Part 18 Making the Connect (or Danja Ghida divines our Hero) =Danja=

(Co-written by Blaze, http://lessthan141.blogspot.com/ )

I finish my song and make eye contact once again with Leo Stormguard, and realizes that he could move in and out of just about anywhere and no one would ever realize he was a hero.  Put him in a pig pen, and call him Ham.  Someone would ask him the price of bacon.

“Buy you a beer?”  I shrug to indicate a back room, behind the bar, where Bards and sometimes gamblers go.  Leo Stormguard does know that anything can be a trap.  I wonder if he knows that some things are NOT a trap.  “It’s a back room for privacy, yours not mine.  I mean...  You really don’t want everyone in this place buying you a round, or do you?”

I don’t even get a grunt as he makes a small nod.  It makes me wonder if I want to be alone in a back room with someone who is already annoyed with me.  Nah, no one kills a bard on their first meeting, not even Stormguard, right?  I mean right?  (Hey, you!  You better not be scrolling down to click aggressive, I have my eye on you!)

Several of the bars denizens try to catch my eye, or close with me before the door to the back room is safely shut.  They have no idea why I would be going into the back room with Mr. Non-Descript.  Not one other person in the place is actually worthy of my second glance, even as an audience, I doubt they have enough thought process intact to appreciate the skills involved in my craft.  Most of them are pickled.  Few even have crunch.

“Beer?”  I ask.  There is the pitcher I had waiting, and two mugs.  Clean ones.

Now he stirs, enough from whatever deep thoughts keep his tongue still and nods that he will accept a beer.  He is so chatty, how will I get a word in edgewise?  Perhaps I should be plying him with something distilled... Yet the man speaks!  “How did you know?”

I smile. 

“How do bards always know?”  He puts a stress on the word.  I can sense his discomfort.    “Not even a day...  And it rhymed and everything.”

“That is my job.  Like being a hero is your job.”  The explanation is actually fairly simple, and essentially true.  “We are charged with the accumulation of current events into knowledge.  Knowledge into story and song.”

“I fight for money.  I’m no hero.”  He points out to me.  “This... is just what I do.  My job.  I do my job.”  There is a tiny scowl that starts between his eyebrows on the bridge of his many times broken nose, and it creases his eyes.  “I don’t pick the fight, I am hired.  I don’t pick the cause, the Captain picks the cause.”

To me, all heroism is subjective.  Even the most dire villain thinks he is a hero in his own story.  “You work for the Captain.” I point out.  Because he could work for someone other than the Emerald Dragons, but he wouldn’t.  He wouldn’t do that anymore than ArchDuke Felix would beat a horse, or Bryan Baker of East Brumsford would put sawdust in his challah.  As a Bard, I know these things.

“The Captain does a good job.  He picks the right side, he keeps everyone alive, knows how to deal with the employer--”

“Aren’t you the one who made him Captain?”  He is, I know that.  “If you hadn’t supported his cause, wouldn’t everyone have said he was too young?”

His battle gnarled hands twist like balled roots of the world-tree and he raises them in exasperation crying out, “how do you know that?”

Bards do not explain themselves.  We are not the story.  We are the story bringers.  “Does it matter?  It is true.”  True is important to me.  Not the minutia of truth, which is called honesty.  The large truth.  The small details can be manipulated to make for a better tale.  This is why you leave the details fuzzy...  So that they do not get in the way of the story.  Who cares what Leo Stormguard actually looks like?  Or how old he is?  Nobody will care in a hundred years...  Everyone wants Leo Stormguard to look like their personal hero.  Peter from two streets over, with his golden locks and clear blue eyes, or Ragnar with his dark scowl and quick laugh. 

Peter and Ragnar won’t ever be heros they will only look like they could be.  Leo Stormguard is the Hero, and he looks like no one in particular.  Anyguard, anytown, anyone in armor. 

“What matters is that what you do, and how I tell it will make youngsters grow up to be like you should be.  Better than you actually are... if it is possible to be better than Leo Stormguard.  Is it?”

He is exasperated.  He blurts out, “of course it is!  Just because I am alive doesn’t mean I am undefeated.”

His words, and more his emotion from that one phrase wash over me, and it is like the opening of a book.  The book of  Leo.  Not since he was little has he tasted loss, when he was a small boy, who saw his town overrun and who to save his own life grabbed a sword from the shelf of a smithy, fleeing through thick smoke and thicker screaming to save his own life. 

Heros have their own yardstick reserved for self-measurement.  Never used to measure others.  Leo Stormguard sees weakness in seeking aid from another, even when it is given gladly, and he sees defeat in a single backward step, even if it’s demanded by his leaders.  His weakness in making them call for the fallback, not theirs for ill planning.

This is what makes his battle-hardened spirit lag, to feel that he has not done enough to keep everyone from harm.  Even those who desire the press of battle as much as he does.

Interesting.

“So, Leo, in the tale of which hero have you ever heard only of success?”  Now I place the platter between us.  Good hard cheese and warm soft bread.

Part 17 "Prismatic Bard"

(Co-written by Blaze, http://lessthan141.blogspot.com/ )

I don’t even know the names of most of the colors she is wearing. It is as if some fell creature has eaten an oak tree and a rainbow and puked them up into an outfit. The hooded mantle on the woman ends in dags shaped like oak leaves, and the bells and buttons on the garb are shaped like acorns. Even the folds of her boots are cut into oak leaf shapes. “Who?” I ask the Barkeep.

“Danja Ghinda.” He replies, “Bard.” He says it like this: Don-ya Gin-da.

Danja Ghinda stands and looks around the tables of men drinking and laughs at their blank expressions. She hops from one table to the next until she is on the bar, and hunkers down in front of me, eye to eye. Her eyes and hair are dark. She smiles all her teeth at me and she has an enormous amount of even white teeth. I don’t recall seeing anyone with whiter teeth. With more courage than I have seen in many a warrior she meets my gaze and then of all things her thickly lashed eyes wink at me.

She stands once more, bringing the harp to bear and plucking out a lively tune. I watch her feet tap and her voice rings out clear, silencing the din.

“Stormguard seeking charms
Ran into Anton’s open Arms
What he wanted was no hug
But a weapon he could lug!” 

Her grin is aimed at me.  Maybe so I won’t kill her later?

“Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.
                                   
Elf  he made a mighty pel
Like a daemon out of hell
When he orders it to fight
It will battle any knight!

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

Hefting Axe and hafted mace
Stormguard swung about the place
Pelman’s spell it went awry
Are those smithies gonna die?

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

May have been some other day,
But Stormguard stood in the way
Of daemon bound to deal death...
(Our boy won’t even lose his breath.)

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

Save us! Save us!  Cried the Elf
Then went on to wet himself.
Pel came forward weapons flashed
Maces pounded, swords they slashed.

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

All around the smithies cowered
But not Stormguard, he glowered,
He glared, he raised his sword
He diced that Pel into chip board!

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

Probably saved the whole damn town
Stormguard’s earned his vast renown
Big, he is, and yes, he’s really fleet
Bad men see him and cross the street!

Mighty men earn mighty foes
Stormguard has them, he knows
Always to be on his toes.

Killed the daemon in the pel
Then paid his bill so legends tell
Settled on a fair amount
and that’s the end of this recount!”

Part 16 “Fullest Extent of the Law”

I head in, and Dartac tells me that they can drop everything else and get my armor ready tomorrow, before noon. After that the shield should take almost no time at all. He seems to want me satisfied and out of the smithy in a hurry. Almost pulling me out by the hand, he leaves me with, “It's bad luck for a warrior to see his armor under the hammer, unless the hammer is his.”

