Fable - Ask New Blood

[Talus]

Vel Karek - Training Grounds.

"Believe it or not, you're more experienced than half of the men under my command."​

Talus raised remained silent and General Ilyana spoke with him, her hands clasped behind her back and her chin held up high as they wandered through the ancient fortress of Vel Karek. Anirian Guardsmen were training all around them, men and women hard at work as they moved through a dozen different sword forms, practiced the shield, and even endured lectures by veterans.

"I can't believe it." The young Dreadlord finally answered as it was clear the General was expecting a word.

The woman scoffed, her bright red ponytail flicking back slightly as she turned to Talus.

"Don't be arrogant. These soldiers don't have magic to aid them, they haven't trained since childhood like you. Yet they'll fight just as hard."​

Talus grimaced slightly, biting his tongue. He couldn't help that a certain level of arrogance had set into him. The Proctors had tortured him for eighteen years, pushed him to be the best, and now that he was finally graduated...he couldn't help but feel a bit of pride for what he had accomplished.

Still, he respected the General. She was a soldier through and through. The youngest person to ever be called a General, and a list of accomplishments longger than most Archon's. She was a fierce warrior, with a knack for strategies that didn't see her men dead at the end of the day. Talus had sworn his loyalty to the Guard, and that meant swearing to her as well.

"You'll have ten of them for this. Do you think that will be enough?"​

He frowned for a brief moment.

"Ten men?" He mused. "Should be enough."

It was only one Barbarian chief, he would have done it himself if the man wasn't surrounded by a hundred of his savage tribesmen.

"Good, but one more thing. A few of them are rather...green."​

Talus suddenly stopped. "What?"

The General turned, a smile flashing across her face.

"Don't worry, they've all shown...promise."
​

Before he could press her for further details the General turned back, and kept walking straight towards the wall.

 

[Colette]

Twenty minutes prior Colette had been in the soundest of slumbers. Bundled up in her cot, dreaming of life before she had entered basic training, dreaming of all the simple pleasures Anir Square would offer this time of year. Apples on sticks, seasoned flanks of meat of sticks, fire-roasted fish on sticks, and... well, a lot of things on sticks.

But, no, instead of enjoying herself at the Anirian Cultural Festival she was carrying out her one-year mandatory military service. She'd just finished basic a few days ago and before that she'd never even held a sword much less spared with them. If she hadn't proven herself so talented at archery it was likely they'd have relegated her to janitorial duties or food services or some other shameful job. Which, to be frank, would've been fine by her but likely disappointed her parents greatly.

"Spear, sword, bow, quiver, umm," she ran through the checklist of her battle regalia aloud once more, "oh, right, helmet!"

The quartermaster had informed her that she'd be joining up with nine other recruits for a 'special assignment' which sounded just absolutely dreadful. Certainly the most dreadful thing about the assignment though was that it would be lead by a dreadlord. That was really the part that the quartermaster should've led with.

She'd never even seen real magic much less a supposed wielder of the deadliest branches of magic. They had tales as kids of dreadlords. That they had a third eye in the back of their head, they survived purely on the flesh of elves or dwarves, and they killed people just for the hell of it. Colette was positive that most of that, if not all of it, had to be false. There was no way Vel Anir would put up with that kind of debauchery, right?

To her absolute surprise the blonde girl was one of the first recruits to arrive at the rendezvous location. In the center stood a man of pure intimidation who looked around the same age as her. The uneasy glances of those around him and his insignia let her recognize him instantly as the leader of their operation. Jogging up towards him she fell in line with the other recruits and announced herself.

"Soldier Colette Maconner reporting, uh, Mr. Lord sir."

Damn. What rank were dreadlords? Lords? Dreads? Elf Eaters? Colette held her bow in her right hand and held her left hand tightly against her side.

 

[Donric Mannir]

Donric grumbled to himself, making no effort to mask his disdain for the task he'd just been assigned. He had only just arrived back from a tour and was settling back into Anirian life, only to be called up by some silly bureaucrat to heaven knows where to deal with a barbarian menace. In truth, the man didn't know what a bureaucrat was, nor did he particularly enjoy the civilian lifestyle, but he did enjoy a grumble and so he ran with it anyway.

