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E N C O U N T E R
O V E R


BATTLESCARS were once fearsome wounds that not even fine healing Rewrition can completely restore some of the lost skin. Until an extremely skilled healer is seen, they remain marks forever; the body a history book of the owner's previous battles. Some wear them with pride, whilst others look for the finest healing to wipe away the past.

BATTLESCARS Received:

UNGARD - Projectile scar, right leg
VANIELA - Stab scar, lower body
VIKTOR - Stab scar, lower body
CELTHRIC - Projectile scar, upper body



As the fights ended one by one, with Captain Ardus roaring for healers and pointing to the injured as each ended above the voices of the growing, excited crowds, the injured Argent applicants eventually felt their wounds close up thanks to the needle-pierced hands of Healing Rewriters, and the soothing balms and bandages of professional medics. Their work was lightning-quick, their response time incredible, their badges green with the major working class crest. Though those who'd lost a lot of blood still felt airy-headed and weak, broken bones crunched back into place, parted skin and muscle folded back together, and bruises and grazes were slowly erased. Only few who had suffered injuries close to being extremely lethal held scars after the work of the doctors.

As the fights ended, the crowds looked disappointed, before slowly dispersing away towards their sworn duty once more. There had been roars when moments of battle had been to exciting for words to describe. Even the mundane battles of metal versus metal had been an elegant dance, a show of skill and passion.

As the fourteen recovered, Ardus patiently waited with folded arms until everyone could stand once and think straight once more. For some, this took longer than others. But once the fourteen were ready, the leather-encased hand of Ardus slowly wiped over his face, stroked his short beard, before returning to his folded arms once more.

"Congratulations." Ardus simply stated. He let the word sink in for a moment. "Not one fight was a bore to watch, and you've all shown skill to some degree... some more than others. Some of you have even fought against unfair odds. But even with those who I feel like could've done better, I would not call one of you a liability on the battlefield. Just know that a true enemy answers a surrender for nobody." Ardus explained. Suddenly, however, he looked up. "However. The skill you all possess in your own unique forms isn't why you've all exceeded my expectations. You've all exceeded my expectations because fourteen people are still standing in front of me."

He let the words sink in for a good, long while, giving time for those to understand.

"This was not just a test of skill. It was not just a test of fighting through pain.." Ardus eventually continued, his voice low and quiet. "This was also a test of self-restraint."

"In this first phase, it isn't uncommon for at least one person to fall to animialistic desires and strike with the full intent to kill, such as aiming a sword strike to the neck or a crossbow bolt to the brain. When this happens, that person leaves. Because they've failed to understand orders. And although I did see one person aim with the intent to kill today, I believe it isn't their fault they did that; that is a topic I'll drop for now. Listen closely."

The wind blew. Everyone in earshot of Ardus fell silent, looking to the floor, looking to their badges of Argent. Even the stone table filled with laughter and remarks fell quiet.

"When you go out there, you may fight against people who you can see are on the wrong path. Who's minds are still within the state of repair. It is this self-restraint that will stop you from eliminating the few good people left in this world. If you ever can see someone that has a good chance of being reformed, you should not aim to kill them. It is the corruption we aim to completely extinguish, not humankind. We gather what we can and then strike with all we have in due time."

Ardus looked up.

"But now, with all that aside, I hereby announce by my heart and soul that all fourteen of you are now deemed worthy of joining us. With the power bestowed to me, you may now all consider yourself members of Argent."

Those around Ardus, at this sound of this sentence, paused whatever they were doing and thumped a balled fist at their heart to turn and salute all of the fourteen. Some had different ways of saluting than others, with some putting their heads at a low bow, with the people around the table raising their mugs to honour their new brethren.

For the first time in the facility, a true wave of camaraderie could be felt within the mossy walls of the Argent Foundation. The few sane people left standing, the few people with the desire and skill to fight for their world, were gathered here today. Here to spill blood with their brethren till victory or till defeat, and here to die or live in the arms of each other.
This was ARGENT, the world's retakers.



After the salute ended, a small ceremony of sorts occurred. The fourteen were guided onto the decorated birch-wood platform some may have noticed when walking inside, that stood proud near the entrance of the facility. The ceremony was nothing fancy, and it was quick and hastily organised, though a good amount still turned up to watch. Going up to the applicants one-by-one, Ardus handed the official badge of Argent to each member slowly with a stern, yet deep look.

The badge was shield-shaped, made of a fine black fabric that could easily be attached to any sort of armour. At the middle of the fine black badge was the capital letter 'A', embroided in silver and sewn in an intricate shape. For the badges of new applicants, this was all the badge had to offer, with no other patterns on it other than the letter A. This, as Ardus explained, was to indicated their position as a 'ZERO-CREST MEMBER', where they were acknowledged as a member of Argent, but had yet to do anything for Argent. If they lived through and successfully completed their first mission, they would be promoted to a 'ONE-CREST MEMBER'. The system was simple enough for anyone to understand, and much simpler than any military rankings of any city. Perhaps too simple, but like the foundation itself, this system was makeshift.

Once the handing of the badges was complete, Ardus took a stand in front of the platform to look at the fourteen. The spectating crowd dispersed, and the vibe of the surrounding area of Argent in a flash turned back into one that was bustling and vibrant like it previously was.

"And that is that. Apologies for those after my own heart, who find such ceremonies painful to stand through." Ardus admitted, his lips almost going into a smile. "But it is still a mandatory ceremony and one you should stand through with pride. As explained, your first assignment will be given to you by Commander Konnor Sturgens himself. You will go as the fourteen you are now, accompanied by three higher ranked members that will lead your mission. Complete this successfully and you will be considered a one-crest member; you will be informed more from there."

Ardus paused.

"Now, however? I'm done with you, and it'll be unlikely I'll see any of you for quite a while." Ardus seemed to actually find difficulty finding words for a slight moment. "...It is always a proud moment of mine to see new members. But it is a prouder moment to see a whole group of fourteen without even one person I've had to dismiss. It isn't a first, but it is still a rare moment. You all keep that in mind and hold your heads high."

Ardus's pose went relaxed as he started to come to the conclusion of his talk.
"Tomorrow morning, at ten o' clock sharp, you will go to the briefing room. This is the building is over there." Ardus pointed to a small yet cozy looking wooden building not too far from the entrance and the ceremony platform. It didn't look busy at the moment. "At the briefing room tomorrow you'll recieve your first mission from Commander Konnor Sturgens. If you turn up late, consider yourself already failing the mission."

"Some of you I would like to talk with more, but I have duties to return to." Suddenly his body stiffened, his face taking his fully serious tone again.

"However, before I leave, I have a set of strict orders that I don't expect even one of you to go against. Is this understood?"

A long pause followed, before Ardus gave his orders, the first true smile he'd given to the fourteen visible within his bearded face.

"Make yourself at home."

With that, the four-crest Argent captain turned, his brass-tinted boots making marks in soil and pathways as he made his leave. As the figure of the man faded into the crowd, the fourteen were now looking at the interior of Argent, with badges in their hands.

It was early evening, and up to them how they wanted to spend their time before they'd get their first real assignment instantly in the following morning. Ardus had already informed the places they could sleep, and given a brief run-down of all the areas they could visit. People of all sorts were there to be talked with, some more eager for conversation than others.

Til' next morning, the fourteen new Argent members were free to get used to the area and follow Ardus's final orders in ways they chose. Hot stews were available in the dining hall, and though only one small mug per day was allowed, a commodity thought impossible by some was also available: real, true-tasting ale. Areas where mounts, pets, and other such beasts could be stabled were available (though the tiger would be carefully watched).

Even to those who cared little for the facility and its ruler, a slight sense of accomplishment and experiencing something new could be felt as the air turned a pleasant shade of cold, and the clear sky went a pleasant shade of gold. The fourteen were now a part of Argent, willing or not. What they would do with this title, from this day, was in their hands only.


A R G E N T
III XI I X VI. IV III I X IV II.




 
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Somewhat ashamed at her previous performance, and knowing that the remark was aimed at her, the woman of Kelda is strangely Silent throughout the process. It didn't help her medical Letter was taken by the Argent's doctors. Given it was written in a language more suited to scientist and doctors, Karmia had never once been able to read it.

Likely for the best.


In summarized detail, the letter stated what was pretty much obvious, the woman was insane. Battle Fatigue it was termed. Or the Kelda Madness. Even the soldiers of Keldian origins, that had served at the rear lines near wars end, had showed some mysterious signs of heightened violence and aggression, some however, still battling in Kelda till this day.. something worse. It was still a medical mystery, so any that had some sense of self control were valued.

Taken with the woman's personal history, from her family, to the annihilation of her unit, much had been left on her shoulders. Thus, being deemed by her doctors, the best treatment for her, was quite simple. Atonement and Service. For a good portion of what was wrong with her, simply could not be healed by magic, only by time and purpose. Also listed were chemical compounds that were meant to help aid her to be more stable. In fact, the meeting with the Mercenary could prove to be quite helpful. Likely a conclusion the Argent staff had reached, after monitoring the woman in the events aftermath. It was a gamble however.




Speaking of which, Karmia still eyed Theo from time to time. The truth be told, it gnawed at her for some time. He was the last person she wanted dead, but at that point in time.. Some nightmares never ceased. In a rather twisted way, he was a form of salvation, and a damning reminder of all she had lost. In a brief moment of sane thought, it occurs to her, the rest of the Abbelestians likely felt the same.. well about her being a reminder of what was lost at least.

Pocketing the badge, the woman did not feel she yet had earned the right to wear it. Amends needed to be made of this Theo Lukass first.. Or proving herself on a mission at least. Though her pride was not THAT diminished, nor her sanity that restored, to allow this to be said simply. Eyeing some of the wounded, she had to wonder at first if the killing comment was for her...or these people had funny ideas on the lines of attempting to disable ones comrades not being murder.