While it is hopefully an unnecessary measure, my next stop is the guardhouse. If that cloaked man was serious there might be some trouble before tomorrow, and I'd rather have them know than not know. While I can probably take ruffians like him, and this belt Norrin gave me should keep them from getting me in my sleep, it would be hard to explain to the authorities. If I have one of my blackouts it would be even harder.

The nearest watchman directs me to the guardhouse, and I make it without issue. The building is actually rather impressive, most cities I've been in don't make their guardhouses this defensible. It's probably built to serve as a defensive bastion for any who can't make it into the inner walls quickly after a breach in the outer walls.

A man about my age sits just inside the doors behind a very sturdy looking wooden desk. He looks me up and down, “I'm sorry, sir, we aren't taking on any more watchmen at this time.”

“Not here for work, I'm here to report some trouble.”

He opens a drawer pulls a paper out of it. Taking a pen he starts writing, “Name, occupation and current residence?”

“Leo, mercenary, no residence.”

“Are you a citizen?”

“No.”

“So, what is the trouble?”

I recount the events of yesterday and today involving the ruffians and the cloaked fellow and his threat. All throughout he takes notes. He seems somewhat relieved when I let him know I'll only be staying here for one night.

“If you were from around here, I'd tell you that you were crazy for sticking around for some armor. Judging by the location of that attack, I'd say you've drawn the ire of the Brothers of the Coin. They will probably try to kill you tonight if they can, especially since you're a nobody around here. I'd offer to let you stay in a cell just for safe keeping, but, quite honestly, part of the reason we haven't driven them out yet is because they've got so many watchmen paid off. The best I can do for you is make sure one of the men I trust is patrolling near the tavern you're staying at. I can also give you some advice, get a room without a window if you can, and if you can't I'd suggest not sleeping. As a non-citizen, while you are allowed to defend yourself, if you kill an attacker, and you look like the sort that can, you will need significant proof that they intended to kill you, or you will be arrested, and as I already said, I don't trust you to be safe in a cell if those bastards are after you.”

Well then, that's useful, guess I'll have to try and hold back if I can. Better than nothing, I guess. I let him know that I'm staying at the Brass Bearings Tavern, and leave. I spend the afternoon placing food orders to be picked up tomorrow. I return to the tavern just in time for dinner being served in the common room. I can smell the cooking and the ale as I enter. The innkeeper makes sure I have a seat at the bar and asks me again if I have any war stories to tell.

Just as I'm about to start, a woman in brightly colored traveling garb, who had previously been sitting at a table in the center of the room playing a small harp, rises from her chair and stands on the table. She inquires in a loud voice overtaking the dull roar of people talking over dinner, “How many of you have heard about the commotion over at Anton's Smithy yesterday?”

Oh no...

Part 15 “Cartog-rage-phy”

I make it to the cartographer without any more trouble. The shop is a bit stuffy, but it's well maintained. In the large room, an older fellow sits at a slanted table near other similar tables and desks covered in paper, bottles of ink, pens and other tools that I don't recognize. He doesn't react to my entry.

“Hello, I'm looking for a map.”

He continues working, “Well, I'd hope so. If you weren't, I'd sell you one anyway. Coming here for anything else is a clear sign of being lost. Please, wait just a moment, I can't stop quite yet.” His pen dances along the parchment for a short while before he sets it down and turns to me, he looks a little haggard. “So a map you say, could you perhaps be a bit more specific? Map of the city, of the duchy, of the kingdom, the world?”

I hadn't really thought of that so much yet, how far this journey might take me. “The kingdom.” I can always buy another if I leave the borders.

“Which one?” He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, this is exactly why I don't deal with customers when I can avoid it. I get testy when I'm tired, and I'm always tired, and that's because I have to do extra work, because of certain WORTHLESS APPRENTICES THAT DON'T SHOW UP AT DAWN LIKE THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO!” With that, his hand quickly grabs a small straight piece of wood from one of the nearby desks and hurls it like a dart over my shoulder. I hear a grunt of pain followed by some grumbling. He looks past me, “Now sit down and get to work! Quit your grumbling, it was just a straight edge. It didn't draw blood, next time it'll be a pen, and that will!” The only young man that doesn't stop grumbling as they all sit down and begin working at the empty desks is rubbing at a small welt on his forehead.

“That was a good shot, you do that often?”

“Often enough that the smartest ones were using you as cover. Now you, of course, mean this kingdom. Build says fighting man, age says leader position, clothes and sword at your back say otherwise. Sellsword? I'm guessing you probably want one emphasizing trade routes and hubs, but then again all I know about mercenary work is guarding caravans...”

“Actually, I'd like to know where I can find the larger temples and shrines.”

“Really now? Well you're in luck, then. Fellow the other day wanted a map drawn up for a religious pilgrimage he was going to undertake, after it was done and he came to pick it up and pay for it he decided that I should lower the price for a devout such as him. Got rather flustered when I told him that he should have tried negotiating a better price when he ordered the thing, ended up leaving without paying and without the map. Here take a look.”

He rummages through a shelf full of rolled up parchment, and pulls one out. At a glance, it seems easy enough to read, some of the cities are further labeled with a temple name, and many shrines are just out on their own. The nearest is a Church of The Scythe, about three daymarches away. I think I'll pass on that one, even though I'm sure the death worshipers would love me. Looks like a good enough map to me, overall.

We negotiate a price, in the end it's very expensive for a piece of parchment. As I head towards Dartac's to see how long the armor will be, I check the map more thoroughly. It looks like I'll be heading northeast though, through the town of Timberfell. Not sure which way I'll go from there yet, probably further north toward the nearest Shrine of the Traveler. Just over a daymarch to Timberfell. I suppose I'll buy five days of rations though, when the time comes. One thing I agree with The Captain on is bringing much more food than you plan on needing, especially if it keeps well. With that in mind I can place that as an order with one of the merchants once I find out when my armor will be ready.

After regaining my bearing of where I am in town, (I can almost hear The Captain, “Getting lost in town because you were too busy reading a map. Good job, Leo, good job.”) I make it to Dartac's smithy once again.

Part 14 “Morning Stroll”

I wake up early enough that the only other person active in the building is the inn's owner. He's preparing to cook breakfast for the current guests and silently trying to rouse the rest of his staff. It's a small group and once they are started working he notices me, as I take a seat at the bar. He brings over some poached eggs, bread, and bacon.

“You're up early, have someplace you need to be?”

“No, just habit.”

“Ahh, yes, now I recognize you. You were with those mercenaries that left yesterday. Why, didn't you head out with them, or is that something you'd rather not talk about?”

“I have some work to do solo. I'm heading out as soon as some armor I've requested is finished. Today I'm grabbing a map and traveling gear, know any place that you would recommend?”

Even though I checked some of the stores yesterday, it would be a good idea to ask a local. As an innkeeper, I figure he would probably know about this. He does, and names a few trustworthy cartographers and a few to avoid. He also tells me which general stores have the best gear according to what he's heard from guests here. He asks if I have any good war stories to tell, but now people are starting to wake up and he has to get to work taking orders and cooking. Having finished my breakfast I turn to leave, but as a parting shot he calls out to me, “Perhaps during dinner, you must have seen some neat things out there.”

Could be worse, he could have figured out who I was, then the whole town would probably be asking me the same question. I do have a few stories I don't mind telling though, mostly about other men in the company.

While shopping I find much more in the way of enchanted supplies than I was expecting, they must be easy to make with the price they are being sold at. I keep it simple though; tent, a pair of torches, bedroll, flint, tinder and a pack large enough to hold all of that and a fair supply of travel rations.

On my way to the cartographer's, the streets begin to crowd up. A cloaked man begins walking very close to me. “You shouldn't have roughed up our boys yesterday.”

“Hmm?”

“If you don't want any trouble you will leave town today.”

“I'll leave when I'm ready to.”

