to purchase the stiletto and weighed up an impulse as they talked.

He did speak up for me.

Alright, don't make a habit of thinking you're a charity though.

Don't show them how much you have. That's for nobles and merchants.

Dal thought of how he might engender himself towards the forge, for he knew that if his ambition in armour was to be met, he'd have to curry favour without it being sycophantic. It was always a careful balance to be met. And not to seem that he was trying to twist anyone's arm to meet his demands. He knew that he'd be relying on this place in the future, and his request wasn't going to be a small one. Money talks. But so too does respect.

The squire placed the armour down by the forge without a sound, no grunt of exertion, or request where it might be placed. His eyes saw a proper place for it by the forge with the rest, and if there was any mistake, he looked for guidance for Rulgak's eyes and body language to guide him correctly to where she wanted it.

He turned and gave his request simply, his eyes remaining undistracted from the assortment of weapons and kept gaze with his superior.

“Rondel, longsword, and halberd. Basic breastplate, for now. Want to invest in something more comprehensive...but, breastplate will do for now. It's early to ask a big commission from you, I'm sure. Need to find out what will try and kill me on assignment first. And know what's possible here without putting anyone else out. And I'll be footing his bill today.”

He didn't look over at Lysanthir when he made this request. There was nothing worse, Dal thought, than someone returning a favour or showing thanks with a big expectation to be thanked. And there was nothing like the strain of people paying for things slowly. It was a tax on the attention, Dal thought.

Rulgak Lysanthir of Arapat

 

[Lysanthir of Arapat]

The two discuss salvage as he approaches, and he intones a soft noise as Rulgak takes note of the stiletto and replies to his offer.

“Sounds good, sold. You can take it now and bring the payment tomorrow.”

Lsyanthir nods, humming, and lets his arm fall lax to his side, blade facing the ground loosely.

"Thank you, Rulgak."

He looks around the storefront nebulously, not for lack of respect, but simply for visual stimulation, as the other two discuss the business of armour.

One little splurge on myself is sufficient, I'd say.

“I can take the gear now, if you have it.”

Dal's form leaves the corner of his vision, and the scrape of metal hitting itself and stone filters in. He faces Rulgak and Dal again, absently spinning the stiletto's handle between his fingers.

Now, what aught I-

“Rondel, longsword, and halberd. Basic breastplate, for now. Want to invest in something more comprehensive...but, breastplate will do for now."

-ah, hm, perhaps I'll make some more compound and get a nice tin-

"It's early to ask a big commission from you, I'm sure. Need to find out what will try and kill me on assignment first. And know what's possible here without putting anyone else out."

Oh, you were wanting the names of creatures. I'll try to give you some as soon as your armings are-

"And I'll be footing his bill today.”

You'll be doing what?

Lysanthir's gaze whips over to Dal in surprise, ears turning forwards, wholly unprepared for the offer. It was, after all, his own bill to pay. The man was soon to have his own as it is, and he had only just arrived.

"You needn't do that, Dal. I have money enough, it just isn't in my purse at this very moment." He says, voice holding more conviction than his expression, brows pitched upwards in the middle.

Besides, I'll have to come back to pick up and pay for my helmet tomorrow either way, if it isn't- You don't owe me anything.

"I do appreciate the offer. Is my helmet finished, Rulgak? I'd like to get this a sheath quickly, and I'll come right back with your coin either way."

He makes a vague, passive gesture to indicate the stiletto. Regardless of Rulgak's response to the completeness of his helmet, he smiles to her and nods.

"Alright, thank you."

He makes his way over to the door, pushing it partway open, and looks back to nod at Dal as he heads out.

"And Dal, thank you."

---

Dal Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

Dal moved the sack of armour to be salvage, and Rulgak gestured a muscled arm to a spot by the forge. He did so dutifully and silently, and Rulgak began to inspect the pieces. Anything badly damaged was bound to become cast iron, but anything that could be salvaged might suit a better purpose. Though the Wyvern's Nest was privileged to have one that could, it was not common to have a furnace that could melt steel, and it did not produce steel but iron, which would have to be worked back into steel through a laborious process. It was a lot of work, and would require time they simply didn't have right then.

Many of the plates were in good condition, and Rulgak might be able to construct a suit of smaller armour from the best kept ones. Others might need to be repaired to be serviceable, and even the worst quality of iron might be used to craft tools and moulds. The gauntlets were among the items too worn to salvage, with so many moving parts to them it seemed better to simply hammer it into an ingot and start anew. He had a large enough size, and there was likely enough steel within each one for a good arming sword. The armour however, would require disassembly, and such a tedious task was best left to the apprentices.

“You three. Take this armour apart. Scrap the cloth and leather and return with the metal plates. Bag the rivets and small parts” Rulgak commanded, and all three approached immediately to take the armour from her.

“Yes, Rulgak.” Was all they said as the hauled the chest-piece to a workbench. Two fiddled about uselessly with it while the third, clearly more clever, was searching through the toolbox to find something that might aid them. They’d do fine.

“Rondel, longsword, and halberd. Basic breastplate, for now. Want to invest in something more comprehensive...but, breastplate will do for now. It's early to ask a big commission from you, I'm sure. Need to find out what will try and kill me on assignment first. And know what's possible here without putting anyone else out.” Dal spoke, to which Rulgak nodded. A dagger, sword, polearm and basic armour. It was a sensible request, the three weapons were a fine array for a warrior to carry. Polearms held advantage of weight and leverage, so long as the quarters one was fighting in was not too confined. Swords held advantage in those situations, and daggers were the prime tool for exploiting weak points in armour and even piercing chain mail. Dal certainly looked strong enough to do that. Of course, reducing the presence and accessibility of such weak points was a continual consideration in the designs of her own armour, for that reason.

“And I'll be footing his bill today.” Dal added, and the offer earned an immediate look from Lysanthir.

"You needn't do that, Dal. I have money enough, it just isn't in my purse at this very moment." He responded, with some reservations about accepting the favour. Rulgak was fine with the arrangement, it was more convenient to simply get the payment now, though she'd little doubt that Lysanthir would be good for it. If Lysanthir wasn't agreeable, Rulgak wouldn't interfere with his decision. The money was his after all, and it was fair for him to decide to whom he owed it.

“However you pay is fine with me.” Rulgak said, preferring to leave the decision among them. Obtaining the money a day late was a minor matter, there was more pressing work to be concerned with.

"I do appreciate the offer. Is my helmet finished, Rulgak? I'd like to get this a sheath quickly, and I'll come right back with your coin either way." Lysanthir added, and Rulgak returned a nod.

“Yes. Galnar, get Lysanthir that helmet we fixed yesterday.”

“Sure thing, Rulgak.” He responded, heading off in the other direction to go and grab it. He' caught up to Lysanthir in the shop, graciously handing the item with a smile before descending back into the work shop though the swinging doors that lead there.

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal watched as the attendants set to work at Rulgak's command, how they unfastened and were set to the task of tearing apart the semblance of form the armour still carried. He couldn't help but think of the beasts of the wild that would be tearing apart his body with jaw, paw, talon and beak at this very moment had he not be salvaged himself at the gates by the Order.

My Order.