Least the ceremony did not last long. Being over fairly quickly she decides to put a bit of a plan in motion with her thoughts in mind.


With the commanders departure, the Keldian seems to snap out of her thoughts. "Ah, but of course O'Captain, my Captain.." Bowing in the manner of the Keldians at the man's departure, she smiles a bit, turning her attention to Theo.


"Ah Ser Lukass.. I. Ah yes, I find I need to practice table setting, and meal preparing. I am not accustomed to serving one of... your standing. But you should be honored, ohohoh." Holding her hand to her face in a lady like fashion, to block her laugh, the Armored Warrior pauses briefly.

"Of course there are other matters I can attend to. Maybe I'll provide a bit of music in the commons if that is to your understanding...or, perhaps there are tasks you know of?"

While her words were fairly insulting and classist, the intent behind them hopefully would be obvious to the Mercenary. If it wasn't, the fact the noble was offering her services with such a task should stand out.




Casually in her approach, with the bit of.. oddity the woman had about her, the offer was purposely only aimed for him. Though depending on the instruments, her being in the commons to play might not be so strange. In fact it might be relaxing, a point she concedes in her own mind. But for now, some form of meaningful apology was needed..
 
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So it was done then. A battle to test their capacity for mercy, a simple crest which served as the whole uniform and an inspirational little ceremony. Aridian was now officially a member of Argent with a mission looming on the morrow. He started to walk away from the rest of the group as soon as Ardus had finished speaking. It was time for him to do some exploring, get himself more acclimated with the ins and outs of the foundation. He wouldn't go poking where he didn't belong though. It was not yet time for that. Instead, he paced slowly along the beaten grass floor of Argent, passing the jubilant members either sparring or chattering.

It wasn't the most organized of places, but Aridian had to admit to himself, under the present circumstances, Rhyzen had done a good job throwing this place together. Maybe he wouldn't burn it to the ground after all. The people seemed happy and content, as though they had found a glorious reprieve from the hell that was breaking loose outside the walls. The hell he'd had to journey through to get there. Every now and again he'd come across someone who stood away from the crowds, staring up into the evening sky, no doubt reflecting on their losses and trying to figure out what their purpose was in this new world. Or perhaps, they were just seething with hatred and plotting killing strategies, how they would slaughter the creatures of the corruption, or maybe even Rhyzen himself. Aridian forged onward.

He eventually came to a place he assumed was where the food was distributed, judging from the pleasant smells coming from the building. His mouth watered. Aridian had, without a doubt, smelled far more pleasant fragrances as far as food was concerned. He'd eaten meals prepared by the best kitchen staff in Abbelest, had cakes and pies brought in all the way from the Binnes. He'd had kitchen hands waiting on him while he ate and the ambiance of Castle Kellar's candle lit dining halls for his comfort. Now all that was gone. Oh how the mighty had fallen.

Aridian strolled purposefully into the building. If he'd learnt one thing the last few months since the world had gone to shit, it was that food was food and he had to eat it whenever he could get it. There were a few people lingering about in the building, sitting at tables with bowls, cups and plates before them. Aridian guessed no one really ate this early at Argent, but he'd survived on little more than scraps for far too long and now what he wanted was food and he wanted it as soon as he could have it. He walked to the back of the building and spotted someone he believed to be the resident cook. The man looked a bit on the chubby side, which meant he'd been eating better than most nowadays. Probably sneaking extra portions that no one would notice was missing. Aridian scrunched up his nose in distaste for a second before calling to the man.

"You over there. Are you the cook here?"

"Aye," the man replied.

"Have you anything to eat this early in the evening? I've been travelling for some time to get here." The man didn't answer. He jumped to his feet faster than Aridian thought his pudgy feet would allow him and disappeared into the backroom before reappearing with a bowl and a mug.

"Porridge. Left over from this morning's breakfast. It's made from meal, if you like it. I'd give you an early dinner for your travels but it's still on the fire"

Aridian took the bowl and scrutinized it's contents. The porridge was a rich, golden yellow paste with bits of bread mixed into it. Aridian could have shouted his thanks to the man, but such things were unthinkable for a noble of his stature. The man handed him the steel cup, filled to the brim with a strong scented ale. Aridian thanked the man and he nodded in response.

Aridian sat at one of the wooden tables and started his meal. Within minutes the bowl was drained of the sweet, yellow porridge and every morsel of bread had been eaten. He had not ate anything close to a full meal in so long. He stood staring at the empty bowl, ashamed that he had been reduced to praising second rate food served in bowls that had probably been used by hundreds of different men in a hastily built dining hall. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head, white locks flashing across his face. He had better things to do than mope. Like getting to know the other, more experienced members. He took his mug, leaving the bowl behind out of habit and made for the living quarters.

The common room of the living quarters was in stark contrast to the dining hall. There were men at almost every table, laughing, talking and joking around. This kind of atmosphere was to be expected for a gathering of savages. He took a few steps into the building and the noise died down a little as everyone turned to look at the newcomer who had so boldly walked into their midst.

Aridian looked around. Almost all the tables in the common room were occupied. All but one. He strode over proudly to that table and set his mug down. A heavily bearded and muscled man with hair, red as the setting sun outside, covering his skin swaggered in after him. The man was covered from head to toe with muscle and a well used great-axe was clipped to his side. The man seemed momentarily taken aback when he saw Aridian getting ready to sit, but he soon recovered, stomping furiously over to the snow-haired youth and stopping right in front of him. The contrast between the two was striking.

"This is my table pretty boy. Go plant yer arse down somewhere else because there's no place in here for a pansy nobleman." Everyone in the room scoffed and chuckled. Aridian wasn't surprised his status -or former status- was so obvious to everyone. He may no longer be a noble but he would carry himself like one until he was a corpse. He pulled his sword from it's sheath and pressed the point into the behemoth of a man's throat in one swift, practiced move. His eyes burned with fury that didn't otherwise show on his face or in his body language. He spoke in a calm voice that betrayed none of his wrath.

"In the span of a few months I've been through fire and corruption, trudged through mud and rain, endured starvation and deprivation and just now I was stabbed repeatedly with a very sharp spear. Right now, I'd just like to have a drink of ale and do so in peace. If you seek to deny me this pleasure, then I'm going to run my pansy blade through your throat and watch you choke on your own blood. Make your decision and make it fast."

Silence descended upon the room and for a few tense seconds Aridian fretted he might have to make true on his threat. A dead body with a hole in it's throat would be impossible to explain away. The man swatted Aridian's sword to the side, pulled his axe from his hip and raised it in the air, giving a cry of approval. The rest of the room followed suit and soon the noise levels were back at a clamorous level.

"You show guts boy," the man said, patting Aridian roughly on the back. "You'll do well here." With that he walked over to a group of other bearded men, all with the look of Blenghammen.

Aridian let out a sigh of relief and sat down at the table. He chugged his ale in one go, wincing as it burned his throat on the way down. He didn't know if anyone would join him at his table and he didn't care. For now, he was content with just watching and listening
 
Vaniela lifted her tunic slightly and probed the scar tissue where, what seemed like mere moments ago, had been a gaping, near-fatal wound. The healer had knitted flesh together seemingly effortlessly, and the prowess with which had done still amazed her. Well, that'll be another one for the collection, she thought wryly. She eyed the badge she had been given. Simple, yet clear. Proof that she had passed the first, the easiest task in front of her - being accepted. She snorted to herself. All I have to do now is carve a bloody path through those hordes of monsters, find and destroy their source, and rebuild a city. Simple really. All while keeping my cool. Her hand drifted into her pack, absentmindedly running over her epaulettes that when worn denoted her rank in the Abblestian army. An insane goal, for a world gone mad. She liked the ring of it.

Enquiring of some nearby people, she was directed to a bunk in a lodge where she deposited her few belongings. The thought of leaving them with strangers didn't faze her particularly, having spent her adult life in the military. There were clear consequences for interfering with the belongings of another, though it was rare that such incidents were elevated to such an official level. A lot of soldiers had their own ways of settling such things, and while the odd person might limp a little for the next few days, they did so in a way that escaped the notice of the higher-ups. She had considered hanging up the banner, but there wasn't enough space, and she thought it wise not to aggravate anybody else in the lodge. She spent a little time affixing the badge to her uniform, which soon bore two signs of allegiance: Abbelest and Argent. As she had determined before she arrived, she would not abandon her pride, nor her intentions. She would wear them openly, and those who had an issue would have to deal with it. Only the pettiest of individuals would raise it as a problem anyway.

With her berth thus sorted, she wandered down to the kitchen. Though she wasn't unaccustomed to living off the land, a diet of edible roots, berries and the odd bit of chargrilled meat had been her staple since the war ended, with a proper meal coming very occasionally. Collecting her stew and ale, she took a seat at one of the long tables and began to eat steadily, savouring the flavour. Surrounded by a mix of unfamiliar faces, she had taken a spot away from others for now.
 
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A test of self-restraint? Elodie arced an eyebrow at that particular statement, perturbed by Ardus’s words. Wasn’t self-restraint and discipline something that should be expected out of all these people- oh, wait, some of them were raiders or savages or mercenaries. Yeah, that made sense then.

Her arms and fingers back to normal, and that stiflingly pointless ceremony done with, Elodie cracked her knuckles, rolled her shoulders, and put on her dust-stained coat once more, a familiar weight settling over her shoulders. Her stupidly heavy pack came next after a grunt of exertion and, finally, with no canvas to roll it in, the brunette slipped off. Others could look for food or get drunk or get fucked, but there were more important things for that. Namely, finding Argent’s forge, and meeting with their craftsmen. The increase in temperature and the red flames of the forge made the building easy to find once the sun dipped below the horizon. With quick, sharp steps, Elodie marched in, looked around at the few who were still banging away, and took in a deep, hot breath.

