Lonan scrubbed the blood from his armor, the cloth he held rubbed the crimson madness in a little deeper for an added shine. So much blood had come across this armor, that the metal that was once silver now turned a slight pink. Lonan's crystal blue eyes did not miss a single fleck, his hands stained with the same blood as his armor was. He made sure to pick out the blood from the intricate carvings on the surface of the metal. It told of his long-lost royal lineage, his loyalty to his great-great uncle, and his family's eternal glory for the wars they had won. Twisting animals, of wolves, eagles, and unnamed beasts danced in and out of each other to tell of these strengths.
Lonan was now in his undergarments, or as the men called it, city garb. He would have to change again before he went out to get the blood stains out of his clothes in time. Despite his royal bloodline, Lonan had a simple tent and only one maidservant. He licked his lips at the thought of it. Being at war for so long did things to a man's restraint, or in Lonan's case, the lack thereof. Maiden was the last thing she could be called after Lonan had been at war for a few months. But she was no longer appetizing to him, he had tastes for different women tonight. And well deserved too, for he had led his men, as a lieutenant, into victory over the last of the rebel forces.
Wild men, he remembered as he picked bits of fur off of his cloth before dipping it into the cleaning oil. They fought more like scattered sheep than men, but they were ferocious as the wolves they kept as dogs. Wolves that had no master to call their own now, as they fed upon the many dead. Lonan and his men would be able to scour the battlements tomorrow for precious things, if these beasts had any. To the victor goes the spoils.
Finally, he was able to see his reflection in the armor. He beamed at his appearance. Bright blue eyes to contrast with his tanning skin and dark, almost black, hair cropped close to his skin. He kept himself well-shaven for appearances in this season, when the weather was hot and sticky. With his new mirror, he removed his shirt, eager to gloat to the women later about his roped muscles. He saw a quick flash of light as the maid entered.
"Sir, please. Would you allow me to leave for the night? My grandmother is near this day, and I would like to visit her," the maid asked, shy and in terror.
"No, I need you to wash my shirt and keep watch over my tent tonight. Did you not hear? We have finally won the battle against the barbarian hordes! Tonight, I celebrate!" he said, throwing his shirt at her as he picked up a clean one.
He swept out of the tent, knowing full well that the girl hadn't seen her family in over a year. But the pride of the 20 year old royal soldier far outshone her need to see her family. By weight in coins if not anything else. That same weight of coin hit his thigh as he strolled through the camps this evening, ready for a long night of celebration ahead.