The words still seemed strange for Dal to think. He heard Lysanthir's words but he remained firm in his decision, his eyes remaining on the armour as it was disassembled and as his new comrade left. There would have been a time where he would have doted upon the repairs to his armour and held onto every coin possible. Now, the armour was being recycled, returned to base components and other warrior's needs, and he was making offers to pay for other's weapons.

No. I'm paying off my own debt to him for speaking up for me. For asking me that question.

I'll explain it to him later.

Dal allowed for a short space of time for Lysanthir to truly leave the place. He didn't know how good the satyr's hearing was and erred on the side of caution. He continued to stare at the armour as he thought of the numerous times it had served him successfully and without flaw.

But he thought upon the one time it did not with a grim determination. The savage cuts, the serration across the chest.

I refuse to let that happen again.

“That suit served for almost two decades, give or take,” Dal said to Rulgak, his arms crossing as he contemplated the suit further, as if he was giving an obituary and commendation to a fellow soldier. “But in the end, it failed. Couldn't resist magic weapons designed to carve up an armoured knight. But it served. It served well for all it could be.”

He paused, and looked at Rulgak seriously as if conducted an honest inventory of the situation as he perceived it. He uncrossed his arms, as if done with the ceremony of assessing his old armour.

“If I am to prove myself, I'll require another suit down the road. One that won't fail such a test. I've got a year to prove myself. This much I know. Breastplate will serve me for now while I train. While I learn the customs and expectations of a squire. Of a knight. There's much I don't know Syr. But I do know that I never want to be a liability to my comrades by becoming a corpse for not learning a lesson when it was handed to me loud and clear. I need to invest and invest well. What might be possible, given enough coin and time?”

Dal was careful not to state exactly how much money he had. Such would be a vulgarity in his eyes, the actions of a noble militia who gilded their arms for the effect of impressing ones they wished to woo. But he did reach to pay for Lysanthir's cost of arms without explanation. He didn't feel as if there would be a need for it. He placed the coins on the table, as if suggesting it was but the first of many such transactions, a sign of good faith. The purse he had taken the money from was heavy and full from a lifetime of luxuries denied and professionalism maintained.

Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

The two apprentices continued to work and inspect the armour, and one of them gestured to a spot on it when the other one returned with the spike and mallet. She got to work right away, placing the spike point first where the other apprentice had signalled, and struck the back of it with the mallet to undo some link holding the pieces together. So they did have more foresight than Rulgak had assumed. She was happy to have been wrong.

“That suit served for almost two decades, give or take, but in the end, it failed. Couldn't resist magic weapons designed to carve up an armoured knight. But it served. It served well for all it could be.” Dal said, and Rulgak followed the warrior's musings with a nod. Two decades of battle must have given it some stories to tell, if only it could speak.

Well, with the right enchantments it could, but that was very far beyond the point. She was here to salvage.

“I'm sure it has, to keep you mostly intact after twenty years.” Rulgak remarked, a minute amount of empathy to her tone that was all but undetectable to a stranger. But she knew the warrior's way, it had been how she was raised. Reverence for the tools of battle was a natural concept, for to armour and weapons a warrior must trust their life.

“If I am to prove myself, I'll require another suit down the road. One that won't fail such a test. I've got a year to prove myself. This much I know. Breastplate will serve me for now while I train. While I learn the customs and expectations of a squire. Of a knight. There's much I don't know Syr. But I do know that I never want to be a liability to my comrades by becoming a corpse for not learning a lesson when it was handed to me loud and clear. I need to invest and invest well. What might be possible, given enough coin and time?” Dal said.

“Your request is meagre. A new polearm will be provided and a breastplate exchanged for the salvage.” Rulgak replied. It was a generous offer, but as he was a newly recruited squire, he had need for a good weapon and basic armour at the very least. His old armour wouldn't do, and he was a seasoned enough warrior to tell. Rulgak would take him at his word, and would not have a squire deployed in gear they held no confidence in.

“Do you have money for the sword and- Good.” Rulgak interrupted herself once Dal placed the coins on the table. Trading in his own armour would earn him a discount, but the value of salvage was less than that he sought. It would go a fair ways to cover the cost of his purchase, but the sword and dagger would need to be paid for. The halberd was a given, it was a fine polearm, and the smithy surely held a hefty one suitable for the heavy warrior.

“The weapons, we have in stock.” Rulgak commented, taking out a strange thin wooden instrument. She then pulled on one of the arms split it in two, both perpendicular to the rail it sat on. “Hold your arms out.” Rulgak said, in casual stoic tone as she took a basic measurement of the width of his chest. She turned the instrument around and the wooden arms drew closer until it was at his profile, at which point Rulgak noted the numbers on the device. Dal was a bit bigger than most, and one of their existing breastplates would have to be hammered to fit his broad size. But it would not take long, the plate was ready, it merely needed adjustment. Easy enough for a journeyman to take care of.

“The breastplate will be ready tomorrow.” Rulgak added, before placing the measuring device back on the shelf.

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal felt assured by the prospect that his ambition in armour was seen as meager, although was curious that Rulgak didn't profess on what might be possible just yet. Perhaps, he thought, it was too early for discussing such things, or perhaps she needed more specific requests. Dal was reassured that the master of the forge wasn't trying to fleece him and viewed the job he proposed as meagre, if, Dal thought, he was understood correctly.

He held out his arms dutifully and silently. Only after the process was complete and the instrument returned did he talk as he reached for his purse again.

"Thank you. Oh. One more request Syr," Dal said, thinking of the practicalities of training. "Chain. I need the heaviest you have. Long sleeved ideally. It won't see combat, I just need the weight. It's purely for conditioning. Find that breastplates are too light to provide the burn. If I'm going to wear heavier armour in the future, I'll need to get ready for the extra weight."

The squire intended to find a river and run up it wearing the chain. Strength was one thing. Endurance was another. Dal felt he would have to become more to wear more. He placed the appropriate amount of coin down and then some to prevent the haggling or renegotiation. In total was enough to pay for the weapons and armour without factoring in the salvage, including Lysanthir's dagger. Dal did so to allow Rulgak to hand back whatever coin she deemed fit, if at all. A small opportunity for the master of the forge to take a small down payment on what was possible, Dal thought to himself. It was a pleasing thought and he hoped she might take the wordless suggestion, as fleeting as Dal thought that hope might be to be understood so readily.

He found himself speaking far more concisely than he had before and felt nostalgic from the economy of words, yet wondered if he was doing himself a disservice by reducing his words for comfort. A time when nods, grunts and short words had been both a relief to him in the lack of pretense, but also a limiter in that he could not communicate himself truly. But in this space, with such requests, the direct speech served them both. Rulgak was a professional, he reasoned, she would not want the prattle of negotiation or explanation as to his purpose, or to fill the air with something other than the sound of industry and the method of arming an entire Order and beyond.

There's a whole legion of needful warriors. She hasn't wasted my time. I won't waste hers. Especially when it comes to paying my way.

And paying what's owed.

Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

“More gear will take more time. Armour, a month or so for a full suit of plate. It will be costly, but I see you have the gold.” Rulgak said, eyeing the coin on the counter. She didn't have anything that would fit him off the shelf, good armour almost always needed to be properly fit and balanced to the wearer. It was a capability they had, and one she routinely exercised.

