Knights of Anathaeum Training Day

[Syr Dorn]

Bollocks. Of all the days and all the potential trainers, Galvanhad needed a respite from his duties.. an oddity to many,, but not Tiberius. It was a dark day for his friend, one with a long memory.

So for Dorn, there was no surprise when word reached him on the road that Galvanhad had taken some time. The surprise came in the form of the immediate summons that followed. "Return to the Monastery at once.. your presence is required."

He never disobeyed orders. His life belonged to the Order and his blade listened to only the Old Man. He liked the Knight Masters well enough, but in his mind they hadn't walked the world in some time. They were busy people, it was understandable.

That said, they knew well enough how to irk the old warrior, and their most recent outlook was on the ages of the Knights still out there on the road. And by his estimate, he was the oldest. So his greatest issues were his own age and the decisions of those above him. He was a warrior, he wanted to die in battle somewhere on the road.

When he finally came upon the Monastery, Syr Ugluk, the Ork gatekeeper seemed to be surprised and he offered the venerable knight-pursuant a salute. He would be met with a glare, that softened into a smirk.

"Your name is suiting you today, Luk." Dorn said with an audible grin as he rode past. Ugluk would respond with a hearty laugh before shutting the gate behind Tiberius.

Some Squire had come running to take the reins of his horse and one look from Tiberius had the young boy tripping over himself before he collided solidly with the flank of Dorn's courser.

"Phaleos.." he would chide his courser and the horse would buck its head to the side, connecting with the Squire and knocking him over. "Eh.. thats gentle enough." He would grunt as he dismounted, the act getting slower as he aged, before he landed a bit heavier than he once did. He would drop the reins, and the squire cursed as they bounced off his head. "I want him re-shoed shit-licker. I won't be here long." He didn't bother with the squires name, he would likely fail or die before his name meant anything.

Out in the courtyard, he would see a familiar form watching the goings on. Helena. Of course it was. The powers that be knew he had a soft spot for the Captain, purely because of Galvanhad. And if she was there, it meant they needed him to say yes. That.. was never good. "Captain." He would say with a grunt.

Helena

 

[Faramund]

"Don't look now, Fara, but I think the mean ol' man just rode in." Balancing on his tiptoes, Squire Hadrian did his best to get caught as he peered out over the stall's door. "Boy, does he look pissed!" Busy keeping Captain Helena's destrier from freaking out as the farrier did his thing, Faramund, a Knight Sworn, tried and failed to turn a deaf ear to the boy's gossiping as he continued. "Looks like Squire Pox drew the short straw. Poor bastard."

"Unless you want to join him, I suggest you come over here and help us."

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Taking one final peak, the squire dropped back onto the soles of his feet before making his way over to the horse's side. Despite possessing a curious soul, Squire Hadrian was a good kid, and cautious. Well, about as cautious as any fifteen-year-old boy could be. "Want me to take over?" He asked. Nodding, Faramund relinquished his hold on the bridle and stepped away as Squire Hadrian quickly took his place.

"Stay here and give the farrier a hand. I'll be back in a bit."

Pushing his way from the stall, Faramund strode to the stable doors. He paused as Squire Pollocks led ol' Tiberius's equally old and equally mean horse inside. The stubborn beast reared wildly for a moment, but Pollocks managed to keep a hold on the reins, if not his composure. "Easy there, boy!" Faramund warned, wondering whether today would be the day he had to punch a horse in the mouth. "Easy!"

"A thousand apologies, Syr! I didn't see you there."

Sidestepping his way outside, Faramund watched a while longer as the squire wrestled the horse further inside. "Poor bastard indeed," he muttered under his breath, before turning back to the courtyard. Old Tiberius was busy talking to the Captain by then, but that didn't stop Fara from making his way over to join them.

