Post by DM Hawk on Sept 5, 2022 10:29:00 GMT -5
It was dusk before the three travelers arrived at the southern gate of Greatgaunt.
Farmer MacDunald was content to fill the silence with chatter as they passed by Derrister’s chicken coop. The hens were quiet and the rooster nowhere to be seen.
“Yessir, I butchered many a fine animal to stock Kale’s cellar or put food on the table. You think you get used to it, but you don’t really. Every once in a while there’s one that gets to you. Maybe the kids took a shine to it, or it followed you around the yard a little too long. But for all that, I wasn’t prepared.”
The other two paused at the gate. Farmer MacDunald continued on towards his homestead, talking and seemingly unaware of the location of his companions.
“He was a rascal, you know, trying to get into the skirts of every lass in town.”
Lord Marister nodded, standing quietly besides the shopkeeper.
“He wasn’t all bad though. When the wagon came he’d often offer to help me unload the crates. He didn’t ask for anything in return those days.”
Zorastryl looked towards the barracks. A few of the guardsmen were standing about, their shifts for the day done. He’d have to tell them. He glanced towards his companion, “Need a walk home?”
“I’ll manage. I don’t think I’ll open the store tomorrow.”
Marister nodded his understanding, “It’ll keep.”
“Good night Marister. Thank you for walking me back to town. “
Marister Zorastryl looked towards the barracks again. He shouldn’t put it off. He glanced towards the Regal Griffon and let out a long, slow sigh. The siren’s song of the bottle was very strong.
* * *
“Aye Cormyte, here you are.” The guards accent was thick as he passed along the worn leather belt.
The old knight took it in hand. The heavy sword’s weight was familiar as it rested in the scabbard. He buckled the belt across a belly that had grown a little too broad for a soldier. The hilt on the hip was a feeling the old knight took comfort in but it did not feel right as he took to the paths of Proskur leading to the High Road and the gate beyond.
He paused at the Bridge of Fallen Men and watched the Tun River flow by, a flow as steady and slow as time. Finding a patch of grass the old knight sat and kept a solitary vigil until Selûne was high overhead, peeking down through the trees. Maybe those bright, beautiful tears were for Beldan this eve or for the babe.
Maybe they were for everyone who witnessed the horror.
It was dawn when Sir Callen finally reached the southern gate. Waldo had drawn the first watch. He’d call it unlucky but the first watch was Sir Callen’s favorite. The new day brought promise. He didn’t feel it this morn, though.
Quietly he walked past the modest cottage that had been his dwelling for the last two decades.
The barracks were quiet. The morning watch were out at their posts and the other bachelors and bachelorettes in the guard were snoring. Careful not to wake them, the old knight unbuckled the worn leather belt and hung it on a peg in the wall.
* * *
“A leave of your duties?” the Councilwoman asked.
The old knight simply nodded. He had no words to explain. He trusted they would understand.
"For how long?" she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“These are dangerous times. We will suffer for lack of your experience.”
The old knight nodded again.
Giselle spoke up, “He’s earned it, hasn’t he? All these years serving without complaint, season in and out. Maybe it’s time someone else stepped up and helped take the burden.”
The Council was silent, wary, but unwilling to discount the knight’s service to their home.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll keep an eye on the place for you” Mac spoke up.
The young lord spoke in soothing tones to the Council absently running his thumb along the smooth bump where the left ring finger once was, “We’ll make sure the militia and the Volunteers get the support they need.”
He turned towards the knight, “Take as much time as you need, Sir.”
* * *
Steddy of Dawngleam was proud of his eight years. He was big, strong, and tall and he could take care of himself. Even so, his mother would be sore at him if he stayed out in the storm promised by the angry clouds approaching from the sea.
He made one last throw at the old stump with his sling, missing again. Something must have been wrong with the leather. He watched the smooth stone sail through the air towards the sandy shore of the beach.
The stone landed by a man, sitting alone in the sand, watching the horizon.Little Big Steddy wasn’t afraid of strangers. Besides, that was his favorite stone. He ran towards the beach to get it and get a better look at the stranger.
The man was old with white hair and a weathered face. His clothes were simple and didn’t hide the bulk of the man’s arms or the girth of a small belly resting upon his lap. The old man glanced at him with a smile and a nod.
“Hey Mister, you seen my stone? Something’s wrong with my sling and I missed and it landed around here.”
The old man nodded and pointed at the stone resting in the sand by his boot.
Steddy scooped up the stone and glanced at the old man’s boot. It was old and worn, but he could make out faded stitching in the shape of a dragon. There was a loop on the heel for setting spurs.
“You better go in now, son. A storm’s blowing in from the sea.”
“I ain’t afraid of no storm, mister. Ma will worry though so I ought to get home before it gets here.”
The old man smiled, “You’re right. Your mother won’t be afraid of the storm if you’re there to keep an eye on things with her.”
Steddy nodded and turned towards Dawngleam. After a few paces he turned and looked back to the old man. He was still sitting in the sand, turned back towards the storm.