After making sure his uniform was pristine, his mace was polished, his sword was sharpened and his shield was waxed, he began to check the rest of his kit. Laying out the contents of two satchels, Donric began to sort and check the various phials, vials, canisters and equipment that the Anirian guard supplied to its medical corps. Fortunately, in recent years, the ruling alliance had come round to the idea that men were, in fact, not as expendable as they first seemed and began to push for a medic or two on every mission.

Great, more work for me.

That said, he did enjoy his profession and lived for the challenge presented by combat. Additionally, it helped to be pally with the quartermaster's assistant as he would often get first dibs on new medical gear.

Finally, with his checks and routines finished, Donric set about towards the square. He'd heard a few rumours about his mission that he was being led by a Dreadlord. Funny creatures those Dreadlords, he mused, apparently they fashioned their clothes from the skin of dead elves, but he supposed it wasn't too different from leather really. Part of him, if the rumour was true that is, would be eager to see what makes elven leather superior to regular leather, but he knew it would be silly to ask such questions of a Dreadlord. They rarely associated with the guard's ilk.

Eventually, he turned up several moments behind Colette and slipped himself casually into the line of figures that stood in perfect sync before the young boy. He knew better than to discount the Dreadlord for his age, this kid wielded magic the likes of which Donric couldn't fathom.

"Medical officer Donric Mannir, present and accounted for, Mr Venerable Dreadlord... Sir." He wasn't quite sure where a Dreadlord fell into the hierarchy, but he often found if you slung enough words together eventually you'd hit the mark.

 

[Edward Smitan]

"Keep your sword arm up you daft twat!"
​

Broan shouted at Ned, his sparring partner.

He'd been told the day before that he'd be sent on his very first assignment, the very thing he'd spent the last 3 months training for. He'd worked day and night, like every other recruit, to earn the right to a chance at serving Vel Anir. Luckily for him, his father had managed to afford him those 2 years of apprenticeship under a previous member of the Anirian Guard, already priming him with most of the skills he needed, mostly swordplay.

He'd spent hours prepping his armour, as he'd seen many of the other soldiers doing; polishing his breastplate, shining his helmet, putting his sword to the whetstone, all in preparation for his big moment. He'd even been told that they'd be led by a Dreadlord.

He knew too well of them, as many others did living in Anir square. The constant beheadings and executions, facilitated by a Dreadlord capturing a wanted official or prolific criminal. He read about their exploits in books, how they wielded extraordinary power, their skills unmatched even by the fantastical Arcane College of Elbion.

He'd decided to wake up particularly early that morning, along with his only friend in and out of training, Broan. Broan, like him, was also a very tall man, standing at 6'3, just shy of Ned, which made him the perfect partner to sharpen his skills with. Although, once he'd seen the General pass by, he knew he'd have to get in line.

He saw the others introduce themselves, specifically Donric Mannir, an experienced member of the Guard. He'd heard about him just before joining the Northern Watch, not wanting to be too isolated from the group, seeming as they were all hard and typically brutal men. He stood in line, making sure everything on him was suited properly.

"Soldier Edward Smitan, Ser Dreadlord."

 

[Talus]

Talus remained quiet for a moment as all the soldiers introduced themselves to him. Some were the same age as him, a few were older.

He doubted there would be any problems from the veterans. The Anirian Guard were well disciplined when it came to understanding rank, but he would have to watch the younger ones more carefully when they were out in the field.

"Major will do fine." Talus had been granted the rank shortly after he'd sworn to the Guard. It was second in authority only to the four Generals and Admiral, and was meant to solidify his position in the Guard.

Varok Blackforge had told him it was essential that soldiers see him as part of the guard, and not another Dreadlord sending the men to their deaths.

He supposed that was partly what this was, a test to not the Generals, but the men. Showing them that he could lead them and do it well.

"We have three hours until nightfall." He told the group quickly. "It'll take us two days to get to Seral."

The man who they were supposed to kill had been roving deeper and deeper into Anirian Territory. Ilyena had thought of sending a larger force to crush the roving band of marauders, but had thought better of it once she'd learned just how fast they were moving.

Seral was a small village that lay on the path of the Barbarian chief. Talus intended to get there first and then lay an ambush. "Mount up."

