Given the choice, Railtus was grateful for the chance of what felt like a long overdue meal. Recently, he had made numerous trips to the well, prepared a cuirass of boiled leather, spent hours splitting and rejoining maille links for armouring, fought a trio of mercenaries, hauled around a number of corpses and their gear, and handled a defeated foe. All before dinner.
From where he was sitting, the subtle notions layered in the conversation indicated some measure of estrangement between Rosemary and her father. With the subject away from Railtus himself, everything on hand to observe was clear of his blind spots. At present, he considered it none of his business and refrained from comment. Had he known what had happened, he would be sure to have much to say.
A courteous nod acknowledged Rosemary's reaction, although he deemed it fairest for that matter to wait until after the meal. Sewing up injuries was complex work, and food had waited long enough. If the others were as hungry as he was, demanding that they wait to attend to him would be harsh at best.
Taking the mug of water, Railtus realised how long it had been since he had actually had anything to drink. Such poor habits would do him harm soon enough, and were possibly what slowed his thoughts during the earlier combat.
Of course Railtus wanted to rest, but rest was a relative term for him. Besides, simple planning told him that he would not be moving much for the coming while anyway. Once he was finished eating, he would have to stay very still for his wounds to be sewn shut. Rest enough would happen with the course he had planned.
"Thank you." Railtus answered Rosemary, as a blanket acknowledgement. For her thoughtfulness with the mug of water, her acceptance of the task he had asked of her, and her praise thrown in as well.
Custard was a new meal to Railtus. Normally, he thought of it as an addition used to coat food, thus spoiling the flavour of the original dish. Helpfully in this instance, he thought of it as an egg dish, and egg was something that he was certainly used to eating. At this moment he realised how hungry he really was. Chances were that he would take some bread out as well to add to the meal. As a noble, he probably had a different concept of a full meal than the yeoman at his command.
The mug of water was drained swiftly, his hard efforts and long hours by the heat of the forge adding to his thirst. The mug needed refilling within the first minute.
Several large flasks were kept in his pack, but Railtus doubted the etiquette of fetching his own supplies when being served.
Seeing the trend in advance, Railtus made a suggestion, "If I may fetch the water myself, I suspect I will be going through a fair amount and there is no need for you to keep stopping to serve me."
With that, Railtus rose to refill his mug. Smaller motions such as these did not stress his wounds the same as when working with great pieces of armour. A few dull aches shot through his body, and one spike of pain over the ribs. Nothing serious, nothing which bothered him overmuch.
Beyond that, he had not considered what to discuss over dinner. The idea in mind was to ask more of the history of his two hosts, on the basis that all he knew was recent events. Another reason to ask was that he had little idea of what kind of history would exist in their lives. All that he knew of farmers was working every day on the field, struggling on through harsh weather, paying taxes which sustained the rich. There had to be more to their lives than that. Life for Railtus had been a long series of events, less about him than the battles fought, the wrongs righted, the journeys and travels, and the changes for the better left behind him. That was his story, with very little said about him. What tale would these folk have? What lives would they have known?
So far, he left the matter for them to decide, to discuss whatever they deemed best.
Unexpected Homecomings
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“Please sir, don’t trouble yourself.” Hastily, Rosemary interposed her body between Railtus and the water, although she resisted the urge to actually try pushing him back down into his chair. “I wouldn’t feel right watching you pour your own. Not when you’re all a banged up and I’m as healthy as the day I was born.”
Sensing that a compromise would offer the best solution, Rosemary experienced a flash of inspiration. “I’ll get a pitcher for you. That way, you can drink all you want, and neither of us will need to get up.”
When Railtus sat back down, reassuring Rosemary that he wouldn’t try dodging around her as soon as her back was turned, she filled a pitcher with water and placed it next to Railtus’s mug. Then she seated herself. Julen had already taken several bites of his custard, but he dropped his spoon when Rosemary kicked him under the table. Pretending not to have noticed her husband’s lapse in manners, Rosemary turned toward Railtus. “Sir? Before we begin, would you do us the honor of saying a short prayer?”
Again, picking a topic of conversation fell to Rosemary. Since the mention of her father had stirred old memories, she found herself reminiscing about her childhood, growing up as the eldest daughter of the local potter. “I had five brothers and sisters. Some of us dug clay, while some of us were taught how to mix the different glazes. Then, when I entered my teens, my father bought me the prettiest dress, so I’d look nice while I helped in his shop. We’d all hoped to be picked for that job, and I was so proud that he’d chosen me.”
“Digging clay was dirty and hard. The glazes stank. But working in the shop wasn’t bad. I enjoyed talking with people who came in -- especially one young farmer who seemed to have an unnatural interest in plates and cups.” This last statement was accompanied by a wink at Julen.
Julen responded to her wink with a sheepish grin. “When you described the glazes, you made them sound like the most beautiful colors in the rainbow. And when you carried some new piece over to show me, I envied it, resting so easily in your graceful fingers.”
Feeling a blush begin to creep across her cheeks, Rosemary hurried on with the story. “I was happy. Until, one day, I overheard my father make a comment to another man. Certainly, she does a fine job of selling the pottery. But that’s not all I want her to be selling. Of course, I asked him what he meant. That’s when I found out why he wanted me in the shop. I felt so dirty, so ashamed. The next time that young farmer came in, I couldn’t even look at him.”
“Rosemary...” Beneath the table, Rosemary felt Julen reach over and take her hand.
“At first, I wished I’d been born ugly. But that seemed stupid and ungrateful. So many people struggled to be beautiful. Why should I curse what they desired? So I decided to do as my father wished. I used my looks to get what I wanted. During that time, I made the acquaintance of your kinsman, Phelan, among others. I thought that their gifts made me happy, when all they did was mask the shame. I mistook the thrill of being desired for the feeling of being loved.”
“But I kept running into that young farmer -- at festivals, dances, and finally at his father’s funeral. And every time I did, I realized that any happiness which could be bought with bishani was only a cheap and fleeting substitution for the real thing.” Rosemary smiled. “The day I married Julen, all the shame inside me withered and died forever.” For a moment, she let her thoughts linger in that happy memory. Then, as quickly as it had come, her smile vanished. “But my father never forgave me. He said that I was selfish, that I’d failed my brothers and sisters.”
Julen shook his head, his eyes darkened by rare anger. “Your father would have put you on an auction block and sold you like a prize cow if it had been in his power to do so. The best thing you ever did for your brothers and sisters was to show them that they’re people, with the right to pursue their own wishes, rather than pieces of property for your father to bargain with.”
“But surely he has a certain right to demand--”
“No one has the right to demand that others live in misery for his benefit. Not fathers, not lords, not gods.” Then, perhaps shocked by his own boldness, Julen glanced at Railtus for support. “At least...that’s what I’ve come to believe.”
Sensing that a compromise would offer the best solution, Rosemary experienced a flash of inspiration. “I’ll get a pitcher for you. That way, you can drink all you want, and neither of us will need to get up.”
When Railtus sat back down, reassuring Rosemary that he wouldn’t try dodging around her as soon as her back was turned, she filled a pitcher with water and placed it next to Railtus’s mug. Then she seated herself. Julen had already taken several bites of his custard, but he dropped his spoon when Rosemary kicked him under the table. Pretending not to have noticed her husband’s lapse in manners, Rosemary turned toward Railtus. “Sir? Before we begin, would you do us the honor of saying a short prayer?”
Again, picking a topic of conversation fell to Rosemary. Since the mention of her father had stirred old memories, she found herself reminiscing about her childhood, growing up as the eldest daughter of the local potter. “I had five brothers and sisters. Some of us dug clay, while some of us were taught how to mix the different glazes. Then, when I entered my teens, my father bought me the prettiest dress, so I’d look nice while I helped in his shop. We’d all hoped to be picked for that job, and I was so proud that he’d chosen me.”
“Digging clay was dirty and hard. The glazes stank. But working in the shop wasn’t bad. I enjoyed talking with people who came in -- especially one young farmer who seemed to have an unnatural interest in plates and cups.” This last statement was accompanied by a wink at Julen.
Julen responded to her wink with a sheepish grin. “When you described the glazes, you made them sound like the most beautiful colors in the rainbow. And when you carried some new piece over to show me, I envied it, resting so easily in your graceful fingers.”
Feeling a blush begin to creep across her cheeks, Rosemary hurried on with the story. “I was happy. Until, one day, I overheard my father make a comment to another man. Certainly, she does a fine job of selling the pottery. But that’s not all I want her to be selling. Of course, I asked him what he meant. That’s when I found out why he wanted me in the shop. I felt so dirty, so ashamed. The next time that young farmer came in, I couldn’t even look at him.”
“Rosemary...” Beneath the table, Rosemary felt Julen reach over and take her hand.
“At first, I wished I’d been born ugly. But that seemed stupid and ungrateful. So many people struggled to be beautiful. Why should I curse what they desired? So I decided to do as my father wished. I used my looks to get what I wanted. During that time, I made the acquaintance of your kinsman, Phelan, among others. I thought that their gifts made me happy, when all they did was mask the shame. I mistook the thrill of being desired for the feeling of being loved.”
“But I kept running into that young farmer -- at festivals, dances, and finally at his father’s funeral. And every time I did, I realized that any happiness which could be bought with bishani was only a cheap and fleeting substitution for the real thing.” Rosemary smiled. “The day I married Julen, all the shame inside me withered and died forever.” For a moment, she let her thoughts linger in that happy memory. Then, as quickly as it had come, her smile vanished. “But my father never forgave me. He said that I was selfish, that I’d failed my brothers and sisters.”