“Hello! Who’s in charge here?”
 
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☾☾☾ LATE AFTERNOON ☽☽☽

The Binnesman lay in the dirt. He clutched at his crushed gauntlet with a weak grip. The sword has been tossed to the side, pointing forward in the dirt. His helmet sat nearby, coated in a thick layer of dust. The knight did not cry, or make any kind of noise. He simply laid there in the dirt, his knees bent in a triangle, his hand holding his crushed wrist to his chest. The metal had dug hard into his arm, and the gauntlet was filling with blood. But he could not take it off - it was wrinkled into his skin, the steel was the tightest fabric. He pulled himself upwards, through the force of his shoulders, and when he did, his mail, leather, and plate, all clacked together. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes were narrowed under his heavy brows, mouth set in a tight line. He pulled himself to his feet, and lurched towards his helmet. His feet slid in the sand. He pulled it up from the ground with his good hand, and a wince shot across his face. He tucked the helmet under one of his arms, and then, plucked the sword from the ground. He did not sheathe it immediately. His eyes flickered over the surface of the metal. Despite all of the clattering of his armor, he remained silent.

The girl ran towards him. She wore a heavy white apron, with a green crest embroidered into the left breast. She was wearing a pair of clogs, that clacked against her feet as she ran across the sand. There were bruises around her ankles, from where the shoes had bounced against her ankles. Her waist hung heavy with leather pouches, and attached clay and wooden canisters. In her hands was a handful of yarrow leaves, a white-clay pot with a cork stuck in its top, and a few scraps of cloth that wrapped them both up. The girl skidded slightly in the dust, as she came to a rest in front of the Binnesman. She looked him over. She had large, almond-shaped eyes that skimmed over his wrist injury. She reached out a hand to touch the crushed metal. The Binnesmen could not help but let out a small grunt of pain. She withdrew her hand, and nodded curtly towards him. She tucked the yarrow leaves into one of her leather pouches. It had a yellow embroidered tear-drop sewn into the hide. The girl put the pot into a slot at her hip, and the scraps of fabric went along with it. She reached out towards him - her fingers flicking in the direction of the helmet. She took it from him, and tucked it under an arm. Her other hand reached out, to take his. Her hand was warm, and soft.

In his head, the Binnesman could hear the drumming of her heart, the pumping of her lungs. It was a loud and steady tempo, a tempo that he calibrated his footsteps to. He walked with the girl, who marched sternly forward, lips set in a frown. The light was dying in the sky, the clouds were coming in above them. She led him towards a series of tents. In those tents, man and women laid on tarps on the ground, propped up with straw pillows - or else on hardwood tables as people in aprons tended towards their wounds. The girl had long braids that swayed in a breeze as she moved through the camp, paying not attention to anyone around her. She weaved skillfully through pages bearing water jugs, or camp-followers with soup and ladles. Some of them looked at Aatu. Blood was dripping from his crushed wrist, and his fingers were going wrinkled within his gauntlets, as if they had sat in water too long. He could taste blood in his mouth. His eyes felt wet, and a few droplets of tears squeezed out of the corner of his eyes. The girl looked back at him. Her nose was slightly upturned, and her cheeks were flushed. She had a few pox-scars that stretched across her forehead and cheeks, and some reddish discolourations along the sides of her jawline. The Binnesman stared back at her with his brown eyes. He imagined that this is what it must be like to be in love.

She let go of his hand. They had stopped infront of a large white-tent, with a coal-pit crackling away, flanked by white stones. A massive woman was hammering out a sword, a crude one. She stopped hammering, as the girl and the Binnesman approached. The girl set the heavy helm down hard against the blacksmith’s table, and then, pointed towards Aatu’s crushed wrist. She spoke, and her voice was heavily tinged with the twang of the Meadowfolk’s accent, a drawling, casualness that inflicted even the gravest of words; “Break the glove, and I’ll get him patched up.” The blacksmith nodded, and gestured towards the table. The Binnesman walked towards the table, and outstretched his hand, the crushed metal scrapping against the wood. The girl withdrew the fabric from her bag once again, and offered it to Aatu. He nodded, and crammed the rags into his mouth, sitting the fabric ontop of his tongue. His fingers were trembling. He tapped his fingers against the wooden surface, but they did not obey him. The pattern was confused.

The blacksmith began to peel away the layers of steel with tongs, calipers, and hammer. Blood poured on the table, staining the surface a deep red. The blood hissed and boiled as it spread, bubbles rising against the surface. Aatu bit down hard against the rags, a strained scream held back behind his teeth. The healer clutched at his shoulder. Her heart was hammering, but his was a rabbit’s heart. She reached down to grab at the wrist. There was a yarrow leaf in her hand. The Binnesman’s eyes rolled in his head, and eventually they rolled down to the girl’s hand. There were scars inbetween each of her knuckles, thin white lines. Those lines erupted with green leaves, thick and thin vines that spread from out of her skin and sped towards his wrist. The pounding in his head was almost deafening, and his ears were ringing. The vines engulfed his flesh, straightening the bones, easing cracks and fissures, but the vines did not not stop the blood. The blood kept going.

Aatu grit his teeth in his mouth, and pressed his free hand down upon the girl’s. The hand hummed loudly, the fingers engorging and then turning skeletal - pumping with the tempo of a heartbeat. The girl looked at him, mouth open in the unspoken question. But he did not answer. Blood pooled under his fingertips, and then, it subsided. It all subsided. The limb sat there, thin white scars crawling around the forearm, one of his fingers stiffly flexed ; but it subsided. The wood was stained red with blood, and the Binnesman’s arm was red up to the elbow. He pulled the arm off the of the table, and looked towards the girl. She stared at him, with her hazel eyes wide and searching. But a frown quickly spread across her face. She turned away. The blacksmith did not look at him either - hammering away on the sword, her eyes not on her work, but at the bloodstained grass beneath her table. She opened her mouth, as if to say something ; but Aatu was already on his way.

☾☾☾ EARLY EVENING ☽☽☽

He arrived in the doorway of the kitchen. He had dressed for comfort - a light leather jerkin over a shirt, and light leather riding breeches. It was the same way that most of the men and women within the tavern were dressed. The badge hung on his chest, sagging slightly against the fabric. The only thing that distinguished him from the others was the pair of gloves he wore, the same pair of riding gloves he had worn when he first arrived here. His hair and face had been washed. His lip was split, and dried blood was still crusted at the corners of the wound. There was a bruise at the top of his cheekbone, from where the helmet had smashed against his face. It was an angry bruise, flushed purple and yellowing at the corners. It stood out bright against tanned skin. He touched it, cautiously, experimentally. His fingers twitched against the bruise.

The Binnesman walked through the tables, cautiously. Men were slurping up their soup, bits of old carrots and diced celery getting caught in the coarse hairs of their beards. A sheen of oil could be seen on the hands of women who were devouring bits of fried potato and the odd bit of seared pork. The smell of sweat and the humid, wet smell of fatty flesh being cooked hung around the room in a thick fog. The Binnesman could see it hanging in the air, an almost orange mist that rose to the low ceiling beams. Carved on those beams was the occasional name, a heart or two, an arrow, the occasional crude gesture or raunchy limerick. There was nothing written in Aatu’s own language. The knight slipped through the table, navigating in-between burly arms that reached to toast their neighboor. The burning smell of vodka rose up in his nose. The wooden floor was sticky beneath his feet.

Aatu walked slowly, his eyes skimming across the room. His eyes did not come to a rest on any member of the room. Not on a solider with half of his face covered in Rewriton scars, not on a young woman who sipped vodka with her pinky out - not on the dwarf with a cleaver, cutting chicken’s heads off behind the counter. He could hear the endless demands of the unpleasant man with white hair - he could hear the draw of an axe. He turned towards that commotion, his dark eyes narrowing. But then, he looked away, his eyes tracing the whole, crowded kitchen. He breathed in, and then, let the breath come out. His fingers flickered at his sides, tapping out a pattern. His index finger lagged behind the other, and when it moved, there was an unpleasant cracking noise, as if glass was breaking inside of him. His brown eyes searched the room, before they finally came to rest on the woman sitting in the back - the Lancer, the soldier. He edged between some tables, avoiding hitting the backs of a burly pair from Blenngham, who were swaying in their benches, and singing a loud and endless song.

The Binnesman brushed his fingers once against the bruise on his cheek. He winced once again. He coughed softly, loud enough to be heard over the Blenngham song - a song of iron-forging and kvass drinking. Aatu gestured to the empty space on the bench beside the Lancer, flicking his fingers at it. His index finger did not flex. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth. He mouthed the words, before speaking them - but when his words became audible, they had a certain heaviness in them, a thickness. They were wet words, coming out clogged from his throat. “May I?” He asked, his eyes widening. His pupils were dilated, and his fingers trembled at his sides. He waited to hear from her, yes or no, but the words continued to tumble out regardless. His accent was heavier than it was before, and his sentences were less structured, quicker. There was an urgency in them, “How was your duel? I did not see it.’

The Binnesman gestured with his hand towards one of the camp-followers. A Meadow-woman, with wide dark eyes, and curly black hair. Her smile had white teeth. He raised a simple wooden cup to her - and she filled it, pouring it with the clear, fermented drink. The scent rose heavily; a strong smell of burnt charcoal and dill-weed. It slid out of the jug she was holding, and into the cup with a plop. The Binnesman nodded towards her, and set the glass down at the table next to the Lancer - next to Vaniela. He withdrew a small purse from his side, and withdrew five Binneshellers and a Binnespfennige. He placed them in her outstretched palm. It was a rough palm, with heavy callouses in the space between thumb and forefinger from working a broom. He nodded once, and she bustled away, pouring the cups of the clamouring troops.
 
