“The commander?” Venneith questioned as he sat there, kneeling by Nerr’s side as the dragon continued to drink, only occasionally glancing at Amyth and to check his surroundings for any possible danger. It seemed despite being tame, the dragon still was rather instinctive. “The commander,” Venneith said again as if it amused him. “And what is this commander’s name, and what does he ask of me?”
“Aye, his name is Jord,” Amyth answered. “And he has a combat assignment he’d like to discuss.”
“Combat assignment…” Venneith thoughtfully mused. Not one day has passed and once again he’s offered to put his blade to good use. Venneith could hardly complain; it was his duty after all, and fully why he ventured to the forerunning district of Marrin. Plagued with slow growth and development, with numerous threats, some being monsters and dragons but they were often they were the least of their worries.
Looking to Nerr, who now hoisted himself atop Venneith’s gauntlet, he asked Amyth, “Has Jord given any details regarding this request?” Was running head first into some blind act really what Venneith needed at this moment, especially when Nerr was of great concern? What if the dragon got hurt? Perhaps he should just leave him in the care of Trent, but then again there was no telling how long this combat assignment might take or if it even was one. Of course the dragon was blissfully unaware, just about as happy and gleeful to be using the knight’s armor as his personal climbing rack, crawling to the highest places and establishing himself there with a triumphant trill.
Answering, Amyth assured him. “He has, very much so, but take my word for it when I say he’s the better one to explain it rather then me and my intermediary skills.”
There was no harm in listening to any proposition as the final say was left to the Knights of Carthol, unless of course it was a high commander with specific authority from the king or general. This was why most knights, including Venneith, considered themselves commanding freelancers, but this in and of itself was another element of the stigma each and every knight, righteous or evil, dragged with them.
Glancing back to the sanctuary hidden behind a thin veil of brush, the knight made one last consideration before coming to his final answer. “Of course. By my knighthood it’s my duty.” As the knight stood ready to leave, there remained just one scaly little problem.
Looking down, Nerr sat there, unsure as to what to do with himself. Perhaps he was waiting for another command, a treat, or both. Venneith didn’t want to just waltz on into the fort, at least not with too many prying eyes. There’d be too much curiosity from the soldiers, too many questions and unwanted attention. Perhaps he could have just run Nerr back to the sanctuary, but then again Venneith wanted to insure the dragon never left his side for fear it might grow beastly and unfaithful.
It seemed there was only one alternative, one Nerr didn’t quite fancy so much. Regardless, Venneith scooped the dragon up in his hand, unstrapped his pack and gently stuffed the little dragon snuggly inside, much to his chirpy dismay which soon grew to small growls as Nerr struggled within the confines of the pack.
With Nerr safely and discreetly stowed away, Venneith gave one slight nod of approval before making his way to the fort without another word, with Amyth following in his stead. As he approached Venneith made a few observations of the fortifications on the outskirts of town. The fort itself was fairly standard, aside from the drawbridge being its only metal and mechanical feature. Within the timber walls lay four barracks buildings estimated to hold forty or sixty men each, an archery range with hay dummies and targets, a fenced-in sparring ring with an array of dulled swords, pikes, piercing knives, gauntlets and halberds, as well as an array of books featuring carefully illustrated blade play and fundamental demonstrations of martial arts. To Venneith, this was a strong indicator of a commander who favored his soldier’s skill and capability as an individual on the battlefield as opposed to overwhelming numbers.
Now, Venneith was the type of knight to draw a conclusion based on the circumstances of his surroundings. In this case it was the fort and the conclusion was the nature of the commander in charge and whether he was uniform or unique when it came to training, and lenient or assertive when it came to dealing with his men. What were his standers? How competent was he at giving commands and keeping the fort?