Julen shook his head, his eyes darkened by rare anger. “Your father would have put you on an auction block and sold you like a prize cow if it had been in his power to do so. The best thing you ever did for your brothers and sisters was to show them that they’re people, with the right to pursue their own wishes, rather than pieces of property for your father to bargain with.”
“But surely he has a certain right to demand--”
“No one has the right to demand that others live in misery for his benefit. Not fathers, not lords, not gods.” Then, perhaps shocked by his own boldness, Julen glanced at Railtus for support. “At least...that’s what I’ve come to believe.”
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Sir Karsimir
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Here, Railtus was unbalanced, an event made all the more strange because this appeared to be an affectation for his benefit. There were no prayers in Ydrenite faith over meals, for Ydren was not one to demand praise from another, let alone one who had worked and toiled to provide food for their table. In those cases when the food was a gift, then the thanks would be better directed to those with the kindness to be sharing it.
"Please, the Sir is unwarrented. I am not a knight yet." Then after a moment, he agreed. "Very well."
One prayer stood out as fitting, one which acknowledged where the thanks truly belonged. "Heaven be with this house, with the kindness and strength within. Health. Wisdom. Harmony. Security. Be with this family, and be well placed." Granted, he had just made that up on the spot, but the whole point of a prayer was to be sincere and that was a greater part of his faith than any recitation.
Any lapse in manners on Julen part was lost on Railtus, while he would hold himself to high courtesies, the last thing he would wish would be for hungry folk to wait for him before eating. Still, objecting would probably take longer than the prayer did.
Hearing the story seemed easy enough, right up until the comment made by her father. At that, Railtus stopped eating, focusing his undivided attention on Rosemary, gripping the edge of the table tightly with ice-white knuckles as channel for his anger at hearing of how shamefully Rosemary had been treated by her father.
Finishing the tale was Julen's judgement, delivered with a conviction Railtus had never seen from him before. With the flickering instant in which he sought confirmation from Railtus came a sudden irony that forced the Angelsworn to bite down on his cheek hard to prevent a smile.
"Well said." Railtus added. "Any loyalty a daughter owes her father, a father also owes his daughter. Anything shameful and selfish I see was from him. Often those who call us selfish want to force us into serving them. It was he who failed your siblings, not you."
With that, Railtus took another large drink before refilling from the pitcher of water, returning to his meal as soon as was courteous. The meal was smaller than those he was used to, but he would hold no such thing against Rosemary. In his mind, what food she did share was an act of kindness, to be acknowledged as such without expectation.
Considering everything he had heard, Railtus was glad that Rosemary was no longer in her father's home. Guesses could be made of how her father would have made use of her when the mercenaries had come. Another thought that stoked wrathful fires in the heart of Railtus. Still, one matter stood out in his mind.
"How fare your kin since the coming of the mercenaries?"
"Please, the Sir is unwarrented. I am not a knight yet." Then after a moment, he agreed. "Very well."
One prayer stood out as fitting, one which acknowledged where the thanks truly belonged. "Heaven be with this house, with the kindness and strength within. Health. Wisdom. Harmony. Security. Be with this family, and be well placed." Granted, he had just made that up on the spot, but the whole point of a prayer was to be sincere and that was a greater part of his faith than any recitation.
Any lapse in manners on Julen part was lost on Railtus, while he would hold himself to high courtesies, the last thing he would wish would be for hungry folk to wait for him before eating. Still, objecting would probably take longer than the prayer did.
Hearing the story seemed easy enough, right up until the comment made by her father. At that, Railtus stopped eating, focusing his undivided attention on Rosemary, gripping the edge of the table tightly with ice-white knuckles as channel for his anger at hearing of how shamefully Rosemary had been treated by her father.
Finishing the tale was Julen's judgement, delivered with a conviction Railtus had never seen from him before. With the flickering instant in which he sought confirmation from Railtus came a sudden irony that forced the Angelsworn to bite down on his cheek hard to prevent a smile.
"Well said." Railtus added. "Any loyalty a daughter owes her father, a father also owes his daughter. Anything shameful and selfish I see was from him. Often those who call us selfish want to force us into serving them. It was he who failed your siblings, not you."
With that, Railtus took another large drink before refilling from the pitcher of water, returning to his meal as soon as was courteous. The meal was smaller than those he was used to, but he would hold no such thing against Rosemary. In his mind, what food she did share was an act of kindness, to be acknowledged as such without expectation.
Considering everything he had heard, Railtus was glad that Rosemary was no longer in her father's home. Guesses could be made of how her father would have made use of her when the mercenaries had come. Another thought that stoked wrathful fires in the heart of Railtus. Still, one matter stood out in his mind.
"How fare your kin since the coming of the mercenaries?"
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Falcon Bertille
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When Railtus spoke his support of her decision to defy the wishes of her father, Rosemary smiled at the warrior in appreciation. “It’s very kind of you defend me. There’s more than a few around here who don’t see it that way. But then, you’ve shown more wisdom in a single day than most of them have managed to show in their entire lives, so I think I’ll take your opinion over theirs.”
With that settled, they ate in silence for a little. Until a question from Railtus brought Rosemary’s thoughts back to her family.
“I’m not rightly sure,” Rosemary admitted, responding to Railtus’s inquiry about how her kin were faring. “Until your most timely arrival, those vile men kept me as a prisoner in my own home, so I haven’t had a chance to visit or make inquiries. My hope is that they aren’t faring too badly. Mercenaries probably have very little interest in plates and cups, so I imagine the pottery shop isn’t suffering from the sort of theft poor Orin faces. My mother, father, and two youngest brothers still live in the rooms adjacent to the store. I suppose it’s possible that they’ve been forced to house a guest. But that makes them no worse off than many.”
As she said that, a thought occurred to Rosemary. Not a noble thought. In fact, it was a rather petty and selfish thought, of the sort she would never give voice to. But for a moment, Rosemary wished that her family was having some sort of difficulties with the mercenaries. Nothing really harmful, of course. But enough that Julen and Railtus could go to their rescue, making her father finally realize what a good man Julen was, with a heart worth more than any noble title or stash of treasure. He’d realize that a man’s value couldn’t be measured in bishani. And then he’d apologize to them, and give his full blessing to their union.
But even as Rosemary savored the fantasy, she couldn’t make herself believe it. Julen could probably snatch her father from the jaws of a dragon and her father would only condemn him for not also finding time to make off with the beast’s hoard.
After the custard had been finished, Rosemary cleared away the empty bowls, and brought out Effie’s gift of fancy raisin bread. Cutting off a thick end piece, she offered the cinnamon-swirled slice to Railtus. “Sir? Would you--?” Quickly, Rosemary caught herself, and shook her head as she remembered Railtus’s earlier reminder that he wasn’t yet a knight.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know quite how to address you. I don’t wish to offend someone who has done so much for us.”
Rosemary hadn’t failed to notice that her husband called Railtus by his name. However, that wasn’t a privilege that she presumed to have earned. In any case, it was one thing for two men to freely speak each other’s names, and quite another for a woman to address a near-stranger with such familiarity. True, there was something about Railtus, something reliable and kind, which made her feel like she’d known him for much longer than a single day. And he didn’t seem like the sort of man to misinterpret things -- the way he’d held her hand when she needed his comfort had proved that. But that had been a moment of crisis. On a more regular basis, laid out for all the world to see, she didn’t want to appear overly informal with the very handsome young man who wasn’t her husband.
With that settled, they ate in silence for a little. Until a question from Railtus brought Rosemary’s thoughts back to her family.
“I’m not rightly sure,” Rosemary admitted, responding to Railtus’s inquiry about how her kin were faring. “Until your most timely arrival, those vile men kept me as a prisoner in my own home, so I haven’t had a chance to visit or make inquiries. My hope is that they aren’t faring too badly. Mercenaries probably have very little interest in plates and cups, so I imagine the pottery shop isn’t suffering from the sort of theft poor Orin faces. My mother, father, and two youngest brothers still live in the rooms adjacent to the store. I suppose it’s possible that they’ve been forced to house a guest. But that makes them no worse off than many.”
As she said that, a thought occurred to Rosemary. Not a noble thought. In fact, it was a rather petty and selfish thought, of the sort she would never give voice to. But for a moment, Rosemary wished that her family was having some sort of difficulties with the mercenaries. Nothing really harmful, of course. But enough that Julen and Railtus could go to their rescue, making her father finally realize what a good man Julen was, with a heart worth more than any noble title or stash of treasure. He’d realize that a man’s value couldn’t be measured in bishani. And then he’d apologize to them, and give his full blessing to their union.
But even as Rosemary savored the fantasy, she couldn’t make herself believe it. Julen could probably snatch her father from the jaws of a dragon and her father would only condemn him for not also finding time to make off with the beast’s hoard.
After the custard had been finished, Rosemary cleared away the empty bowls, and brought out Effie’s gift of fancy raisin bread. Cutting off a thick end piece, she offered the cinnamon-swirled slice to Railtus. “Sir? Would you--?” Quickly, Rosemary caught herself, and shook her head as she remembered Railtus’s earlier reminder that he wasn’t yet a knight.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know quite how to address you. I don’t wish to offend someone who has done so much for us.”
Rosemary hadn’t failed to notice that her husband called Railtus by his name. However, that wasn’t a privilege that she presumed to have earned. In any case, it was one thing for two men to freely speak each other’s names, and quite another for a woman to address a near-stranger with such familiarity. True, there was something about Railtus, something reliable and kind, which made her feel like she’d known him for much longer than a single day. And he didn’t seem like the sort of man to misinterpret things -- the way he’d held her hand when she needed his comfort had proved that. But that had been a moment of crisis. On a more regular basis, laid out for all the world to see, she didn’t want to appear overly informal with the very handsome young man who wasn’t her husband.