"I guess the carrion birds are going hungry tonight, ey, Tiberius?" Halting a foot or so outside the big man's reach, Faramund raised a hand in greeting. "I'd say I'm glad to see you, but my ma told me not to tell lies..." Shrugging, he stepped around the pair until Helena was placed squarely between them. "I am, however, glad to see you, captain. Just... uh, don't tell Galvanhad."

 

[Helena]

"Syr Dorn," Helena said as she stopped before the man, calm and collected.

She held her head tall with pride, not because of any false airs, but because that was how the order had raised her, how Syrs the like of Galvanhad and Tiberius and many more had taught her.

Still, she could not help but smile at the old timer. Warm and honeyed. "It is good to see you well, Uncle Tiberius, safe and back from afar," Over the years, she had learned much and more from the rugged old battleaxe, like never calling him Grandfather, no matter how white his beard grew. She did not avert her gaze, but he voice quavered with some hesitation, unsure how to broach the subject, she chose to be direct. "I take it you have heard whispers by-" another's voice cut in.

"Syr Faramund," she said with a small smile, her eyes tracking the man as he rounded her. "And what, pray tell?" her eyes narrowed, feigned a tiredness, and her smile grew wicked as she opened her stance to stand with one shoulder to each man. "Do you worry my grandfather might do, that I cannot do myself?" she crossed her arms across her chest, and shifted her weight as she raised her chin in challenge to her fellow Dawnling. "Last i remember, I walloped you something good in the training yard, and you still dared to skip out on your lecture and diction lessons with Brother Gylbert, when the bet was lost!" she fixed a stern look upon the man, but could not hold it true for too long. Faramund was too good-natured for such seriousness.

---

Syr Tiberius Faramund

 

[Syr Dorn]

Already she was about to lay it on thick. He could tell by the smile, the stance, it wasnt going to be good. She was cut off by.. shit.. what was his name.. Tiberius had learned long ago to not bother remembering names since most of them died young anyways.

His arms crossed and if a look could kill, Faramund would have definitely turned to ash. "Dont get too ahead of yourself arseling. Just cuz Galvanhad ain't here, doesn't mean ya still won't make a meal for the carrion."

His old eyes squinted to get a little bit more detail. Dumb smile, dumb look. "Farquad, was it? I thought you were taller. She had to teach ya something, gods above know I wasn't gonna stick around to help her out with ya." A faint lift of his lip into a smirk. His gaze shifted to Helena as he nodded to Faramund. "This the case of walking herpes that won't leave ya alone? Now run along Farquad, the Captain was about to tell me something I don't want to hear and we all know shite runs downstream."

Faramund Helena

 

[Faramund]

"Oh, I love it when you talk dirty." Faramund smiled at Tiberius's threat, meeting the man's gaze with his own. There were worse things in this world than the aged battle master, the mercenary knew. Things and beings more worthy of fear. And respect. "Farquad? Isn't that the short blueblood with the funny hat and high opinion of himself?" A short time passed as Faramund thought on it.

Before long, he was laughing, completely unperturbed by the man's words and their implications.

"I like it," he said, nodding to himself. "'Farquad'... Didn't expect the big man to have a sense of humour." These last words were to Helena, though, of course Tiberius would hear them too. Faramund prided himself on his bluntness; it was one of the few things he liked about the battle master, too.

"Yes, well, I did as you told me to. Went to find Brother Gylbert and everything, but he--..." Faramund paused in an attempt to break the news gently. "He was busy at the time. Sleeping." If there was any deceit in the Sworn's words, they would be hard-pressed to find it. "I didn't want to wake him. 'Sides, as I recall, I let you win. Would have been most ungentlemanly of me to show you up in front of the squires."

Smiling, Faramund watched Helena closely. As stern as her position sometimes forced her to be, the captain was not without her merits. To be honest, she and Selene were good captains, though, Faramund would never tell anyone that. The last thing he wanted was his brothers and sisters thinking him a soft touch.

 

[Helena]

Helena shook her head, not quite disappointed, but simply at a loss for words, though she smiled softly as the two men went on with their banter.