“What weapons you need may be on the shelves. We have many, they don't need to be bespoke.” Rulgak explained plainly, gesturing back out to the shop with an arm. While they did make bespoke weaponry, it was generally for Knights Sworn and above. By then, the Knight was trained and knew what was needed, and the expensive enchantments were better suited to their care. It was simply not economical, by time and materials, to outfit every squire. What path they take may be variable, and gear would need to be suited to that. Basic gear was suitable for now.

Dal however could pay, which removed the monetary cost from the equation, but that of time still remained. She could charge him a premium to bump him to the front of the list, and incur the ire of those Knights patiently waiting. That was not how the smithy operated, and it would not do Dal any good for his first impression upon the others to be that of inconveniencing them. His gear would be ready when it was ready, much like any squire that joined the Order.

“Heavy armour takes time. That is at a premium right now. You can see what fits you off the shelf, but bespoke gear would be better.” Rulgak commented, leaving him the option of parting with more coin, but ultimately giving her honest assessment as to what might be best for him. Unless he needed something now, it was probably best to wait. He had a large stature and Rulgak doubted that he'd find what the smithy had laying around to be suitable.

“Not for combat?” Rulgak asked. Dal mentioned conditioning, and Rulgak tilted her head. There was some she was about to salvage, but selling it to Dal was a fitting alternative. She'd get the same value out of it in far less time.

“We have one in salvage. It's moderately heavy. Maybe you can attach weights to it.” Rulgak commented and suggested. She wasn't really willing to part with any of the other chain shirts. They simply required far too much time and labour to be given away so easily. If it was not going to see battle, Rulgak was hard pressed to justify parting with it. No, the scrap chain would do, and Rulgak rummaged around to find it.

“Heavy discount. But no refunds.” Rulgak added, just in case he did opt to make the purchase. Best to make that clear, lest he plan to return whatever he bought.

Dal

 

[Dal]

“Salvage is ideal,” Dal stated with an satisfied jutting of the jaw and two slow nods of the head. He wouldn't dream of returning it after he submerged the chain in water, and kept this detail from Rulgak. He found that those who spoke often and frequently of their training exercises were simply justifying their absence from it.

Knowing that the gambeson would retain water, he doubted he'd need the extra weight as Rulgak suggested. Anything further might make an accident fatal. He trusted in the verdant nature of the locale that there would be a river or body of water to meet his demands for an intense work out. Lysanthir had suggested such a place existed for his craft. He knew that it had been some time since he had applied himself so rigorously to training, but he refused to shirk the responsibility to his potential given the new circumstances. In his life as a mercenary time training was time not earning. Now he simply had a time limit to prove himself for his next potential position. Time to push his limits in the way he knew how to, and with time and access to the library, in ways he could not reach alone in his past life.

“Bespoke later it is,” Dal said matter of factly, “consider the rest a small down payment. As I know thinking of another job takes more than time. Takes effort. Takes commitment, from both sides.”

He made his way over to the polearms and thought that he sounded more like himself with each piece of equipment he acquired.

The squire extended a hand which was all too used to wearing gauntlets to a few of the polearms, lifting a few in turn to feel the weight and heft, but in a way that was not too indulgent. Having seen first hand experienced warriors who simply had to judge the merits of every single weapon through all manner of tests to simply buy the most fundamental of equipment, he spared Rulgak the embarrassment of seeing him perform such self interested displays of supposed proficiency. Quiet and thoughtful, he picked the heaviest for merit of durability, training, and absolute clout. He picked it up and placed it on a table and turned his attention to his most favoured weapon, the longsword.

The longsword did require some posturing to determine if it was proper for himself. The first was dismissed by sight alone for the pommel was too small and the crossguard too thin. The next was clasped and tilted in the hand. Good balance, yet the quillions lacked weight as he turned it from side to side. He placed it back in place respectfully, and then judged another to be more appropriate for his purposes.

Gripping it, and taking the stance of boar's tusk, where the blade was placed upon the left hip and raised upwards as a goring boar might raise it's tusk to impale a hapless hunter, he then slowly moved to iron door, where the instrument was held centered about the navel with the blade pointing to the right, and then pivoted to the left, a defensive posture. And then finally, to providing salute by placing the blade to his face, and then lifting it to the posture of the crown, where the blade was held aloft to provide defense. A posture that was rarely used, but still fundamentally useful to Dal's repertoire of knowledge. All such stances were delivered with caution and slowness, performed to get a feel of the weapon within the hand and arm as it provided feedback as all weapons were want to do. He ensured that such movements were done respectfully, not the wild swinging of an amateur but as someone who needed to feel such things kinetically.

The polearm was a newer weapon to him, or rather, one that he had only used in formations. The longsword on the other hand had won him many a battle, contract and opportunities to prove himself on the fiery field of war, against the champion, against the horde, against the brigand, and against knight, and so had to spend the extra time ensuring it suited him.

“Excellent,” Dal said as if putting business to rest. “Thank you for your time and service Syr Rulgak. I'll return tomorrow. And if Lysanthir refuses to accept that I've settled his bill, tell him...” Dal said, and gave a moment's pause. He was going to say that he had paid him in advance for some lessons or some guidance, or perhaps paid for his guidance provided thus far, but he thought that such talk would only mark him as a sellsword.

Such days are done.

Such days are done, Dal thought again, as if truly arming himself with that knowledge. Or disarming himself as it truly felt, in a good way. He considered that there would be no more contracts to negotiate, no bickering of costs, no measly rations, no more haggling for position on the battlefield, no more concern if the next lot of payment would come through, no more comrades who might ask how much more you thought of yourself than the common foot soldier for valuing your own skill as it was truly worth. Such things were put to the grave.

I'm free of that rot. Free to fight. Free to improve.

Dal smiled at the realisation and found the words he needed to deliver to mark the occasion. It would not be the melting of his old armour as a mercenary that would shed him of his old visage and concerns, it would be these thoughts and sentiment.

“Tell him that it's the most appropriate last and final act of my life as a mercenary I could think of.”

Rulgak

 

[Rulgak]

“Bespoke later it is, consider the rest a small down payment. As I know thinking of another job takes more than time. Takes effort. Takes commitment, from both sides.” Dal responded, and Rulgak returned a nod to the comment. She'd make a recommendation, but whatever was best was Dal's to decide. Rulgak and the smithy provided the equipment, but each knight knew their own needs and capabilities better than she could. Dal was but a squire, but he had years of combat to gain wisdom from. He was not like the other fresh-faced squires, new to knighthood and adulthood. He had experience, and Rulgak wouldn't discount that.

Rank however, had to be earned. But Dal seemed to understand that well, by his attitude and request. He'd been a considerate man, and the attitude would serve him well as he sought to attain the honour of becoming a Knight Sworn. Rulgak followed him into the shop, but waited behind the counter as Dal made his selection. She wasn't about to offer unrequested advice, if he had any questions he could ask her himself. He was a warrior, and one at least as old as she was by the looks of it. She'd trust that he knew what to look for, and simply minded her own business. She'd be ready whenever he was done.