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Sir Karsimir
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What manner of man could demand a woman to submit to slavery and suffer her heart to be bound prisoner, trapped in misery at the whim of the unworthy, was a manner of man that Railtus had no wish to understand. Yet a manner of man Railtus deeply wished to meet.
On the field of arms.
Mercy is a righteous act towards one who strays from the Path of Right in fear or desperation or weakness, but carved in the earth was a line beyond which a choice is made to act in cruelty against the downtrodden. For those who had belittled Rosemary for her courage, they would find that line by looking behind them.
A kind comment regarding his wisdom made Railtus wonder what he had said and done that was so wise. Thinking back over the entire day, he managed to find all those moments and ignore them completely, remaining unsure as to how he had demonstrated such a quality.
With more food on offer, Railtus accepted swiftly and eagerly, plucking away the slice of raisin bread like a wildcat presented with fresh meat. Stopping him from biting into the slice was a chuckle at Rosemary's apprehension.
"Offend? If I show such arrogance as taking offence at a mode of address, slap me. Please." Mirth glittered on his face at such a notion, although he was as sincere as always on the matter. "Call me what you wish. Modes of address are of no interest to me." Blind as he was to his own station, and the inherent contradiction in his next sentance, Railtus turned the matter around. "Need I be cautious as to how I address you, lady?"
Sincere and forthright, Railtus was seldom one to consider alternate meanings to simple and honest courtesies, and one so direct as he seldom left room for misunderstandings.
On the field of arms.
Mercy is a righteous act towards one who strays from the Path of Right in fear or desperation or weakness, but carved in the earth was a line beyond which a choice is made to act in cruelty against the downtrodden. For those who had belittled Rosemary for her courage, they would find that line by looking behind them.
A kind comment regarding his wisdom made Railtus wonder what he had said and done that was so wise. Thinking back over the entire day, he managed to find all those moments and ignore them completely, remaining unsure as to how he had demonstrated such a quality.
With more food on offer, Railtus accepted swiftly and eagerly, plucking away the slice of raisin bread like a wildcat presented with fresh meat. Stopping him from biting into the slice was a chuckle at Rosemary's apprehension.
"Offend? If I show such arrogance as taking offence at a mode of address, slap me. Please." Mirth glittered on his face at such a notion, although he was as sincere as always on the matter. "Call me what you wish. Modes of address are of no interest to me." Blind as he was to his own station, and the inherent contradiction in his next sentance, Railtus turned the matter around. "Need I be cautious as to how I address you, lady?"
Sincere and forthright, Railtus was seldom one to consider alternate meanings to simple and honest courtesies, and one so direct as he seldom left room for misunderstandings.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Falcon Bertille
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Rosemary blinked, slightly startled by Railtus’s question. Cautious? Of course he needed to be cautious. Although she was pleased and honored to have him as a guest, even a single night spent under her roof would be enough to get certain tongues wagging, regardless of the fact that her husband was also in the house. Protocols needed to be observed in order to ward off gossip. Didn’t Railtus understand that?
No. Looking at the unguarded openness on Railtus’s face, Rosemary reached a surprising conclusion. He really didn’t understand. To him, the idea of doing anything improper with another man’s wife was so absurd, so removed from anything he could ever consider, that he didn’t realize other people might still suspect the worst.
Charmed by this noble blind spot, Rosemary joined in Railtus’s mirth, pointing out the ugly truth with as much good humor as possible. “In private,” she assured, cutting off a slice of bread for Julen, “you may address me however you chose. But in public, certain decorum needs to be maintained. What will the neighbors say if they see me, a married woman, in the company of a handsome stranger who calls me Sugar Lips or Love Bunny?”
A choking noise came from Julen’s direction. Glancing over at him, Rosemary wondered if her husband was experiencing a rare fit of jealousy. But no, Julen seemed to be holding back laughter, and a subtle gesture with his hand indicated that he’d explain later. So, once he’d managed to swallow his bread and wash it down with a mouthful of water, Rosemary returned her attention to Railtus.
“As for how to address you...I’m undecided. I called your kinsman ‘My Lord’ and he liked that well enough. However, my heart has but one lord now.” For a moment, Rosemary lowered her gaze, honoring the depth of feeling contained in that last statement. Then her cheerful tone returned. “Considering my choices, I believe I’ll stick with ‘Sir’. You may not yet be a knight, but I have faith the day will come soon enough, and when it does I won’t need to change my habits.”
“Of course,” Rosemary threatened with a wink, “if you don’t like ‘Sir’, I could always pick Sugar Lips.”
That time, Julen actually spat bread across the table, before somewhat belatedly clamping his hand over his mouth.
When dessert had been finished, Rosemary got to her feet. “Now, at the risk of being overly bold, I think we’ve let you bleed for long enough. The guest bedroom should be a good place for you to lie down. Will my sewing supplies suffice for the stitching you have in mind, or is there any special equipment that I’ll require?”
Julen, too, rose from his chair. “What can I do to help?”
No. Looking at the unguarded openness on Railtus’s face, Rosemary reached a surprising conclusion. He really didn’t understand. To him, the idea of doing anything improper with another man’s wife was so absurd, so removed from anything he could ever consider, that he didn’t realize other people might still suspect the worst.
Charmed by this noble blind spot, Rosemary joined in Railtus’s mirth, pointing out the ugly truth with as much good humor as possible. “In private,” she assured, cutting off a slice of bread for Julen, “you may address me however you chose. But in public, certain decorum needs to be maintained. What will the neighbors say if they see me, a married woman, in the company of a handsome stranger who calls me Sugar Lips or Love Bunny?”
A choking noise came from Julen’s direction. Glancing over at him, Rosemary wondered if her husband was experiencing a rare fit of jealousy. But no, Julen seemed to be holding back laughter, and a subtle gesture with his hand indicated that he’d explain later. So, once he’d managed to swallow his bread and wash it down with a mouthful of water, Rosemary returned her attention to Railtus.
“As for how to address you...I’m undecided. I called your kinsman ‘My Lord’ and he liked that well enough. However, my heart has but one lord now.” For a moment, Rosemary lowered her gaze, honoring the depth of feeling contained in that last statement. Then her cheerful tone returned. “Considering my choices, I believe I’ll stick with ‘Sir’. You may not yet be a knight, but I have faith the day will come soon enough, and when it does I won’t need to change my habits.”
“Of course,” Rosemary threatened with a wink, “if you don’t like ‘Sir’, I could always pick Sugar Lips.”
That time, Julen actually spat bread across the table, before somewhat belatedly clamping his hand over his mouth.
When dessert had been finished, Rosemary got to her feet. “Now, at the risk of being overly bold, I think we’ve let you bleed for long enough. The guest bedroom should be a good place for you to lie down. Will my sewing supplies suffice for the stitching you have in mind, or is there any special equipment that I’ll require?”
Julen, too, rose from his chair. “What can I do to help?”
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Sir Karsimir
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Sugar Lips? Love Bunny? Those words replayed flatly in his head, eliciting a sardonic humour for him to enjoy.
Still, she made some good points, which Railtus followed and accepted. In fact, his face was solemn and attentive right up until the point when bread flew like a projectile across the table, which seemed appropriate enough considering the circumstances.
"Ah. 'Sir' it is then." Railtus pressed his lips between his teeth in an effort not to grin or burst out laughing. Once again switching manner in an instant, he was serious again. "All I wished to establish was that you may speak freely as friends do."
Back to the issue of tending to his wounds, Railtus paused to consider. "Normal sewing supplies should be fine. It may help to wipe the wound down with wine first. Julen, see to that." The instruction given casually and plainly, without a glimmer of hesitation or uncertainty. Part of his intent was to give Julen something useful to do, as the yeoman so obviously wished for. "Bring the coat of plates after me as well. Thank you." Again, that was said without pausing to see if Julen would actually do it, it was just accepted that he would.
The coat of plates was heavy, over twenty-five pounds in weight, hinting at what Julen could expect in the future as an armoured man.
Railtus had intended to sit upright while his wound was sewn, although was prepared to provide the most convenient angle for such a thing. After walking into the guest room, Railtus shed his iron bracers and pulled of his gamberson, issueing a warning before removing the tunic beneath. "The sight will not be pleasant."
Perhaps surprisingly, Railtus revealed no shyness about being seen bare-chested, although with such a clear view of his injuries the open wound seemed like the least of his concerns. Swirling patterns of purple and black beneath the skin flooded through his body like a curtain of smoke trapped in his flesh, spreading outwards like cobwebs. A large impression was left near his neck, over the collarbone, as if his body had begun to breach inwards. Similar marks stood out in his back, behind the ribs on his left side, raised in puffy mess. One line of smoky grey crossed his belly from rib to hip.
Strange was the lack of red marks, and the points of injury remained calm and flat instead of raising into an angry red. It was as if his body had refused point-blank to inflame in answer to his wounds.
Somewhere beneath the massive damage was a sculpted physique made of corded muscle, braced by further muscles around the shoulders and against the trunk of the body under the arm like reliable-for-aeons stone butresses. From below the ribs his frame thinned down, still strong but contrasting with stout armour-bearing and sword-wielding muscles above. The overall effect was a classical physique with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.
With little fuss, Railtus gave a final directive. "Pierce towards the wound, so that the needle does not stab into the muscle."
Now he was finished directing surgery on himself.