She was new to the roll of Captain, not but a year into all the responsibilities and weight that came with the position. She never doubted that she was up to the task, but at times, she could not help but wonder why she had been elected by her fellow Knights to carry it out.

Still, these were contemplations for another time.

The Captain cleared her throat and her gaze turned steely. Colder and sharper. "Syr Faramund, while I appreciate your candor, I must speak with Syr Dorn about a private matter," she bowed her head to him with some grace, her teeth flashed with a wolf's pride. "And, do not disappoint me again, Syr Faramund," she did not meet his eye, kept her gaze high, though her voice still carried some friendly heat to it. "While your previous life may have demanded less of you, the Order demands your best," She eyed her uncle, measured his reaction. Then she nodded again, reassuring herself. No. Emphasizing her message. "You are a knight of the Sanctum of Dawn, words are weapons in their own right, and I would not see you venture out from Astenvale so poorly equipped." she snapped her gaze onto him them. "Do we understand, Knight Sworn?"

---

Faramund Syr Tiberius

 

[Syr Dorn]

Tiberius remained much the same as he had been thus far: unamused. "Yes, I guess he is. Just more parallels, I suppose." He mused.

Oh, Faramund, so some things were different. His arms would remain crossed as he waited for Faramund to waste more of his precious oxygen, it was a blessing they were surrounded by trees.

If he had thoughts on Faramunds past life, and he did (not just his, everyones), he didn't voice them. There was only one conversation he wanted to have and that was just so he could tell Helena no for the first time. Really surprise her and those that plotted against him.

Once Faramund was out of sight, he would speak. "So, Captain. What bad news do you have for me?"

Helena

 

[Faramund]

"I understand, Captain." Faramund replied, his eyes meeting hers in silent challenge. The energy surrounding the three had changed, become tainted. His doing, Fara figured. Letting his smile fade, the Dawnling took a step back. Then, another. "Carry on with your business," he told the pair, the light behind his eyes shifting. "I will not intrude further."

And so it was as Faramund walked away, the old battle master's venom coursing through his veins even as his footsteps rang out across the empty courtyard. It wasn't that the man thought himself better than Faramund; it had nothing to do with his words or the tone he had used to voice them. It was that every blueblood in the order -be they old or young- harboured the same derision for the ex-mercenary.

Or so he thought.

Margot Triss had sought to put that old hate to rest. And, if Faramund was being earnest, she had done a good job of convincing him that not all nobles were assholes. She'd even made leeway in altering Faramund's opinion of the Pursuants. So, too, had Bebin Theros.

Yet still the old hate persists, Faramund thought as he re-entered the stables to find Squire Hadrian and Squire Pollocks assisting the farrier. "How're we getting on, Hads?" He asked Hadrian, leaning on the door of the stall they were in. "We're getting on just fine, Syr." Squire Hadrian answered, half-hidden behind the considerable bulk of another knight's destrier. "A couple more left to do and then we're out of here!"

Smiling wanly, Faramund turned to the farrier. "Well?" He asked. With a hoof in one hand and some sort of scraper in the other, the heavily-bearded farrier looked up, his moustache twitching. "Still got three more stalls left," he told the room at large. Faramund heard the squires groan. "Now, now," he chided the two, his mood brightening in an instant. "Any more of that and I'll have you both scrubbing the latrines for a month."

They were decidedly quiet after that.

Helena Syr Tiberius

 

[Helena]

Helena met the man's challenge. Even if the sudden shift in demeanor twisted her gut, she had to remember. She was a Captain now, not just Helena. She could laugh off Faramund's weaseling ways of getting out of responsibilities as a Pursuant, small folly even that was. But it was different now. Now his safety, his success, in large part, they fell upon her. And she would do her damnedest to improve his odds, however she could. Even if it meant he, and other such free spirts, came to resent her for it.

For the Sun's brilliance shines on all it touches. She remembered her predecessor sharing. Ours is not to cool and to comfort, but to catalyze. The old captain said with that delicate smile of hers. To burn so bright and radiant that others have no choice but follow, to spread as they can and reach toward that light we prove.