Still, she caught glimpse the motions he made with the swords, first with one, then another, then another after that. Likely checking the weight and balance to find one that would suit his needed. As she expected, he did know what he was doing and so she left him to it. He adopted some battle stances next, seemingly giving the third sword he'd selected a deeper inspection. To spend so much time assessing a sword seemed practical enough. Polearms may be held in a variety of manners, but swords were typically held by the grip and grip alone, with the exception of a few techniques.

Rulgak saw someone holding a sword entirely the wrong way, once. Apparently, for the purpose of using the cross guard as a hammer. It was a technique, she had confirmed that. Still, she preferred to simply carry an actual hammer with her. Her lucerne hammer had served well to that end.

The polearm could always be adjusted with ease. Weight added, or even removed. And a new shaft was far easier and cheaper task than a new blade. The smithy kept several on hand, knowing what sizes to stock. Rulgak herself often assessed polearms by look and quality of steel than handling for that reason. Then again, being a blacksmith by trade made adjustments simple for her, though she doubted it ought be a task too complicated for the laymen. She'd have the apprentices do it, were it not for the fact that she didn't want to risk damage to a perfectly good weapon. Allowing them to mess about with scrapped armour was another matter.

With his selection made, Dal returned to the counter with his chosen gear. Rulgak was prepared for him, she'd seen what he'd chosen and had already added the price of the wares in her mind. She separated what she needed from the pile and put that away first, taking note of how much remained before stashing those coins away, too.

“You'll have credit here, next you visit then. Twenty-four pieces of gold.” Rulgak announced, informing Dal of how much he had left, and implicitly, how much he had spent.

“Excellent,” Dal said as if putting business to rest. “Thank you for your time and service Syr Rulgak. I'll return tomorrow. And if Lysanthir refuses to accept that I've settled his bill, tell him...” Dal began to speak, but trailed off and did not complete his sentence. Rulgak waited an awkward moment. It wasn't like her to butt into matters between other knights, and so she didn't. Rather, she simply stood with her expression ever stoic as Dal found the words.

“Tell him that it's the most appropriate last and final act of my life as a mercenary I could think of.” Dal said. Rulgak tilted her head, she knew not the meaning of the words. Was it a warrior's given cause for charity? Respect? Either way, she wouldn't pay much mind over what she could not understand. She merely needed to deliver the message. Which she would. Convenient enough to have the money now. If Lysanthir were particularly insistent on paying, she'd just give Dal further credit in the shop. It seemed likely he'd be spending more here, anyhow.

“I'll accept the coin, and relay the message.” Rulgak affirmed, speaking plainly in her response.

Dal

 

[Dal]

With matters settled and accounted for, arms and equipment procured and a better appreciation for what was possible with what coin he had amassed, Dal left the workshop with a head full of ambition and a heart that was becoming measure by measure more glad and assured. He immediately felt better for having weapons upon his person, with rondel at his side, with longsword nestled within scabbard, with halberd in gloveless hand, but this was not the only assurance that raised the squire's spirits this day. He repeated the term he had delivered in report to Rulgak within his mind, feeling the weight of how it handled as he had done with the recently acquired weapons he carried now with ever increasing pride and purpose.

Squire. Squire Dal.

He couldn't help but feel a strange sensation from the self address. It was a low rank to be sure, but it was one that Dal was content with, for now, for it held much promise of what might be possible should he apply himself further. It was a position that would allow him to prove himself, to truly earn his place among the knights. He knew that there was much he did not know, especially when it came to the arcane abilities which seemed to be commonplace among this order, yet he remained sure in his capacity to learn and advance. The title gave him a rightful reason to be here, not some injured vagabond who simply asked for succour, the rank gave him a purpose to his presence among now fellow professionals. The warrior knew from his earliest times within mercenary bands that one had to earn respect, and what's more, trust, from one's unit. This order of knights had placed it's faith in him. And so far, not a single figure doubted his potential to become more than he appeared to be to them.

While Dal had no shame about his life as a mercenary, his mind couldn't help but be captivated by the thought of what might be possible with comrades who were truly committed to a cause. A cause he did not understand completely yet, for he had not been briefed in full, but the half-orc was well accustomed to adapting himself to what cause was required. This would be his last adaptation in objectives. As to what a mission might demand of him, he thought that it could be no worse than taking and holding castles, defending villages and caravans, raiding enemy bases and supplies, denying ground to the enemy and putting the sword to various monsters in his time serving adventuring companies.

From mercenary to squire, from death's door to the start of a promising, new career, refined in battle and tested by visions of death, Dal walked a less cynical figure moment by moment as he found himself beginning the long process of shedding old instincts that guided his mercenary mind. It was as if with each moment that his old suit of armour was disassembled, scrapped, and applied to be melted down by the master of the forge Rulgak and her attendants, he too was being reformed, just as Syr Galvanhad had intended. He was not intimately aware of the process that was working within him but already his mind was not occupied with concerns of who might flee the battles to come, who might betray him, who might subvert the missions to come through their own inexperience.

For knights, Dal thought and knew, and all who applied themselves to knightly, knew solidarity.

Or so Dal thought in his respect for something he still was becoming used to belonging to and resembling. Dal formed much of his opinion from fighting against and alongside knights in the past. He thought of Heike and her fearless application to battle. He thought of his youth, of the knights he had seen refuse to break, even as they were cut down each in turn. He grew grim at the thought now, for it reminded him of the cruelty that was possible.

For the half-orc, step by step, moment by moment, and soon to become day after day, was shedding the thoughts of payment, survival, and self service. What it would be replaced with would be directed by those he would encounter within the order, and the discoveries of what he might truly be capable of given such a structure to work within. Already he felt lighter, but he merely attributed it for the lack of plate around his frame for now.

As to what cause he would come to serve was still unknown, still mysterious to him, but he was well accustomed to a life of not knowing the true motivations and intentions of his superiors or commanders. They were knights and served some duty. Lysanthir had told him something of that, and he considered what these last few days had granted him. That was enough for now. He knew a path to self improvement. To expand his knowledge and application of the killing arts. That was purpose enough for him, in his ignorance of what might truly be expected of a knight. He knew them to be a symbol on the field, but off of it, it was something more unknowable and mysterious.

Time would tell if he would grasp what the true demands and nature of the title he was aiming towards.

As Dal walked away from the workshop and found himself looking around to gain his bearings, he realised as his mind reshuffled the rising habitual thoughts he was want to have that most of what he wished for in his moments of internal belligerence was being provided. A chance to prove himself as something more than just someone who might cleave foes in two with a guttural roar, like the orcs he had left from his tribe. A space to train. Resources to learn. Solidarity and faith from those he served with.

He shook his head and found the sentiment cloying. Much could still go wrong he thought. And yet, things looked positive, for now. Dal was used to throwing his chances in with those who could not be determined comprehensively or readily. He knew his own skill and worth. And he knew that he could become more with the assistance of those in this order. Nothing guided him away from this thought, and it became as strong as the steel he now carried. Time would tell if this would be too narrow a perspective to truly make him excel at the task of becoming a knight, as would the direction and attentions of his comrades, both squire, knight, and higher beyond.

He had always known that to fight was his purpose, to overcome the foe, to prove the day, and to the human forces of coin he had found himself drawn. But now? He knew that he had been given a platform to elevate himself, and he thought on how best he might rise to the occasion. For he had accepted the position and chance to be part of the best he could find.