“You'll leave today.” So that is what the belt Norrin gave me feels like, I sense that the man is pulling a knife. Almost like someone only I can hear is calling out, 'Knife to your left!' I can probably draw my mace and drop him before he can stab me, and I don't have the patience to deal with him in any other way if he doesn't back off.

“Keep the knife to yourself, if you like chewing your own food.”

I turn toward him just enough to see the look of surprise on his face, both of his hands are still completely concealed by his cloak. He turns and disappears into the crowd. I should see how long Dartac is going to take with my armor, might want him to hurry. I should probably tell the watch about this encounter as well.

I wonder how many days of 'fun' I'll be having in this town.

Part 13 “Logistics”

I come back to my senses. Another blackout, did I hurt anyone?

There's the golem, took off both arms and then the head. Still some smoke rising off of it. Never seems to take me long to come around once the last opponent is put down. Shop area isn't too much of a mess, Syl is hiding somewhat clumsily behind one of the anvils. I guess that toss wasn't too bad for him. Mace did as good as I could expect it to given the circumstances; can't really expect a one handed weapon to do it's job as well as a two handed weapon without something in your other hand.

Where did the mace go? Not at my belt, should visit a tanner next and get belt loops for the mace and axe, if they don't sell those here. There it is. I must have been disarmed as I was blacking out. Hopefully I can still buy the weapons and get out of here without too much fuss after all that.

“Yeah, I'll take it.”

“I'm dreadfully sorr- wait, what?” He looks surprised, perhaps he saw my switching to the claymore as dismissive of the mace.

“I'd have stuck with it if I had a shield or a non-throwing off hand weapon. Under those circumstances, I felt the claymore would get the job done better. Nothing against your workmanship.” I can't help but feel my explanation is more just to hear myself say it. He still looks confused.

We head back to the front of the shop to work out the price of the weapons. All of the apprentice smiths are hurriedly trying to explain to Anton what was going on back there. Anton seems lost in the chorus of conflicting voices and descriptions. Syl tells them all to get back to work and we renegotiate the prices of the two weapons. His offered price is somewhat lower than it was before. I hand over a fair portion of what's left of my advance pay. I feel like I should help cover some of what they need to replace with the golem, but Syl insists that it was their fault. He even pulls a long-knife from under the counter and gives it to me, “on the house.

“This way you won't have to worry about an off hand weapon, also has some minor enchantments to make it more useful as a utility. Good for skinning and cooking.”

As I am leaving I can overhear the voices of the apprentices cleaning up, they seem to have forgotten to close the door to the back room. One is complaining about losing a bet about who would win that fight. Another is claiming that it would be impossible to cut through the metal at the shoulders of the golem the way I did. Yet another still is declaring that he can't wait to tell old Barleyhorn at the tavern about this one, oh no. I expedite my retreat from the smithy, before they get a better look at me. I don't think I gave anyone my name. Somehow, though, the bards always know...

Next is to check on the prices of food around here. I've never had to worry about logistics in The Emerald Dragons, time to learn how long I can expect to live off of what is left of my pay.

Good thing rooms and meals aren't nearly as expensive as weapons and armor, let alone magic weapons and armor. I should be able to travel for quite some time off of what's left. Longer if I hunt while on the road. I decide to wait on buying my traveling supplies until tomorrow. The food can wait until my armor is ready. Food can go bad, may as well buy fresh right before I go. I could buy some enchanted to keep fresh longer or self cook, but that seems rather excessive. I've dealt with dried or salted meats on long trips before and it would greatly extend the amount of time I have to travel before finding some supplemental income.

I go back to the tavern to settle down for the evening. My company has already moved along. No surprise there, shouldn't be too hard to find them again if I try.

I do some footwork exercises and pushups before sleeping.

Part 12b “Man o' War” =Syl=

I was stunned, but found my breath in time to see our latest customer facing off with what I had previously considered to be a harmless training automaton. Now it would seem to have fused with the reject and unenchantables pile.

What a mess. How does this even happen? This type of golem isn't supposed to be able to go berserk, of course, it isn't supposed to start gluing weapons to itself either. I can't spot any major changes in the auras of the weapons, nor in the golem. Perhaps something smaller, too small to see while it's moving as much as it is.

It has a piece of a spear I had attempted to lightning enchant, but could only get an incredibly weak amount of power into. A short sword that didn't seem to take to any enchantment at all, but I guess must have something behind it. I can't remember the rest. Oh, there goes the crossbow I had intended to grow its own bolts, but instead decided to fire flower petal bursts. I was actually hoping to find a buyer that would want something of that sort, I think that I will try to duplicate the effect. Surely it would make a great ceremonial weapon, with enough of them firing petals in unison.

While I had intended to run away, my fear gives way to curiosity as I watch the big spender do battle with the thing. It isn't often that I get to see my work wielded in actual combat, by actual trained fighters. His motions are fluid and, except for the occasional stutter or aggressive parry on the construct's part, I would say that he was doing a fair job of holding his own. He has a stern look to him now, not the amused posture I had seen before. For a human his age, he's stayed in shape quite well, I don't think I've seen Anton keep up this level of activity for this long.

Eventually, a hit is scored on the warrior, a small scratch to the shoulder with a sting of electricity from the spear. I don't think I'd be able to bear it if this thing kills anyone. It isn't a golem made by me, but all of those weapons were. I hope he can pull this off. Looking frustrated, he puts his hand against the hilt of his sword.

Everything changes.

It had looked impressive before, I could see several layers of magical enhancement, an ability I had spent many decades honing. As soon as his hand touched the blade, it was like lighting a torch with a candle. The auras of magic not only grew in intensity, but they also enveloped the man. This I can not understand, none of the auras seemed remotely similar to the sort I've seen that increase the wielders physical power, or do something of that school of enchantments.

His expression changes as well. Frustration, fatigue, fear, it all disappears from his face. Leaving what starts as a look of curiosity, examining the mace now in his off hand as though it was his first time seeing such a thing. Quickly this seems to change to anger or, perhaps, contempt. He throws it off to the side while fluidly avoiding a swing directed at his head.

I think I may have just lost a sale...

What happened? Is he really that used to this weapon? He moves with amazing precision, each swing is short, surprisingly fast for such a weapon, and with no wasted motion that I can see. Having discarded the mace, his face seems distant, as though this wasn't anything new to him. He moves as though he had fought this enemy every day, and has brought it down to a routine. Each attack beautifully intercepted, each counter would be crippling if there was actually a person inside of that pile of arms and armor. I haven't seen such a fluid connection with a weapon even in the elven realms, the technique is wonderful in it's simplicity. He removes one arm and than the other. The berserking golem takes no heed and proceeds to attempt to kick the swordsman or hit him with one of the weapons stick to its legs. Does he remember?

“You should take the head off if you want it to stop!”

A sharp glance in my direction makes me feel as though I distracted him at a vital moment. A swift twist of a parry knocks the golem into an awkward spread eagle, followed by thrust with a crackle and bright flash of lightning, and the head is rolling along the ground leaving a small trail of smoke.

The brightness of the aura fades somewhat, and he looks amused as he put the sword back in the harness on his back. His expression quickly changes to confusion or disorientation as he looks around for a short period at his handiwork, spots the mace again, and goes to pick it up. Our latest customer spots me and heads in my direction. Here it comes, he's going to shove the thing into my chest, tell me it's not good enough, and leave fuming.

“Yeah, I'll take it.”

“I'm dreadfully sorr- wait, what?”