Still, she made some good points, which Railtus followed and accepted. In fact, his face was solemn and attentive right up until the point when bread flew like a projectile across the table, which seemed appropriate enough considering the circumstances.
"Ah. 'Sir' it is then." Railtus pressed his lips between his teeth in an effort not to grin or burst out laughing. Once again switching manner in an instant, he was serious again. "All I wished to establish was that you may speak freely as friends do."
Back to the issue of tending to his wounds, Railtus paused to consider. "Normal sewing supplies should be fine. It may help to wipe the wound down with wine first. Julen, see to that." The instruction given casually and plainly, without a glimmer of hesitation or uncertainty. Part of his intent was to give Julen something useful to do, as the yeoman so obviously wished for. "Bring the coat of plates after me as well. Thank you." Again, that was said without pausing to see if Julen would actually do it, it was just accepted that he would.
The coat of plates was heavy, over twenty-five pounds in weight, hinting at what Julen could expect in the future as an armoured man.
Railtus had intended to sit upright while his wound was sewn, although was prepared to provide the most convenient angle for such a thing. After walking into the guest room, Railtus shed his iron bracers and pulled of his gamberson, issueing a warning before removing the tunic beneath. "The sight will not be pleasant."
Perhaps surprisingly, Railtus revealed no shyness about being seen bare-chested, although with such a clear view of his injuries the open wound seemed like the least of his concerns. Swirling patterns of purple and black beneath the skin flooded through his body like a curtain of smoke trapped in his flesh, spreading outwards like cobwebs. A large impression was left near his neck, over the collarbone, as if his body had begun to breach inwards. Similar marks stood out in his back, behind the ribs on his left side, raised in puffy mess. One line of smoky grey crossed his belly from rib to hip.
Strange was the lack of red marks, and the points of injury remained calm and flat instead of raising into an angry red. It was as if his body had refused point-blank to inflame in answer to his wounds.
Somewhere beneath the massive damage was a sculpted physique made of corded muscle, braced by further muscles around the shoulders and against the trunk of the body under the arm like reliable-for-aeons stone butresses. From below the ribs his frame thinned down, still strong but contrasting with stout armour-bearing and sword-wielding muscles above. The overall effect was a classical physique with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.
With little fuss, Railtus gave a final directive. "Pierce towards the wound, so that the needle does not stab into the muscle."
Now he was finished directing surgery on himself.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
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Falcon Bertille
- Citizen
- Posts: 196
- Joined: Tue Feb 13, 2007 4:15 pm
The guest bedroom was small but cheerfully furnished. A procession of small wooden animals marched across one shelf, while assorted wildflowers had been painted on the large chest which stood at the foot of the bed. A patchwork quilt sewn from colorful fabric scraps covered the bed itself. And a fresh candle sat next to a vase of white daisies on the bedside table, indicating that Rosemary had spent some of the afternoon preparing the room for Railtus.
After fetching her sewing supplies from the sollar, Rosemary joined Railtus in time to watch him shed his armor. As he did so, an involuntary cry of sympathy burst from her lips, despite Railtus’s attempt to prepare her for the extent of the damage done to him. Judging by the bruises that covered his torso, it must have hurt just to breathe. And yet, he’d not only sat at her table, patiently listening to her babble on about her problems -- he’d actually seemed to consider her troubles more important than his own discomfort. What sort of man had her husband brought home?
A very attractive one. Once she recovered from the shock of seeing Railtus’s injuries, Rosemary couldn’t help noticing the rather impressive physique which lay beneath them. Of course, she loved her husband, but she was only human. Seeing a handsome man standing shirtless in her guest bedroom aroused certain thoughts. Rather than scold herself for them, or attempt chase them away, Rosemary surrendered to a moment of desire. After all, the thoughts were harmless enough, since she would never do such a thing, and Railtus would never even think about doing such a thing. Fantasies, she reasoned, were only dangerous if they tempted you toward a path you might actually take.
Julen jolted Rosemary from her reverie as he arrived with a bottle of wine, clean cloth, and Railtus’s coat of plates. Upon seeing his friend, Julen raised an eyebrow and exercised his gift for understatement. “Ouch.”
Reminded that she was supposed to be helping Railtus, not lusting after him, Rosemary gestured at the guest bed. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
Once Railtus had settled into whatever position he thought would be best, Julen uncorked his bottle of wine and poured some onto the cloth. Carefully, he washed Railtus’s wound, doing his best to balance being gentle with being effective. Then he stepped aside, and nodded to his wife. “Your turn.” The expression on his face told Rosemary that he didn’t envy her task.
Trying to keep her hand from shaking, Rosemary threaded her sharpest needle. She was not particularly squeamish by nature. Nevertheless, the idea of stitching human flesh, while the human in question was still fully conscious, made her shudder. But as she crouched down beside Railtus, she forced herself to be bold. Hesitation would only make it worse. Once she started, she needed to be swift and accurate. Keeping in mind Railtus’s instruction about piercing toward the wound, she began a neat row of stitches, working as efficiently as if she was mending one of Julen’s shirts.
Now it was Julen’s turn to blanch. “Ah...you mentioned something outside? Something I shouldn’t look at before dinner? Is it anything I should go take care of?”
After fetching her sewing supplies from the sollar, Rosemary joined Railtus in time to watch him shed his armor. As he did so, an involuntary cry of sympathy burst from her lips, despite Railtus’s attempt to prepare her for the extent of the damage done to him. Judging by the bruises that covered his torso, it must have hurt just to breathe. And yet, he’d not only sat at her table, patiently listening to her babble on about her problems -- he’d actually seemed to consider her troubles more important than his own discomfort. What sort of man had her husband brought home?
A very attractive one. Once she recovered from the shock of seeing Railtus’s injuries, Rosemary couldn’t help noticing the rather impressive physique which lay beneath them. Of course, she loved her husband, but she was only human. Seeing a handsome man standing shirtless in her guest bedroom aroused certain thoughts. Rather than scold herself for them, or attempt chase them away, Rosemary surrendered to a moment of desire. After all, the thoughts were harmless enough, since she would never do such a thing, and Railtus would never even think about doing such a thing. Fantasies, she reasoned, were only dangerous if they tempted you toward a path you might actually take.
Julen jolted Rosemary from her reverie as he arrived with a bottle of wine, clean cloth, and Railtus’s coat of plates. Upon seeing his friend, Julen raised an eyebrow and exercised his gift for understatement. “Ouch.”
Reminded that she was supposed to be helping Railtus, not lusting after him, Rosemary gestured at the guest bed. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”
Once Railtus had settled into whatever position he thought would be best, Julen uncorked his bottle of wine and poured some onto the cloth. Carefully, he washed Railtus’s wound, doing his best to balance being gentle with being effective. Then he stepped aside, and nodded to his wife. “Your turn.” The expression on his face told Rosemary that he didn’t envy her task.
Trying to keep her hand from shaking, Rosemary threaded her sharpest needle. She was not particularly squeamish by nature. Nevertheless, the idea of stitching human flesh, while the human in question was still fully conscious, made her shudder. But as she crouched down beside Railtus, she forced herself to be bold. Hesitation would only make it worse. Once she started, she needed to be swift and accurate. Keeping in mind Railtus’s instruction about piercing toward the wound, she began a neat row of stitches, working as efficiently as if she was mending one of Julen’s shirts.
Now it was Julen’s turn to blanch. “Ah...you mentioned something outside? Something I shouldn’t look at before dinner? Is it anything I should go take care of?”
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
There was a limit to how comfortable one could be after several heavy blows from an axe, nevertheless, Railtus tried as Rosemary had instructed. Looking at the room, it was actually quite nice. Would it have killed any of the mercenaries to have simply stayed in this room?
Well, their other choice had killed them.
Witnessing Rosemary's reaction, Railtus chose silence regarding his suspiscions of cracked bones. Railtus was a highly trained man in armour, Julen would be far more vulnerable on the field. It would not do well to worry her just yet.
Several times, Railtus grunted and grimaced with pain, holding still and gripping the nearby wood hard to steel himself. His breaths grew sharp and short, with long and deep breaths during the pauses. Be the pain from the stitching or the existing injuries was unknown.
Bizarrely, the air tasted sweeter, as it would just after a thunderstorm.
Upon hearing Julen's question, Railtus tried to hold down a laugh, his failure on that cut short by wracking agony shooting through his sundered flesh. "And not immediately after dinner either. In the deepest shadow at the side of the building are two who fared worse than I. Give time until this is finished, and I will plan how to divide the task."
Waiting for Rosemary to complete her work, Railtus kept his eyes away from the work itself. Not that the sight of wounds particularly bothered him, but it was easier to ignore the pain of the process if he did not see it coming. In essence, he focused on anything else at hand for a distraction.
Now with his wound sewn up, Railtus at once acknowledged the favour while attempting to reassure Rosemary of what other fears may be lurking in her mind. "Thank you. The worst of that should be gone within a few hours." A small hint towards his healing ability, which would work better with the split flesh already held close together.
Once more Railtus was speaking to Julen, the switch unannounced as usual. "I will need you to do most of the physical work tonight. We are best taking care of it together. For now, the horse is tethered outside, lead him directly back into the stables for me. That should give me a few minutes rest." At that, he spread out his arms slightly to highlight his damaged form, careful not to stress the stitchings. In fact, a few minutes of rest now that his wounds had been tended to wound be welcome.
Of course, not that he wished to be idle.
Well, their other choice had killed them.
Witnessing Rosemary's reaction, Railtus chose silence regarding his suspiscions of cracked bones. Railtus was a highly trained man in armour, Julen would be far more vulnerable on the field. It would not do well to worry her just yet.