A test of self-restraint? Elodie arced an eyebrow at that particular statement, perturbed by Ardus’s words. Wasn’t self-restraint and discipline something that should be expected out of all these people- oh, wait, some of them were raiders or savages or mercenaries. Yeah, that made sense then.

Her arms and fingers back to normal, and that stiflingly pointless ceremony done with, Elodie cracked her knuckles, rolled her shoulders, and put on her dust-stained coat once more, a familiar weight settling over her shoulders. Her stupidly heavy pack came next after a grunt of exertion and, finally, with no canvas to roll it in, the brunette slipped off. Others could look for food or get drunk or get fucked, but there were more important things for that. Namely, finding Argent’s forge, and meeting with their craftsmen. The increase in temperature and the red flames of the forge made the building easy to find once the sun dipped below the horizon. With quick, sharp steps, Elodie marched in, looked around at the few who were still banging away, and took in a deep, hot breath.

“Hello! Who’s in charge here?”

COLLAB POST [NPC]
Elodie and 'The Genius Smith'

The interior of the forge was crafted from smooth, grey stone slabs. For such an industrious workspace, it was kept clean and tidy save for a few spare tools laying about. The heat was exhausting, the stuffy smeltery heat instantly drawing out pores of sweat, but it was nothing overbearing for a tinkerer of the Binnes. The handful of people working here seemed to be doing mundane tasks, such as forging ingots, making simple blades, and melting down ore in a colorful display of thick, glowing reds.

As the Binnesborn called, the four muscular figures working away, two men and two women, looked around in surprise. They didn't seem to know what to say for a moment, before one of them caught sight of the girl's Zero-Crest badge.

"...Wrong entrance, missus." One of the gruff voices explained simply, the voice belonging to a grey-stubble faced man likely in his mid sixities. "Go around the other side an' ring the bell, then our boss'll come talk to ye." Turning, he returned to his exhausting work of setting ingots, adding over his shoulder as he worked: "This place ain't one newcomers can waltz into. S'dangerous fer someone like you."
~
Four individuals, all bladesmiths, all just pouring their sweat and iron into what was just a glorified iron stick. An eye twitching at the waste of precious metal, Elodie pulled her goggles over her eyes once more to prevent them from drying, before turning towards one of the older men. Wrong entrance? Talk to the boss? What's he even saying?

Setting the butt of her Thundercrack on the floor, Elodie replied, "Well, I'm here now, and I still don't know where your boss is. So where are they? And why make blades? Do people misplace those metal sticks often?"

"You deaf? Round the back. Ring the bell. Boss'll see you." The old man grunted.

"That's not my question. I'm asking where he is, so I don't have to ring a bell next time."
~
The old man emitted a low grumble, wiping his forehead, seemingly peeved by this attitude.
"Missus, nobody just gets to walk into his workstation. It's a basic system. You aren't incapable of ringing a bell, are ye? It doesn't take long, just... for the love of..." The old man shook his head. "Just go ring the fuckin' bell."
~
"And you aren't incapable of answering a question, are you? I will go ring the 'fucking bell' if you tell me where his workstation is, ok? Does that sound fair? Cause if not, I can just go find it myself."

As large as Argent was, and as large as this forge was, private workstations were...well, they were fairly easy to spot if Elodie put her mind to it. All things considered, though, giving herself a tour of this place might be better than trying to weedle out answers from the hammerman.
~
"There." The old man jerked back a thumb, pointing towards a corridor towards the end of the room. The door was firmly shut, cast iron around waxed mahogany, half-hidden amidst the smoke and heatwaves. "But you can't go in." With that, he seemed just about ready to stop talking to the girl who was proving too much of a handful for even a man of his stature and age.
~
Iron and wood, huh? Elodie narrowed her eyes at the smith's declaration of how she 'can't get in'. If it's just wood and iron, she should be able to just blast off the knob of the door with the Thundercrack...but that was petty, even for her.

"And don't forget the other question," she said, walking towards the counter from where she was, "Why more blades? Every new person brought their own weapons, so why are you consuming all those precious resources on glorified metal sticks?"
~
A long pause followed, all of the facial expressions of the four workers tired of the girl at this point.
"It ain't uncommon for a weapon to break, or for someone to come unequipped in terms of a real blade." The old man said. "That ain't the only reason, though. These blades we're making here are mundane, simple, uninspired... true. This is because they're 'templates' of sorts for our boss." Upon closer inspection, axe heads, hammer heads, and other such things could be seen littered around, though plain blades were definietely the most common. "He refines our produce into pieces better than most steel people bring in. The reason he does it because, in truth, we don't have the skill to ourselves."
~
If they were unequipped with a real blade, then didn't that just mean their abilities laid elsewhere? Such as Rewriting or getting animals to do the work for them? Or, in the case of Elodie, using the power of science to blow shit up? She nodded though, at what they spoke about the boss, about how he refined the templates and improved upon them. A magical blacksmith, then? The tinkerer couldn't imagine how else he would be able to improve the foundation of a more-or-less finished product.

Without another word, Elodie awkwardly attempted to vault over the counter, before realizing that all her equipment made something like that extremely difficult....though the counter was probably too high up for her legs to reach the first place.

Instead, on the wrong side of the counter, she grasped the string and pulled on the bell, sending a crystal clear clang throughout the forge.
~
Around the back of the forge, next to the large bell, there seemed to be a shack of sorts, with a wide space where the smith supposedly stood on the other side to hand out weaponry. This was currently where Elodie was standing, the stone walls around her littered with metal pegs that held up exotic and fine pieces of weaponry of all sorts. From simple spears to gilded blades supposedly razor-sharp, for a weapon enthusiast, this place was an art gallery. For a tinkerer like Elodie, however, it still probably wasn't enough to impress.

A pause came, before what seemed like a half-hidden hatch next to Elodie's feet popped open, the trapdoor unable to fully open because of her, smacking into the side of her leg. The smith below, confused at why he couldn't open his trapdoor, quickly popped his eyes through the crack he'd made so far. When he saw the legs of a human, he let out a bewildered: "What the fuck are you doing here?!" His voice seemed young and crisp to listen to, even in his high-pitched protest squeal.
~
Yay. More bladed weapons. What, did they think that people who ran away from the corruption would do better in melee range than the elites that stood to fight? Far from impressed, Elodie waited for the door to open...only for a trapdoor to reveal itself instead.

"Ouch," she winced, hopping away from hatch, her heavy bag smacking into a couple of those displayed weapons and sending them all clattering onto the ground. The tinkerer cringed at the sound, before peering into the crack. What a young face.

"You're the apprentice or something? Where's the boss?"
~
The trapdoor swinging open, the young man vaulted upwards. His skin was a heavy bronze tone, and his stature was small but muscular, and would've stood shorter than Elodie if it wasn't for his strange haircut. His blonde-brown hair braided back in multiple thick tails, the young man seemed to have a ponytail of dreadlocks, which looked odd with his complete lack of facial hair and a short metal plate with two little holes - likely to protect his eyes in some manner - wrapped around his forehead.

Wiping a hand back through his hair in distress, emitting a groan, the young man seemed more distressed with the fallen weapons everywhere than what Elodie was saying.
"Ohhh... fucking..." He groaned under his breath. His deep brown eyes looked at the floor in loss for a moment, before he looked up at Elodie exasperatedly, raising what looked like a small forging hammer in his hand.

"Right then, you cheeky bitch; I'll be the one asking questions." His voice seemed angry but... too unconfident and laid back - a strange accent - to be event the slightest bit threatening. "You've got... like.. ten seconds to tell me why you're behind my counter before I give you a good whack with my hammer. Not a soft one either. I'll cave your face in. You an intruder, or..." His voice slurred down to a slow, before he realized the badge of Elodie, the hammer falling back to his side.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. Newcomer. Wouldn't be the first time." He mumbled under his own breath. "Why are you... like... you know. Here. And not there. I tried to make it clear you stand... like... not where the weapons are. Are you one of the mentally challenged ones?"
~
Elodie looked at him.

She looked at him hard, focusing especially on where his eyes were in relation to her own.

Then, she silently clenched her fist. Good. Despite his hair being ridiculously big, she was still taller than him, if she shaved his head bald.

Not caring for the pretty little weapons that were put into thedirt (like they deserved to), Elodie replied, "Ok, I'm behind the counter because I came in from the back. And no, you never did try to make it clear. I don't recall that at all."

Weird guy, really.

"And my question is unanswered. Where's the boss?"
~
"But... you know, like, how markets work? How the customer stands outside, and..."

"This isn't a market. And I'm not a customer."

"Ok." The man replied simply in a monotone. "Sooo... moving past the fact you're obviously trespassing..." His eyebrows raised for a moment, before he carried on, "If you're looking for the 'boss', then... uh... here he is, I guess."

When the young man, likely just hitting his twenties, didn't point to anyone, it was clear that he meant that he was, as a matter of fact, the head smith.
~
This boy was the head smith? Elodie looked at him in the eye, her goggles glinting impassively, before she parroted, "Ok. Let's go then."

With that, she walked down the stairs that the trapdoor revealed, Thundercrack slung on her shoulder once more.
~
The young man instantly grabbed the back of her pack, stopping her from walking down, dragging her back upwards so she did a reverse motion.
"Uh. Let's not." The smith didn't really know what was going on. "...That's... like... my quarters. My private place. Where I do the making, and you do the taking weapons - usually on the other side of the counter, by the way. You don't just... go down there." The man paused, trying not to laugh or lose his cool at how bizarre the woman was. "You do understand that, right...?"
~
"You sleep in your workshop?"

