Knights of Anathaeum Bird Of A Feather Drill Together

[Theolonious Montbank]

At most times, Montbank kept his own practices and diligences to himself. He was answerable to the Captains, and indeed the Pursuants of course, but when it came to the skies, he had his own doctrines and methods to prepare himself for the unique challenges that being aerial support demanded. Until recently he had been alone in his experience of aerial combat and support. Then came Petra. But it was a different matter to bring about a beast of the skies into the combat zone, Montbank's own purpose differed depending on the task before him. A task that befell to his newest comrade, Westbrooke.

Our lot is to be boost everyone else, to get them home, to ensure the skies are contested, that our comrades are not left beleaguered or suppressed. I'm not sure anyone has had the talk of responsibility with this soldier. So it falls to me. Oh how it falls to me to do this right.

It was not enough to simply follow orders, one had to have initiative, preparedness, diligence, as well as all manner of other knightly virtues, Montbank thought as he looked over the equipment that was his to wield and choose from. Certainly, Montbank flew beyond his jurisdiction, he would admit to his own insubordination promptly when he without permission went to explore the skies alone and be free of the burdens of his calling, to which he answered in punishment by grounded wall duty. For the most part he was a free to prepare for his next mission as he saw best, with giving allowances for his penchant to be free of it all in the skies he called home. There was no guidebook for the maxims he had instilled in himself, and sometimes he wondered if he should pen such a thing.

But where would I find the time away from such preparations to do such a thing. And until recently, it had been a moot point. Aside from Petra's dragon, there are no other fliers but I. But now...

But now, there was company to impress such lessons upon.

Montbank knew that preparedness could mean the difference between success and defeat when it came to assisting his allies. A sky knight had to fulfil numerous roles when they were called upon, it was not enough to simply wield a sword and clash with beak and steel, one had to be more than useful. One had to be surgical with their effectiveness, or be rendered a liability in the field. If someone fell on the ground one could pick them up and carry them to safety by their comrades. If someone was to best a sky knight, a great distance between themselves and assistance could be guaranteed due to their extensive range.

And so Montbank organised both his equipment to display to his flying comrade, Westbrooke, as well as the speech he was going to deliver to that fresh knight to the cause of aerial support. Montbank hummed and hawed over it. The table was long, as were the options available to his own carry. The medical supplies were set in place, bandages, herbs, potions. The offensive aerial support, the eels, the amber tipped arrows, the globes of incenderiary potency. The indirect firing solutions, of smoke screen, of blinding flash, of hallucinatory terrain, and the rest. And then the simple yet potent deflection shields and arrays, designed to prevent those who would strike them out of the skies with brute yet precise strength. That was a rare one to bring, when the foe was ready with ballista or war mage to swat them out of the skies. Usually the foe did not expect to deal with warriors of the skies. But, with each application of his field, did the foe grow more wary of his dominion.

All his tools were on display for inspection and for education purposes. They were arranged by size and weight, something that Montbank had taken extensive time to become wise to. Montbank rolled his shoulders and stood at attention to his own equipment, as if it were the final gesture required to set it all in order before his arranged meeting with the fellow sky knight.

All such tools were fashioned to Montbank's specifications, designed to be carried in flight and affixed to a harness of his own creation which sat at the end of the table, along with measuring tape and a notebook to take down Westbrooke's measurements. He was damned if he was going to wait in line to get him that precious piece of equipment, he'd do it himself. There were certain things that he didn't trust to any tailor who was bound to the ground. The demands were entirely different. Concepts like drag and encumbering one's wings could hardly be trusted to one who wasn't doomed to fail due to their disregard, Montbank thought to himself.

Sky armour was a practical necessity, a harness essential if one was to be a useful role in the skies to their comrades. To be able to carry medical supplies, to be able to provide aerial support. Such things would have to be impressed upon Westbrooke, if he would even listen to such advice. Too over bearing and he'd sound like some drill master to be defied. Yet, the importance of his own practices to be ready to be scrambled in short order, night or day, was not to be left by the wayside.

He considered all of this as he waited for his comrade of the skies to enter his quarters. Montbank sighed and hoped that he would be able to instil some discipline in his fellow sky knight, not for fear of lacking order in his own field of the skies, but to prevent disaster when they would would be called for a mission.

I won't have him stain the track record of sky support.

I won't have him endanger the lives of those I've already saved with any assumption. I've been at this for a while. Westbrooke needs...orientation.

It was the only word that barely covered length and breadth the lessons that Montbank might impart in his comrade.

Off-the-Wall Westbrooke

 

[Off-the-Wall Westbrooke]

O.T.W didn't talk about it.

He just didn't. And who ever said he had to? When he stumbled across the Monastery and hung around, decided, maybe foolishly, that he would join up, and they'd asked him if he had combat experience. He'd said, "Well, 'course I do!" And they'd asked, "When, with whom, where?" And he'd said, "Sometime last decade, they were decent folks. I don't talk about it."