He motioned to the stables nearby.

 

[Colette]

Seral? Where the hell was that? Some fort or town out in the wastes of the Aberresai Savannah most likely. Colette had been assigned to the Northern Army after her displays of skill in archery, including horseback archery, and this very moment was the one she'd been fearing as soon as the decision was communicated to her. Nothing but uncouth know-nothings and barbarians out in the savannah.

Basic training had tempered her personality, if only slightly, so the girl simply repeated, "yes sir," albeit a few seconds after many of the other recruits.

Colette's shoulders eased as the rest of the squad fanned out and made their way to the stables. If there was one thing about serving in the Anirian guard that the young woman liked it was the access to horses. They were lovely creatures that she'd seen a few times in her youth when she'd visit her cousins no their farm. Whereas her martial abilities caused her to feel a bit lacking her talent at horseback riding and her accuracy with a bow gave her a confidence boost.

Forming up in an orderly line at the stables she realized that none of the members of her squad were people she had known in basic training. Then again, most of those she received basic with got assigned to the Western or Eastern armies. Two entire days of riding would certainly allow for at least a bit of camaraderie. It'd be pretty pleasant to go on a simple patrol for a few days, sleep outdoors, and make some new friends. Exciting even!

Once it was her turn the stable master handed her the reigns of a lovely white steed with brown spots all across its body. He seemed sturdy, bred more for endurance than straight speed. Likely the best choice for a longer expedition such as this one.

As a few of the others came out with their mounts she asked, in a hushed tone, "so where is Seral? This is just a patrol or guard duty kind of assignment, right?" The absolute last thing she wanted was for the dreadlord to overhear her.

 

[Donric Mannir]

Donric watched curiously as the final man in their squadron joined the rest of their group. Once they had all been assembled, he did a quick scope of the group and noted that only two unfamiliar faces stood in their midst. That meant two unbloodied soldiers, and a Dreadlord, this would be quite an interesting mission. Additionally, he'd heard good things about this year's harvest of fresh meat and found his curiosity piqued at the green faces amongst them.

Donric groaned internally as Talus addressed the soldiers. While he was usually careful not to voice his displeasure to his superiors, the next few days he would be doubly so - offending a Dreadlord didn't particularly seem like a good idea.

The reason for his displeasure? Horses. He wasn't a fan of the beasts. Sure they looked pretty, they were useful and they could certainly carry a lot more than a man could dream of, but frankly, they stunk. Furthermore, it wasn't that he was bad at handling the animals, no one in their right mind would join the Northern division if they couldn't ride a horse. No, it was the sores. Saddle sores were the bane of his existence as a medic. If he had a copper for every time a solider tried to siphon some of his stocks to ease their chapped skin he'd be comfortably retired.

As they made their way into the stables, the smell quickly overwhelmed him and he found his face scrunching up in mild disgust at the stench that permeated the building. Grumbling all the while, he quickly took the reins of a large black horse, one he was particular familiar with, and carefully fastened all his medical gear and weapons onto the back of the beast. Moments later he was ready and led his stead out towards the front of the building in a slow trot.

"Honestly, Seral is located in rural bum-fuck-nowhere, it's a cesspit." He grumbled, adjusting his gear and trying to find a more comfortable sitting position. "From what I understand, we're putting down a few feral humans that have been trying to make trouble." He smiled, warmly towards the newbie and awaited the rest of the entourage.

 

[Edward Smitan]

When he gave the Dreadlord a better look, he was amazed at how young he was. In all the books he had read, he'd learnt that they were trained from childhood to hone their arcane and combative abilities to perfection- the perfect weapons of war. But this was a young man. He looked about the same age as Ned, and yet he was a Major.

Cool...

Riding horses was actually one of his favourite parts of being a soldier, apart from swordplay. The man who taught him the basics of being a guard was the same man who taught him how to ride, and how to care for one's horse. He always looked forward to combat training on horseback, as he felt that - sometimes - there was nothing that could quite beat the wind going through your hair, and the heat making sweat bead off of your forehead, as you rode on the back of your steed.