Part 12a “Presenting a Threat”

I wouldn't want this thing loose on the streets. I knocked it into that pile, so I guess it's my problem to fix. Though, I'll see if I can do it with this new weapon first. Oh, look, it is going to salute this time. I draw the throwing axe in my off hand as it assumes a stance somewhat different from the previous one. Now threatening me with a small sword attached to its right forearm and a broken off end of a spear somehow stuck to its wrist. I should look out for kicks as well, a dagger and an axe head seem to have stuck to its legs. The rest of the weapons stuck to its body are positioned in ways to render them nonthreatening. I'm assuming that they were reject weapons, but that doesn't mean they weren't any good. They might just not have been good enough to sell.

I am startled when the empty crossbow that has attached itself to the left side of the pelgolem's torso draws itself back. I sidestep to my left to avoid any sort of shot. When I hear the mechanism fire, a small burst of flower petals comes forth and drifts slowly to the ground. I find myself dodging toward my right when the golem takes a swing, aiming to stick me in the shoulder with the sword on its right arm. Much more dangerous than before, not something I should be doing unarmored.

I step back and toss the axe at the things head, but I'm high and to the left. Okay, not something I'm accurate with in my off hand. The axe imbeds itself in the wall behind the weaponized golem, vanishes, and then reappears in my hand, throwing of my balance just enough to let the golem deflect a mace shot I had aimed at it's elbow. Right, putting that away for now. I deflect an incoming spear thrust as I stick the axe back into my belt and adopt a two handed stance with the mace. The crossbow is still firing occasional puffs of petals, that distraction isn't helping either.

I take a few more swings, but the golem's defense is much tighter than it was before, and the counter attacks are enough of a threat to keep me back a bit. The spear tip grazes my shoulder, adding a small spark and shock that stings like hell.

No shield, one-handed mace, sure it was doing just fine for a weapon I considered using with a shield, but damn it. . .

I shift the mace into my left hand so I can hang it at my belt as I grab my claymore. . .

Part 11 “Test”

“Sure, wouldn't be very good if I couldn't get the magic to do what it's supposed to.”

Syl takes me through to the back area of the store. A few apprentices are working at weapons, not nearly as crowded as the Dwarven smithy. Also, the air is notably cooler, more open windows and ventilation chimneys. In one corner is a small clearing and a mechanical man composed of wood and metal. Near the pel golem is a neat rack of fine looking weapons, some of which emit magical glows of various intensities, and a messy pile of weapons also of various makes and levels of magical aura.

“Oh, let me pull that out of the way.” Syl takes a broken axe from the small clearing around the pel golem, on closer inspection it seems somewhat burnt around the break. He unceremoniously tosses the axe onto the pile, must be the rejects. “Using the wrong ingredients can cause catastrophic failure of the imbued magic.”

The golem is smaller than most I've seen. Some of the richer nobles have one or two in their armed forces. Perhaps it becomes easier to make and control a smaller golem, I've seen the big ones go berserk. It's best to keep your distance when that happens. This one seems to be mimicking the armor style of the city watch with wooden components where plate armor isn't present. Where a normal persons hands would be are sacks filled with something. Probably a soft filling, unless whoever usually tests these is used to taking blows, I don't see anyone that has that look in here though.

Syl brings my attention to a small circle on the floor. “Once I activate it, it will fight with anyone who brings a weapon into this circle. It will deactivate if you force it out of the circle or if you tell it 'stop'. Don't worry about breaking it. We keep a supply of replacement parts. Well, except for the head, that's where the magic inscriptions are. It's a tough piece, just don't try too hard to smash it open.”

He steps over to the pel golem and places his hand over it's 'face'. He whispers “It's time to fight.”

It stands erect, and brings one 'fist' to its chest in salute, and then assumes a pugalistic stance. I step inside of the ring with the mace held at the ready, no shield, but this thing probably won't do any damage with those pad hands.

I side step its first punch. The swings are pretty quick, nothing beyond what I've seen before though. I drop a vertical stroke on its shoulder, I can't feel any wind off of it, beyond the normal. Dodging two more punches, I land a pair of horizontal swings on the chest plate, leaving sizable dents. Both swings kick up the dust from the floor and walls.

After a little more experimentation, and gaining a nice bruise from a score to my shoulder (the gloves are padded, but also seem to be weighted), I find that horizontal swings generate the small gusts of wind, regardless of whether or not they hit. The closer they are to being perfectly horizontal the stronger the gust. With diagonal strokes being barely noticeable.

One swing that seemed to be a failure on my end, grazed slightly across the chest plate. Right at the apex of the swing, though, with the sharpened tip of the mace scraping along, a noise like thunder boomed. The golem was pushed back several feet out of the circle, as air rushed around the both of us. Once out of the circle, the golem goes limp. It then stands slowly and, slouching, slowly hobbles its way back into the circle. Syl goes over to it again and reactivates it. It salutes once more, and we have at it once more. We have a few rounds. It doesn't seem to change tactic at all, and all of the bouts end in just about the same way.

By the time I'm done with the thing, it looks like it's been stepped on by a giant once or twice, and I have a few more bruises. The mace is well enchanted, but I'm still in the dark about how to trigger that air blast. My only guess is that it has to be an unintentional near miss, I can't seem to trigger it by attempting the graze myself. But, from the what I've seen, it is worth the money I'll be spending on it. Not an amazing opponent, I don't think anyone would actually get much better fighting one of these, I'd say it was more of an amusing opponent. The final Bout ends with an air blast tossing the golem onto the reject pile. I turn to, Syl. I think I'm done

“Satisfied?” Syl looks somewhat disheartened at the state of the golem. He moves over to the pile and whispers to the golem to go back to its corner. I don't have time to answer before my attention is drawn by a flash and a loud clatter. The golem stands violently with several reject weapons clinging to it. Casually, it tosses Syl off to the side. Syl lands on an apprentice knocking them both over. I look at the golem, I don't think it's going to salute this time...

“Not supposed to do that, is it?” Must be asking myself, most everyone else in the room is running.

Part 10 “Arms for Arms”

The streets are becoming more crowded, people are starting their day. Even now I can't break out of my tactical mind set, without something else distracting me. I begin to see the layout of the streets as a soldier does. This city has been designed with retreat to the castle in mind, I see plenty of escape routes and just about every street or alley looks like it would eventually meet a main road leading to the bailey. I find myself on one of those main roads. Unless I got turned around this should be near a good weapon smith.

As I near what looks to be a market square, the amount of watchmen in the area becomes noteworthy. I've seen my fair share of watchmen in combat, most of them were not very skilled at actual battle. Those that were tended to be ex-soldiers. It always made sense to me though, most watchmen never fight against an armed and armored opponent on fair terms. It's usually a fight to take in some unarmored hoodlum with maybe a knife or short sword, or a squad of them working in concert to take a larger threat. I'm sure that being in a peaceful town leads to skill atrophy as well. Though they do manage to keep their endurance up, walking around in that armor all of the time.

It doesn't take long for me to find the smithy I was looking for, Anton's Arms. I step in and am greeted by the owner, a dark skinned man, close to my own age, with muscular arms and very little hair. Even a part of one of his eyebrows is missing. His voice is rough, probably from working in the heat so much.

“Welcome! I'm Anton, owner of this fine shop. You look like you know your way around weapons, so feel free to browse. If I don't have a weapon of the make you're looking for in stock, I can make one for you, right quick. I'm taking inventory right now, but feel free to ask me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, I'll look around.”

Several weapons, each of many different types line racks, shelves, and stands. There's an iron door in one corner that look like it leads into a walk in closet of some sort. I can hear the sounds of a workshop coming from a back room, behind the counter. I wouldn't be surprised if the forges being attached to the main store in Dartac's was more of a dwarven custom. In the corner there are shields, but none of them are quite as high quality as those I saw at the armorer's.

I heft a few of the weapons. None of them feel quite right. Not a surprise, considering that I've been using the same weapon for over twenty years. It's odd actually, despite being such a large weapon, even when I first picked it up, this claymore always just felt right to me.

