Three men drop like lead onto the damp earth when embracing the flanged head of Moose's mace and when the third with his dented breastplate stands up he wheezes and staggers towards him throwing the flail towards Moose's head only to misjudge the distance when the spiked ball flies past Moose's blonde crown. His body lurches forward from the force of his throw and a black soaring eagle against yellow abruptly crashes into his nose and he falls onto his mailed back and the mace punches his bald scalp and Moose pummels the frontal dome like some diligent carpenter until the skin breaks apart and cracks can be heard within the man's skull the bones fractured and pale splinters puncture out of the bloody lobe close to the gory depression of the mangled head.
When Moose catches his breather he pants gazing up to the cloudy evening sky marred by grey and obscuring the might of the sun and he gazes back towards the three corpses that lay like pilgrims at rest. He straps his shield on his back and gripping the mace in his one mailed hand he squats at the bodies frisking their bodies clad in rude hide and metal breastplates and their belts and found nothing but a spider in a jar and 130 Groschens. He unscrews the wooden lid of the glass jar and dumps the spider on the dirt where it scurries along the grass and he pockets the Groschens in his belt pouch and slides the steel shaft of his mace under his belt and moves on.
The fields and wooded lands sprawl endlessly in every direction like painted vistas of a recluse. Moose travels along a dirt road overgrown with pocks of flowers long after the men and women that trekked on this very path had turned to dust. A stream flows next to the road fed from deep within the distant woods and he slides his hands out of the mail mittens through the slashed opening on the palms and he cups his hands and waters himself and fills his waterskin and moves on.
In a crossroads where a sign stands on the intersection pointing directions to different settlements or landmarks of interest there are naked bodies sprawled around what was a travelling cart which the wheels were taken apart. Moose walks across the bodies and peeks into the cart and finds six small wrapped in cheese cloths. He reaches his arm towards one and grips the edge of the cloth with his thumb and index finger and pulls. Morsels of cheese and sausages and bread slip out and when Moose peeks further he can see maggots and little insects wriggling within the crusty dough and alongside the cheese and the lengths of sausages. He retreats from the cart and swiftly continues north and when he is at the edge of the woods he turns and scours around the fields at his vicinity scanning his head across the horizon.
When Moose crouches and rests his hand on the mace's flanged head he picks up yelps and barks and growls to his east and he turns his head and tiptoes to this direction. There on a small hillock a pack of canines bark like angry mobs in pursuit of the wretched growling towards each other. Their stomachs gaunt and limbs lanky as branches and after some heated debate they commence mutual slaughter and turn teeth and claw against their own brethren. Furred bodies that are matted with mud and filth tumble on the hillock as blood is drawn by predatory molars and when the four of the five have fallen the sole survivor gnaws on their flesh without abandon like an accused with his last meal and when only two of the bodies remain unbitten and chewed the canine limps down the hillock and disappears across the stream into wooded country.
Moose stands up and watches the sunset leering behind the clouds beginning its descent. He trudges up the hillock and quietly scans the corpses and squats to examine the eaten. He draws his mace and gently scrapes off what little is left of the meat on the torn legs with the edges of the flangs and when there is nothing he cups the flesh in his hands and looks upon it. Only more than half of his palms are covered by canine flesh. He holsters his mace and carries the meat down the hillock and moves towards the woods and he forages tinder out of dried crushed leaves and carves a crude feather stick out of a dead branch with the flangs and limited efficiency and he makes a small fire and feeds it with more wood. When the moon peeps up the meat that are skewered in the sticks are well done if slightly charred and Moose eats on, his stomach still waning for more food while digesting the meats. He places his shield against the base of a bark with the eagle facing up and he stands up to doff the chainmail and mail chausses out of his persons and lies back down and rests his head on the eagle and the camp shifts to a fireless camp as he sleeps.
When Moose stirs awake he sits up yawning and slowly opens his eyes to perceive what seem to be bright colors nestled beyond the wooded country close to the stream and at the base of the small hillocks. He turns his head and looks at the charred remains of a long-faded campfire as if looking for some answer and where he hears continued silence he shifts and gets up to his feet and dons his mail and arms and sets out back towards the field.