Dal thought on the assistance he had received. Lysanthir had been nothing but kind in his words and direction, giving him a compass in which to bring direction to his thoughts during his time recovery. Galvanhad had provided him chance to prove himself and given him a place within the order, and was honest as to the misgivings that a knight might in right mind have against a sellsword, and set Dal on the course to start anew with the order. Rulgak had armed him, without hesitation, and had been understanding to his deep seated desire to invest in the best equipment he might fashion himself in, to allow him to fight as best he could. There was no discussion of having to settle for simply a breastplate. He repeated the phrase in his head.

'It is a meagre thing.'

He considered his equipment and the reasonable price he had paid for it. Procuring equipment had never been so harmonious. The workshop was well equipped, run well, and he felt that he had been served well by Rulgak. There was no haggling, there was no dismissal of his requests due to his rank, and his old equipment was being used to good effect. And there was a prospect of securing the equipment that would allow him to truly function on the field. He thought on his repayment of the dagger for Lysanthir, and wondered if the knight would accept such a thing in the spirit it was meant. For in this moment he was glad of the decision he had made to pay for the man's weapon, and the spirit it was delivered in, and he hoped as he walked that the message would be understood for what it was. Already he was becoming lighter in the caravan of thoughts the half-orc drove.

All such things bodes well, Dal thought. Such bodes well.

Mountainwanderer

 

[Mountainwanderer]

Mountainwanderer strode through the forest with purposeful strides, mindful of the places alongside the path that may conceal hidden dangers. Such as it was to be mercenary, to be constantly on guard, a state he found himself in even in places which it would not be necessary to give such dutiful attention. No Goliath truly felt comfortable when not in the Mountains, and this compounded by the oppressiveness of being at the level of the undergrowth only added to his watchful state.

Up ahead, he saw the destination he sought, and the end to one leg of his arduous journey. The Wyvern's Nest, where he sought to rest his weary bones and frequent the local Armoury. He had noticed that his Axe had been getting burdensome of late, being old and ravaged by the countless battles he often found himself in. To this end, he had decided it was time to seek out a new blade.

The Axe had been with him since the beginning, but he felt no great affinity for it. He found those of his colleagues that did hold their weapons as extension of themselves to be somewhat foolish, although he found that when their prowess with these weapons was high, his respect for their skill outweighed his belief that this reliance was foolhardy.

It was a tool, an important tool, yes, but a tool nonetheless. Dependency on it was a weakness, and one he dare not have if he was to call himself a true warrior. A true warrior is a warrior whether armed or not, and in his line of work, one must be ready for any eventuality.

With all that said and done forever, it would be equally foolhardy to pass up the opportunity for a new weapon now that he had it. For what else was the purpose of the coin he had amassed if not to use it for this very purpose. Usage of a tool was not the same as dependance on a tool after all.

Upon entering the settlement, he noticed eyes turning toward him, some with shock and awe and other with a palpable curiosity. However this was not something he was not used to, he knew how rare it was for people to see those of his kind, and of how much his large frame made him an unmissable target.

He stopped for a moment in the centre of the village, before spying the location of the armoury. He began to make his way over when he stopped, for exiting the very building in which he sought ingress was a familiar face, and one he had not seen for a while. Unencumbered as the figure was by their usual platemail, there was no mistaking the distinctly orcish features.

“Dal?” he called out, shaking the figure from his near thoughts and causing him to lock eyes with Mountainwanderer, before a similar acknowledgement spread across his face.

“Dal! Of all the Armouries that fate could have sent me to, I am pleased it sent me to this one,"

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal recognised the deep baritone voice of his former comrade and fellow pursuant of coin, a reliable figure that had proven himself a worthy comrade to the half-orc and brought all sorts of memories to his mind. Conversations around campfires, talking about the current and potential contracts that they might seize together, exchanging stories and insights on combat and their respective cultures, on battles won and lost, of ever changing opinions on the chain of command which they had pledged themselves to. The life of a mercenary was one that required good contacts to find future prospects, and Mountainwanderer and Dal had shared both battlefield and shared interest in finding a contract that might not get them killed by flippant and ill caring commanders or masters of coin.

Dal walked over with a genuine and quiet smile upon his features and felt all the more relaxed for seeing him. He planted his halberd firmly in the ground and was satisfied as the weapon kept balance in the ground for virtue of it's weight, and extended a hand that would be engulfed by the meaty hands of his former comrade.

“Mountainwanderer,” Dal breathed and shook his head in mild disbelief, “a sight to be sure. How have your recent battles treated you comrade? Much better than my most recent engagement I'm sure. Earned nothing,” Dal said warmly and with a firm esprit di corps, and corrected himself wryly with a knowing glint in his green eyes, “Well, earned something, but tell me your news first,” he said, thinking of his new position as squire. He was surprised the man recognised him without his armour. Dal had taken off his helmet without fear of judgement around the goliath, and now being seen without armour was somehow more something to feel self conscious about. Especially in comparison to the abundance of well worn armour and equipment that his former comrade had about themselves. Dal was used to towering over others, and wondered if this was how others felt when he loomed over them in plate, as if they stood underneath the vast and long shadow of a great oak.

Mountainwanderer

 

[Mountainwanderer]

“My recent battles?” Mountainwanderer began, relishing the chance to share such a story with someone who could appreciate the ebbs and flows of the life he lived, “I'm afraid most have been nothing too worthy of song, but while those bandits made no such challenge to my axe, those who procured my services have proven trustworthy in the past and so I took it so that they might do so again. I know I don't have to tell you the benefit of a reliable patron,” he gave Dal a knowing look, remembering the few times they had taken such unreliable contracts and had been burnt for doing so.

“My last engagement though, now that was a job I wish I had a comrade in arms such as you for, but alas it seems life has other plans. A band of fiends had raided a small town and took their treasured artefact to a hideout far up into the hills above the town”

“These Hills were too high and too rocky for most to be willing to traverse, a more superior hideout than I've seen in a while, that's for certain. However I had no such qualms about the location, and I took up the job with anticipation. For too long have I walked across the plains and through the forest, so much so I have found myself wondering if I am truly still want to be called Mountainwanderer at all” Mountainwander chuckled at his own words, and though a small laugh as it was, it echoed as it emanated from his mighty chest. For a moment he felt as if he and Dal were back on the job once again, with him sharing such observations while having a brief respite around the fire from the viscera of the contracts they had undertaken.