However, he didn't like the idea of killing anybody. That was probably the hardest factor he had to consider when joining the Guard. Although he loved wielding the sword, and helping people, he knew the inevitability of combat would lead to him wounding someone fatally. And he knew for sure he'd be killing people in two days. He didn't like to to think about it.

As he approached to saddle his horse, he saw Donric and another new Soldier, Colette, speaking to one another.

"From what I understand, we're putting down a few feral humans that have been trying to make trouble."

Ned thought he made it sound so commonplace, like something he'd do on any other day. Is that what it meant to be a member of the Anirian Watch?

"Put down a lot of feral humans in your time, Donric?" Oh god, that felt rude.

"Sorry- I didn't mean to sound odd, I just- I've heard of you. Ned, by the way- my name!" He stumbled through his words like a man half-way in his cups. He continued fastening his equipment to his horse, pretending everything was fine.

God i'm green...

 

[Talus]

Talus was already waiting outside the stable with his own mount, securing some of the straps and tying food and sleeping bundle to the saddle.

He did not join in on the conversation, though he could overhear nearly every word. Apparently none of the soldiers knew quite well enough how to keep their voices down. Something that he would have to teach them if they were to succeed in this.

For a time he simply let the banter go back and forth, knowing that such things were important to soldiers.

After a few minutes though he placed his index and middle finger between his lips, letting out a sharp whistle to get the soldiers attention before stepping into the stable. "Seral is a mining town, rich with ore and not much else."

His gaze swept the inside of the barn.

"There's a group of Marauders from the Savannah sweeping through the countryside, Seral is their next target." Talus had decided it was best not to keep anything from them. The truth would cut off any speculation they might have. "My hope is if we can kill the chief, the rest of them will just disperse into the countryside."

Something that happened more often than not with these tribes. A leader was needed to pull them together, without that they were simple wayward bandits.

 

[Colette]

It all happened so fast. Too fast.

"Take them out? So we're arresting them or," she wasn't able to finish her query before this Ned fellow introduced himself and clarified. He meant that they were to kill these men. Colette had seen a man strung up for stealing cattle once and she knew it was justified but it was someone else carrying out the execution. She had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that her skills with the bow would be used to take out elves or dwarves. Not her fellow man.

Well, it would explain why the target dummies she fired arrows at had been made man-sized. How could she have been that naive?

Just as Talus came to address his squadron the blonde recruit simply stated, "I'm Colette," while attempting to hide the obvious fear on her face. Immediately after her meek introduction that fear was exacerbated and made apparent as Talus clarified they were after marauders. They were going to try and assassinate the leader.

There was a part of her that wanted to ask just how many marauders there were. This little platoon only contained ten soldiers and one dreadlord. Surely there couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen marauders, right? But then why send a dreadlord out to take down such a small force? Best to put on a brave face and saddle up as ordered.

Colette nodded, put her long hair into a bun, and mounted her steed. "Yes sir," she issued in a wavering voice as she waited to depart with the rest of her comrades.

 

[Donric Mannir]

Donric was shifting uncomfortably in his saddle, he'd worn a certain groove into the seat that he always struggled to find whenever he would first mount a horse. As Ned made his way into the group and eventually spoke he found himself involuntarily raising his eyebrow. A short guffaw followed and he shot a smile at the greenie.

"I like to think I've propped up a lot more domesticated humans than put down." He stated matter-of-factly, subsequently gesturing towards his medical kit bag. Nice to know he'd been heard of though, the thought warmed him. Usually, medics had a bad reputation, too many of them were very fond of using the old bone saw willy-nilly for any injury. He shuddered at the idea.

"Nice to meet you both, Ned and Cole. Word of advi-" He was cut off by a piercing whistle that reverberated around the vicinity. His hand instinctively dropped to the sword fastened to his saddle, eventually, however, he returned it back to his side once he saw the source of the interruption.

He listened intently to the young Dreadlord, nodding slowly as the figure spoke. His plan made sense, cut off the head and watch the body fall. Simple enough really.

Once he had finished, Donric turned back towards the little group of greenies that had formed around him. "Word of advice, stay away from that one." He gestured towards a squat little man, climbing onto one of the steads with the aid of a step-ladder. "He gets a bit stabby sometimes, harmless otherwise." He grinned, leant back in his saddle and awaited further orders.