Anton walks over, looking somewhat concerned and confused. “Something wrong?”

“Anton, you damned learantavenine! When I tell you I need gray fox fur for an enchantment, doesn't mean you can give me –” A frustrated looking elf walks into the room, he spots me mid sentence, “Oh, there's a customer, sorry about that.”

“Then you buy the stuff you need next time, Syl, I don't know the finer points of enchantment, and the merchant said that was fox fur!”

The elf looks me over, “Anton, show him the good stuff, I don't think any of these mundane weapons are going to impress him.”

“Hm?” Anton looks more insulted by that accusation than he was by whatever Elven slur that was before. He moves over to the elf.

Trying to be quiet about it, but still to close to keep me from hearing, Syl whispers,“Can't you see? You know that house you bought off of the earnings from the city watch's weapons commission? That sword on his back is worth at least two of those.” The elf moves toward the iron door and pulls a key from a pouch on his belt.

Anton moves to the heavy door, also withdrawing a key from somewhere on his person. He whispers irritatedly, “Not everyone can see magic auras like you can, Syl!”

“It's not glowing, with that much enchantment? That's odd.”

Anton turns to me, his calm demeanor immediately returning. “Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. You would like to see some of our more heavily enchanted wares, yes?”

“I almost thought I had come into the wrong place, show me what you have.”

They both insert their keys and unlock the vaulted door at the same time, a soft glow emanates from the small room. As I walk over, Anton returns to taking inventory. “Syl will fill you in on the abilities of each of these fine works, as well as the prices. Take care of this one, Syl, make sure he leaves happy.”

The vault has a smaller quantity of the same variety of weapons as the rest of the store. Many of them are glowing; however, those towards the back of the room are brightest.

“In general, the further back you go the more heavily enhanced the weapon is. Is there anything in particular you're looking for?”

“One handed, durable. No real preference in terms of enchantment beyond that. Maybe a thrown weapon that returns if you have one, as well.”

Syl shows me several different weapons. They only have one throwing weapon that fits the bill, a mildly enchanted throwing axe. Despite his efforts at convincing me to buy an expensive longbow that produces its own arrows, I buy the axe. Never was much of a shot with a bow, but I'm fairly good at tossing.

I heft some of the more interesting of the weapons. Still, none of them feel right in my hand. The one that feels least wrong, and the one I end up buying is a heavily enchanted flanged mace. It is enchanted to maintain itself, sharpen its own flanges, or close any cracks that may develop. Also it can create a blast of wind if it makes contact just right, knocking the unfortunate foe back and releasing a thunderous boom. On normal swings it just creates a small wind, only strong enough to move smoke or something similarly gaseous around.

When I ask what swinging it just right means, Syl responds with, “I still haven't really pinned that one down, it just seems to happen sometimes.”

“You've tested these in battle?”

“Not in actual combat, but we do test them on a small golem to make sure everything is working as planned, weapons enchantment can be an. . . unusual field of magic. Would you like to give it a run before you buy?”

Part 9 “Reality”

Dartac gets up and resumes taking his measurements once more.

“I'm afraid that I haven't heard many accounts exaggerated more than that.”

Many have heard of what I did at Stormvault, but that variant was a new one. It turned out well, but by Bahamut's breath it was stupid thing for me to do. I guess I'll fill him in on the truth.

“We were hired to help protect Stormvault from the invading forces of Lord Adrian of Cliffhaven. Stormvault had a large wall around its perimeter, all in all a very good defensive position. But Cliffhaven was known for the size of its army. When they went on the march, the lord of Stormvault hired several mercenary companies to help man the wall. Ours was one of many.”

Back when we were The Swiftblades, we were mainly an infantry unit focusing on siege defense and offense against smaller defensive outposts. Back when 'The Captain' was just my nickname for the kid and not his actual title.

“Our job that time was mainly to keep the walls. Knock down siege ladders, deal with siege towers, deal with anyone who managed to set foot on the wall. I was on the west side, near the gatehouse.

“The commanders of the defense forces were relying too heavily on the walls. They had all of their men on them, I wondered if the commander of the western defenses wasn't in on the plot.

“All of us shooting bows, knocking over siege ladders. The portcullis was well made and constructed of adamant, the greenish ultra-hard metal not even denting from the blows of the massive battering ram of the enemy. I was just tipping over a siege ladder along with some of the men on the wall when the call came.”

“Traitor in the gatehouse!”

“Someone, somehow, had infiltrated the guards in Stormvault, I hadn't heard that it was a shapeshifter before, though it may have been. They managed to raise the adamant portcullis. They also managed to barricade the doors leading in from the wall and roof of the tower. The battering rams were still there underneath a metal roofed testudo. I could already hear them pounding at the wooden doors.”

If they got through those they could take the stairs up into the gatehouse, secure it, keep it open and flood into the city and onto the walls from the inside. I couldn't let that happen, it might not have assured defeat, but many of us would die.

“I could already hear the battering ram slamming against the oaken gates. I looked down the wall, the nearest stairway down was too far to make it in time, and with the raising of the portcullis the enemy troops ceased raising ladders.

The only way down that was fast enough, required me to give in to a stupid idea, quickly formed in my head. “A grapnel from the raising of the most recent ladder was still affixed to the battlement, I was about to throw it down when the call came. Instead, I grabbed on to it and jumped, sliding down the rope with one hand.

“Lucky I didn't break my legs on landing; full suit of plate, one hand on the rope the other holding my sword. I dropped really fast. At least three archers had good enough eyes to see what I was up to, but not enough luck to hit me.

I could hear the cracking of the gates, as I rushed in through the back of the testudo, they were splintered open just as the lightning enchanting my blade began to crackle in anticipation of combat, an enchantment I had enhanced my blade with just a few weeks earlier.

“The battering crew numbered ten men, not dark elven amazons. They had barely enough time to draw their blades before I dropped them.” I remember them twitching as they fell.

“The first squad of enemy infantry approached. They saw me standing there alone and laughed. They must have thought it would be humiliating to send a champion out to face me in single combat.” It was, for them.

“He was a decent warrior, too reckless in the end. Then two charged forward, then three. I was in the narrowest part of the gate house, it restricted their ability to mob me. One after the other, then in twos or threes I killed them, an occasional flash of the lightning with a high pitched buzz and followed by the smell of singed flesh and leather. The morale of the infantry watching broke, they refused to come in after me anymore.

“I'll fill you in on something not everyone that has heard of the battle knows. They called upon the archers. The men on the walls couldn't really see it, and it was over before reinforcements arrived. Other than myself and any of the surviving enemy, only the best bards somehow know.” How do the bards always know?

“The archers began filing into the closed space of the testudo, and opened fire. I didn't suffer a single arrow wound though. No, not one. Somehow, I knew just how to move. Each deadly shaft glancing off of my ever mobile claymore. I don't know how I knew, but those aimed poorly were ignored, glancing off of armor or missing entirely.” How did I manage that, it was a job for a shield wall not a lone swordsman, but, somehow, I made it.

“Eventually the archers, gave up. I heard at least one shout out that this was a waste of arrows. Men from the walls arrived forming a shield wall in the gatehouse.

“I had to move the corpses after that. Bodies in the way, couldn't let that prevent the gate from falling all the way, and the shieldmen didn't want to break their line. It has to drop completely and lock, otherwise enough men might be able to simply lift it back up. I went back to the wall, we held that city.”