“I decided against taking the path, as it was too well fortified, so I scaled the near vertical cliff to my quarry and caught them out of position, my god you should have seen their faces when they realised I had got into their den!” He laughed again, this time much bigger than before. A few stopped to look over and see the commotion, but Mountainwanderer was too engrossed in his story to notice. “There must have been about a dozen of them, all scrambling for their weapons, and I’ll admit they did put up a good fight once they got them, but I put up a better one!” he mimed himself swinging an Axe and gave another loud laugh, this one more powerful than the last, punctuating through the air with the force of a gunshot. “Once the dust had settled I found the town's artefact, hidden among the bodies of those I had slayed and returned it. I may not understand such a want of trinkets and baubles but I do understand the gratitude in those townsfolk eyes as I returned it. Besides which, I understand more the value of a good fight, and it was a good fight! My only regret is there weren't more of them to sink my claws into!” He stopped to take a breath before carrying on, his tone becoming almost wistful. “Now though, I am headed for my tribe. Those hills awoke a need in me to see the Mountains of home, something I must admit was not expected. But first I am here, to acquire a new axe and to rest my head for the long journey back to where it all began for me,”

He looked at Dal and gestured toward him. “And what of you my friend, you speak of a job where you got something and nothing? Tell me, how is such a thing to be had? I’ve fought alongside you enough to know you seem less burdened, and I don’t mean the Armour, so this something that you speak must be quite the prize, and it seems worthy of the nothing,”

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal couldn't help but smile gently, the kind of smile that was granted by someone proud of another, that lived vicariously through each word without envy, that admired the glean of each detail without jealousy. For the two had lived similar lives, shared battle and the baggage that came from it but were drastically different in how they carried and delivered that baggage. Dal himself rarely spoke of his previous battles, viewing it as an odious part of the task of being a self promoter and self representative of a portfolio of promised conflict, whereas Mountainwanderer relished in each detail delivered. Self aggrandisement and exaggeration was once something that Dal found intolerable in folks, but honest delivery of a day won with all the details that painted a fine picture of the honest struggle that was combat was something that Dal could appreciate. He had come to understand the element of warrior culture through Mountainwanderer, how one might pay respect to one's own deeds and one's vanquished foes by paying tribute through word and song to them.

Dal listened silently, encouraging his old comrade through virtue of allowing the goliath space to deliver his story. He nodded and received the story with the casual quality that marked two well versed in each other's style of things. Dal wasn't one to deliver a story with the same level of panache as Mountainwanderer could summon, if at all. It was as if Dal was loathe to revisit each swordstroke, as it brought him some degree of pain, whereas each carving arc of Mountainwander's axe was delivered with relish, fresh, bloody, vivid and affirming the fundamental fact that a victory had been won.

Hearing the details of the story, Dal was glad not to have been part of it, but was flattered to be mentioned as been wanted at the time. He was sure it was just a method of speech, but perhaps there had been a job he had been sought after. Scaling cliffs wasn't quite his forte, but to Mountainwanderer, it was second nature. Dal had seen goats more fearful of sheer drops and sheer faces than him. The squire wondered if the goliath had the insight to know that his booming laughter could be used to turn an entire mountain of snow against friend and foe alike. He stowed the thought away and gave further attention to the story.

Dal listened further as to the joy the man had in his battles. There was something undeniably infectious by the way he told it, and Dal could envisage the depiction perfectly. His hand automatically went to his rondel, as if he might join the fight in the past by virtue of hearing it now. His palm rested upon the pommel and pressed it in good measure so that it gave a dull ache to his hand, as if it were a way of gaining some impression upon his person so that the words truly made their mark.

Dal was curious about the artefact, but thought to answer the question first.

“I came across some knight slayers and was bested. Soundly. So I thought the smartest thing to do was to try and become a knight myself,” Dal said and gave a dry chuckle at his own humour. “The Knights of Anathaeum patched me up better than I've ever seen. So yes, I'm a Squire now, Mountainwanderer, if you can believe it. Me. A squire. Scarcely a day, but a day none the less. I've got myself a reliable patron, as you say. Looks like you'll have to keep doing jobs without me. More artifacts for you, eh?”

Mountainwanderer

 

[Mountainwanderer]

Mountainwanderer took a moment to digest the information he had been relayed, whilst looking his comrade-in-arms, or former as it was now, up and down. He imagined him donned in the shiny armour of the knightly orders, a proud warrior of a proud tradition.

While the bond of commitment that Dal had undertaken was not something he had been raised to understand, he had learnt that sometimes, understanding was not necessary for acceptance of an action. After a brief pause, he gave a large smile, one that held genuine pride, albeit with a bittersweet edge.

“Truly it shall not be the same, but I know you shall be a knight worthy of song my friend. The warriors call is a powerful one, and no matter what form it takes to answer it is the most worthy endeavour! A good cause needs a good warrior, and you've always held the disposition of a knight. And perhaps, if the fates allow us, we shall fight alongside each other once again!”

Dal

 

[Dal]

The words were heartening. Like the feel of a good weapon in the hand. A truth understood from the experience of another warrior guided Dal true. His chest rose with purpose and his eyes shared a knowing gaze with his former comrade. Perhaps again, a future comrade. And as to the comment that he had always held the disposition of a knight...Dal thought upon that and nodded with the slowness of one regarding battle plans. For ambition had set itself in Dal's heart.

If I have already found such regard from Mountainwanderer in his disposition, it would only take time, Dal thought, and further application of my deeds, my attitude, my will, to render the rest true in the eyes of my future comrades.

But the realities of knighthood was not so simple. But for now, it was so to the squire. Such things would be challenged in due time. But for now, it was simple, and Dal felt that all things were within easy reach.

“I'd like nothing more than that, friend. And it's hard not to trust in fate when we have met again so. When I hear your words, it tells me that fate will allow us another field to call our own. I cannot hear the call of glory as well as you can. Keep your ear to the ground, and to the winds, and we will meet again. No wars shall I wage without the Order's permission. But my gold is my own. Should I hear of a battle fitting to the prestige your name carries, I will pay for the right and privilege of fighting beside you again. After all,” Dal said and gave a small laugh that freed him of all manner of seriousness and worry, the same kind of mirth that was had years ago when they first met and Mountainwanderer had broken Dal's shell of dourness hiding as professionalism, “What else would I do with it? Buy two suits of armour, and change between them, like some," Dal said laughing, "like some gilded noble on a horse?”

He looked at Mountainwanderer and gave a deep booming laugh of his own at the jest.

Mountainwanderer

 

[Mountainwanderer]

Mountainwanderer was caught off guard by Dal’s laugh, it being such a rare occurrence, but he quickly recovered and joined with a hearty laugh of his own. Something was different about his friend, that seemed certain, but he couldn't exactly point to what except for a seemingly less guarded attitude. Perhaps the knightly calling was what Dal’s story was waiting for, perhaps this was just the excitement of the change, it being so fresh. Either way, Mountainwanderer put his trust in the rich tapestry of fate and happenstance, as he was so often want to do.

He then thought about the offer made to him, with Dal fighting alongside as a patron as well as a brother in arms, and he found the thought riled up his warriors itch. The call to battle was a call that all his people felt, and one that none could ignore.

“If ever you are in need of my services, I shall be there. I am not one to balk at a chance of a glorious battle,” he leaned in closer, as to give his words a more conspiratorial air “and remember my friend, a high chance of death is no dealbreaker to a Goliath,”

He gave a large smile, reveling at the prospect of a glorious death. To die in battle was a Goliath's true goal, and to die old and infirm was something Mountainwanderer would not wish upon his greatest enemy. Taking a step back, Mountainwanderer observed the armoury, and remembering his purpose he looked down to his Axe before looking up at the position of the sun. It was getting low in the west which told him it was getting late in the day, and time could be a cruel enemy if not respected.

“I'm afraid I must make my leave of you soon, for there is much I need to do and far I need to travel,”

He hesitated for a moment, considering or perhaps hoping there was more to say. Realizing this was not the case, he looked Dal straight in the face, straightened his back and thumped his chest with his hand, as if driving an invisible dagger through his heart.