A conglomerate of banners flutter in the breeze like schools of fishes rushing through a nautical baptismal. Colorful tents and lean-to shelters flock together housing practitioners of war. Women are tending to the camp cleaning and cooking and treating the wounded and inspecting arms and some armors and some accompany the soldiers conversing or playing or providing comfort in exchange for groschens.
The soldiers are an astonished spectacle. Behold the colorful doublets and hose. The slashed patterns and puffy sleeves. Bent and straight codpieces erecting out of the hose's crotches. Like jesters that sworn an unbroken oath to pillage the undeserving. Many bare their legs like dancers in a raunchy night and some wear hats adorned with enormous faux or real feathers plucked from avian beasts and some don cuirasses that align with their wealth and those in authority and with riches flaunt their excesses through three quarters and, to a few, even full suits of plate armor dressed on their persons from head to toe.
In accordance with arms the pike and halberds are the soldiers' main companions and you can also see zweihanders wrapped around the puffy sleeves or leaning close to their grizzled owners and belted and scabbarded around their waists are katzblager arming swords sporting elaborate guards and rondel daggers for close comfort to the enemy. Some are seen with flutes or drums that serve to signal formations or raise the kinship and spirits of war.
Moose steps into the camp and explore the grounds taking in the sights and noting dizzying modes of dresses and the women and the soldiers and their tall arms. Some turn their gazes to his direction watching him like some foreign apostle that threaded and challenged their holy grounds and some whisper amongst each other questioning his presence or place of origin. When Moose walks past a large cauldron bubbling stew a hand firmly touches his mailed shoulder and he turns around.
Who are you, stranger? says the voice. A tall brute in standard slashed uniform as of the soldiers and covered by three-quarters armor that imitate his uniform. A lobster-tailed pot helmet protects his skull. In his gauntleted hand is another katzblager, drawn from its belted scabbard.
Nobody, says Moose. Just passing through.
The warden grins.
Do you not know where you are, stranger?
Moose shakes his head. No.
The warden beckons with his gauntleted hand. Come with me, stranger. Let us converse with civility.
He walks around Moose and gently pushes him by the nape of his neck and Moose goes on, the warden tagging behind him like a phantom. They pass by a section with small fences where men spar with wooden replicas of their weapons and they pass by some men and women playing dice and tarot cards on drums and they pass by stables where the horses rest or gaze at them and they arrive at a wider ground occupied by grander tents and some armed men on patrols and more richly dressed personnels.
Moose and the warden enter a tent laden with bedding and furniture and prized trappings and fetishes. They sit at a table where the warden seats himself across Moose and sheathes his katzblager and places his fist on the varnished surface.
Would you kindly show me your shield, stranger?
Moose produces it, the black eagle facing the warden. He rubs his chin and leans his back against the chair, meditating and sniffing and shaking his head.
I do not recognize this coat-of-arms. From where do you hail, stranger?
Ichex Wilds. Eastern of this continent. Close to the sea.
The warden studies him.
Where are you going?
Moose looks slightly to the left then shrugs his shoulders.
Anywhere. Everywhere. Heading south.
The warden taps his finger on the table.
You a hedge?
What?
Are you a hedge?
Moose nods. You could say that.
You could say that...
The warden studies his eyes. So does Moose.
What is your name?
Moose.
Moose? Moose of?
Just call me Moose. Can I go now? I have somewhere to be.
The warden hisses his breathe and clicks his teeth, swinging his leg. He gazes at Moose's mace and his waterskin and his belt pouch. He looks back up.
How much do you have? He points towards the pouch.
How much?
Groschens. How much Groschens do you have now?
Just five. Never been in a city much these days. Useless.
The warden drums his fingers on the table never taking his eyes off Moose. He stands up and mutters audibly about waiting here before speeding off the tent leaving Moose to sit alone in his own thoughts and recalling the tainted bittersweet past. When ten minutes come to a close the warden returns with a new man alongside him and stands at a corner crossing his arms keeping his watch on Moose and the man.
This very person is dressed in full ceremonial plate under the bright garments save for a helmet and etched on the suit are flowery motifs and a pattern on the center of the breastplate which when viewed from afar resembles a grimacing skull. His feminine yet boyish countenance is crowned in auburn which grows past his pauldrons and his eyes are a piercing green. A bastard blade erected on a hilt studded in jewels is sheathed in crimson and gold at his sword belt.