Somehow enough people saw it, and then word spread. The lord of the city, titled me Stormguard. I never had a surname, it stuck. I became famous, and the company with me. Only 'The Captain' called me out on it. I knew... I could have been shot leaving the safety of the battlements, could have broken my legs, could have injured my arm dropping, shot by archers in the gateway, killed by the flood of enemies, overwhelming odds against me. What saved me in the end, luck or skill, it didn't matter. It was a stupid move, even though it turned out alright in the end, and being reminded of it all the time isn't something I enjoy. The Captain calls me Leo, he only calls me Stormguard when I do something really outrageous, sometimes he even calls out the other men for trying to 'Pull a Stormguard'. I haven't done something like that in years, even during my blackouts.

“I wonder myself sometimes, if I was lucky, skilled, or had fate guiding me, it doesn't matter in the end.”

“Nope, you accomplished something incredible, saved the whole city. I bet everyone in The Emerald Dragons wants to learn from you.”

I've given up on letting people know how I feel about the story. No one seems to understand, other than The Captain. They all say I should be proud, live the high life off of my fame.

“Yeah, I don't have the knack for teaching though, unfortunately...”

Dartac finishes taking his measurements. I let him know that while I plan on continuing to use my claymore, I also will be taking up a shield and mace, to hone another style.

“Shields don't need much fitting, but I'll take that into consideration for the design of your suit. I have plenty, pick one out after you've tried on the armor, see what balances best with you.”

I leave half of the payment for the armor and head out to find one of the weapon smiths. I think I will leave my name out of the conversation, if possible, with this next one.

Part 8 “The Legend”

(Co-written by Blaze, http://lessthan141.blogspot.com/ )

Dartac brushes off a bench and perches there, “First off, you have to forgive me but I always believed that the Stormguard in the tales was one of my kind, a Dwarf.  Although, his height was exaggerated, I figured that like my nephew Igarr he was just a big Dwarf.”  Drawing out his pipe and tamping then lighting it from the forge, Dartac inhales a huge drought of the smoke and expels it from his nostrils. The pale blue smoke smells of bay and rum and something my nose doesn’t recognize.

“Stormvault,” he began, “was a fatted calf of a city, and the Lord there was a half-elven princeling more interested in his library and his vines than he was in the stewardship of his city, which made it ripe for picking by the likes of a demon spawn general like Adrian of Cliffhaven.  Part orc, part human and all greed the general was always spoiling for the land of his neighbors and he was ready to crack the walls of Stormvault like you’d crack the shell of a crab, to get at the meat.

“The soft folks of the city would have simply opened their gates, except for the mercenary brigade of the Swiftblades.  (Who, forgive me, but I always thought you were all dwarves.)  That aside, as the thousand strong army of the dread warlord Adrian approached the walls of Stormvault, and the civilians huddled in the fragile safety of the inner bailey, Stormguard,” he gestured at the man before them, “well, you.  – Did you have a beard at least back then?”  

I shake my head, beards are a handle for the enemy to grab, and they tend to pinch in the chin strap of your helm or get caught in the hinge-works of your gorget.

Dartac shakes his head sadly, as if beardlessness strikes him as a palsy, and he feels bad for them who do not sport a fringe at their chin.  “Where was I?  Yes, as that ill favored horde of Adrian rumbled endlessly toward Stormvault, the general astride his war wurm, and the goblins and ogres snapping whips at the slaves who dragged the siege towers and war machines inexorably toward the city...” again he drew on his pipe and caused a wreath of pale blue to join the air around us with his words,  “This fellow...  Stormguard, fearless and battle-tempered, strode the palisades about the Western Gate, now called the Lion Gate – on account of his great deeds, giving all his fellows and those few city guards who knew their duty” a cough and a whispered, “dwarves of course,” before he resumed the tale, “hope that they would make it through to the morning.”

I roll my eyes.

“The people of Stormvault were relying too heavily on those walls for too long and on their great Greening Gate.”  Dartac cautioned his workers, “warriors make the battle, and armor makes a warrior better able to do his job.”  He puffed out the words...

“The Swiftblades knew their work, and stretched thin on the battlements, soon they were in the thick of shooting bows, knocking over siege ladders, and dumping flaming oil on the invading foe!  Despite the odds, they were doing a good job of it, too.   But numbers as well as skill have influence upon a battle, and the Adriani Horde was mighty.

“Soon the great adamant gate was feeling the ravening kiss of  battering rams, even though all around siege towers were catching fire from Swiftblade arrows.

“None scored more hits or drew more tirelessly than Stormguard himself.  He was everywhere at once!  Courage!  Courage!  He shouted to his men and to those city guard who had stood their ground (being dwarves.)

“Adrian was not to be denied however, for it was his way to hedge every bet and he was not opposed to subterfuge.  So it was that while Stormguard was deeply engaged with a several imps armed with scimitars, the adamant suddenly began to raise, and came the cry of Traitor!”

“Yes, the evil changelings of the Adriani had infiltrated the populace and now they manage to raise the adamant portcullis.  The bold defenders found access from the wall and interior to the gate house blocked, each door and hatch barricaded.  But our bold Stormguard here, was not to be denied!  Looking down from the wall he knew that the roof of the testudo beneath him covered a ram of enormous dimension, one which would make short work of the metal clad wood once the portcullis was no longer there to hamper ingress.”

“Where others might have hesitated, Stormguard cried out that he had a duty to save the city and his fellows, and he disarmed the imps and lashed them together using their wings he jumped from the battlements, and because they feared death they flapped for all they were worth, bearing him reluctantly to the roof of the testudo!” He mimed an archer pulling, his pipe the arrow, “fell archers drew and let fly at Stormguard.  One hand on the ankle of an imp, and the other holding the haft of his lightning-sword, he twisted midair, dodging the deadly flight. But three imps were not equal to the task and wings torn they plummeted to the ground below.” The dwarf’s eyes glittered in the firelight, “not our lad here!  He twisted in the air like a cat, and landed on his feet, there, before the raised portcullis and the heavy oaken doors of Stormvault, he was all that stood between the gate and the Horde which sought to ravage that fair city.  And well you know, if they took the gate, that would be all... Pale blue lightnings crackled and raised from Stormguard’s sword, skittering and playing on the blade, causing arm hairs to stand on end.

“Yes, Stormguard had a sword that was enchanted, as they say, to the hilt,” Dartac chuckled at his own joke, staccatto puffs of smoke dotting his laughter, “and it was getting ready to work the problem.”  He made a fist, as if he hefted the magic blade himself.

“Now the testudo of Adrian was covering a ram the likes of which has not been seen since.  It bore the likeness of the great head of the dread Pachycephus, the dragon who had battered his way into the vault of Queen Diedre the Miser.  It was the width of two men’s height and it took forty drow-amazons to start its swing.  Inside its frontmost parts was a fire laden kiln, and as it drew back it belched flame and bellowed as if alive.  But Stormguard here?  He had no fear of it, for he knew exactly what was to be done!”

As Dartac looks to me, I find myself wondering what pearl of wisdom this more magnificent Stormguard has than I; because faced with this scenario, I would be put upon to breathe, let alone think.  I nod to encourage him to continue this confabulation.

“Single combat!  He cried, knowing what pride the Captain of the drow women embodied.  Her swords brandished, for she fought with two weapons and no armor, bare-breasted and savage-like she danced forward, all speed and agility.  Stormguard stood, unmoving, and remarkably unmoved by her beauty now I think of it, which would have been remarkable even for a dwarven male, but nigh impossible for a mortal man.”  Here he pats my arm as if to give me an ‘atta boy.’

“She danced the dance of death, her kata, her dark hair flashing around her bare shoulders the blades blood red with ancient magics, and eyes smouldering, like the head of the ram smouldered.  But our hero did not ease his high guard, nor move, allowing her to come to him, to think he must be enraptured, or frozen in fear.  Until she makes her attack.  Then, snicker snack, like a whip cracking his sword moves - no tell to belie its courses, and her head rolls and her body drops. Dead. Dead. Dead.  The vicious Drow who had slain a thousand foes and never taken injury.  Her blood still feeds the small purple flowers that grow at the West Gate of Storm vault.” The pale blue smoke appears again and he waves it aside, “but this was no moral foe, and seeing their captain felled the infantry broke ranks and charged.