“May you die well friend,” he paused before finishing the traditional farewell. In his experience, others found such a sentiment to be…insulting. While he had said the phrase to Dal enough for him to know its meaning, he decided to add a caveat, so as to show his respect for the way of Dal’s warrior heart as well as expressing his own. “But may you live better,” he added before he lowered his torso into a deep bow, almost exposing his entire back. The deeper the bow, the deeper the trust, for Golaiths were not ones to make themselves so vulnerable without cause.

Dal

 

[Dal]

Dal bowed in return and found the words reminders of the good placement of trust that he had with the goliath. He hoped that he would have opportunity to fight with him again, and he rose to meet his eyes, and said his own response to such grim but necessary reminders of the finality of combat. Mountainwanderer had placed it perfectly already.

“And you, Mountainwanderer. Travel safe, fight well. Until next time comrade,” Dal said, and turned to attend his own duties.

For the day was soon to be drawing to a close, and Dal knew there was much to attend. He had to learn where he might sleep, where he might eat, but all such things would be revealed to him by the loyal attendants and new comrades he now had. Lysansthir had already provided much of the mundane details which would guide him and Dal was a quick study to acclimatising himself. He was used to the side eye from people, and found it all the more unusual that he was not regarded in such suspicions. He was a squire. He belonged here. Dal carried himself in such a way.

It was still a strange sensation to think that this might, if luck held, this might be the last place he had to learn in location and station. He carried his weapons with pride but in a subdued fashion. The wind carried fresh scent of the forest. The dying sunlight brought about more solemn thoughts. From dawn to dusk did the knights claim dominion. For every question that Dal had three more would spring up at their answers, but Dal only voiced that which was required to his comrades. He was a soldier first and foremost. And this new application of the self to the title of squire was still not completely understood in what was required of him. To fight and win was Dal's chief concern. To survive a combat. To pacify the god of death's demand.

Time would tell if Dal would succeed in the estimations of this organisation where soldiering was a vital part of their duties, but a knight, a knight was expected to resemble so much more than a simple master of the killing arts. Dal knew he could not summon the arcane. But he did not fathom the depths of nobility and appreciation for the nature of the forest that surrounded this place yet.

But such things might be revealed in time. For now, Dal settled themselves in, set about their weapons, found lodgings, and new names and faces were stored. Two were paramount he knew. The names of superior officers.

The names of Captains were regaled to him by his new comrades. Helena and Selene.

Dal kept to himself and thought upon tomorrow's deeds, for today's function was performed. Arms and equipment were acquired, as well as bonds of friendship refreshed and renewed.

Tomorrow would be a day of training. And further introductions.

****

The next day arrived, and early in the morning Dal set about his task. He ate heartily, for the body required fuel to the task ahead of itself, he constrained himself to eating plenty of eggs of spinach that were prepared well for him and flavoured with the right amount of pepper. Dal was simply glad to not get into an argument over his needs as a warrior to eat well. Food was energy. And he required much for what he endeavoured to perform.

He carried the chain shirt upon his shoulder as he left to find the river Lysanthir had spoke of. Such was a work out unto itself, and he changed the shoulder which he carried it on periodically. He knew he had to push himself to gain further endurance and strength. He was resolved in wanting to be the best that he could possibly be. Beams of light filtered through the pure white clouds and Dal looked up and held a stoic expression as he breathed in deep.

I could get used to the freshness of the air around here. I could get used to a lot of things these knights enjoy.

The daylight was welcomed after a night of dreamless sleep.

Dal travelled, and gave the occasional nod of recognition to his fellows, but kept silent. He did not know what to say to the odd squire or knight who said hello. A nod was enough. He wasn't here to earn friends. He was here to prove himself.

He made a small visit to the library to pick up a fighting art manual, and Parshen was glad to give him such a thing after taking no time at all to find such a thing. Dal thanked him deeply and again was beset by hope in this organisation's ability to provide him what he needed. He considered if he should take out a book on magic, but thought it was too early for such a thing. Such things would be better instructed anyway, Dal thought.

Dal went on to retrieve his halberd and sword and affixed them to his person and set upon his way.

He found himself going towards the forest itself, some distance away, where a river ran strong and carried the freshness of cool water about the banks and rocks that provided the incline that was so essential to the cause. It would be here that Dal would apply himself.

The squire set the halberd and longsword down, and shook out the chain shirt. He already felt the satisfaction from carrying such a piece of equipment. It rusted, but all the better for the purpose for this reason. It merely had to weight him down. To make the process of river running all the more hard earned and invigorating. He slipped on the armour and shook his arms, and tied a belt to hold the armour in place properly so the weight was evenly spread across him. Having all he needed, his weapons by the bank, he thought they should be safe.

He jumped into the river with a mighty crash of sound. Birds fluttered and the river's cool touch braced Dal's senses. His eyes widened and he grinned at the prospect, fully embracing the difficulty of what he asked of himself now.

He allowed the river to flow around him for a moment and appreciated the calming sound mingling with the sensation of the water upon his person. How it made it difficult to move but felt soothing all the same. He strode forward and began to build speed as he began to run up the river.

Soon his body began to feel the burn of what was required. How his feet found purchase and his legs began to burn at the strain of pushing against the river rushing against him, resisting his movements to travel up the river. Dal regulated his breathing and pushed on, the chain shirt pressing down against him, making all movements all the more laboured and hard earned.

It took him some time to reach a point where he could not longer proceed for the depth of the river could not be traversed, and his body ached.

“Now, the easy part,” Dal said, his chest heaving, a smile upon his face for the exhileration of physical endurance testing. This sensation was familiar to him, it reminded him of his youth when he had strived to become as strong as a regular orc and beyond. He had built his body back then, and so now he worked to be able to endure the burning sensation of endurance tested from combat and running and soldiering and surviving. The ones that lived were often the ones that could go that much further in combat. Dal turned and began to run down the hill, the river this time aiding him, and sometimes threatening to rush him off his feet as the chain wanting him to simply fall down face down in the water.

I refuse.

Dal thought such a thing over and over, thinking that he must train his mind to have such retorts against his own body and his surroundings compulsions to fall. He soldiered on.

He reached the end of the river and dipped his head into the water to cool his hot brow. He gave a growl under the water to release the animalistic side of himself that wanted to roar into the forest for his success but did not for want of decorum. He brought his head out of the water and climbed out of the bank and sat in the sun, drying himself off.

He looked to his weapons and considered the drills that were ahead of him. He breathed heavy cleansing breaths and let the sunlight cause the river's touch to evaporate.

Dal heard footsteps upon the grass and closed his eyes for a moment as his solitude was broken. He turned to see who it might be and didn't for one moment expect to see the figure approach, his weapons standing upright alongside the fighting manual.

Helena

 

[Helena]

"Hard at work I see," Helena said as she strolled up to the newest addition to the Order's roster of Squires. "When I had heard of our latest squire, I was surprised," She confessed as she sized the man up. No measure of challenge in her eye, just one practitioner seeing another.