He first looked to the wooden wall made only of the trunks of tall pine trees. This method of construction was purely meant to compensate for the lack of time when first beginning to settle in any lands, and not just time but resources too, as no doubt stone was very high, coupled with the fact that there may not be any nearby stone quarries. Regardless, Venneith drew his first conclusion and that was that the commander was a bit of haste when making decisions, but Venneith could only be proven wrong if it turned out to be untrue.
He then looked to the trench that surrounded the wall. It wasn’t dug right next to the face of the wall but given a little space away from the fort as to not diminish its structural integrity, threatening to collapse the structure altogether. From the face of the wall it wasn’t a steep drop, but a gradual ramp to the very bottom where wooden pikes lay buried before the steep drop that followed for anyone attempting to cross over the trench. However, for any that would try he’d no doubt be showered with oil upon the ramp leading up to the wall itself and ignited into burning flames to later die out. This indicated to Venneith that the commander in question favored conserving his resources over slathering it all throughout the trench with the faint chance of it being put to use in case of any attack, man or monster.
Hasty and conservative, two attributes Venneith could already sense by looking at the wall alone, but now he approached the drawbridge and the threshold to the fort itself, Venneith would be sure to closely observe the men and judge the commander by how they held themselves — the way they talked, did they lousy around, take their job seriously and be constantly prepared for anything?
First impression: they were laid back and unattentive. This could possibly be attributed to a lack of discipline, but most likely was because no major incident had taken place at the village in recent times. Regardless, their absent-mindedness irked the knight until they stood to attention, giving the knight free passage into the fort after a brief confrontation.
As Venneith began making his way, Amyth followed until he was suddenly halted by one of the guards. “What is this?” Amyth irritatedly questioned. Did he have to prove himself to every narrow-minded Carthinian?
Venneith seemed to have noticed with a tilt of his helmet, yet he didn’t intervene, leaving the matter to Amyth himself as the guard explained saying, “Security issues. With the war raging back west we’ve been ordered to not allow sanction into the fort to any Narrovinian. Could be a spy.”
Amyth would’ve been inclined to agree, yet the smug smile on the guard’s face was indication enough that his excuse was pulled straight from none other but his own ass. Yet Amyth knew not to make a fuss lest he make a bad impression on Venneith. Let the conflict pass over now and earn more of the knight’s favor later. Attempting to prove himself through some menial matter seemed childish, more so than the guard’s bigotry, and so without another word he marched off, hand clasping the hilt of his blade as he did so.
Now Venneith actually found little issue with that little event. Yes, it was bigoted, but there was some truth in the guard’s words. Venneith hardly even knew Amyth himself, and only brought him along out of spite for Phith. In fact Venneith hardly knew what he was to do with Amyth, but if he was a man who could wield a blade, speak little and cause no trouble, then it didn’t matter if he was a Narrovinian or not. Having to listen to a whelp of a lad drone on about his ambitious dreams of being a legend gets old and very irritating after all but two days, worsened by the fact that their stubbornness and hardheadedness gets them killed more often than not.
That aside, Venneith, now within the fort, began to take notice of his surroundings, noting the layout of the fort before anything else. The wall itself was r
oughly circular in shape, with the main gate facing east and a wide open sparring area at the western end where men practiced their skill in blade combat with dulled weapons.
On the left and right of where Venneith stood were the only stone buildings within the walls. From a brief glance, one seemed to be the main armory while the other looked like the forge for the production and repairs of weapons and arms. To the west of those buildings and further down the path Venneith walked were two rows, each with three barracks buildings where the soldiers undoubtedly quartered themselves during the nights when they weren’t stationed to watch.
By a rough estimate, Venneith guessed each could hold roughly fifty, yet from a mere glance at the fort itself it was obvious no such number of men existed as of yet. This first struck Venneith as odd but he quickly decided to attribute it to preparedness. Who knew, perhaps the king would station a great many men here one day, but given the recent conflicts back west Venneith sorely doubted such a thing would happen.