Elodie turned for a moment, before nodding once. "That's understandable then," she said, "How long will it take you to make it presentable to a lady then? I can wait five minutes, but I also don't really care how messy it is."

"And I'm not here to take weapons. I'm here to confirm whether or not your workshop is usable."
~
"Yeah... maybe, so what?" The young man quickly replied to the first question, before his eyes slowly widened more and more as the girl talked. When she finished talking, the young smith's face was scrunched up hard, his teeth biting his lower lip, seemingly trying extremely hard not to lose it with laughter.

"Holy shit." He wheezed inaudiably, seemingly talking to himself. "Who the fuck is this?"

A long pause followed, before the man's face managed to turn back to normal without going into hesterics. Slowly, he sat down cross-legged atop the trapdoor to his workshop, looking up at the girl and taking a long sigh.

"Ok." The smith took a blow of his mouth through puckered lips for a moment. "So, first things first, who are you exactly? Because... uh... wherever you're from... probably has different traditions to how we do stuff round' here."
~
Uh, did they really have to do this? Elodie sighed, before plopping her pack down onto the stone floor. She massaged her shoulders with one hand, while resting the Thundercrack onto the ground once more.

"Guess it can't be helped," she muttered, "I'm Elodie Maya. I helped with the War Technology Division of Abbelest. Now, I'm working on the improvement of firearms, as well as other, personal projects. Came here to see if you were doing anything special. Turns out it was just sharp metal things. Trying to see what tools you have. Currently being barred from it. Would have liked to test the Thundercrack on your door. Decided against it. Getting sorta hungry. But I can probably go on for another day without it."

"Also, I'm taller than you. Just in case there was any doubt."
~
"War Technology Division..." The man repeated to himself, before cocking his head to one side, puffing out his lower lip, and nodding in a somewhat satisfied manner. "Okay. Not bad. That'd explain why you have that thing, eggcracker or whatever. Fires projectiles, right?" The smith was one of the few who actually seemed to have an idea of how the weapon worked without seeing it in action. When Elodie had fired it in the sparring ring, all the spectators looked like they had no idea what just happened, and narrowed it down to being Rewrition of some sort.

"And yeah, if you got rid of my hair, fine. Maybe got me by an inch. Buuut, I can make better things than you." The smith winked. "Don't let the setpiece fool you. Basics isn't what I'm limited to, and I don't cheat with Rewrition to make shit like you probably do. So... I think I'll happily sit this extra inch underneath you..." The man smiled widely, clicking his neck left and right. The way he spoke was strange; an accent that was a very casual one, and didn't bother pronouncing the first letter of words often, though it wasn't a Meadow accent.

"Anyway. Lemme get this straight. You made eggcracker over there yourself, and you want to use my tools and my resources to make it better, or possibly make more eggcrackers, right or left?"
~
"I want to make Thundercracks that are easy enough to use that even a cripple can kill one of those corruption things," she replied, "So yeah, make it better and make more of them. Make some other things as well. Make enough of those things to make Rewrition obsolete. Make all those muscleheads who go charging into the frontlines become meatpaste."

"And that's a real funny comment about how you make your shit, boy. If you don't use Rewrition, then show me what tools you have. Give me the anecdotal evidence."
~
"Okay, so, firstly. What's wrong with bows that fire fragmenting arrows? The firearm and the ammunition is easier to make than making tons of Thundercracks and metal balls or whatever. Then again, you probably haven't seen my fragmenting arrows."

The boy chuckled, shaking his head at the second comment.
"And secondly little princess, for all I know your dear lil' pops or servant or whatever could've made that Thundercrack for you, so, does that put me in a position where I have to prove anything to you?" The man relaxed in his sitting position. "And I'm not being funny. But... you're trespassing pretty bad already... and as much as I want to blow your little silk socks off, if someone found out I let a zero in here?"

The smith drew a line across his neck, making a 'crrrrkkk' sound through his teeth.
"Yeah. I mean, they wouldn't kill me; they need me. But they'd be pretty fuming. And I'd be pretty fuming if I let a rookie touch my tools." The man leaned back further, revealing the major working-crest badge sewn onto his leather apron, and tight and grubby padded cloth clothing underneath.

"Name's Joey, by the way. Not a fancy spelling, just... Joe... and then 'y'. Dad hated me." Joey explained offhandedly. "But long story short, I'm not allowed to let you in." He wiped under his nose with his knuckles, coughing. "Don't newcomers have a mission after the first day? Maybe I'll let you take a tiny peek if you don't, like, die, and earn yourself a star. Fair?"
~
Tch. So obssessed with rules. Jo-y was probably just trying to buy more time for him to hide his bags of garbage and his metalporn. Pulling open her large backpack, Elodie began to rummage through it, pulling out a variety of tools and canvas paper. She placed them on the table, one by one, until her back was pratically deflated, a shadow of its former self.

"Ok, Jo-y," she said, "I'll be back once I'm number 1. Here's my tools. Here's my projects. Most of them are still in the conceptual phase, but number 7 is further along than the rest, and the one with the fancy red ribbon is my Thundercrack at its current phase. Right now, I'm working on figuring out a way to reload it more effectively. Also debating on whether or not I want to stick with balls or go with a more arrowhead-like approach. Maybe just fire off full-sized blades, cause apparently blowing off a steak-sized chunk of meat can't stop a Strathmoor. Who knows."

"Anyways, I'll be back tomorrow. Need to get my exercise in, and I need to refuel afterwards, and I don't have a workshop of my own yet, so I won't be needing these tools. Show me your skills. Do something fancier than your set pieces."
~
Joey took a brief look at the tools, and a closer look at the projects. He instantly seemed interested, though the fact he was supposed to be working at the moment prevented him from intensely looking.
"Strathmoor? That a foreign beast or something? But anyway, fine, maybe you're for real." He admitted under his breath. "And arrowheads might work; definitely cheaper and easier to make. Blades just sound... awful. How are you going to penetrate armour; how are you going to find a force big enough to fire the damn thing without killing yourself with the resulting recoil." He paused to chuckle.

"Well, anyway. As you're a very high ranked and respected member, I'll keep your tools safe and pick up all the litter you created I guess, because that sounds fair." Despite it being a sarcastic comment, Joey still seemed like he was going to do both things. "Meet me back here tomorrow then, and you can come in if you've still got two legs and a beating heart. ...You might just be the type of person I'm looking for."

Standing up from his position, Joey brushed down his legs, swinging open his trapdoor, and descending into his personal blacksmith-basement with all the tools, blueprints, and packs belonging to Elodie he could carry; which was a lot. Words echoed from inside before he fully took his leave.

"By the way, might want to take at least a sword or dagger in case your Thundercrack breaks. I speak in jokes, sure, but... listen seriously. It isn't uncommon for some people to be missing after a first mission. Don't be one of those people. Alright?" With the conversation ending on a serious note, Joey let forth one more word in a monotone from under the trapdoor. "Bye."

The sound of a lock clicking, just in case, could soon be heard as well.
~
Elodie watched him leave, and then sighed.

"That's what number 7 is for."
 
Vaniela raised her head from her stew bowl as the Binnesborn...Aatu?...approached her table. She hadn't been sure at first, but something seemed slightly off about him; the way he moved, spoke and fidgeted put her slightly ill at ease. Nevertheless, they were to be comrades and, in truth, he had been the only one to speak to her outside the gates. When you weren't the most sociable, it was difficult to be too fussy as to who your friends were. She patted the bench next to her. "Grab yourself a pew and get some decent food inside you. Dunno about you, but I've spent the past few months on scraps yanked from the ground as I went - nourishing as they are, soldiers march on their stomachs after all!" She took a hearty swig of ale, exhaling with satisfaction. It had been too long since she had last had any ale. The villages that she passed through had usually burnt through their stocks in a bid to cope with the madness that had descended on the world, and while she was a passable cook she had no idea how to brew. "My duel? Took a sword to the side at the same time as I stabbed my opponent in the same place. Healers're pretty impressive, but I've got another scar for the collection from our little clash in that ring." She paused, stunned at herself. She was already brushing off a wound that serious as if it were nothing. In any other place, she most likely would have died from it. Who was she kidding? She was no Ungarth, happily wading on in spite of the countless grievous wounds he bore. If she pulled that stunt again, in the wrong place, that would be it. The thought of how she could have died back in that ring caused her to shiver violently. She needed to be better. She needed to run faster, hit harder, dodge sooner. Otherwise, the banner would fall at last. They would have died for naught.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, gazing at the spoon that she held in her hand. Eventually, she jerked her head up to look at Aatu again. "Sorry. Not sure what came over me there. How did your duel go? You look like you got knocked about a bit yourself. Healers have to fix you up too, or was that the worst of it?"
 
Lydlos had never been congratulated on her success before. Nor had she ever been awarded something, even as simple as a small badge with no adornments upon it. She stared down at the small item, not yet pinning it upon her clothing like the others did. What was this feeling rising in her chest? No, it wasn't one feeling, it was several, all unfamiliar to her. Swallowing tightly against the lump in her throat, she shook her head jerkily and shoved the pin into one of her inner pockets, wiping her hand against her leg in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. A quick look around showed her that the majority of the group had moved off to explore the facility, most likely the mess hall or the dorm rooms, perhaps even the blacksmiths if they wanted to have their equipment checked over or enhanced. But where was she to go? She couldn't be around other people like this - they couldn't see her like this - so she had to go somewhere where she could regain her calm.