Yet she was gone.

Helena's uncle snapped her back to the present with a question, and her eyes fell to him, sharp with a radiant intensity. "You have been asked to postpone your actions in the field, Syr Dorn," there was steel in her voice, and no doubt in the set of her strong shoulders. "Your years of experience are second to none," she added. "And we cannot afford to lose such a strong root between our past and our future to pointless romanticisms," she studied his face. Ready for harsh bards and his lashing rebuke. "You are tasked with the training of our squires, and the vetting of our prospects,"

She would wait for his response, though there was no backing down in her stance.

Syr Tiberius

 

[Syr Dorn]

Disgust painted along his face as she spoke. The same song and dance that every true warrior hated to hear. His arms crossed and his stance widened. "No." He said firmly. "I would rather die. You speak of romanticisms yet try to make teaching the arselings sound appealing. To wait around and languish until death claims these old bones."

His arms would uncross before his hands rested on his belt. "You may be the Captain, but I remember when you were naught but an arseling. Galvanhad teaches them, I recover their bodies when they die. And gods willing, Solon, Bebin, or Dejan will recover mine " The look in his eyes softened. "I did not give my life for this Order to be chained to a classroom. If Galvanhad dies and there is a need for a replacement, I will honor his memory and take his place. When he needs time, I will cover for him. But I will not wither in a classroom."

His gaze shifted around the courtyard, to the gate, lingering there. He shouldn't have answered the summons. "That will have to suffice for you, because even that is painful existence for me."

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena's stare never faltered. Tiberius had taught her better. But Where Tiberius had taught her to stand tall and proud, to never break before a foe, her Grandfather, Galvanhad, gentle and warm as he was, had taught her to take in. Like soil to root. If too hard, then what hope would there be for life?

She still had so much too learn.

"Very well, Uncle," she allowed. Her shoulders easing some as she let out long and heated breath. "For now, we look to you to stand when Syr Galvanhad cannot," she stepped beside her proud mentor. A man who was every bit as much of a father to her as Syr Galvanhad. "But honestly," she said with a smirk, the sort she would wear as a girl when she had gotten caught in some trouble. Proud. Shameless. Of the utmost sincerity in just how brash the foolishness she mustered was. "Do you see the tending of our future to be such a doldrum?" She stopped at his side, and her white cape settled at her back. "Had you not helped Syr Galvanhad raise me right well," her expression softned, and she looked down at the sword that rested at her hip.

A present. Their gift to her upon her becoming a Pursuant those five fated years ago. How it gleamed and shone, even in the soft light of the courtyard.

"I would not be half the Knight I am today," she set her eyes upon his old and tired features. Took in his hardened gaze. Felt the hurt there in. The fear. How he wanted to protect this place he so fiercely called his home. How he wished to spend all strength left in his coil so that what evil his mastery could expel would not find this place. Would not find all those in it. "Uncle Tiberius," she said softly. "It was I who put your name forth to the council, not the Masters," she looked away. Ashamed perhaps, but it was not in her to recognize it so easily.

Syr Tiberius

 

[Syr Dorn]

"Good." Was all he would say to her initial agreement, then at her query. "I do. The issue lies not in the teaching, none are better that your grandfather.. the issue is the quality provided. If they're all like Pollocks then I imagine I'll be wasting a lot of time and it would be more efficient to just have them build a casket then hop in." He would say gruffly, seriously, as if he whole-heartedly believed it.

"Don't you forget that, arseling." He said with the faintest of smiles. "Without us, you would just be another Knight with bad footwork.." he leaned closer. ".. now you're just a Captain with bad footwork." He teased with a grin. "Its a toothpick. Told Galvanhad you would look better with an axe."

