Author: Luthene, Posted: Sun Nov 1, 2015 10:18 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"Captain said he'd explain the job back at the hall," Lugh replied as they walked back to the armorer's. A large man, Luthene noted, and his quiet demeanour made him seem even more imposing. He was hard to read, and that made her wary.

The cuirass Ranulf had ready for Luthene fit her well, but of course the smith had taken a good look at her. "Not much meat on her bones," Ranulf said, "and not much of a bosom. Barely a handful there. Didn't take much work to make lad's armour fit her. Come to think of it, Galin, have you checked to make sure she's not a lad? I could check her for you."

Luthene was relieved when Galin paid the filthy man and they left for the hall again. The sun was starting to set as they returned, and the captain— who, Luthene saw, was the same man she had fought earlier that day— was detailing the job. They were to divide into groups, travel to a manor, then loot and burn the place. Luthene's heart quickened. Finally, real work, and  it would be a good fight. Alyson might be of the duchy, but Luthene was of the kingdom, and this was also a chance to do some good for it. It also meant a chance to earn some real money, and hopefully start to pay Galin back for all his help. The kit wasn't exactly cheap, and he had done it all as a favour to her. At the very least, she owed it to him to pay back the coin he'd spent.

When he'd finished explaining the job, the captain called Alyson to take her vow, and it took Luthene a second to remember that he was calling her. She uncoupled her hand from Galin's— had she taken his hand, or had he reached for hers?— put on her helm, and picked up her shield. She approached the captain, drew her sword, then knelt as Galin had instructed her, the point of the blade in the ground. Her shield rested against hr side, and both her hands were on the handle of her weapon. The captain placed his hands around hers, and she spoke the words:

"I pledge to be your man, Domnall, in peace and war, for one year." The vow was simple, and she meant every word. The captain presented the Maker's shield, and she kissed it. He accepted her oath, and she rose.

When the men were dismissed, Luthene went to the hut to stow her gear. As she was removing the cuirass, it hit her again: she was going to be sharing this small space with Galin. It would be hard putting on a performance for the sake of the men, but inside their hut, where she would most like to be herself, she'd have to share that with Galin. Share it… or keep it hidden.

This would be their first night. A year to go.

Author: Galin, Posted: Sun Nov 1, 2015 8:03 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

Her apology was genuine, Galin noticed, and completely out of character for the woman.  He smiled a little, a sort of pained half smile, then sighed heavily through his nose.  "It's all right," he said, and reached out across the table and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.  "I appreciate it, but part of me figures you're right.  It's best for the story not to be so careless.  And I wouldn't want to risk you like that," he finished, squeezing her hand again before withdrawing to his side of the table. 

"The lads are a good bunch, but there's a few that are less savory than others," he conceded as he thought about the men Domnall had gathered in his company.  "If I were you, I would watch my back around Sigurd and Dfyed most.  First one, Sigurd, he has a temper on him when he gets a skinful and there's a rumor he has taken more than one lass to his bed without her saying so.  Only rumor, mind, but it is enough to make me a bit jumpy.  Dfyed is less worrisome, just a thief with a very liberal definition of a man's rights to his own property.  Just watch your purse and everything else around him."  It was the sort of thing he had come to expect, sadly.  These men were both the kind he would trust in a second to stand beside him a shield wall, but it was something else to want to share a meal with them outside a fight.  But that was the sort of man that got drawn to serving as they did and not as part of a clan's levy in a crisis.  It was, he thought, the cost of forging a group of dedicated, professional warriors.

A subtle cough made Galin look up.  "Lugh, is it?  The captain's got his shift in a twist again and needs us back.  Got it."  He reached into his purse and left a few copper coins on the table to pay for their meal then downed the rest of his ale.  "Now Alyson," he said, forcing himself to remember her new name, "we've got to visit Ranulf for your kit, then back to the hall. Step lively now, eh?"  He turned back to the quiet man who brought them the summons.  "Did Domnall tell you what it is we are about to go do or is that some massive secret?"  Striding through the streets of Adeluna, the pair of Northmen and the southern woman got a few looks, mostly because the presence of armed, likely violent men from the Highlands was enough to see mother's pushing children behind their skirts and men looking for a blade.  Even after the new queen's ascension, it was a sullen sort of peace and civility that ruled the city and armed foreigners were a very clear reminder of the city's not-so-distant past.  Ranulf was his usual, charming self when the trio arrived and Galin paid out the silver for Luthene's new kit while mentally calculating how every little he would have left.  Hopefully whatever Domnall was planning would give him a chance to recoup some of what he had paid.