One small walk and some quickly asked directions (along with the smell that began to increase the closer she got) led her to the stables, where for the first time since she could remember, tension fled her shoulders and she slumped over slightly, a small breath leaving her mouth. Slowly she walked amongst the animals, stroking the noses of the horses who snuffled at her, crouching down to pet the ears of hound dogs who whined eagerly at her. Here, among those like her, she felt safe. Perhaps even wanted... But she shook those thoughts away and returned to stroking the head of a small pup who whimpered and wagged his stunted tail at her. A small smile curved her lips, perhaps the first time in years the lighter expression had crossed her face.

It felt... nice.​
 
The ceremony went by smoothly and, verily while some may have been proud, and the proctor certainly was, Theo simply wanted the entire event over and done with. The feeling left in his gut from his own duel still stirred with an ill feeling. Sure, he had won and proven his ability but—the woman's words...

How was he supposed to take it?

If the Keldian's words were true, then some of his company aside from Ray yet live, not that he could face them anytime soon, if at all. Most in the company would be understanding of the Wolves' actions that day, though some would not. Regardless, it was the boy's personal shame at turning his back on them that would restrict him from looking them straight in the eyes should they ever cross paths again. If that wasn't enough, Karmia's explanation on exactly what had occurred that day on her end. She—no, her entire company sought to spare all those that no longer possessed the will to fight, and apparently paid the price for not sharing the same bloodlust and merciless extremism of their brethren. How was that supposed to sit with him? Knowing that that you lived solely by the sacrifice of another, an enemy above all, was nauseating, especially when most all he knew and cared for fell when he did not.

Unconsciously glancing to the side at his former adversary, he found Karma staring right back at her. Well, occasionally she was. The look in her eyes was different from when they first encountered each other outside the castle walls. Was it guilt? Regret? Whatever it was, it was eating her alive from what he could tell.

As the ceremony ended and the group was dismissed, the young mercenary was about to take his leave before being called out by the woman boggling his mind throughout the entire event. Deadpanning at the slightly older knightess, practically everything that came out of her mouth was as much an offer as demeaning. Regardless, he needed to talk more with her in regards to what she said, whether it was now, later or while she was trying to appease him, or herself, did not matter much to him.

"...Suits me fine... There are matters I need to discuss with you as well, anyway," Theo replied. "And for the record, next time you want to ask me to dinner, you need not be so subtle or roundabout with it." Apparently, the stoic mercenary could be a bit of a smartass as well, offhandedly insinuating that this was possibly the knight's attempt at a date or something of the like. If she was going to constantly have something to say, he'd retort with his own smart-mouthing as well.
 
After the duel he had with Lydlos, Ash awaited for all of the others to finish. When everyone was all healed, they all crowded around the man who was the one who separated them into their dueling teams. After some praise and more speeches, they were each given a pin. After another description of the pin, Ash pinned it close to his right shoulder, giving a soft smile of pride to himself. He paid attention to the rest of the speech, the smile still on his face. Soon after, they were all released to go get themselves familiarized with the foundation's entirety.

When they were dismissed, Ash walked off by himself. He took his time walking around the entire area, trying to make a mental map of the location so that he wouldn't get lost at a later time. Ash walked around for quite some time before the rumbling in his stomach grew to an almost painful level. Deciding that it was better to risk awkward interpersonal contact than wallow in hunger pains, he made his way towards the mess hall.

Noticing that quite a few of the other thirteen that joined with him were there along with some of the others who were already members, he stuck to himself and walked quietly to where the food was being dispersed. As he waited in line, he couldn't help but notice that he was the only Drokken in the current area. If Argent had any other Drokken members, they must have all been away or sleeping. The thought of there not being many other members of this foundation that hailed from the same region as him made a slight feeling of loneliness strike him. Already, he was sure that others would look down upon him just because of the slight prejudice some of the other nationalities had against Drokk residents, so not seeing any others made him feel self-conscious.

Trying to shake the thoughts out of his head, he stepped up in line to get his food. He received it with a kind smile and a soft 'Thank you', before walking away and standing for a moment, unsure of where to sit. Biting his lip, he took in a deep breath as he made his way over to where the one's he recognized were. Out of all of the places to sit, he didn't want to sit alone and he wasn't sure the other members would be very welcoming, so he chose the lesser of all evils in this situation. The words that buzzed around him just droned on, and he didn't pay much of them heed. Setting his food onto the table, he took his seat. At his current position, he was still close enough to be spoken to by any of the other members could easily speak to him, but he was far enough away to not impose on any current conversation.
 
@Ananfal

Viktor simply stared at the simple, shield shaped badge that was handed to him by Ardus during the ceremony. He continued to stare at it throughout the ceremony, wondering if it was right for him to hold the small piece. A small bit of guilt kept gnawing at him, the duel with Vaniela helped him take his mind off of things, but it wasn't enough to get rid of all his negative thoughts. By holding this, was he swearing allegiance to Rhyzen against his Lady? Was it really the right move to join Argent? Of course both of the answers were obvious after remembering the inspiring words of Ardus, but it still struck a cord inside him. Viktor shook his head, clearing his thoughts and sighing rather deeply, he looked up and analyzed his surroundings. He took note of the fact that although the place was not truly complete yet, it held a solid foundation and the people populating the area seemed rather confident. There wasn't much uncertainty and gloom in the air, the atmosphere he was used to the most while fighting in the war. Things seemed fresh, it solidified the thought that argent may very well be the last hope for all of them.

As Viktor continued to be deep in thought, someone bumped into him, which finally made him snap out of his trance. He looked around and realized that most of the group had left already and were exploring the area. He sighed once again until finally walking towards the living quarters. He thought about simply calling it a day and resting after putting his things away, but he knew that after such a duel he would need to eat, he did lose some blood after all. He quickly dropped off his things and went out to the common room, where he spotted the young noble he mouthed off at the gate, he raised his brow as a stand off occurred with Aridian pulling his blade on a larger man. Viktor's own instincts started to slowly kick in, although he did not appreciate the boys attitude, he would defend a fellow Abbelestian unless told otherwise. But the encounter ended rather quickly, with the larger man suddenly accepting Aridian, it was not uncommon for rituals like these to be held within the Army. Veterans giving the newcomers a hard time for example, Viktor loosened up a bit at the sight, he had been rather tense throughout the day. He walked out of the living quarters and headed towards the dining hall, he kept his blade at his side but donned simple clothes, a standard tunic and some leather pieces, along with trousers and boots.

As he continued to walk he noticed the stables that were mentioned earlier, and decided to take a look before heading to the dining hall. He was curious about the tigers and wolves he had seen at the gate and if they were being kept in the stables. He looked around for about a minute before losing interest in both things, but he did see a woman. She was stroking the head of a small pup, he stared at her blankly for about 3 seconds before realizing that she was part of the group that arrived along with him. He cleared his throat a little loudly, to make his presence known. It was a bit awkward to interrupt her so he tried to make it look at least a little bit non chalant, she seemed rather entranced by the pup. He didn't particularly want to say anything to her, but it would be rather awkward if he stood there looking down on her, he sighed and then proceeded to say.

"Uh.. How was your duel?" He asked Lydlos

"Mine was a bit... draining, to say the least."

He waited a little more before adding in

"I'm on my way to the dining hall now." he stated

He looked down at her, waiting for a response. He was trying to socialize with the others a bit more, his grand stand off at the gates may have made him even more unapproachable than what he already is (Which he is very aware of). So he's deciding to try to socialize with fellow members. He hadn't noticed the girl before until he actually put some thought into it, which was odd considering how he tried to be aware of his surroundings throughout the excursion. He then realized he did not know her name and quickly added in, possibly interrupting her.

"Forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself, I am Viktor. What is your name?" he said rather robotically

It seemed a little forced, but hey at least he was trying.

((He'll probably sit by Vaniela and Aatu! btw)) @RJS @Sir Basil
 
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A few minutes of sitting by himself at the common room table and Aridian was already bored. The rowdy men who surrounded him were not very informative. He'd hoped they would let spill some critical information about Argent, but so far the only topics they seemed interested in were food, drink and pretty dames. Occasionally, he'd hear someone speaking of the corruption, but even that didn't last for very long in the upbeat environment. Aridian had seen some of the other new members pass through every now and again and he wondered where they'd gone off to.

He rose to his feet and walked briskly out of the common room. Outside, the air was dry and humid and he could feel the tense muscles in his back and legs aching. He truly despised traveling long distances when there wasn't a carriage involved, but those days were done. He pulled his sword from it's sheath once more and examined it while he walked, consumed by his thoughts.

It was an enviable tool indeed. One that would make even some of the finest smiths in Argent feel bad about their own works, he believed. The blade was the finest quality Kellar steel, unbreakable by all but the most indestructible force. The pommel alone was probably worth more than all the houses of some of these men put together. Pure silver and sapphire were expensive commodities to use on a sword, but his father had known no fear of the family fortune running out. It would have taken an unprecedented spending spree to accomplish that, though his mother had seemed very much capable of the task in the last days. Her weeklong shopping trips to the Binnes with his brother Arren had started to increase quite a bit. Aridian smiled to himself, a genuine gesture that he'd not been capable of for some time, but it wasn't long before images of fire and burning flesh made their way back into his mind. That's how he would always remember his family it seemed.

He kept walking until he came to a stop in front of the dining hall once more. He wasn't sure why he'd come back here. There was no chance of getting drunk and then sleeping his troubles away. It was very clear that no one got more than one mug anyway. He started walking again until he came to a large tower that seemed to be a lookout spot. He tried pushing the door, only to find it locked from the inside. Aridian took a step back and squinted up at the high tower, bathed in the orange glow of the evening. Why would they lock a lookout tower? Was there some great secret behind the heavily reinforced wooden doors, or was there just a man putting in his hours of service to Rhyzen's foundation? Aridian re-sheathed his blade. He would find out eventually.
 