Several times, Railtus grunted and grimaced with pain, holding still and gripping the nearby wood hard to steel himself. His breaths grew sharp and short, with long and deep breaths during the pauses. Be the pain from the stitching or the existing injuries was unknown.
Bizarrely, the air tasted sweeter, as it would just after a thunderstorm.
Upon hearing Julen's question, Railtus tried to hold down a laugh, his failure on that cut short by wracking agony shooting through his sundered flesh. "And not immediately after dinner either. In the deepest shadow at the side of the building are two who fared worse than I. Give time until this is finished, and I will plan how to divide the task."
Waiting for Rosemary to complete her work, Railtus kept his eyes away from the work itself. Not that the sight of wounds particularly bothered him, but it was easier to ignore the pain of the process if he did not see it coming. In essence, he focused on anything else at hand for a distraction.
Now with his wound sewn up, Railtus at once acknowledged the favour while attempting to reassure Rosemary of what other fears may be lurking in her mind. "Thank you. The worst of that should be gone within a few hours." A small hint towards his healing ability, which would work better with the split flesh already held close together.
Once more Railtus was speaking to Julen, the switch unannounced as usual. "I will need you to do most of the physical work tonight. We are best taking care of it together. For now, the horse is tethered outside, lead him directly back into the stables for me. That should give me a few minutes rest." At that, he spread out his arms slightly to highlight his damaged form, careful not to stress the stitchings. In fact, a few minutes of rest now that his wounds had been tended to wound be welcome.
Of course, not that he wished to be idle.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Julen bit his lip as he watched Railtus get stitched up. He could almost feel another layer of naiveté crumbling away. Just this afternoon, he’d thought that the heat caused by wearing armor was the biggest discomfort omitted from his mother’s tales. Now he knew that much worse awaited. Sooner or later, luck or skill would fail him, and he’d get hurt. Badly. As much as Julen wanted to imagine that he’d bear his injury with a bravery that matched Railtus, honesty forced him to admit that he’d probably scream and swear like an enraged goblin. The best he could hope for was that there wouldn’t be an audience.
Railtus’s suggestion that he go stable the horse gave Julen a much needed errand to focus his mind on. After giving his friend a nod of acknowledgement, Julen practically dashed out of the room.
Once outside, however, Julen paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath of the cool night air. Involuntarily, his eyes darted to the shadow Railtus had mentioned. He didn’t want to look. But something made him walk over and stare down at the mangled bodies of the dead mercenaries. The sight nearly made him gag. Even though he hadn’t actually killed them, Julen knew that he would have if he’d been present, just like he’d helped kill the first mercenary. Three men. Three men in a single day, all of them brought to violent ends. Doubtlessly, these two deserved it as much as the first one had, but for someone unused to killing, the death toll seemed disturbingly high.
Exhaling, Julen slumped back against the farmhouse wall. Just when he felt like he’d finally come to terms with his new life, the world threw some new revelation at him. Not that he’d ever thought it was going to be easy -- when he made his vow to serve Railtus, he knew he was embarking on a long, hard journey. It was just that “hard” had turned out to so much more complicated, and so much more real, than he’d ever imagined it could be.
Will I ever be strong enough? Will I ever be brave enough? Tilting his head, Julen gazed up at the night sky. Since nobody could give him answers, it made as much sense to ask the stars as to ask anyone or anything else. Will I ever be as sure as Railtus is? Will I ever stop feeling like I’m just bluffing my way through this?
A soft whiny from the nearby darkness reminded Julen of the horse, which still needed to be stabled. One chore at a time. One step at a time, and let the path take care of itself.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Julen promised. First, however, he went to the stable and took advantage of the horse’s absence in order do some cleaning. After all, Railtus would surely benefit from any extra amount of time he was allowed to rest. So Julen swept out the old straw, and laid down fresh straw in its place, before going to fetch the horse.
“Alright. Let’s get you settled in for the night.” Julen had considered getting another apple, but ultimately decided against it. Animals needed to learn to cooperate without bribes. Speaking in a calm monotone, Julen guided the horse toward the stable, although he took care not to force it -- hesitations and nervous fidgets were patiently waited out. The beast still seemed wary of him, shaking its head and snorting in response to his gentle words. Fortunately, it also seemed eager to return to the soft straw and plentiful water that it remembered being in the stable. Finally, with the horse once more in its temporary home, Julen removed its saddle. “Sleep well, friend. Tomorrow you’re going to see the big city.”
As he returned to the guest bedroom, Julen felt better. He was glad that his moment of weakness had passed in privacy. Now he could be strong while he and Railtus dealt with whatever needed to be done next. “Okay. I’m guessing that I need to dig up the compost pile again?”
Railtus’s suggestion that he go stable the horse gave Julen a much needed errand to focus his mind on. After giving his friend a nod of acknowledgement, Julen practically dashed out of the room.
Once outside, however, Julen paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath of the cool night air. Involuntarily, his eyes darted to the shadow Railtus had mentioned. He didn’t want to look. But something made him walk over and stare down at the mangled bodies of the dead mercenaries. The sight nearly made him gag. Even though he hadn’t actually killed them, Julen knew that he would have if he’d been present, just like he’d helped kill the first mercenary. Three men. Three men in a single day, all of them brought to violent ends. Doubtlessly, these two deserved it as much as the first one had, but for someone unused to killing, the death toll seemed disturbingly high.
Exhaling, Julen slumped back against the farmhouse wall. Just when he felt like he’d finally come to terms with his new life, the world threw some new revelation at him. Not that he’d ever thought it was going to be easy -- when he made his vow to serve Railtus, he knew he was embarking on a long, hard journey. It was just that “hard” had turned out to so much more complicated, and so much more real, than he’d ever imagined it could be.
Will I ever be strong enough? Will I ever be brave enough? Tilting his head, Julen gazed up at the night sky. Since nobody could give him answers, it made as much sense to ask the stars as to ask anyone or anything else. Will I ever be as sure as Railtus is? Will I ever stop feeling like I’m just bluffing my way through this?
A soft whiny from the nearby darkness reminded Julen of the horse, which still needed to be stabled. One chore at a time. One step at a time, and let the path take care of itself.
“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” Julen promised. First, however, he went to the stable and took advantage of the horse’s absence in order do some cleaning. After all, Railtus would surely benefit from any extra amount of time he was allowed to rest. So Julen swept out the old straw, and laid down fresh straw in its place, before going to fetch the horse.
“Alright. Let’s get you settled in for the night.” Julen had considered getting another apple, but ultimately decided against it. Animals needed to learn to cooperate without bribes. Speaking in a calm monotone, Julen guided the horse toward the stable, although he took care not to force it -- hesitations and nervous fidgets were patiently waited out. The beast still seemed wary of him, shaking its head and snorting in response to his gentle words. Fortunately, it also seemed eager to return to the soft straw and plentiful water that it remembered being in the stable. Finally, with the horse once more in its temporary home, Julen removed its saddle. “Sleep well, friend. Tomorrow you’re going to see the big city.”
As he returned to the guest bedroom, Julen felt better. He was glad that his moment of weakness had passed in privacy. Now he could be strong while he and Railtus dealt with whatever needed to be done next. “Okay. I’m guessing that I need to dig up the compost pile again?”
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Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Minutes ticked by in tranquil rest, with occasional shifts of his aching muscles demanded by the bruises. Prompted by his injuries, he stretched out his arms and felt his muscles pull taut, uncramping to become merely tender spots on him.
When Julen was back, it had almost seemed too soon, although the extra minutes gone by were becoming suggestions to go out looking to ensure he was safe. Holding still, Railtus trusted that Julen would at least cry out if there was trouble.
"Please." answered Railtus, swinging his feet back down to the floor. Rising to his feet was a careful process, wary of disrupting the stitches. Very slowly, he donned his tunic, now spoiled by bloodstains, and thrust his left arm and head through his gambeson. With the garment most of the way on, he then pushed his right arm into the sleeve, trying not to raise the limb overmuch.
Crossing his arms over himself, Railtus closed his eyes and directed a faint golden fog down the lines of his arms. That fog then seeped into his body, thickest over the injuries, although with injuries over most of his body that division was less obvious.
Making no mention of that eldritch display, Railtus strapped on his sword-belt and began his way outside to deal with his own task, a task chosen out of sensitivity. On an educated guess, Julen would not welcome the business of searching the dead for goods and valuables, so Railtus deemed it best for him to be the one handling the corpses.
Outside, Railtus let Julen start the digging while he began looting his fallen foes. An observant man would have realised that there was more gear than would match the two bodies. There was the arming sword, and a gladius, and a long-handled axe with the edge encrusted with blood. Three daggers, all broad. A bow, smaller than the deadly warbows but built with a recurve and certainly viable for both hunting and war. Arrows and a quiver. These were all brought inside.
Next were the shields. Two main shields. One was a great rectangular shield that stood up to shoulder-height, with a rounded boss on the center of the shield. The second was smaller, but still large, and perfectly round, again bearing a metal boss in the center. Again brought inside, but piled seperately from the weapons.
Armour was again in isolated pieces. Most notably were a set of steel vambraces, which Railtus donned, favouring them over his iron bracers. Second was a helm. Open faced and open eared, it allowed for good vision and hearing while providing better overall protection. Steel flaps covered the cheeks, and a sloped neckguard covered the back of the head. There was a crest, but left empty. Already Railtus was having ideas regarding that. Finally there were some stout leather garments worn by one, and a quilted jerkin made from layered cloth on the other.