While Venneith admired the fort, its occupants and layout, Nerr once again began growing impatient. He didn’t think of the fort as a reflection of the commander in charge, nor did he reflect upon how convenient the layout was. He simply wanted to quench his curiosity as he heard new things and smelled very strange and new things.
He began to rustle within the pack in an attempt to gain sure footing to thrust his head beyond the veil of the pack and look about, yet he couldn’t wander. The damn strap insured his shoulders and wings couldn’t push past without great resistance. He chirped and let out a slight snarl as he struggled. As Venneith turned to face south he calmed the dragon, assuring him to be tame.
Was this another command, Nerr wondered? ‘Silence’, the knight had muttered. What must that mean? To Nerr it eerily came off as a command, yet the dragon began to wonder if his protector just happened to mutter something beneath his breath or was really reacting to the dragon’s struggling.
Yet after Nerr paused shortly to consider this, he heard the token phrase, “Good dragon Nerr,” and was rewarded with a treat. Yes…silence means to quiet one’s self and if Nerr remained silent then no doubt he’d be rewarded once again. So Nerr huddled himself down and made himself comfortable, yet his limbs longed to stretch and run about, yet Nerr suppressed these feelings in favor for the desire of treats. A little longer perhaps, thought Nerr as Venneith exited from the presence of the greater light into a place of lesser light, a building to be precise, before standing still, waiting to be addressed.
As Venneith stood to attention, hands behind his back, legs apart in a sure stance as he waited to be addressed, Nerr lay snugly within the pack quickly growing impatient at the lack of treatage being given. He lowly grumbled to himself, yet he immediately fell silent once an unfamiliar voice began to speak. With a slight sting of fear the dragon listened intently, attempting to pick up on whether the voice was dangerous, angered, or in any way aggressive, but with Venneith at his back Nerr worried little but grew curious nonetheless.
“Aye, Venneith my knight.” It was a voice that seemed reluctant, yet thoughtful, lacking any of the arrogance Nerr had remembered being strongly associated with Phith. It was like Venneith yet…younger, almost.
“Is it true I meet the knight in burnt armor, the cloak of fire and the righteous wielder of fury?” asked the stranger, who Nerr only knew as some voice while Venneith understood him to be the commander of this outpost.
With names not yet given, the commander sat behind nothing more than a desk of wood, cataloging inventory consisting of food, weapons, armor and soldiers. He wore no helmet, his armor was hardly impressive. His sword was rather simple and his shield lay scratched and dented beside the table. Behind him lay the armory, guarded by iron bars kept sealed by lock and key. There was no guard standing by, there was no scribe or servant. He wrote with eagerness and haste before finishing to finally look to the knight who stood there, finely presented as he stood tall ready for orders, if any, to be given.
“Aye,” the commander muttered to himself in affirmation. “It truly is.”
“I’ve been told you have need of me, yes?” Venneith asked, faintly beginning to hear Nerr shifting around from within his pack, only to occasionally whimper as he struggled to free himself. It seemed Nerr was growing restless…
“Yes, yes it’s true, I do have great need of you,” the commander began by stating. “But not just me, trust in that. No doubt there’s many people out there now, hoping, praying and dying, just waiting for a knight to…wha— what’s that sound?” the commander asked, having heard a small squeal emanate from the general direction of the knight. It was small and light but piercing for just a moment as scratches and rustling could be heard too.
Nerr was struggling, his head already sticking out from the bag with his presence hidden only by the knight, who faced the stranger, but when the room fell silent Nerr too fell silent instinctively and listened.
Venneith could clearly feel the dragon struggling to break free but he was more concerned with professionalism than insuring the dragon go undiscovered. It was his little beast, and if any man say it should be slain, that same man must face him, yet Venneith demanded the same professionality as he gave.
“Continue, Commander,” the knight said with a nod as Nerr lay still, half hanging out of his container. He got one arm free and now he struggled for his wing, but as Nerr sat there as still as he could as to not be noticed until his escape was complete did he begin to hear the stranger speak again, only after apologizing.