 

[Edward Smitan]

"I like to think I've propped up a lot more domesticated humans than put down.

He already began to warm up to Donric. He seemed like a kind man, albeit a man who had seen a lot of death and pain in his military career. Ned hoped he wouldn't see as much action.

The major's words, however, struck fear into him. He seemed like a nice enough person, but he sounded as if he knew how much respect he demanded amongst the soldiers, the respect he'd earnt. Ned knew that, if the Major wanted to, it wouldn't even take the slightest amount of effort from him to wipe Ned off of the face of Arethil. That scared him a little.

He gets a bit stabby sometimes, harmless otherwise

Stabby?

Oh Christ.

"I thought i'd be on basic guard duty for a long while before anything like this..." He was visibly nervous. He knew how he looked to the outside world, but he was afraid, terrified. He wished he could've kept sparring. But now he was on his horse, following a veteran of the Guard, and a Dreadlord. He was not ready for today.

 

[Talus]

Talus swung himself up into his saddle without another word, letting the smattering of conversation continue until he whistled and the group of eleven soldiers began to ride out of Vel Karek.

Through the square of the barracks they passed half a dozen soldiers still training, some standing to salute as they left, others simply continuing their craft. Above the gate, watching them depart stood General Ilyana. Her eyes peered down at them, face as hard as a mountain as they galloped from the city.

Over the next few hours he drove them hard.

Time was critical on this mission, and he intended to arrive in Seral before the Barbarians had a chance to sweep through it. Hours passed, the sun slowly faded on the horizon, and it was only well after dark that Talus held up a hand and signaled for a stop.

"We'll make camp here." He told them as he found a small clearing on the side of the sparse road.

Slipping from his horse, he peered to his soldiers. "Has anyone done any sentry work?"

 

[Colette]

"You're joking, yes?" she asked of Donric. Surely his comments about a 'stabby' comrade was just a jest. Soldier humor could be crude so it wasn't something to be seriously concerned about. Right?

They rode on horseback for hours. Colette's training had served her well as she really only started to fatigue in the last half hour or so of the trip. She had remained quiet the majority of the time. Worried she might upset Guardsman Stabby or encourage the field medic Donric to impart more of his so-called wisdom.

Upon arrival at the campsite the recruit hopped off of her steed and began to unpack her kit as swiftly as she was able to. The idea of some rest, maybe a nice meal cooked over an open fire, it all sounded lovely. Perhaps they'd even swap soldierly stories just like in the novels she had read growing up.

Then the Major had to shatter her hopes for a nice campfire meal. Sentry work?

This was Colette's first actual task in the military and she wasn't going to mess it up. She cleared her throat and declared, "yes sir, I mean, no sir not precisely. But we were trained to do sentry work. In basic. So, I'm sure I could help if you need it I mean."

Nailed it. That dreadlord's probably thinking to himself, 'wow guardsman Maconner is an excellent example of the Anirian Guard, I wish the rest of our soldiers were half as dedicated as her.' I'll probably see a promotion any day now.

 

[Donric Mannir]

Donric smiled contentedly to himself. He was only half-joking about the stabbiness of their comrade, but he decided it would be best to keep that to himself. He remained silent at their questions, nodding solemnly and trying his best to maintain a stony poker face.

"Don't worry, you're in safe hands, you were bound to have your first mission someday. Not many get to say that with a Dreadlord keeping them safe." His face softened a bit, it brought back memories of his first battle and caused him to shudder. There's no amount of training that can prepare you for it, most people piss themselves. Thankfully, his mentor had told him it's better to fight on an empty bladder anyway - most veterans, even, did it beforehand regardless.

The next few hours passed by without a care. They rode hard, but they'd been trained for it. Donric sidled his horse between two of the other veterans and passed the time with crude jokes, several chants and a particularly heated game of screw, marry, kill that ended the moment someone suggested they do Elise Virak next.

As they began to establish camp, Donric tried to avoid the gaze of Talus and made himself busy by pretending to fiddle with some of the more delicate components of his medical kit. He'd often found if he began swirling some liquids or polishing some glass, those in charge would tend to avoid disturbing him. He hated sentry work with a passion.