Back at the hall, the captain had gathered all the men and was just beginning to outline the plain for their raid.  He noticed Galin and the others arrive and nodded his head before he continued.  "Three days ride from here is a manor owned by a lord still aligned with the ousted monarch and his heirs.  Unofficially, the current monarch does not like this sort of trouble so close at hand to her capital.  So, if, for example, that manor were to be burned to the ground and looted by a bunch of filthy, uncouth northern savages, it would not trouble her little royal head.  So we, my boys, are those savages."  the men hooted and stamped their feet in the hall, echoing his words with their excitement.  "We will leave inside of a day, but not all at once.  Groups of ten or so, taking different gates out of the city, and we will rendezvous at the twelfth mile marker on the main road.  Once we are together, we move on the manor.  I will take the main force in through the village, light the damned thing up, while another group moves into the manor's fortress.

"It has two gates, one that faces the village and one that looks out over a bluff to the west.  This gate is usually left open so the families inside the fortress can go to the well at the foot of the bluff.  I will have our second group take that gate and fight their way to the main gate and open it for us.  Then we link our walls and butcher the garrison and the lord.  Now, before we leave, Alyson, there is the matter of your oath.  Usually there would be some ceremony, but we have to get ready to move, so get your scrawny southern arse up here, make it, and we can be done with this!"

Author: Lugh, Posted: Sat Oct 31, 2015 11:43 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

When news came in of a job offer, Lugh was elated. Finally, a chance to earn some real coin, and then maybe he'd have enough. He'd been with the Company since the end of the war, after he'd escaped Ramsey's holdings. When he was a young teen, Ramsey had lead a raid his home, a village called Dun Laoghaire, and Lugh had been captured and bound to Ramsey as a thrall. At first, he'd worked in the fields, but as he grew, Ramsey thought he might be more valuable in a fight, and he'd been right; the bow came naturally to Lugh, though he was serviceable with a shield and sword, too. While Lugh managed to escape, it wasn't until he's been on a raid with Ramsey, and a young woman had been taken. Lugh had joined the company in the hopes that he'd earn enough to buy her freedom. He was close.

Adeluna was a rich kingdom, and the captain had been hired to attack a lord still loyal to one of the old king's sons. Most of the kingdom was content with their new queen, or as content as they ever would be with a lass on the throne. There was still the odd lord here and there who would prefer a prince, however, and companies like the one Lugh served were useful in crushing any possible rebellion before it reached the capital. There was always plunder to be had. Finally, it might be enough.

The captain wanted to set out the next morning, and had sent Lugh out after Galin and his woman so they could be told of the mission. Galin was new to the company, though many of the men knew him from the war. Lugh only knew him from the stories the others told at meals. A quiet man, Lugh didn't boast about past fights the way the others did, nor did he brag about the women they'd bedded, another popular topic among the men. He was an excellent scout, and the company was glad to have him, but Lugh wasn't looking for glory or advancement. He fight and he fought well, he followed orders, and otherwise kept his head down.

First, he went to see Ranulf, knowing Galin and his women were after gear for her. What sort of woman was she, that Galin would not only vouch for her, but also make sure she was properly outfitted? Ranulf was putting the final touches on a small cuirass when Lugh arrived. "Galin still here?" he asked.

"Told him and his woman to grab a pint," Ranulf replied.

Lugh nodded, and headed for the Mermaid. He found the pair at a table, talking and… why did Galin knock the table like that? Well, no concern of his. He approached the table slowly, and cleared his throat as means of announcing his presence. Whatever they were going on about, he didn't want to hear it. "Captain wants you both back at the hall," Lugh said. "Got a job, and we're setting out in the morning."