"I'd heard that he bore signs of a professional life, of a storied record, with the arms and armor that served as proof," she smiled at him, wolfish. "Yet, he took the order to have the fine metals smelted down and remade," she looked to the rushing river, the surge of its force and the run of its course. "Indulge me, if you would, Dal," her eyes returned to the man who stood so tall and sure footed. "Why take the path of squire?"

Dal

 

[Dal]

Indulging a commander in a basic request. Very well. If that's the next challenge.

Best try some wordplay about it.

Dal looked at the Captain and saw the resplendence in the armour. It reminded him of someone else.

Dal cleared his throat and provided salute out of caution, and then provided answer at some attention.

“Captain,” Dal said flatly, and gave report honestly but slowly as he chewed over his own words.

“I seek better comrades, better capacity to commit soldiering, better conditions to fight in, and better orders. I have money enough for three lifetimes of luxuries or one gamble at hiring mercenaries of my own, and doing bloody work of it. But I didn't indulge in such things while earning the right to stand when death approached and left. Besides. I know where my skills live, and it's not with administration and organising a rabble of mercs who'd only gamble anyway from what I see of most sell swords. Soldiering is not a casual pursuit. Nor is squiredom, and the knighthood that follows. The only luxury I want is to know that when blades are set to the task of the killing, that you'll be with the best, for good, for ill, for life, for death."

Dal kept his eyes on the the Captain for a long moment as he considered his own choices and then looked to the river for a time. Let it wash away the sound of his deep voice for a time. He turned back and continued, more candidly and relaxed, but not by much. This, after all, was a Captain.

"Your Order mended my wounds with a proficiency and professionalism I've never seen. I figure if that's the way you treat strangers who turn up bloody at your door, that provisions for the rigours of combat must be good also.”

Dal considered the truth of it and continued as the river rushed.

"Also. Your rank affords you this answer. There was also a knight who impressed me some time ago. I thought to meet her again on equal footing of rank one day, that it might be...a fitting turn of fate. If that's to be my fate after a year. Depends if I can ever figure out magic I assume. Never had truck for it, but then never had the time to study it. But I'm willing to improve. Hence the river running. Can't be left behind on the basics of conditioning.”

Helena

 

[Helena]

Words were given, and Helena was sure to listen. As all rushed around them. Wind, water, leaves and branch.

First came the logical. The sensical. Truth, but with some guard. Cold and useful as steel. For what sound mind would give too much away without some work. Proof of mettle. Of merit.

So she sat in the silence that followed. Stepped another step closer and closer, until she stopped before the professional warrior. The mercenary, Dal.

Then came the empathetic. The truth. An openness, if only so much as a wound, old or new, opened parts of a person.

"A fitting turn, " she said with a nod of agreement. "If that is where the currents take you," She strode passed him, and stopped beneath the shade of a nearby oak. Roots, twisted and thick, splayed about the base of the old growth, and its canopy swayed with the wind as Helena watched the rush of the river. Almost tranquil in this more shallow bend.

She leaned against the trunk, hands there to cushion her seat as fingers and palms felt the gnarl and bump of bark beneath them.

"Conditioning is key," she said softly, then looked to him sidelong. "As is rest, and recovery," she could recall her own struggles with wounds, in years past. The want to move and wield and train. It was like breathing. Automatic, until arrest came. "Come," she said as she pushed off the trunk of the tree and stepped closer to the river's edge, hands undoing the swordbelt at her hip. She rest her weapon down, and sat upon the grass, legs folded beneath her.

"Healed as you might be, a shock still lingers in the flesh," she warned as she felt the cool spray of river mist, just swirling in the air. "A phantom scar, some call it," she closed her eyes, and drew in a deep breath through her nose.

Dal

 

[Dal]

Figures it wouldn't be that easy.

Dal followed the direction offered. He took a moment to take off his chainmail, which he performed as quickly as he could manage. It had been years since he had learned the proper method to take it off, kneeling and bowing one's head and shaking the stuff off, but he did so properly and without much struggle. It was easy to become flustered once one became entangled in the stuff. It required a cool head, patience, and the understanding that to flail wildly would only compound one's trapping of it.

Free of the weighty armour, he rolled his shoulders out and already felt the affect of wearing heavier armours on his freedom of movement. His instincts told him he should continue training, his body yearned for it, but a Captain was present, and they demanded that he be healed.

Who am I stop a superior from maintaining their troop?

Dal sat down and felt oddly uncomfortable with how laissez faire the entire matter had been. Then again, perhaps it was better this way than to be surrounded by an entire order of Galvanhads. Reading of minds and intentions was one thing to perform with the eyes and senses, another to perform with magic. It had stuck in Dal's mind, an uncomfortable rub, as did their refusal to appreciate his gesture towards them. Still, there would be no place in Dal's heart for such bitter thoughts, they only got in the way he knew.

One can use past events to one's betterment, or obstacle. I'm committed now. And once committed, there's nothing to do but accept one's lot. And this...shock. That's an obstacle.

“Wasn't expecting to be attended by a Captain today,” Dal said, and sat down.

“Shock huh? Thought it was too easy to be healed complete. I'll gladly take anything further which prevents me from being a liability.”

Dal paused and rubbed his jaw.

“Captain. I must ask...how much of a liability will I be if I'm not able to pick up magic? I barely know what's possible. Well. Aside from the healing the Order has provided. And roasting men alive on the field, summoning dead warriors and making them explode. Blight orcs are bastards to put down anyway, but when they're...reanimated. That's something else.”

Dal spoke with experience of siege he had performed with Kiros and Heike. He spoke casually, as if it were a simply fact of life to be respected and understood. He did not speak with trepidation, but the way one describes a much resigned fact and hardship.

The way the Blighted Orcs had swarmed them was familiar enough, but when they lurched and marched on your position with no hint of the tenacity of rage but the temerity of living death...Dal didn't know what kind of foe they might face, but he hoped he might never have to face his own related kin in such a form again.

But orders were orders, that he knew.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Words fell from Dal's lips like so much gravel set to slide along a mountain's slope. Things long settled, now made to move.

Still, Helena sat with her eyes closed beside the rush of the river. Hearing the former mercenary speak as she felt her own breath move through her. Felt her hands tremble, and the old scars that marred them seemed to burn with the pain of an old memory.

"Do you always doubt your mettle before you set yourself to a task, Squire?" She asked as her eye came open and she regarded the older man. She huffed a breath through her nose and closed her eyes once more. "Magick is a powerful force, there is no doubting that. But, there is more to our order than our ability to wield the arcane energies," She opened her eyes once more and regarded him with a hard look and narrowed eyes. Scrutinizing. Measuring. It softened some, and she nodded. "There are many in our ranks without the gift of magick. That makes them no less capable of serving our purpose, or carrying out tasks that benefit our cause,"

The muscles in her fingers flexed. She looked down at the silver scars that lined her dark skin and squeezed her hands into tight fists as her lungs pulled in a fresh breath. "Scholars, scouts, peace weavers, crop tenders, cooks," she smiled, and her hands opened anew. She turned them palms up, as if she held those things she spoke into existence. "Knights all," she looked back to Dal. "Our order is not one built on the idea of martial mastery alone, Dal," she closed her eyes and rest her hands in her lap. "Should your hands be lost, and your sword rendered useless, purpose could still find you."

Dal