“Stormguard, like the farmer culling his wheat, sliced back and forth tirelessly, his strong arm harvesting the heads and limbs of his enemies until the bodies lay thick, and the ground was muddied and even then they came!  But this warrior who was not afraid nor outmatched stood and held that gate until his fellows could slay the traitors within, and drop the portcullis again.

“As I heard it they had to move bodies of the slain out of the way, so that the teeth could find their purchase and be locked.  Stormguard cut the chains from the ram and sent it hurtling down the hill to crush the enemy below, or scatter them, or both.  And then he scaled back to the parapets on a rope lowered by his allies.

“He alone had saved Stormvault.”  Dartac drew in one last lung full, and blew it forth, before tapping his pipe out and wiping his calloused  hands on his thick leather apron.

I wonder if there is a hero’s discount.

Part 7 “Armor”

I enter the building that acts as both Dartac's workshop and store. The heat and smell of smoke and sweat hit me as I enter the busy workshop. Forges sit on one side with smith equipment neatly arranged nearby. Apprentices, mostly other dwarves, carry metal about or work on pieces of steel, or other metal. Pieces of armor, some complete, others not line the walls and racks in the building. Even though the area is so cluttered with metalwork, the apprentices all seem to know how to get around with great efficiency. All of the gear looks to be of good quality, some of it I would even call masterful, though one should expect no less from a dwarven smith. Martin calls out to him as we enter, yelling to be heard over the rhythmic clang of hammer against steel, or occasional hiss of red hot steel being dunked in water. “I'm here, master Dartac!”

“If you're in then get to work, the forges don't feed themselves!”

“I've also brought a customer!”

Dartac looks over, his beard mostly concealing a burn scarred face. “Give me a moment to finish up on this and I'll be right over!”

He finishes pounding a piece of steel into a shape that I can roughly identify as the beginnings of a helmet, and an apprentice quickly takes over where he leaves off. Dartac comes over, looks me up and down, his eyes stopping for a while at the hilt of my claymore poking over my shoulder.

“Well, I see you have a sword, and, if the blade is as fine as the handguard and hilt, it's a good one. That means you must've come here for armor, and you've come to the right place.”

“Yes, I only found your apprentice by chance, he helped me find your store. You were recommended to me.”

“Oh, by who?”

“The quartermaster of my company.”

“He's Leo, works for The Emerald Dragons, master Dartac.”

“That sounds familiar...”

Here it comes, or maybe he won't recognize the name.

“Ah, well, I'm sure it'll come to me eventually, so what do you need the armor for? Do you have the money for something custom fitted, or would you like something adjusted to fit you?”

“I'm off on a journey of sorts, so I'd like something that I can travel in but still offers some decent protection. I also need to be able to put it on and take it off without assistance. How about something at least grade one enchanted, grade two if you know a decent enough enchanter.”

Traveling alone puts a lot more on my mind defensively, with more money I might have decided to try for more powerful magic. I pull out a few of the graded gems I was given as payment. He takes one and looks it over.

“Well then, you're in luck. I practice enchantment myself. A bit of magic helps speed up the smithing and fill out the bulk orders quickly. I can have a decent enough suit ready within the week, how about we get some measurements. Martin, for once you brought in a big spender, get over here and let's let him be on his way quickly after we get some measurements.”

Martin grabs a nearby stepladder and a pair of cloth measuring strips, and weaves his way around all of the other workers with ease. While they take measurements, we discuss the specifics and price of what I'll be buying. We get around to discussing ungraded enchantments he knows how to imbue, when he remembers.

“...I also know an enchantment to protect against lightning magic. Now I remember, you wouldn't happen to be Leo Stormguard, would you?”

“Yes.”

“The Stormguard, defended the city of Stormvault a few years back?”

“Yes.”

Here it comes...

“So is the story true?”

“How about you tell me the version you've heard and I'll fill you in.”

Part 6 “Muggers”

It's been forever since I've punched out idiots who think knives are weapons. Knives aren't weapons, they're sharp tools. That time it was a bar fight, still remember all of those. Hopefully they won't see the sword strapped to my back and run off. Stretching my arms a little, I approach. One of them hears me and turns in my direction.

“Hey, this is none of your business old man,” I'm not that old yet, though I guess they haven't seen someone my age fight. He waves his knife in my general direction, “If you know what's good for you, you'll turn around and leave.”

I keep walking forward. Oh, now he looks mad.

“I told you...”

His sentence is cut off as he thrusts at me with his knife, his movement is easily predicted. Stepping to the side I grab his outstretched arm and pull him off balance. As he stumbles forward I pound his back with my elbow. He falls to the ground with a grunt. That got the other one's attention. He takes up a stance, looks like he might actually know how to 'knife fight'.

Keeping most of my attention on the second mugger, I kick the first back to the ground as he starts trying to get up. Thinking he sees an opening, the one left standing rushes me. I grab him by the wrist and twist it. He yells in pain and drops the knife, I follow the motion with a punch to the face. His nose cracks with the blow. Grabbing his nose and staggering, the one standing runs off. I pick the other one off of the ground.

“You should be careful with knives, someone might get hurt.” With that I shove him off in the direction his buddy ran. He runs off too, but not before looking at the handle of my Claymore poking over my shoulder. I turn toward the halfling, “You ok?”

“Fine thanks, though I suppose I should find a new way to the shop from now on.

“That was impressive. You might want to be careful for a while now, though. Just in case those two were in one of the crime gangs around here, and not just a regular pair of thugs. I'm Martin, by the way, apprentice of Dartac the armorer.”

“I'm Leo, and I was actually on my way to Dartac's when I heard the commotion.”

“Then, I guess we can go together.”

Honestly, I'm glad he offered. After running over here, I don't know where I am at all in this city. This guy'll save me a lot of wandering around. Martin is a bit of a talker, and he goes on about how there's a lot of trouble in the area where he lives. Most of it is lost on me, gangs and thieves have never been something to worry about in the company. Almost every thief, mugger, and small gang knows enough to avoid someone that's armed and armored, more especially a group of someones. He asks me where I learned to fight.

“In my mercenary company.”

“Which one would that be?”

I've been in it so long that I always just think of it as 'the' mercenary company. I suddenly realize I haven't actually talked to someone from outside in quite some time. Ever since The Captain took over, it's been,

“The Emerald Dragons”

“Right, I heard they were in town. Well, if you're looking for armor, you won't find better than Dartac's in all of the town.”

I'll decide that for myself. I can hear him working as we approach the shop.

Part 5 “Goodbyes”

Paymaster Derrick is going through papers when I make it to him. He doesn't fight much anymore, mostly handles paperwork and the like. He's out of shape now, I remember when he was part of the vanguard. I hand him the pay notice, and he goes over it. He looks a little surprised and, after mumbling something about 'getting their money's worth,' counts out a stack of coins and graded gems for me to take.

“Th' Captain's puttin' a lot of faith in you givin' you this much pay to do whatever it is you're gettin' sent off t'do.”

He is, and I don't even know what to do. Perhaps I shouldn't have gone to Derrick first, he spreads news like wildfire. If anyone goes to get paid while I'm gathering my unit gear to turn in to the quartermaster, then the whole company will know I'm leaving for a while for some unknown reason.

I head back down to the wagons and take my armor bundle. I go to report to Quartermaster Stoneheaver, one of the few nonhuman members of the company. The dwarf, bending over as he takes inventory of consumable goods, looks even shorter than usual. His height belies an affinity for disemboweling his foes.