Author: Luthene, Posted: Sat Oct 24, 2015 12:41 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"What manners?" Luthene retorted with a laugh. "He doesn't have any!" At least she had Galin's confirmation that she'd handled it well. He leaned in and whispered in her ear, and she pushed him away. "None of that from you," she said, but her face was colouring again. Just the cold, she thought. It was the heart of autumn, and the warm afternoon was fading away to a chillier evening, at least by southern standards.

"I have never called you an inbred son of a whore!" Luthene said, laughing and feigning offence. "And I never thought fighting you Northmen would be easy; I know better. Don't forget, I tried to recruit you for our side." She paused, and took a sip of her ale. "I might have said that bit about the manners of the North, though, but you can't say I'm wrong." This was what she liked about being around Galin, and why, at least for her part, they'd reminded friends even now. It had been easy in the beginning, and though his humour was sometimes crude, it was hard not to laugh around the man. Now, in spite of the war, they managed to fall back into the old camaraderie. There had been a few rough spots already, true, but they'd had disagreements in the past, too. They always made it work, somehow.

The barmaid had disrupted their good-humoured talk, however. Luthene was fuming, but the anger left when she saw how hurt Galin was, and heard him speak. Of course. Asmodeia He had asked for her hand, and had been prepared to stay by her side. But it had not worked out, and it was Luthene's fault, at least in part. She had played a role in Timedeath, and Timedeath had been the reason Asmodeia left him.

Luthene glanced at the table, unable to meet Galin's eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should not have said that. I'll… try to be kinder going forward." Why had she said it? It was no concern of hers who Galin took to bed, and while there was a ruse to keep up, would the men of the company really find it odd of Galin had a serving wench on the side every now and then? Such behaviour might even be useful, as it would give them a reason to argue when the company marched. Besides, it had happened the night before, and there had been no ruse then. So why had it bothered her?

When she finally looked up, Galin was at the food. She let the silence hang, and he was the one to break it, answering her question about the men. He was trying to speak to her as before, but it wasn't coming as naturally as it did. "I can manage a shield wall," she replied. "I imagine the Academy might have taught some of your tactics, if only so we might know how to defeat them. It might take a bit of practice, but I learn quickly enough. I know they're good men; they're your men, after all. I'll do my best to get to know them. Are there any in particular I should get acquainted with first? Things I should avoid talking about? Besides the war, I mean."

Author: Galin, Posted: Sat Oct 24, 2015 10:38 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"Not a fan of Ranulf's manners, I take it," he said as she shuddered on the walk, shaking his head with a soft smile.  "I would have warned you but it is a lot more interesting this way."  He nudged her and smiled wider.  "I think you handled it well, and, to be fair, he was wrong to say that."  He paused a moment, then leaned closer to whisper to her, barely suppressing a laugh.  "You're plenty pretty as you are." 

"Strange name, that, but you southerners are always saying strange things.  Like 'Let's start a war to kill the gods' and 'Fighting warriors from the North will be easy' and 'No, I find your accent and manners repulsive, you inbred son of a whore.'  No accounting for the strangeness of the south," he said, his easy, joking way coming out around Luthene.  It was one of the things that endeared him to the men he served with because there was never a time he could not be called on for a good joke or a bawdy song to lift the spirits.  It may not have been as useful as skill as others a warrior could possess but it was one Galin always valued.  "But aye, that story should work."

He smiled and winked at the barmaid, Isabella, if he remembered correctly from the night before.  It seemed she had survived after he left and was less upset than he expected.  Instead, she whispered to him that, if he was of a mind, she would be done around the same time tonight and they could just go right to her room if he wanted.  Galin resisted the urge to react to her advances, only grinning at her when she walked away.  "Great service in this place," he said with an amused smile that lasted only until Luthene kicked his shin.  He jerked his knee back and hit it into the table, rattling the wooden plate of food and nearly upending his pint. 