While Railtus had given the money pouch of one to the blacksmith, he had yet to search for baubles. The one whose purse was handed to Orin was wearing a gold ring, as Railtus noted. Another ring was made out of ivory, interestingly enough. Third was a silver ring. Further trophy rings added up to five between them. There was also a necklace with a pale red stone on it.
With the bodies thoroughly ransacked, Railtus dragged each over by the ankle, unwilling to use both arms and strain his stitches, ready to dump them into the open grave as soon as Julen was finished digging.
"We have a choice of equipment inside. Take a look and decide what you like best. My advice is to take the helm, and whichever sword and shield you prefer the handling of. We can test them out."
When Julen was back, it had almost seemed too soon, although the extra minutes gone by were becoming suggestions to go out looking to ensure he was safe. Holding still, Railtus trusted that Julen would at least cry out if there was trouble.
"Please." answered Railtus, swinging his feet back down to the floor. Rising to his feet was a careful process, wary of disrupting the stitches. Very slowly, he donned his tunic, now spoiled by bloodstains, and thrust his left arm and head through his gambeson. With the garment most of the way on, he then pushed his right arm into the sleeve, trying not to raise the limb overmuch.
Crossing his arms over himself, Railtus closed his eyes and directed a faint golden fog down the lines of his arms. That fog then seeped into his body, thickest over the injuries, although with injuries over most of his body that division was less obvious.
Making no mention of that eldritch display, Railtus strapped on his sword-belt and began his way outside to deal with his own task, a task chosen out of sensitivity. On an educated guess, Julen would not welcome the business of searching the dead for goods and valuables, so Railtus deemed it best for him to be the one handling the corpses.
Outside, Railtus let Julen start the digging while he began looting his fallen foes. An observant man would have realised that there was more gear than would match the two bodies. There was the arming sword, and a gladius, and a long-handled axe with the edge encrusted with blood. Three daggers, all broad. A bow, smaller than the deadly warbows but built with a recurve and certainly viable for both hunting and war. Arrows and a quiver. These were all brought inside.
Next were the shields. Two main shields. One was a great rectangular shield that stood up to shoulder-height, with a rounded boss on the center of the shield. The second was smaller, but still large, and perfectly round, again bearing a metal boss in the center. Again brought inside, but piled seperately from the weapons.
Armour was again in isolated pieces. Most notably were a set of steel vambraces, which Railtus donned, favouring them over his iron bracers. Second was a helm. Open faced and open eared, it allowed for good vision and hearing while providing better overall protection. Steel flaps covered the cheeks, and a sloped neckguard covered the back of the head. There was a crest, but left empty. Already Railtus was having ideas regarding that. Finally there were some stout leather garments worn by one, and a quilted jerkin made from layered cloth on the other.
While Railtus had given the money pouch of one to the blacksmith, he had yet to search for baubles. The one whose purse was handed to Orin was wearing a gold ring, as Railtus noted. Another ring was made out of ivory, interestingly enough. Third was a silver ring. Further trophy rings added up to five between them. There was also a necklace with a pale red stone on it.
With the bodies thoroughly ransacked, Railtus dragged each over by the ankle, unwilling to use both arms and strain his stitches, ready to dump them into the open grave as soon as Julen was finished digging.
"We have a choice of equipment inside. Take a look and decide what you like best. My advice is to take the helm, and whichever sword and shield you prefer the handling of. We can test them out."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
While it was not yet true that nothing about Railtus could surprise Julen, the faint golden fog which momentarily enveloped the warrior’s body only made Julen blink a few times, to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks. Then he shrugged to himself, deciding that it must be some form of healing magic. Rosemary, however, responded more strongly. Her mouth dropped open, while expressions of fear and awe chased each other across her face. The fear didn’t do much to raise Julen’s hopes about what would happen when he eventually revealed his own magical abilities to her. But at least she didn’t run out of the house screaming. Instead, perhaps taking her cue from her husband, she did her best to remain calm, and allowed Railtus to depart without comment.
Once outside, Julen grabbed a shovel and began digging. He felt glad of the labor -- both to take his mind off Rosemary’s reaction when she saw Railtus use magic, and to avoid thinking about what Railtus was undoubtedly doing with the bodies of the two fallen mercenaries. Now, the dirt gave way easily beneath his spade, since the ground had been loosened by their earlier efforts. By the time Railtus dragged the first body over, Julen had already hollowed out a grave big enough for two new occupants.
“It’s going to be a good year for compost,” Julen observed dryly, as he helped Railtus deposit the mercenaries in their final resting place. Then he began to toss the dirt back in over them.
When that task was finished, Julen accompanied Railtus back inside, and examined the new equipment. The helm Railtus had recommended looked quite nice, although Julen couldn’t help but remember the time and labor spent attaching maille patches to his old helmet -- which he’d never actually worn in combat. Oh well. Perhaps it would serve to protect someone else. After setting his new helm aside, Julen experimented with the two shields. While he appreciated the vast wall of protection offered by the larger, rectangular one, he ultimately found it too bulky and awkward to handle. Instead, he preferred the mobility of the smaller, circular version. He’d just begun to evaluate which sword would be best to pair with it, when Rosemary returned from cleaning the kitchen.
Keeping well clear of his tentative swings, Rosemary crossed the room, and knelt beside the remaining plunder. Caught up in his own assessment, Julen didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing. Until she picked up one of the daggers. “I should take this,” she announced. “Just in case.”
“What? No!” The sword nearly dropped from Julen’s fingers. “Put that back. You didn’t need a weapon yesterday, and you don’t need one today.”
“Yesterday,” Rosemary countered, “I was the wife of a farmer. Today I’m the wife of someone who’s already helped take down one armed man. Someone who plans to return and challenge the rest.” Her tone softened as she rose to her feet, still clutching the dagger. “I know it’s scary. But we can’t pretend nothing has changed. I want to have this. To defend you. To defend myself, it all else fails.”
Julen hated to think about that. But if it did come to such a moment -- he prayed to the gods that it never would, but if it did -- he wanted Rosemary to have every chance. “Alright,” he conceded. “To protect yourself. But never to aid Railtus or me, no matter what happens while we’re fighting. Understand? If the tide turns against us, you have to run. Promise me that you’ll run.”
But Rosemary’s eyes flashed with stubborn defiance. “I won’t.”
Imploringly, Julen turned his gaze to Railtus. “Railtus? Tell her she has to run.”
Once outside, Julen grabbed a shovel and began digging. He felt glad of the labor -- both to take his mind off Rosemary’s reaction when she saw Railtus use magic, and to avoid thinking about what Railtus was undoubtedly doing with the bodies of the two fallen mercenaries. Now, the dirt gave way easily beneath his spade, since the ground had been loosened by their earlier efforts. By the time Railtus dragged the first body over, Julen had already hollowed out a grave big enough for two new occupants.
“It’s going to be a good year for compost,” Julen observed dryly, as he helped Railtus deposit the mercenaries in their final resting place. Then he began to toss the dirt back in over them.
When that task was finished, Julen accompanied Railtus back inside, and examined the new equipment. The helm Railtus had recommended looked quite nice, although Julen couldn’t help but remember the time and labor spent attaching maille patches to his old helmet -- which he’d never actually worn in combat. Oh well. Perhaps it would serve to protect someone else. After setting his new helm aside, Julen experimented with the two shields. While he appreciated the vast wall of protection offered by the larger, rectangular one, he ultimately found it too bulky and awkward to handle. Instead, he preferred the mobility of the smaller, circular version. He’d just begun to evaluate which sword would be best to pair with it, when Rosemary returned from cleaning the kitchen.
Keeping well clear of his tentative swings, Rosemary crossed the room, and knelt beside the remaining plunder. Caught up in his own assessment, Julen didn’t pay much attention to what she was doing. Until she picked up one of the daggers. “I should take this,” she announced. “Just in case.”
“What? No!” The sword nearly dropped from Julen’s fingers. “Put that back. You didn’t need a weapon yesterday, and you don’t need one today.”
“Yesterday,” Rosemary countered, “I was the wife of a farmer. Today I’m the wife of someone who’s already helped take down one armed man. Someone who plans to return and challenge the rest.” Her tone softened as she rose to her feet, still clutching the dagger. “I know it’s scary. But we can’t pretend nothing has changed. I want to have this. To defend you. To defend myself, it all else fails.”
Julen hated to think about that. But if it did come to such a moment -- he prayed to the gods that it never would, but if it did -- he wanted Rosemary to have every chance. “Alright,” he conceded. “To protect yourself. But never to aid Railtus or me, no matter what happens while we’re fighting. Understand? If the tide turns against us, you have to run. Promise me that you’ll run.”
But Rosemary’s eyes flashed with stubborn defiance. “I won’t.”
Imploringly, Julen turned his gaze to Railtus. “Railtus? Tell her she has to run.”
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Without even a moment of hesitation, Railtus knew how to answer. "With respect, lady, you are no warrior, and a dagger is but a lesser weapon. In combat, you would be a liability." Perhaps that was a harsh truth, but battle itself was one harsh truth given an image of glory and splendour that was woefully inaccurate.
"In battle, your task is to stay safe so that Julen and I can fight freely. No, I am not trying to be fair. People get careless and comrades die. Trust my judgement as a warrior in this." In truth, Railtus had doubts that Rosemary would listen, and would expect something impulsive when the time did come.
"As for how to use that dagger, wear a shawl to cover it. Make efforts to appear unarmed. Your only advantage at present is surprise. Draw the dagger and strike before your foe discovers that you are armed. Delay drawing until your target is commited. If they think you unarmed, they may leave themselves vulnerable, take advantage of that." That was where the lesson ended, one concern bothering Railtus was that carrying a weapon might goad Rosemary into doing something rash. At least she had acknowledged that this was scary, that was one thing she had done right.