Then she uttered the words he hoped she wouldn't. And his eyes showed the instant pain and betrayal was written across his features.. anger didn't come. "You're right to avert those eyes, little one. But ask yourself this, did you put forth my name for the reasons you listed, or because you're afraid to send men to gather my corpse?" He allowed those words to sit. "If its the latter.. you know that we live through you. And you know.. that I have probably only lived this long out of stubbornness to protect the Order for as long as I can.. and the day I fall, that burden will fall to you arselings.. Do not fail where we didn't."

Helena

 

[Helena]

"Pollocks?" She half smiled at the sound of the dutiful squire's name. "From what I recall, you were the one who pulled the boy out of the ruins, Uncle," she looked out at the courtyard, and the fields beyond the archway. Watched the younger prospects, and squires milling about. Most busy at some work, but many still wore some smile on their face, swapping stories as the commiserated in their menial tasks.

Far off, Syr Xokuk demonstrated a proper axe swing, arms braced against the pole of the great weapon, and young Oosru held a basic wood-axe as if it were of the same measure. The sight had Helena smile all the wider. "Most don't know it, but I've read the records, have spoken to the squires," she looked to him. "This lot, like Pollocks, it was you who brought most to the Monastery. Added their sproutling roots to the garden that is our Vale," she nodded, sure of herself.

"Of course I am afraid that the endless night will find you, Uncle, as I am afraid to see all our Sworn kin meet their end," her eyes shut, and she bowed her head, in reverence for the truth she would speak. "Be it natural, or by my own command," her eyes came open once more, lit by the flame of purpose, and she set their gaze upon him. "But I will not fail, so long as I have strength left to draw breath, and I did not put your name forth out of my love for you, nor some child's misunderstanding of fear, you raised me better, Uncle, as did Grandfather, and all the Sworn kin who have played a part in my standing here before you," she huffed a hot breath, and her smiled turned wolf's grin. Proud. Fierce. Lit with the dawn's light.

"I cast your name because you took an arseling and helped make her the youngest Captain of Dawn to serve our order," she cast her radiant gaze out onto Oosru, and Pollocks, and Dakadeen and Narynn, and sure of what she would say, she nodded with pride. "And I know you will help turn these little arselings into something even greater, for the lessons you impart, I will surely carry on, Uncle,"

 

[Syr Dorn]

He would huff. "Aye, just more proof that I'm the only one here working." Dorn would respond, dismissing her claim with the wave of his hand. He followed her gaze to watch Oosru. "She continues on like that, she'll die before she's knighted. Ill have wasted my time in Amol Kalit." He added gruffly.

At the end of her glorious conclusion, he would clear his throat. "I will teach them when your grandfather is not around. But I'll kill any Knight that tries to keep me sequestered to here. If I'm to become chained to this hell, I will be choosing my next few missions. There are things that I wanted to accomplish, and then I'll become one your shriveled old teachers. Anything else Captain? I have a class of unfortunate arselings to introduce to the old ways."

Helena

 

[Helena]

"All your thorns and brambles, only deter those who do not know their way around them, uncle," she smiled as he gave his assurances and made his last demands. "Nothing else, Syr Dorn, and I would not see your last deeds hindered by this new assignment," She laughed, small and warm, and looked over at the bald old sack of wrinkly flesh that had not always been so saggy, stuffed into his well polished cuirass.

Helena thought of all the times he had let that goofy smile of his shine through the bristle and the grit. How he would visit the saplings and sit with them, tell them stories, and play whatever he passed off as a game that day. How even through all the hard stares and unwavering stubbornness, he begged better of her. No, demanded it. Saw to it that she had the mettle to face the horrors that lay beyond the sanctuary of the Monastary, and the protection of the runed henges.

"Teach them well, as you taught me," she bowed her head to him. "and pass on that light which has been passed on to you, so that we may all find the strength to carry it forward." She snapped him a salute. Heels together, posture tall and straight, her palm flat just above her heart. She bowed, and then broke away from their conversation.

"And uncle!" she called back as she marched through the courtyard, cape a flutter behind her. "Don't you dare go easy on them!"

Syr Dorn