He looked hurt a moment, and not from her kick, but her words.  Exhaling slowly, he looked at her, the joking tone from before forgotten.  "Well, I would rather I not be going about like that, you know…   Rather just find a lass, ask for her proper and stay by her. But maybe it's the lass I'd thought of doesn't think the same so I make do with what I can.  Can't blame a man for that, though, for the sake of your story, I will be more thoughtful."  His lips twitched in a sad half smile, and then he looked away, busying himself with his food.  When he spoke, he had forced back the joking, carefree tone but it did not have as much conviction as before.  "Well, the lads, we won't be fighting like you did.  Shield wall is the order of battle, not nobility and prowess.  So they'll have to trust you to cover them with your shield as they will cover you.  So remember that, and make an effort to know them.  They are good men, even if they are a bit rougher than you'd prefer.  Most of us from up there are.  Otherwise, well, just don't screw it up!"

Author: Luthene, Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2015 5:54 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

Luthene might have hit him, but she saw Galin's hand up, protecting himself from just such an action. She elbowed him in the ribs instead, though not to cause pain. "Left your flank exposed." Her tone was serious, but the smile she tried to repress was breaking through.

If Luthene was herself, Ranulf's comment about her would not have gone unchallenged. Alyson, however, might have responded in a wholly different manner, and Luthene wasn't ready for that. Before her cheeks started to colour, she threw back her head and laughed, and inwardly, was pleased with how genuine it sounded. Ranulf was ugly, mean, and crude, but she could see that he did good work. Besides, it was Galin's silver, and she wasn't about to say anything to insult the blacksmith and get them turned away. Galin suggested a knife like his own, and she was glad for it; it would take some work to get used to, the blade longer than those she had fought with previously, but those were also the sort of knives the other men would have. A helm was also suggested, and Luthene nodded.

They were told that it would be an hour or two to get the armour ready, and Galin took her arm to lead her to the Mermaid. As soon as they were safely away, Luthene released the breath she'd been holding, and shuddered a bit. The way the blacksmith looked at her had not escaped her notice, and it wasn't just because he was sizing her up for her cuirass. On some level, Luthene was used to such gazes, having fought among hard men for years. But then, she had never had to hide the fact that it bothered her. This would be a constant challenge for her, every day, for the next year at least. Perhaps a pint would help. It couldn't hurt.

"Vilpamolan," Luthene added, naming the pirate haven that was once, long ago, an Adelunan outpost. As expected from a daughter of the south, her pronunciation of the city's name was perfect. "I think the story works. You managed to take what you wanted, but I managed to protect the merchant's person. Not that he was grateful, but merchants never are." She was silent when a barmaid brought them each a tankard of ale, along with a plate of bread and cheese.

"Welcome back," the barmaid said in a sultry voice. Luthene looked up and saw she was addressing Galin. After a moment, she realized that this was the same woman who had served them the previous night, and given Galin the extra tankard.

The barmaid ran her fingers across Galin's chest as she leaned down and whispered something in his ear that Luthene couldn't hear. When she finished, she kissed his cheek, rose, and winked at him before going back to work.

Under the table, Luthene kicked him, and she wanted it to hurt. "If you want to convince your men you're serious about me," she hissed quietly, fighting hard to keep the anger under control, "you might want to try being more discrete about your whoring around. Now, what you do with serving wenches is your business, I'm not about to stop you, but I don't want to know about it." Picking up her tankard, Luthene took a long drink. She set it back down a bit too hard, but no one was paying them much mind. "Now. Anything else I should know about the men?"

Author: Galin, Posted: Fri Oct 23, 2015 2:31 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“Now don’t go promising me repayment and favors, Alyson,” he said, chuckling. “We both know you’ll do more than enough to make up for it tonight, show your gratitude and all.” He could not help himself. It was just too easy to tease the uptight southern woman and he could tell she was blushing without even looking at her. He put up a hand to ward off the blow he half expected from her and laughed again, finding what he thought might become his new hobby in annoying her. “And as for your planned story, I will give it some thought. When I was leaving the Highlands, it was a rough go for a while and I was more bandit than soldier. We could have met anywhere along the way from there to here, where I could have bested you as would be expected of such a weak, fair young lass, and then we ran into each other here and, after a tumble, decided to throw in together. But I will think of a specific at least, if you give me some time.”