This hedge claims to hail from Mallian amongst the Ichex Wilds east of here Graceful Ranni.
Ranni leans against the chair studying Moose and rubbing along his upper lip with his finger like some curious acolyte. He leans forward and places his palms on the table and his own lips curl to a smile and then a grin as he speaks, the voice chirpy. Hoarse. Childish.
Two years. I say a bit more, but two years as of today.
Ranni clicks his tongue.
Are you setting your sights towards proper knighthood Ser Moose?
Moose shakes his head. Maybe not. I'll live how I see fit to the end.
Tsk tsk tsk. That is unbecoming even for a hedge in my eyes Ser Moose. I think there is potential yet to be unearthed.
Ranni continues to study Moose while he stands from his chair. He saunters around the table and sits on the edge facing Moose and rests his sabatons on their heels on Moose's lap and crosses his leg. Moose looks up. Ranni crosses his arms.
May I see your pouch Ser Moose?
He looks at the warden and Ranni and then the warden again. The warden is unmoved. Moose unsecures the pouch from his belt and hands it over to Ranni. He takes it and shakes the Groschens out on the table until a pile is formed.
Warden, count for me.
The warden moves and sits down and counts in silence while separating each twenty Groschens in different stacks. He counts the stacks and adds the numbers in his head and then reports back to Ranni that these stacks are worth a total of 130. Ranni nods.
Moose rests his hand on the flanged head of his mace but Ranni's heel move to plant itself onto that hand and the sole of Ranni's arming shoe now rests on Moose's mailed torso. Moose freezes. Ranni smiles.
What will you spend your Groschens on today Ser Moose?
Moose breathes in. He looks up to Ranni.
I need to go.
Go? says Ranni. Go where? What will you find further south Ser Moose?
I need to go. Or neither of us walk out of here.
Moose and the warden simultaneously shift in their seats but Ranni raises his palms at both men and they cease and recline. Ranni giggles, his canines visible.
Would you like to earn more Groschens Ser Moose?
...Yes.
Ranni smiles. He moves his foot off Moose's hand and leans forward and tilts his head as he places his hand on his shoulder and gently massages it through the mail.
Do you who we are Ser Moose?
Moose nods. I seen your kind. They were in The Spine sieging a robber knight. Last I heard a commander of the regiment was awarded the knight's fief.
Ranni nods. Raubritter Oynstein. I remember him. Please, do tell me, what else have you heard about us Ser Moose?
Ranni giggles. Moose goes on, unmoved in his seat, his eyes gazing at Ranni's like some cautious fox.
I also heard that recruitment is strict in this regiment. Only those with their own clothes and armory and great prowess may join.
That is normally true. We cannot afford otherwise even in the direst of circumstances, unless by chance this man proved extraordinary, in which case we may provide him just enough sold to purchase equipment suited to our regiment.
Ranni takes a short breathe and sighs.
But we badly needed more men now. This contract demands such. Time is fleeting so I have extended recruitment to any worthy of their sword and fitness regardless of equipment and clothing.
Ranni turns his head and extends his arm towards the outside of the tent.
As of three days ago I have enlisted six knights into our ranks. Six knights Ser Moose. We gave them the sold to be spent on new slashed clothing, and perhaps additional weapons or armor if they can afford extra. I demand that you do the same upon your first sold. Okay Ser Moose? Are you with me?
Moose gazes at Ranni. He feels his shoulders now actively massaged by both hands armored in gothic style.
What are your terms?
Ranni smiles. You will earn your sold per month, plus food. Any other needs must be met by your own hands or your servants'. You have the right to take what you can plunder except in friendly territory. For any reason you shall not desert, steal, lie, fight one of our own, or disobey orders. Offenders will be sentenced as our law sees fit based on their crimes. As long as you respect our rules of conduct and engagement. your employment will be safe. Do you have more questions Ser Moose?
When will I get my first sold?
You will when we have reached our contract's settlement, where we shall tent near the walls and refresh our provisions. It is a day's march southeast from here.
Moose nods. Okay. I accept your terms...Graceful Ranni.
He slightly bows his head at Ranni and watches his smiling gaze and before he can process his new station his nerves jolt when Ranni with a giggle leans in and plants two soft pecks on both cheeks.
A kiss of peace Ser Moose. Welcome to my regiment.
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