That hadn't been enough, but his flinching at the clash of metal and shouting had been, the way he nagged at and responsibly looked after some of the children around Astenvale had been. They tested him and took him in as a Squire, and now he'd made Knight. He'd concede now that cure by exposure worked, as long as it was his choice. If he wanted to be a Knight, he'd just be alright with the clash of metal, he'd just be alright with the shouting, he'd just be alright with everything he'd gotten used to before. He'd done it once.

And Tobi helped. He trusted the wet-nosed little fella, and he helped.

But O.T.W didn't talk about it.

And now he was about to go see the bipedal one of the two natural fliers at the Monastery about combat preparedness.

That's why he was doing nerve-riddled calisthenics in the hallway about thirty paces from the man's door. The man had Owl Ears for Gods' sake, and that stiff upper beak that reminded him of Chief Blaylock. So best be far enough away to be mistaken for a rat. Hopefully.

One, two, buckle my shoes. Three, four, raze the moor. Five, six, pick up chicks. Seven, eight, open up them pearly gates. Nine, ten, bomb the glen. This damned song-

He leaps up from a repetition of squat thrusts and huffs, inhaling noisily. He stands there a minute, leaning with one clawed hand on the wall, just breathing. Nods to the fella floating by with the funny look aimed at him, probably Master Featherwind.

"Chief." he manages, as the spirit speeds away.

He takes one last deep inhale, holds it, blows it out… After that he picks up his crate of belongings. Ones he hadn't pulled out for many many months now. He figures, if he's going to be here for combat preparedness, he might as well be prepared for combat. Whether Montbank appreciated it, however, was yet to be seen. Especially with decade-old equipment, equipment that had been maintained, but worn only enough to make sure it hadn't deteriorated.

He sets the box down with a thunk and raises his claws to clatter on the door, as though he hadn't already made his presence widely and obviously known.

"Hey, Chief, I'm here! Ready and a-waitin'!" He squawks, voice peppy despite his nerves.

---

Theolonious Montbank

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

For some reason Montbank had always had an assumption before he had first met another avian humanoid that they would be as silent as he. Westbrooke shattered that illusion at every turn. While Montbank's taloned feet placed upon the ground with continual, in built poise, his movements almost always silent, Westbrooke's claws and talons were audible long before his visage was noted. The overwhelming sound of the grounded world was a continual irritant and threatened to drown his senses at the busier of times. An asset upon the winds, a plague to his sense of calm upon the ground. Yet there was a middle ground. Even now he could hear the trees move to the passage of the winds that even now called to him. Invited him to carry him off beyond the walls, higher and higher still, until he was alone and could hear the rushing winds and from such vantage, see all from proper rightly perspective.

“So I see,” Montbank said dryly, and blinked long and slow. He peered at the crate and took one stride closer. He raised his head and peered down, his eyes full of distant judgement that was not immediately obvious, more felt and implied by his silence and body language than cast across his features. He didn't blink again for some time, his gaze fixed on the box.

All manner of things might be in that. There might be hope to foster here. But again, it might just contain usual armaments. Credit the fellow for bringing such a thing.

“I've asked you here to instil some of my practices into your doctrines.”

He turned his eyes from the box to Westbrooke's own.

Does Westbrooke even have any doctrines to speak of, different gear load outs, different attitudes, proper preparation routines, considerations of upcoming missions...

“Practices I'd like to see you adopt. Certain things are expected of us, but not imagined until that desperate moment where we are the only ones who can provide relief. Of what is necessary before missions to prevent disaster during them, due to our privilege of having sky vantage,” Montbank said, and refused to indulge in his own mind the slightly bold tone he was taking with the nature of them both. One, born into their form. The other, a mere cursed guest. Yet enough missions had been performed and enough battles hard won by his application of valour that he did not second guess himself. He was the longer acting sky knight here. He had a system. A system he was proud that worked. Even if it cost him much time, much belaboured moments of deliberation, it worked. And so, he determined, perhaps erroneously, perhaps correctly, that it would work for his comrade.

“Communication of threats, answers to changing battlefield situations, evacuations of the wounded, air to ground fire support. It falls to us to be prepared, and to choose in our limited load outs what we might answer to. That box. Ask yourself. How many different circumstances can I respond to by using what equipment I have. And ask, how able am I to make a decision to bring something with utility, when scrambled with precious little time to hum and haw over it. Show me what you have. Tell me what you bring to the skies,” Montbank stated. His gravitas and seriousness were well earned. He had been stained red from his ventures before, and, in his own judgement, almost cost the lives of his comrades by his past failures. For Westbrooke's sake, he had decided to provide this orientation so that his fellow sky knight would not be thinking that most dreadful memory.

If only I'd prepared more, then they'd still be okay.

Off-the-Wall Westbrooke