The blacksmith’s shop had once been owned by a native of Adeluna but during the unrest, the man saw fit to take his family out of the city for their protection. Ranulf, who had been the company’s smith, decided that it was too good a shop to waste and when the owner returned, he found the place crawling with Northmen and decided not to press the issue. Ranulf, being a fair man, paid good silver to the owner, but far below the price he would have expected. Still, Galin thought, it was better than a sword in the gullet and no silver, so the owner had done well. Ranulf was a skilled smith, able to forge everything from ship’s nails to swords and axes that would impress even a southern lord. Rapping on one of the beams by the bellows, Galin waited for the answering grunt before stepping into the forge. “Ranulf, this is Alyson, late of Ejgora, recently signed to our beloved crew. Alyson, this is Ranulf, the ugliest, meanest, toughest son of a bitch the North has spat out in a generation.” The man turned to take her hand with a smile, not bothering to conceal his gaze and he looked her top to bottom. His face was the sort a mother would use to frighten wayward children, with a flattened nose, a wicked scar down his left cheek, and a mouth that seemed most comfortable in a menacing sneer. “Not much meat on her bones, this one,” he said to Galin. “Always preferred a woman with more meat on her bones. Keeps a man warm at night and nothing sharp and pointed when you’re rutting. But tastes are tastes I suppose. What’ll you be needing?”

Alyson, he had to remember to think of that when he thought of her, listed off what she needed and Galin nodded with approval. Leather was suitable to stop the slashes of spears and swords well enough and was easier to care for than mail. Galin wore it himself, though he had one of the crew’s women stitch some iron plates to the inside to give a little more protection. He hoped to get a coat of mail, preferably one of southern make. The Northmen were known for their blades but the tight-linked mail of Adeluna and Ejgora were among the best in the world. He would just have to kill some lord and take it, he thought, and smiled at the prospect. “For her knife, make it like our sort,” Galin chimed in and pulled his out for her to see. It was a thick-spined blade with a single edge that came to a sharp point when the spine angled toward the tip in the final third. Galin’s was somewhere between a short sword and a long dagger and it was one of the most common weapons in the North. “Best sort of a tight fight,” he said, and sheathed it again. “Might want to think about getting some sort of helm as well, so as not to get that pretty little head split open by an axe.”

Ranulf chuckled and shook his head as he went through his inventory for pieces that would serve. “I’ve got a knife and a shield, but the armor will take some time. An hour, maybe too, to shape it for your wee frame. So run along, get a pint, and be back in two hours. We will settle up then.” Then he turned on his heel, dismissing them as would a lord, and returned to his work.

“You heard the man,” Galin said and took Luthene’s arm. “Back to the Mermaid.” The tavern was only a few streets away and as they settled at the same table they had shared the night before, Galin called for ale and some bread and cheese to tide them over. “I think the story,” he said as they waited, “would work best on the road to that pirate city. I was looking to get coin off some unsavory merchant to pay my passage, you were his guard, and I ambushed you on the road. Good fight, play that how you like, and in the end, I got what I wanted and buggered off to a ship to Adeulna. That work,” he asked as he looked up to see someone bustling over with two tankards. “Thank the Maker, I was about to die of thirst.”

Author: Luthene, Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2015 5:18 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"Then I won't use my name," Luthene said, smiling. "It might not matter to your Maker, but it might mean something to the men, that I didn't lie when I swore my oath. Mostly, though, it's for me. I want something honest." With all the lies she'd need to tell, it helped to have something real to hold on to.

Galin's offer was a welcome surprise. She left the hut in a bit of stunned silence, letting him lead the way. Luthene found her tongue again once they'd left the hall. "I owe you for this," she said. "I'll pay you back of course, once I've got some coin to my name— or Alyson's name, I suppose— but I'll pay you back and owe you a favour on top."

Along the way, she put some thought into a story, based on what Galin had told her. "Whereabouts were you doing your raiding and pillaging, and were there any you did alone? Most of the work I've been doing lately is guarding those fat-cat merchants you and your captain are you found of— and don't look at me like that, Galin, it's all the work I could find. They weren't even all that fat, else they'd have hired someone other than me, and paid better. That's not important. I was thinking, perhaps the story could be that we met while I was guarding some goods you were looking to take, and since these are your men I'll agree to say you bested me, but at least tell them I made it hard for you. Since it was just a job, there were no hard feelings, and when you saw me again at the Mermaid or another alehouse, you bought me a drink, and…" She coloured. "Well, that part is up to you." She knew how men talked, and was embarrassed that she was going to be the focus of it, but it was unavoidable. "The story has some holes still, but perhaps it will do once we fill in the details."