Upon gaining Theo's attention, and agreement, Karmia looks rather prideful, going on with her own remarks... Or at least from her open mouth, she was about to. But that pleased look soon turned into a slight angered, to bashful, to belligerent, in rapid fire succession.

"I...I..As if! I'm a noble.. Even if its landless one, you boar..." Throwing up a hand and turning to walk away, she stops on her right foot briefly. "Call it whatever you want.." Shaking her head with a look of conflicting emotions, she finally settles on one that looks like resigned defeat, with a frown, slumped shoulders and a slight redness to her face. It didn't take long for the Woman of Kelda to regain her footing however.

Walking in the fashion of before, her steps seem to hold a sureness to them, and a lady like quality, swaying her hips softly with each step, before a final stop and head turn.. "Well, Ser Lukass, if you would please, accompany me to the Dinning hall, yes? I'm sure we have much to talk about, Ohoho, provided you don't get lost along the way." While it was obvious she added that last bit out of spite, given she was leading the way, it seemed she had to get some word in edge wise.


It wasn't long till she arrived, hopefully with Theo in tow. Looking around, more than a few of the others were here, each to themselves, or a small grouping here and there. Which was well and fine, she still had to tell the details that Theo would want, at some point. The last thing she wanted was having to tell the rest at once, as well. While relations with Ser Viktor, would always be a bit trying, the rest maybe.. Well that was a thought for some other time. Looking around, and sighing a bit, the noble shakes her head. "..this is just like the army. Just more gloomy, maybe I should see if the kids want to see a dead body.." Well there was no way, she could set a fancy dinner of any sort for him, or even a proper table arrangement.







It was still better than the Rations they had towards the end of the war. Always on the move, and far from home, the Keldian supply lines would stretch, delays would happen, and the Abbelestian tenacity never left much to forage. On that fault, she pauses momentarily looking at the food behind the counter, beyond in its storeroom. Yes it wasn't much, it wasn't fancy or special.. but at least for now, it was for a war that actually made sense.

She would have to prove herself, worthy of this investment. She had no plans on dying just yet.. While she might not trust the Abbelstian soldiers, Karmia would fight alongside them. If they wouldn't put a dagger to her back, she wouldn't to them either. Comrades in battle did not need to like one another, they simply needed to work together. Gathering two bowels, and explaining Theo, the woman prattles on briefly. It seemed that all that was left was Porridge, the other provisions would be prepaired later, Porridge was all that was ready to eat now, the rest would be later, though that would be some time.



Taking the collection, and giving a shrug towards Theo, it wasn't much. "Meal time isn't till later, this is left overs. Well..I'm sure you've had worse." Setting the bowel down, they might as well eat what was offered, she hadn't had much this day. "So..Boy, what do you wish to speak of? Or should we go somewhere else? Not exactly the..meal I wanted to give you."



Setting the bowel down for herself, the purple armored knight sits down, ignoring a few stares or barbs, it didn't matter. Tasting the liquid, it was better than anything she had in months now. But of course she doesn't say that, even as she continuously takes bites. "Needs honey or brown sugar."
 
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"Uh.. How was your duel?" He asked Lydlos

"Mine was a bit... draining, to say the least."

He waited a little more before adding in

"I'm on my way to the dining hall now." he stated

He looked down at her, waiting for a response. He was trying to socialize with the others a bit more, his grand stand off at the gates may have made him even more unapproachable than what he already is (Which he is very aware of). So he's deciding to try to socialize with fellow members. He hadn't noticed the girl before until he actually put some thought into it, which was odd considering how he tried to be aware of his surroundings throughout the excursion. He then realized he did not know her name and quickly added in, possibly interrupting her.

"Forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself, I am Viktor. What is your name?" he said rather robotically
Lydlos had known she had company from the very moment the large man had entered the stables, but said nothing, wanting to remain in her blissful peace for as long as possible. However, when he cleared his throat and proceeded to awkwardly engage her in conversation, there was nothing she could do to pretend he wasn't there. With one last pat to the animal's head, she sent the pup back to his parents and rose to her feet, a small sigh escaping her lips. "My name is Lydlos Morder. It is a pleasure to meet you, Viktor." The greeting was bland and had no real emotion to it, only used as a polite placeholder. Another part of her training, the ability to act like a normal person and infiltrate any society. Lydlos glanced over Viktor, her perusal obvious but the intent behind it not so much. In reality, she was assessing his threat to her and what weapons he carried, while to an untrained observer, it might appear as though she found the man... appealing.

"Let us converse on the way to the mess hall - I seem to have forgotten to sate my hunger after my own duel." Lydlos spoke, a bit wary of the other man, but aware that he was (supposedly) an ally and so she let herself walk beside him (still not trusting him with her back but not distrusting of him enough to force him to walk ahead of her) as they angled back towards the main part of the fortress where the other important areas were. "My duel was... unsatisfying." She finally responded to his earlier question, hesitating a bit before being able to find the perfect adjective for what she had felt afterwards. "I neither won nor lost, despite my opponent acknowledging his own defeat. It is rather... frustrating for me." This situation had never happened to her before. Either her opponent was dead, or she had run away. That was even the case with her Master - the feeling of victory she had felt standing over his cooling body...​
 
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☾☾☾ EARLY EVENING ☽☽☽
Aatu slid beside her, onto the bench. The table was littered with scraps of discarded bones, jams and jellies that had hardened, and stuck to the surface of the wood. A couple of names and letters were carved amongst the woodgrain, and there was the occasional heart encompassing those names; blocked by the onslaught of plates and tankards. The Binnseman looked towards the Lancer, studying her face. He watched her lips move, as she spoke, going slightly cross-eyed as he studied her mouth. His tongue darted across his own torn and dusty lips, making a thin sheen appear across his lips. He mouthed her words as she said them, the barely audible fluttering of his lips lost in the noise of the tavern’s chortling and songs. Aatu reached for his drink, across the table, and brought the drink closer to him, weaving his fingers around it.

The Blennghams’ were deep in their cups; scattered tin and wooden cups staining the wood dark and wet infront of them. As the smell of rye, sour vodka, and rotten beets rose in greater intensity from the discarded glasses, their singing grew louder as well. Their feet stamped and shook the table. The older of the pair, with a bright red scar that stretched from the top of his ear down to his mouth, clapped some of the nearby Argent soldiers on their arms. Regardless of whether or not they could speak his language - he sang his tavern song slowly, repeating parts of it. The soldiers learned. Soon, several others at the table were engaged in song, bright, loud, and the same sort of tavern song that is sung all the world over. But the tavern was crowded, and bustling, and the song’s lyrics were muted amongst the clattering of plates, the shouting of camp-followers, and the endless chatter.

Nonetheless, Aatu slightly forward, elbows pushing against the top of the table. He turned towards the Lancer, his eyes dark and narrowed in his head. He moved his mouth open and shut, lips twitching. But, then he spoke - a murmur more towards the Lancer than towards anyone else. There was a lilt in his hesitant, foreign voice, a sing-song quality; “Remember how there was a tavern / Where we used to raise a glass or two / Remember how we laughed away the hours / And dreamed of all the great things we would do?” The Binnesman nodded once, and flicked his fingers towards the signing, drunken bunch. The candlelight made a little light come into his dark eyes. He clutched at the cup, and took a sip from the drink infront of him. He winced, a visible twitch in his face around the jaw. He coughed once, and cleared his throat. The strong smell of dill-weed and charcoal rose up from the glass, hanging sweatily in the air.

The Binnesman sat the drink aside from him, and looked towards the chaotic crowd in the tavern. Fights were broiling, men and women shoving each other around, threats being tossed about idly. His fingers twitched against the cup, tapping a pattern against the side of it. His left-index finger did not bend, when it was commanded to, lagging slightly behind the others. He took another sip of the drink, making a similar face to before, and then, pushed the glass away from him. The sloshing of the drink could be heard - the cup was still nearly entirely filled. He opened his mouth, and then, his tongue moved within it, priming itself for speaking. Before he did, however, the camp-follower from before, the dark-skinned Meadow-woman pushed her way through the signing louts. One of them clearly pinched her - behind her back. She scowled at him, pleasant smile turning sour.

The Meadow-woman carried with her a ladle and a large iron pot of what could only be a corn-meal porridge of some kind; a neutral shade of beige with yellow chunks within it. It was steaming from the pot, and the Meadow-woman slopped some of it with her ladle into a small tin bowl - which she pushed across the table, infront of Aatu. Bits of sloppy porridge ran down the sides of the bowl and made splotchy patterns across the table. Aatu’s lips twitched, and he nodded towards her. The purse was withdrawn again, with two Binneshellers. The Meadow-woman snatched them up, stuffing them in a small pouch at her hip. As she-bustled away, the Binnesman set the purse back in his pouch. He patted it once, and flicked his fingers slightly, making the coin jingle. But the jingling of coin went unheard in the loud clamour of the tavern, dying under the sound of singing Blennghams.

Aatu cleared his throat once again. His lips did not move, prior to his speaking, and the heavily accented words dislodged from his mouth; “The healers are impressive.” His eyebrows knitted themselves heavily over his dark brows, the characteristic frown crawling once again over his face. Deep creases appeared around his eyes, and at the top of his nose. “Was the fight made a tie?” His nose wrinkled, as if he knew that he had used the wrong verb. He folded his arms across his chest, his fingers tapping idly at his elbows, “Why do you collect scars?” Aatu turned away from her as he asked this question, his eyes converging on the singing Blennghams, watching them sway in their chairs, their red drinks sloshing to the floor, as tears dried on their faces. He made no mention of his own fight.
 