The thought that he did not give voice to was the concept of Rosemary as a shield-maiden. Ever since the matter of his future estate was raised Railtus had been thinking of ways to integrate Rosemary. After all, were Julen to hold a position of responsibility, it would not be fair to keep him away from his wife. The simplest solution would be to bring her to the estate and to find a use for her.
"And I believe I owe you a short explanation concerning before," Railtus commented, remembering the look of shock on Rosemary's face from before. "I am part angel, and my power of healing has been authorised by the Judges. For sake of your peace of mind. Before you ask, your work on my wounds before was important."
Moving over to the stack of gear, Railtus began gathering the trophy rings and collecting them on a leather cord which had once bore an amulet from one of the raiders. Now five were worn around his neck. That should be enough for him to return to House Anstrun without facing accusations of cowardice. Or not credible ones at least. The cervellaire helm was taken as well, since Railtus could do with some head protection. Finally, was the long-handled axe, which he cleaned away the blood, his blood, from. That axe would be suitable for cavalry use. Of course, so would his sword, but Railtus deemed it best to keep the potentially specialised weapon until something more suitable fitted the task in hand.
"Everything obselete may as well be taken to Orin in the morning. We can trade them for some new armour he was forced to make." With a plan of action in mind, he was already eager for the next day to begin, and his main interest in sleeping would be to bring that day forth faster.
"In battle, your task is to stay safe so that Julen and I can fight freely. No, I am not trying to be fair. People get careless and comrades die. Trust my judgement as a warrior in this." In truth, Railtus had doubts that Rosemary would listen, and would expect something impulsive when the time did come.
"As for how to use that dagger, wear a shawl to cover it. Make efforts to appear unarmed. Your only advantage at present is surprise. Draw the dagger and strike before your foe discovers that you are armed. Delay drawing until your target is commited. If they think you unarmed, they may leave themselves vulnerable, take advantage of that." That was where the lesson ended, one concern bothering Railtus was that carrying a weapon might goad Rosemary into doing something rash. At least she had acknowledged that this was scary, that was one thing she had done right.
The thought that he did not give voice to was the concept of Rosemary as a shield-maiden. Ever since the matter of his future estate was raised Railtus had been thinking of ways to integrate Rosemary. After all, were Julen to hold a position of responsibility, it would not be fair to keep him away from his wife. The simplest solution would be to bring her to the estate and to find a use for her.
"And I believe I owe you a short explanation concerning before," Railtus commented, remembering the look of shock on Rosemary's face from before. "I am part angel, and my power of healing has been authorised by the Judges. For sake of your peace of mind. Before you ask, your work on my wounds before was important."
Moving over to the stack of gear, Railtus began gathering the trophy rings and collecting them on a leather cord which had once bore an amulet from one of the raiders. Now five were worn around his neck. That should be enough for him to return to House Anstrun without facing accusations of cowardice. Or not credible ones at least. The cervellaire helm was taken as well, since Railtus could do with some head protection. Finally, was the long-handled axe, which he cleaned away the blood, his blood, from. That axe would be suitable for cavalry use. Of course, so would his sword, but Railtus deemed it best to keep the potentially specialised weapon until something more suitable fitted the task in hand.
"Everything obselete may as well be taken to Orin in the morning. We can trade them for some new armour he was forced to make." With a plan of action in mind, he was already eager for the next day to begin, and his main interest in sleeping would be to bring that day forth faster.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Rosemary listened to Railtus’s verdict with a strangely blank expression. Even his admission about being part angel elicited very little emotion. Finally, when he’d finished speaking, she answered him with a solemn nod. “You’ve shown great wisdom in other matters. I’ll trust your good judgment regarding this one.” But still, she made no promise to run away. Instead, Rosemary bid Railtus a polite goodnight, and then left the room, carrying the dagger clasped tightly in her right hand.
Watching Rosemary go, Julen felt his heart pulled after her, like a dog straining to follow its mistress. Even while he spoke to Railtus, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the emptiness she’d left behind. “Remember what you told me about healing Ramas? You said it was the first time you’d ever felt yourself cut off from Heaven. If anything ever happened to her...that’s how it would be for me. Cut off from Heaven. I’m not sure I could go on.” The words were spoken with a peculiar detachment, despite the strong emotion they implied, as if Julen was simply informing Railtus about some possible future pitfall in their working relation. Then Julen shook his head. “I’m glad we’re leaving tomorrow. I’ll feel better once she’s away from all this.”
“We should both get some sleep. You know where the guest bedroom is. If you get up before us tomorrow, please feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” With that, Julen gave Railtus a friendly pat on the arm, and retired to his room.
By the time he arrived, Rosemary had already undressed and crawled into bed. Shedding his clothes for the second time that day, Julen lay down beside her, draping his arm over the gentle curve of her waist. “Rosemary?” he whispered. His wife didn’t answer. But after a moment, she stirred, twining her fingers around his.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” Julen pleaded, with an urgency he couldn’t quite explain.
“I won’t.” Softly, her lips brushed against the back of his wrist. “I promise I won’t.” And she didn’t, even as they both drifted off to sleep.
In his dream, Julen stood on a road that was about to fork off in three different directions. Down the first path, he saw a figure wearing gleaming plate armor, mounted on a white charger, leading a troop of brave men, their colorful banners flapping and snapping in the wind. Down the second path he saw the same figure standing in a great hall, performing for kings and queens, their voice boldly soaring as elaborate illusions danced in the air. Down the third path, he again saw the same figure, only this time they were consulting with clerks, heralds, cooks and gamekeepers, apparently involved with the running of some prosperous estate. Three separate destinations. All he needed to do was pick one and start walking.
Abruptly, the world went black, as someone behind Julen placed their hands over his eyes. And then there’s me, a suspiciously familiar voice murmured in his ear.
You? Julen demanded. Who are you?
You know who I am. I’m the fourth path. I’m the shadow that defines the light. I’m the fear that gives birth to lies, the lust that covers a stranger’s face with such a pretty mask, the hatred that justifies itself as righteousness. I’m the kind word left unspoken, the good deed left undone. I’m the pain that never sleeps.
You’re what I might become?
Laughter, discordant and ugly, like the ringing of misshapen bells. What you might become? I’m afraid not. I’m what you already are.
As quickly as they’d been placed there, the hands withdrew from Julen’s eyes. Now, blocking each path, Julen saw a mirror image of himself, identical in every detail...except for the sneer. Julen hoped he never had a sneer like that, so bitter and cruel it actually seemed to drip poison.
I’m your precious, precious humanity. I’m everything you refused to leave behind. So the next time we meet, remember this -- you chose me.
No!
“No!” The word echoed around the bedroom as Julen’s eyes snapped open. Fortunately, Rosemary was already up, and had been gone for so long that her side of the mattress no longer retained the slightest trace of warmth from her body. Mildly embarrassed by having slept so late, Julen hurried into his clothes. As he ventured beyond the bedroom, he soon encountered Railtus, who was busy packing the excess weapons and armor into saddlebags for transportation to Orin. Similarly, Rosemary had already bundled up the cloth and straw she’d need for constructing Julen’s gambeson, as well as a few personal necessities. Julen greeted them both before going into the kitchen. A bowl of lukewarm porridge waited for him on the table, and Julen wolfed it down, not wanting to be the one delaying their departure.
Since he’d never unpacked yesterday, packing turned out to be fairly easy. All he needed to do was find space for the jar with Andreya’s frog. When that had been accomplished, Julen put on his new armor -- the arming coat, then the hardened leather breastplate, then the iron bracers, and finally the helm.
After that, only one task remained. Julen went out and scooped up a fresh handful of soil, carefully pouring it into the pouch that he wore at his side. So that no matter where I travel, and no matter what I become, I always remember that this is where I started. This is the first land I ever loved.
“Alright,” he announced, “I’m ready to go.”
Watching Rosemary go, Julen felt his heart pulled after her, like a dog straining to follow its mistress. Even while he spoke to Railtus, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the emptiness she’d left behind. “Remember what you told me about healing Ramas? You said it was the first time you’d ever felt yourself cut off from Heaven. If anything ever happened to her...that’s how it would be for me. Cut off from Heaven. I’m not sure I could go on.” The words were spoken with a peculiar detachment, despite the strong emotion they implied, as if Julen was simply informing Railtus about some possible future pitfall in their working relation. Then Julen shook his head. “I’m glad we’re leaving tomorrow. I’ll feel better once she’s away from all this.”
“We should both get some sleep. You know where the guest bedroom is. If you get up before us tomorrow, please feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” With that, Julen gave Railtus a friendly pat on the arm, and retired to his room.
By the time he arrived, Rosemary had already undressed and crawled into bed. Shedding his clothes for the second time that day, Julen lay down beside her, draping his arm over the gentle curve of her waist. “Rosemary?” he whispered. His wife didn’t answer. But after a moment, she stirred, twining her fingers around his.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” Julen pleaded, with an urgency he couldn’t quite explain.
“I won’t.” Softly, her lips brushed against the back of his wrist. “I promise I won’t.” And she didn’t, even as they both drifted off to sleep.
In his dream, Julen stood on a road that was about to fork off in three different directions. Down the first path, he saw a figure wearing gleaming plate armor, mounted on a white charger, leading a troop of brave men, their colorful banners flapping and snapping in the wind. Down the second path he saw the same figure standing in a great hall, performing for kings and queens, their voice boldly soaring as elaborate illusions danced in the air. Down the third path, he again saw the same figure, only this time they were consulting with clerks, heralds, cooks and gamekeepers, apparently involved with the running of some prosperous estate. Three separate destinations. All he needed to do was pick one and start walking.