They arrived at the armourer's, and Luthene let Galin make introductions before she outlined what she was looking for: a simple leather cuirass, probably about the size of a young man's, a round shield, and a good knife. She wanted her kit to resemble that of the men in the company, and it would be inexpensive compared to what knights of the south typically used. But Luthene was not a southern knight anymore, if she had ever been one at all. She was fighting among raiders and skirmishers now, and she wanted to fit in among them. She'd start with the kit.

Author: Galin, Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2015 2:31 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“Oh, the sound of your melodious voice would have held the lines against a flood of the men of the North? Keep dreaming, Alyson, for that is all I can believe that to be, a strange dream.” He chuckled a little more and jostled her playfully, trying not to think too hard about the Valley. It had been a nightmare of blood and steel, and Galin had not even meant to be in the shield wall. By trade he was a skirmisher, hurling spears and scouting the enemy, not standing in the shield wall. But in the Valley, he took up a shield and pushed his way to the front rank because to stand where they were would have meant death to every man there. After the battle, he kept the shield and stripped armor and a sword from the slain and the next day, he was counted among the shield-brothers. Luthene would have to learn the same. It was not the sort of warfare that she would have learned in the south, where mounted knights and skilled swordmasters were the valued sorts of warriors. What kingdoms like Adeluna forgot was that, when the times called for war, messengers would head North to gather men for the royal army with offers of silver and fame. These men were skilled in the deadly combat of the infantry and provided an anvil against which the cavalry of the south could hammer their enemies.

“Since I came south…” Galin chuckled a moment, thinking about his trip down the continent. It had been a nightmare of sorts, with a few bright moments to be sure. “Well, to be honest, the trip itself was a nightmare, and since I’ve been down here, it’s about what you’d expect. A few raids when a lord needs a neighbor given a stern warning, a bit of pillaging, that sort of thing. Helped get some coin back into the purse, that’s for sure. Otherwise, I’ve been trying to practice more with my swords, going around to a few fairs and exhibitions. Never was a proper swordsman until the Valley, you see. Sure, I learned it, but I was always a skirmisher and the like. Move quick, move light, kill well, and get away before they’ve properly made sense of which way is up. So if you can find a way in through that, by all means,” he said and chewed his lip, thinking of some of the close scrapes he had on his trip, and not all of them bad.

He smiled at her concession. “Aye, it is one that does have an appeal to the warrior sorts. A lot more than what the Conclave’d promise.” He let her thoughts about gear fall by the wayside a moment to weigh the more pressing issue of her oath. It was a strange request, he thought, but it had merit. “I think you can do that, aye. I never spoke my name, because the Maker’s watching and knows what is in a man’s heart. So you’d be swearing it as you, regardless. At least that’s the way I’ve learned things.” He pushed open the flap in the doorway and smiled at her. “Now, we can’t have you wandering around here in that, though. There’s an armorer in town name of Ranulf, a man from a village in the same valley as mine, who handles making most of our blades and armor. Let’s go see what we can get from him so you look less like a wharf rat with a sword, eh?”

Author: Luthene, Posted: Thu Oct 22, 2015 12:11 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"Not my lines!" Luthene insisted when Galin finished his tale. "The battle was too large for any one person to command it, and had I been within shouting distance to the Egjoran line, those lines would have held. That company made up the reserve forces after that, which they were none too pleased about, but served them right. If the loss of one man causes them to lose formation, they don't deserve to be in the fight." She sighed, and leaned back against the wall. "I'll have to think of new stories. Can't use any from the war, because these men were there and might know the truth of it. Before that, my best stories are from fights with you, and I imagine you've told them already. Besides, if I deceived you, it wouldn't work for us to say we've fought beside each other for years. We'll need a new story to explain how we met. Nothing on par with yours, it's best if Alyson has no reputation for them to investigate, but perhaps some simple demonstration of skill. What have you been doing since you came south? Perhaps we can fit something in there."