“Y-yes, my bad,” he said before remembering where he left off at. “…men dying, just waiting for a knight to valiantly burst forth from the darkness and liberate them from their troubles, yet here you are standing before me. But tell, will you, what…” he paused once again, having heard another scuffle emanate from…the knight…no, behind the knight. “What is that noise?”
One more push and his waist would be free. With a snarl and a great exertion of strength, the dragon flapped his wings frantically and pushed from the bag before he all at once fell from his container, crashing to the hard stone floor. Freedom at last, freedom to explore and freedom to once again stretch his limbs once again, oh how stretching just felt so good to little Nerr.
Yet when the dragon did flop down, the commander faintly spotted the scaly creature, calling out, “Aye, what is that, a rat?!”
“Have you never seen one before?” the knight asked, tilting his head as if Nerr was nothing more than a common house cat. “It’s a dragon.”
“A dragon?” the commander asked in bewilderment, yet when he looked to the knight he saw a figure hardly interested in discussion. He had brought the knight here to assign him a mission, not gawk over some scaly beast he apparently owned. By his word the commander swore he’d suppress his curiosity and carry out this meeting with the utmost of professionalism.
Looking about, Nerr let his gaze fall on the commander before slipping back up to Venneith, who stood like a mountain. He hadn’t objected to Nerr’s escape so the dragon guessed that it must’ve been fine that he broke free, so, falling into curiosity, the dragon took his time to explore this new-found building. It didn’t smell like the one at the falconer’s sister’s place, with the stew and all, but Nerr did faintly pick up on something he guessed to be edible, so with his nose guiding his step, Nerr sauntered off, chirping every so often.
Keeping a careful eye on the dragon, the commander tried his best to focus only on the knight, even while the little thing slipped behind him and past his desk. He swallowed, remembering where he left off before he became distracted, before beginning once again. “Yes, um…tell me, Venneith. What compelled you to back the development of Marrin with your blade and effort?”
As he spoke, Nerr found himself faced with small cabinet, but his nose told him it was something inside that smelled of something easy to eat. There was a crack in the side and he pushed his nose against it, but it did not give. That was until he raised his claw to scratch at i
t. It did it creak open, only for the dragon to discover a small, ripped chunk of bread lying there for the taking.
The commander’s head turned back to see what the dragon was getting into, yet he refrained once again and turned to the knight before continuing. “The gods know there are, what some may call, greater conflicts back west where men fight on the shores of the Xanthain sea from the district of Roe, through Verrith and all the way down to Agrenal, and over what? Some ancient trade disagreement?” A smile would have creeped onto his face had there not been a baby dragon lurking about, as he often found such a conflict to be trivial by nature. “Aye, but I don’t mean to offend you, Venneith. Gods know you can slay me easily should I say something out of turn, but I’m not much of a man for great conflicts myself. Too many men become disposable, too many resources become expendable, hence why I find myself here like so many others too.”
Now Nerr had moved on after consuming the bread and began looking about the place, at the wooden chair, the wooden furniture and fur carpet. The wooden things Nerr had found were easily climbable, yet Nerr became more interested or perhaps intimate with the fur carpet beneath him. He began rubbing his face against it, feeling just how soft it really was. It was softer than the grass and warmer too and it felt good as it brushed against his scales.
Meanwhile the commander tried not to become distracted as Nerr let out one content chirp after another. “In a place where every man counts, every grain of rice matters and where each and every person is worth his and her own ambition. This… land of Marrin is a place of great opportunity and potential for growth. Perhaps that’s why you came; to defend the small and precious things when wars brew about and that is why I now employ you.”
“I’m listening and ready.”
Nerr would’ve been perfectly content with laying there all day against the warm bristles of the fur carpet, yet his attention was drawn to a glint that flashed across his vision. Looking, his attention was drawn beyond the thin rods of iron at the back of the building to a place filled with all kinds of metal things.
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