Abruptly, the world went black, as someone behind Julen placed their hands over his eyes. And then there’s me, a suspiciously familiar voice murmured in his ear.
You? Julen demanded. Who are you?
You know who I am. I’m the fourth path. I’m the shadow that defines the light. I’m the fear that gives birth to lies, the lust that covers a stranger’s face with such a pretty mask, the hatred that justifies itself as righteousness. I’m the kind word left unspoken, the good deed left undone. I’m the pain that never sleeps.
You’re what I might become?
Laughter, discordant and ugly, like the ringing of misshapen bells. What you might become? I’m afraid not. I’m what you already are.
As quickly as they’d been placed there, the hands withdrew from Julen’s eyes. Now, blocking each path, Julen saw a mirror image of himself, identical in every detail...except for the sneer. Julen hoped he never had a sneer like that, so bitter and cruel it actually seemed to drip poison.
I’m your precious, precious humanity. I’m everything you refused to leave behind. So the next time we meet, remember this -- you chose me.
No!
“No!” The word echoed around the bedroom as Julen’s eyes snapped open. Fortunately, Rosemary was already up, and had been gone for so long that her side of the mattress no longer retained the slightest trace of warmth from her body. Mildly embarrassed by having slept so late, Julen hurried into his clothes. As he ventured beyond the bedroom, he soon encountered Railtus, who was busy packing the excess weapons and armor into saddlebags for transportation to Orin. Similarly, Rosemary had already bundled up the cloth and straw she’d need for constructing Julen’s gambeson, as well as a few personal necessities. Julen greeted them both before going into the kitchen. A bowl of lukewarm porridge waited for him on the table, and Julen wolfed it down, not wanting to be the one delaying their departure.
Since he’d never unpacked yesterday, packing turned out to be fairly easy. All he needed to do was find space for the jar with Andreya’s frog. When that had been accomplished, Julen put on his new armor -- the arming coat, then the hardened leather breastplate, then the iron bracers, and finally the helm.
After that, only one task remained. Julen went out and scooped up a fresh handful of soil, carefully pouring it into the pouch that he wore at his side. So that no matter where I travel, and no matter what I become, I always remember that this is where I started. This is the first land I ever loved.
“Alright,” he announced, “I’m ready to go.”
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Today, Railtus had awoken fairly late. After all, he was tired. Being chopped into with a combat axe was very hard work. Even with his gift of healing, the blessings of mercy, he was still drained for that night by his wounds. Unfortunate really, since most of the free blades would be awake as well by the time he was ready to set out.
One slightly inventive trick had been prepared by Railtus. This one was to fill his bedroll with straw, expecting to need just that much to properly make Julen's gambeson. If that gambeson was to be effective, the linen tubes would have to be filled to the point of a rigid wall worn against the body.
Breakfast was always welcome, but served less as a meal than a reminder. There was a horse to feed. Horses were very partial to being fed. Before his own meal, Railtus attended to the giant creature. Oats, apples, and carrots. Even a few turnips had been scavenged from the farm. Technically, Railtus had not asked, but since he was funding the entire farm he felt that he had some right to take such liberties as using the farm to help feed his horse.
On a mental note, Railtus promised himself to start gathering molichaff. There was barley at hand, but Railtus did not have time to prepare that for safe consumption. Two hours of soaking or boiling were required for barley to feed a horse with, since it swelled when wet. Simple safety dictated that the barley should be swelled before it enters the horse's stomach.
Actually, Railtus had begun to feel guilty about keeping the horse penned up in the stables for so long. In his mind he knew that there was hay present, but his feelings still told him that a horse should be out to forage.
"How are you brave one? Ready for a new day?"
The horse ignored him, far more interested in the food.
So Railtus waited for the shire steed to finish before trying to begin a serious conversation with a horse. Eventually it was willing to listen.
"I have a task for you. Hear me out. Remember the lady who runs this farm? Yes, her. Well, I think she is likely to do something rash. If something goes wrong, I want you to make sure she is safe. Follow the road ahead of us, will be that way." Railtus stopped to point. "That should take her out of danger at least."
At the request the horse tensed.
"Yes. I know she should have done more to protect you from Guntar. Are you sure that she could?" An inquiring look followed that question, as if expecting the horse to answer. "Just, do it for me. Please."
Fixed with the stare of the horse, Railtus had some explaining to do.
"I do not know what then!" he protested. "If the situation comes to that, then I will probably be dead. The Knightly Order I live for is nowhere near, and this is a dangerous land for a lone horse. I am so sorry that you were brought here." Eventually the horse seemed to ease, as if accepting the concepts put before it. "Thank you." Railtus answered. "Ready?"
Apparantly so, since the horse held no objection to leaving the stable.
Finally, Railtus delved into his pack and began munching on solid food. Bread mainly. Nothing interesting or spectacular, but it was filling, which was the main thing.
On the way to the smithy were a few strange looks, as if expecting to see something in particular. Many of those looks were directed at Rosemary, taking the interest in her activities that males would do. Perhaps a few considered the horse a familiar sight, with some resemblance to the wretched animal dragged around by the previous owner. Smarter ones would see the connection between Rosemary's presence and a horse akin to Guntar's own, but most saw the better tended creature and perceived a different animal.
Near the edge of town was the smithy, so to stop by to drop off the two surplus swords and daggers would be no inconvenience.
At least not by location.
Of course, seeing Rosemary with a pack heading towards the edge of the village settled the minds of mercenaries. A group of rough, unshaven fellows came over, motivated by one leader. A large group, over a dozen followed the dark clad one. The glint of steel was showed on several, with a few in maille shirts, but most merely in wool-packed cloth with maille drapings on their shoulders. One, in particular, wore a long coat of metal vaguely resembling the scales of a fish, except that the scales were pointed. Few helmets were worn, or shields carried, about two of each among the entire group of them. Only two spears as well. Clearly these brutes had made no plans for meaningful resistance.
The one in the scale coat approached, ignoring the two armed men to address Rosemary. "Wench. No one said you could leave."
One slightly inventive trick had been prepared by Railtus. This one was to fill his bedroll with straw, expecting to need just that much to properly make Julen's gambeson. If that gambeson was to be effective, the linen tubes would have to be filled to the point of a rigid wall worn against the body.
Breakfast was always welcome, but served less as a meal than a reminder. There was a horse to feed. Horses were very partial to being fed. Before his own meal, Railtus attended to the giant creature. Oats, apples, and carrots. Even a few turnips had been scavenged from the farm. Technically, Railtus had not asked, but since he was funding the entire farm he felt that he had some right to take such liberties as using the farm to help feed his horse.
On a mental note, Railtus promised himself to start gathering molichaff. There was barley at hand, but Railtus did not have time to prepare that for safe consumption. Two hours of soaking or boiling were required for barley to feed a horse with, since it swelled when wet. Simple safety dictated that the barley should be swelled before it enters the horse's stomach.
Actually, Railtus had begun to feel guilty about keeping the horse penned up in the stables for so long. In his mind he knew that there was hay present, but his feelings still told him that a horse should be out to forage.
"How are you brave one? Ready for a new day?"
The horse ignored him, far more interested in the food.
So Railtus waited for the shire steed to finish before trying to begin a serious conversation with a horse. Eventually it was willing to listen.
"I have a task for you. Hear me out. Remember the lady who runs this farm? Yes, her. Well, I think she is likely to do something rash. If something goes wrong, I want you to make sure she is safe. Follow the road ahead of us, will be that way." Railtus stopped to point. "That should take her out of danger at least."
At the request the horse tensed.
"Yes. I know she should have done more to protect you from Guntar. Are you sure that she could?" An inquiring look followed that question, as if expecting the horse to answer. "Just, do it for me. Please."
Fixed with the stare of the horse, Railtus had some explaining to do.
"I do not know what then!" he protested. "If the situation comes to that, then I will probably be dead. The Knightly Order I live for is nowhere near, and this is a dangerous land for a lone horse. I am so sorry that you were brought here." Eventually the horse seemed to ease, as if accepting the concepts put before it. "Thank you." Railtus answered. "Ready?"
Apparantly so, since the horse held no objection to leaving the stable.
Finally, Railtus delved into his pack and began munching on solid food. Bread mainly. Nothing interesting or spectacular, but it was filling, which was the main thing.
On the way to the smithy were a few strange looks, as if expecting to see something in particular. Many of those looks were directed at Rosemary, taking the interest in her activities that males would do. Perhaps a few considered the horse a familiar sight, with some resemblance to the wretched animal dragged around by the previous owner. Smarter ones would see the connection between Rosemary's presence and a horse akin to Guntar's own, but most saw the better tended creature and perceived a different animal.
Near the edge of town was the smithy, so to stop by to drop off the two surplus swords and daggers would be no inconvenience.
At least not by location.
Of course, seeing Rosemary with a pack heading towards the edge of the village settled the minds of mercenaries. A group of rough, unshaven fellows came over, motivated by one leader. A large group, over a dozen followed the dark clad one. The glint of steel was showed on several, with a few in maille shirts, but most merely in wool-packed cloth with maille drapings on their shoulders. One, in particular, wore a long coat of metal vaguely resembling the scales of a fish, except that the scales were pointed. Few helmets were worn, or shields carried, about two of each among the entire group of them. Only two spears as well. Clearly these brutes had made no plans for meaningful resistance.
The one in the scale coat approached, ignoring the two armed men to address Rosemary. "Wench. No one said you could leave."
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.