“Ah, finally here to turn in that armor. Good luck on your mission.” News spreads really fast when the paymaster is involved. I wonder if rumors about what this 'mission' is have started yet.

“Yeah, I got a bonus to purchase some personal armor with, though. Is there anywhere in town that sells decent enough stuff?” The quartermaster would know.

He rattles off a few names of smith's and tanners local to the city we've stopped in and gives their locations. I thank him. As I leave I get stopped by two of the veterans in the company, Jeremy and Norrin.

“Leo, we heard you were going off on some sort of solo mission. I figure it'd be best to help you get it done as fast as possible so you can come back quick. Here.” Jeremy hands me a pair of boots, “Those will help you walk and run faster. I'd use them on scouting duty sometimes, but I figure you're one of the best we have around here, so don't take too long.”

Norrin pulls a belt out of his magical bag. I should probably get one of those for myself, a backpack can only hold so much, too bad they're so expensive.

“I have this for you. Traveling solo is pretty dangerous, even with how skilled you are. This belt will wake you up if you're sleeping and someone grips a weapon nearby, or a predator notices you. I hope it helps you as much as you've saved me on the field.”

Norrin is skilled in his own right, but he always had a knack for getting in over his head. If he was ready to take on two guys, he'd round a corner and run into five. More often than not, I was there to make up the difference. I hope I've still been saving people when the blackouts started...

The quartermaster chimes in, “So wait, you two are giving him running boots, and a belt of alarm? The man who's killing capacity was only limited by who he knows about and how fast he can move around in all that armor? There's not going to be a bandit left alive between here and his destination!”

“You say that like it's a bad thing!” I agree with Norrin on this point. Any bandits, especially those dumb enough to mess with an armed individual, deserve to be run off or killed.

“Thanks, but you don't...”

“Nope, but we are anyway, take them. Be sure to come back before we finally catch up to your kill count, we'll never let you live it down otherwise.”

Norrin has been trying to catch up to me there for a while, he's been steadily losing ground the whole time. Personally, I don't think kill count is the right way of going about it, killing one real enemy is far and above slaughtering a hundred that don't have a clue.

“Just come back in one piece, okay?”

“Spoken like a true scout Jeremy.”

They begin to argue about the importance of scouting, a good opportunity to leave without catching their attention. Given his attitude on the field I'm unsurprised that Norrin doesn't regard scouts too highly. I manage to escape without running into any of the other men.

I walk the streets of this city thinking that I should get a map so I know where I am, too. I remember the directions, though, and follow them towards the nearest of three armorers. As I tread the deserted streets, it's still very early in the morning, I hear a yell of pain. I head deeper into the city towards it, curious, I guess. How do people live around here, I fought walking corpses that have smelled better than all this garbage. I hear a shout from a side street, I turn to look. A child? No a halfling getting mugged by a pair of men with knives.

Part 4 “Dismissal”

Bryant opens the door, inside sits The Captain. Neat stacks of paper sit atop the small table in the room, he is writing. I would imagine he's doing the math involved in running such a unit; I have never understood much about the logistics of keeping us all equipped, fed, and housed. His gear sits neatly bundled by the door, we pass it as we enter.

“Sir!” Bryant and I salute, then Bryant goes and stands in the corner, The Captain gestures for me to sit at the other end of his table.

“Leo, what the hell is going on with you?”

“I've been a bit distracted lately. Remind me of what's wrong.”

“Distracted!? That's what you have to say? Remind you?” frustration lines his brow, “Fine! For a while now, you've been reckless Leo. I'd have called you up here sooner if you had any family that I'd have to write a letter to if you died working out there, but it's just you. If you wanted to find yourself a glorious death in battle that was your business, but lately you've been downright dangerous. Have you noticed how all of the new recruits and some of the veterans have been avoiding you? The way you fight in a line is a hazard to both sides, anymore. You swing that huge sword of yours without any regard to those near you, some of the men think you're threatening them. I can't even put rookies next to you anymore, for their own safety.

“You go off with total disregard for enemy archers, I can't imagine how you manage to avoid all of those arrows. Have you ever been hit by one? If only you could teach something like that to the unit.

“This last job though, if it were a real enemy, not just some piss poor orcs equipped with barely enough to fight, you'd have gotten some people killed. We were prepped for an ambush, a clean sweep through. Why would you do that? You aren't some young greenhorn itching for his first real fight, you know better than to charge in without the order, don't you? You turned a clean sweep into a real fight. If anyone had died I wouldn't even be talking to you now, I'd have just discharged you on the spot.

“I've had Bryant looking after you between engagements for a few months, you don't show any of the signs of berserking or the blood madness I've seen grow all too often in men that have been fighting as long as you.”

Bryant chimes in with his usual fast paced cant when speaking of such things, “It's strange actually, you show some symptoms but in the end its all wrong. There's none of the post combat fatigue seen in berserkers, you actually seem quite rested. Nor is there the blatant disregard for defense. You still parry dodge and fall back at appropriate times when fighting in melee, and your swings are still tactical, I would even say borderline elegant. Yet you have blatant disregard for opposing numbers and, as the captain said, archers. While you do go for killing blows whenever you fight, a token sign of blood madness, you let anyone that drops their weapon retreat, which is something that someone that truly has the madness would never do. Also, you seem quite normal out of battle, those with blood madness are prone to violent outbursts regardless of environment. Even now while being confronted, you seem calm albeit a little confused or worried.”

The Captain gives Bryant a nod. Bryant salutes and leaves, “You are an excellent warrior, if you weren't you'd be dead by now, and if you weren't dead I'd have fired you. As much trouble as you've caused I don't want to just drop you and be responsible for what happens then.”

He sighs, clearly he doesn't like having to say this. “Listen you've been in this company since before I was captain. If you hadn't endorsed me, I think most of the veterans would have left. I can't just let you keep going on like this though. I'd like to keep you off the battlefield, focus you on training the new blood, we both know you're good at it.”

“Captain, you already know how I...”

He cuts me off, “Yes I do, but just now I've decided to give you a choice. You say you've been distracted lately, I don't like to pry but if you think I can help, I will. If not; you can take leave from our band on half pay for one year at most to wrap up whatever your problem is and come back, you can stay and train the recruits and hope your problem leaves on its own, or you can quit.”

“Sir...”

“Not up for discussion Leo, those are your choices, make one by the time everyone is ready to move out.”

He's giving me a lot of leeway just there. He cares about his men. That, and the fact that he's just about a genius at moving men on the field are why I put his name forward when old captain Greenfield retired. This company is almost all I've known for the last fifteen years, closest I've had to a family since my real one died. Have I really been acting that way when I've been blacking out? No one confronted me about it? I can't just let them know about these blackouts, the fact that I haven't brought them up so long, letting such a dangerous thing slip... I've got to figure this out alone, for my own sake.

“I'll be taking leave sir, I'll wrap this up on my own. I think it's a bit too personal to get anyone else wrapped up in. I'm sorry for having caused you so much trouble.”

He writes something down and hands me the paper, “This will get you a quarter of a year's pay, just give it to Paymaster Derrick. If you think it'll take you the full year I'm sure you'll be able to find us. You know how the equipment has been lately, so I'm afraid you'll have to go with just personal possessions. Be sure to grab a decent supply of rations, though. There's a small bonus in there to help you get some new armor, as well. I know you've spent all of your money on enhancing that claymore you've been carrying around all this time, always relying on the company's armor stores. I will be glad to have you back whenever you've fixed things up, take too long and I'll cut you back to rookie pay though, so hurry it up.”

“Sir!” I salute and leave. What did I just do? I don't know what the problem even is yet, well I have a year to figure this out. I can get by for a while on half pay, I think... Maybe never paying attention to logistics was a bad move...