“What about you Mister? You’ll get soaked through!”
“That’s alright youngster. I want to feel the rain.”
Farmer MacDunald was content to fill the silence with chatter as they passed by Derrister’s chicken coop. The hens were quiet and the rooster nowhere to be seen.
“Yessir, I butchered many a fine animal to stock Kale’s cellar or put food on the table. You think you get used to it, but you don’t really. Every once in a while there’s one that gets to you. Maybe the kids took a shine to it, or it followed you around the yard a little too long. But for all that, I wasn’t prepared.”
The other two paused at the gate. Farmer MacDunald continued on towards his homestead, talking and seemingly unaware of the location of his companions.
“He was a rascal, you know, trying to get into the skirts of every lass in town.”
Lord Marister nodded, standing quietly besides the shopkeeper.
“He wasn’t all bad though. When the wagon came he’d often offer to help me unload the crates. He didn’t ask for anything in return those days.”
Zorastryl looked towards the barracks. A few of the guardsmen were standing about, their shifts for the day done. He’d have to tell them. He glanced towards his companion, “Need a walk home?”
“I’ll manage. I don’t think I’ll open the store tomorrow.”
Marister nodded his understanding, “It’ll keep.”
“Good night Marister. Thank you for walking me back to town. “
Marister Zorastryl looked towards the barracks again. He shouldn’t put it off. He glanced towards the Regal Griffon and let out a long, slow sigh. The siren’s song of the bottle was very strong.
* * *
“Aye Cormyte, here you are.” The guards accent was thick as he passed along the worn leather belt.
The old knight took it in hand. The heavy sword’s weight was familiar as it rested in the scabbard. He buckled the belt across a belly that had grown a little too broad for a soldier. The hilt on the hip was a feeling the old knight took comfort in but it did not feel right as he took to the paths of Proskur leading to the High Road and the gate beyond.
He paused at the Bridge of Fallen Men and watched the Tun River flow by, a flow as steady and slow as time. Finding a patch of grass the old knight sat and kept a solitary vigil until Selûne was high overhead, peeking down through the trees. Maybe those bright, beautiful tears were for Beldan this eve or for the babe.
Maybe they were for everyone who witnessed the horror.
It was dawn when Sir Callen finally reached the southern gate. Waldo had drawn the first watch. He’d call it unlucky but the first watch was Sir Callen’s favorite. The new day brought promise. He didn’t feel it this morn, though.
Quietly he walked past the modest cottage that had been his dwelling for the last two decades.
The barracks were quiet. The morning watch were out at their posts and the other bachelors and bachelorettes in the guard were snoring. Careful not to wake them, the old knight unbuckled the worn leather belt and hung it on a peg in the wall.
* * *
“A leave of your duties?” the Councilwoman asked.
The old knight simply nodded. He had no words to explain. He trusted they would understand.
"For how long?" she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“These are dangerous times. We will suffer for lack of your experience.”
The old knight nodded again.
Giselle spoke up, “He’s earned it, hasn’t he? All these years serving without complaint, season in and out. Maybe it’s time someone else stepped up and helped take the burden.”
The Council was silent, wary, but unwilling to discount the knight’s service to their home.
“Don’t you worry. We’ll keep an eye on the place for you” Mac spoke up.
The young lord spoke in soothing tones to the Council absently running his thumb along the smooth bump where the left ring finger once was, “We’ll make sure the militia and the Volunteers get the support they need.”
He turned towards the knight, “Take as much time as you need, Sir.”
* * *
Steddy of Dawngleam was proud of his eight years. He was big, strong, and tall and he could take care of himself. Even so, his mother would be sore at him if he stayed out in the storm promised by the angry clouds approaching from the sea.
He made one last throw at the old stump with his sling, missing again. Something must have been wrong with the leather. He watched the smooth stone sail through the air towards the sandy shore of the beach.
The stone landed by a man, sitting alone in the sand, watching the horizon.
The man was old with white hair and a weathered face. His clothes were simple and didn’t hide the bulk of the man’s arms or the girth of a small belly resting upon his lap. The old man glanced at him with a smile and a nod.
“Hey Mister, you seen my stone? Something’s wrong with my sling and I missed and it landed around here.”
The old man nodded and pointed at the stone resting in the sand by his boot.
Steddy scooped up the stone and glanced at the old man’s boot. It was old and worn, but he could make out faded stitching in the shape of a dragon. There was a loop on the heel for setting spurs.
“You better go in now, son. A storm’s blowing in from the sea.”
“I ain’t afraid of no storm, mister. Ma will worry though so I ought to get home before it gets here.”
The old man smiled, “You’re right. Your mother won’t be afraid of the storm if you’re there to keep an eye on things with her.”
Steddy nodded and turned towards Dawngleam. After a few paces he turned and looked back to the old man. He was still sitting in the sand, turned back towards the storm.
“What about you Mister? You’ll get soaked through!”
“That’s alright youngster. I want to feel the rain.”