Vaniela merely snorted slightly as the Binnesman began to softly sing along with the Blennghammers a few tables away. "Tch! For all they like to big themselves up as big tough warriors, they don't half sing some sentimental bullshit at times, don't they?" She took another swig of ale. Her head began to feel a bit fuzzy - was it really that long since she'd had a decent drink? It never used to affect her like this, after all. "Not a military man, eh? Seven years on the frontlines of the biggest fuckfest the world's ever seen tends to give you a few souvenirs to walk away with. In my lot, each was seen as a badge of honour - sign that someone'd paid more than just lip service to the oath. Even had a couple of dumb recruits try to go into battle without their helmets on to get their first - my sergeant slapped some sense into them, but that was the kind of unit we were." She shook her head wistfully. "Never used to sing anything that pretty either. Loud and sweary, that was how we did it."

She sighed heavily. "World's changed since then, though. If it was a fucking mess then, now it's gone beyond what petty vulgarity can describe. Guess that's why we're here." She caught sight of the young man who had been messing around with flowers outside the gate. He had sat near them, but not too near, as if he were afraid of intruding. "Hey! Don't think we met yet. Shift yourself closer if you want, I don't mind. Name's Vaniela. Yours?" The ale was definitely starting to get to her a little now. She could feel light-headed - after one ale? Andar would be laughing at her - but the fancy nobles always used to swear that alcohol made social affairs run smoother. "So, my duel," she said, turning back to face Aatu, "was definitely interesting. We had a couple clashes, neither of us really being able to touch the other, then we just ended up smacked right into each other. At that point, we both managed to stab each other in the same place at pretty much the same time. Both of us went down, neither had the strength to continue, so we ended up being a draw." She turned, making sure the Drokken felt included. "In 12 years of training and war, I have never had anything like it as a duel result." She spooned a couple more mouthfuls in. "So yeah, that's my first experience of this place. How did things go for you guys?"
 
Lydlos had known she had company from the very moment the large man had entered the stables, but said nothing, wanting to remain in her blissful peace for as long as possible. However, when he cleared his throat and proceeded to awkwardly engage her in conversation, there was nothing she could do to pretend he wasn't there. With one last pat to the animal's head, she sent the pup back to his parents and rose to her feet, a small sigh escaping her lips. "My name is Lydlos Morder. It is a pleasure to meet you, Viktor." The greeting was bland and had no real emotion to it, only used as a polite placeholder. Another part of her training, the ability to act like a normal person and infiltrate any society. Lydlos glanced over Viktor, her perusal obvious but the intent behind it not so much. In reality, she was assessing his threat to her and what weapons he carried, while to an untrained observer, it might appear as though she found the man... appealing.

"Let us converse on the way to the mess hall - I seem to have forgotten to sate my hunger after my own duel." Lydlos spoke, a bit wary of the other man, but aware that he was (supposedly) an ally and so she let herself walk beside him (still not trusting him with her back but not distrusting of him enough to force him to walk ahead of her) as they angled back towards the main part of the fortress where the other important areas were. "My duel was... unsatisfying." She finally responded to his earlier question, hesitating a bit before being able to find the perfect adjective for what she had felt afterwards. "I neither won nor lost, despite my opponent acknowledging his own defeat. It is rather... frustrating for me." This situation had never happened to her before. Either her opponent was dead, or she had run away. That was even the case with her Master - the feeling of victory she had felt standing over his cooling body...​
Viktor at first believed that the woman was not exactly pleased with his presence, which made him furrow his brow a tiny bit. He continued to listen to the woman however and his doubt was cleared when she decided to take the lead and asked him to walk with her. She examined him before hand which didn't particularly phase him, although his ego received a little internal boost when he misunderstood her stare. He had been in war for so long and in love with his Lady for so long that he had become unfamiliar to the intricacies of women. He shook his head and followed her out of the stables.

Viktor simply followed silently and continued to listen intently, he was a good listener simply because in the later years of the war he had simply developed the habit of staying silent when others spoke. He had grown tired of the repetitive bitching and conversations from subordinates and higher authority, he was a knight, and a soldier. Listening was part of his job really, so he remained silent until she would finish. When she finished he responded after about a minute of silence.

"My duel was in a sense unsatisfying as well, it was by no means a bad fight, but it did end in a draw. But it taught me self restraint in the end which made it a helpful experience.." he said

He continued walking silently, coughing occasionally and looking around. He looked to his right and decided to examine the woman he walked with a little better. She was shorter than Viktor but her height was tall for a woman, he took note of her features and how she looked. He couldn't quite classify the woman, she held a poker face, naturally and had a mysterious air around her. It intrigued him but he didn't want to peer at her for too long. When they reached the mess hall he walked in first and examined the surroundings. He spotted Vaniela and Aatu, he remembered the man's name from the gates, when he tried to calm him along with the other abbelestian lad named Theo. He eventually spotted Theo as well, to Viktor's surprise he was sitting next to the Keldian. Simply looking at her made Viktor's expression sour slightly but he restrained himself, he knew that his attitude would have to at least improve a bit since he may possibly end up working with her. He wasn't ready to apologize for the things he said previously to her... but he would be somewhat nicer in the future.

Still slightly surprised/impressed/angered by the fact that the Abbelestian boy had already found somewhat good terms with a Keldian. He quickly grabbed two bowls of stew handed to him and handed one to Lydlos. He would let her choose where to sit really, he didn't want to force her into socializing (I mean he doesn't like too either), but he kept looking towards Vaniela and Aatu however, possibly wanting to sit with them. (Wink wink nudge nudge)
 
Celthric Rivtdale
Nightfall

Celthric stood with his back to the fire, ignoring the pain in his side. His traditional armor was packed away in his quarters, and in its place was a dull leather outfit with a wolf tooth necklace hanging from his neck. part of his chest was uncovered, so the leather wouldn't press up against his sore chest. His chest was broad, and scars covered it. Despite the healers best attempts, the projectile was powerful despite its small size. A scar was left in its place, though it was out of place with the other various battle scars that covered his body. The majority were from swords, spears, arrows, and a various assortment of animals, but this one shined out among the rest.
He was clearly drunk once again, or was probably never sober from earlier in the day. Around him, a small crowd of people gathered, despite his origins, he had stories to tell of his past adventures.

It was a night, much like this one. Calm and relaxing, though me and my hunting party felt tension in the air. The eyes of a mad beast stalking us.
He paused and looked around the crowd before continuing.
We smelt the beast before we saw it coming down on us. We thought we were following its tracks, but it was tracking ours! S'vthe was dead before he hit the ground, his head lobbed off his body by the beast. Though it appeared more beast than monster, it was straight from the mouth of hell! Its long fangs tore into another one of my men, tearing out his throat and spraying blood all over my fucking face!
The drunk story teller made the motions as he told his story, and was speaking loud enough for the majority of the Dining Hall, and probably even outside the stone walls of the room.
The last two of my men charged the beast with spears, one was swatted aside into a tree with enough force to break bones! It was clear his lungs were already filling with blood, one of his ribs pierced them. The second man stabbed the beast in the stomach with the spear, but it merely angered it! He chomped down onto the mans helmet, and crushed it like twig underneath a boot! Just like that, I was alone with the beast.
He paused for dramatic effect and to take a drink, but mostly the latter.
It swiped its claws at me, and I dodged it easily before burying my axe in its shoulder.
He motioned to his two handed axe at his feet, as it was already stabbed into the wooden floor planks.
Buried it so deep, I couldn't free it! The beast swiped across my chest and cut straight through my iron mail. Giving this nasty scar.
He traced it over his chest, it was a long jagged scar, and it disappeared underneath his shirt. He reached down to his belt and drew his hunting knife, the blade stained with blood as he waved it around for the crowd to see.
I drew my knife, and as it reared back to end my life, I stabbed the bloody thing through its windpipe, and cut across in a quick manner to end its life, before it ended mine. The beast fell on me, and I was stuck there the rest of the night under its weight. I was sure I was going to bleed out, but a second hunting party reach me in time, before I bleed out like a hog!
He smiled a toothy grin and stabbed the blade down onto the table, and laughed some as he finished his drink, proud of the little tale he spun.
In truth, it was merely a bear that cut him across his chest, and he didn't take it down alone either, but him and a group of his Grimdosh hunters trapped it in a cave before finishing it off. Only one man died, and not all three.
 
Not long after he had set himself down, Ash heard the loud woman's voice calling over to him. The boy jumped a bit in his seat, as he wasn't expecting anyone to speak to him. She asked for his name before quickly introducing herself as Vaniela. The young male stumbled over his words, as he tried to form a coherent thought. "Oh.. uh.. I-I'm.." he cleared his throat and looked down at his bowl of food and played with the spoon. "My name is Ash." He finally managed to stumble out. "Nice to meet you.." he mumbled quietly, although his final statement was muffled by Vaniela resuming her conversation about her duel.

Interested, he watched her and listened. Hee fight seemed to end rather violently. With the wounds she said that she and her opponent had sustained, Ash couldn't help but feel utter relief that he only got scratches. Thinking back on his own duel, he wondered where his opponent was, as she wasn't sitting around eating like the others, but he chose not to dwell on it.

As Vaniela finished her story, ash couldn't help but feel amazed. She had been part of an army for 12 years? At the mention of her experience, Ash couldn't help but feel a bit inadequate. Looking around, most of the people here seemed to have quite a bit of fighting experience, and Ash felt subpar in contrast.

With a small sigh, he shook his head to clear it of the negative thoughts. There was no way he could improve if he started being negative now. Vaniela seemed to ask, as a general question to any around, how their duels had fared. Ash remained quiet, opting to listen to what any of the others had to say.

He looked at the others who were around, his gaze focusing on the one Vaniela seemed to be talking to before Ash sat down for a moment, trying to get a good look at each face that he could. After looking around at everyone, he went back to messing with his spoon, awaiting someone to speak up.
 
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