Galin helpfully filled in more information about his god. He didn't understand her lack of belief; she didn't understand why he held to his faith. They both agreed that the gods of the Conclave were false, and for Luthene, this disbelief in all gods was a natural extension. Galin had not made that leap, however, and seemed resistant to doing so. But it didn't matter. They'd always gotten along in spite of this difference, and would likely continue to do so. Knowing a bit more about Galin's faith, she supposed that if she had to feign belief in something, better this than Conclave.

"I can see why one from the Academy might be attracted to the faith," Luthene offered. "As for my best war gear, what I'm wearing now will have to do; for the time being, it's all I've got. As long as your captain doesn't have a problem with that, however, I'll be able to swear the oath." An idea struck her. "Would it be odd if I didn't use my name when swearing? Perhaps the men might think it some southern oddity? Because I think it would be better if I didn't pledge to be the captain's man— well, woman, in my case— as Alyson of Egjora. To swear by the Maker under a false name, and kiss the shield, wouldn't that be some kind of sacrilege? To leave it out would be… more true, I think."

Author: Galin, Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2015 2:37 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“That’s the idea of reputation, you see,” he said, smiling as she finally saw the full potential of the situation ahead of her. A warrior was only as good as his last battle, they said, and her last had been defeat, defection, and destruction. That sort of reputation was a stain that did not wash away easily, and only in blood and victory. “It will take a great battle or two to earn something back from what you lost,” he said with seriousness, not making light of her situation but speaking matter-of-factly because it was something that was dear to him as well. “In the Valley, I killed a champion, an Academy graduate that lead the spearmen ahead of my lads. After the first captain was killed, I took us straight at them. Formed up in the boar tusk, we were, with me at the point, and I aimed my shield right for him.” He illustrated the attack with his, making them into a wedge and driving forward, caught up in the story. “He was a quick bastard, quicker than me, and he’d given me a good few hits on the shield and put a dent in my helm before I was able to close in properly. Once I was close, his fancy sword was bloody well useless, not enough room to thrust and it was too damned light to batter at me. So I slammed the bastard with my shield boss and bloodied his face, then up with this wicked wee fella,” he said, drawing his long fighting knife, and thrusting it as though he held a shield and struck from under the rim. “Slammed it through his mail coat, through the leather backing, and right into his leg. Screamed like a gelded pig when I twisted it and ripped up.” Galin pushed the knife back into its sheath on his belt, and smiled. “It was about then that your lines got a little less firm, seeing a champion die like that. Not to gloat of course,” he said, nudging her with a smile. “Now get you in a proper fight like that, you might quit being Alyson before long. And don’t worry, I’ll just say you fooled me too,” he added, laughing.

Luthene was a strange one, even by southern standards. Anyone with a head on his shoulders knew that the gods of the land were no gods but mages with greater power than most that enjoyed their own brand of existence and claimed godhood. But Luthene believed in nothing, and that sort of thing never made sense to the warrior. “A man should have gods,” he said, almost to himself, then sighed through his nose as he tried to wade through her comments to correct her misconceptions. “Well, he is and he is, the Maker’s both. He had a name, Deantoir, but it’s just become Maker over time. He created all the world, but chose to live among our people because we were those he saw himself reflected in most. He lived as a warrior king, with a warband that serve him now in his hall beyond the clouds. He was never benevolent as folks think, just a good warrior, ruthless at times, generous at others. And he does not case so much for worship or grandeur, only to be amused as he watches our lives, and if we amuse him, and we live well, we feast with him after death. It’s a good faith for a warrior,” he said, with a touch of reproof, which was the closest he would come to saying he found her lack of attention to the divine unsettling. “But I can trust you, and your word, so it will have to be good enough.

“And the oath… you go to the captain in your war gear, the best you can muster, and kneel with your sword drawn, point in the earth. He clasps his hands around yours on the handle and you swear to be his man in peace and war for however long you have a mind to. And then he will have you kiss the Maker’s shield to seal the words in the eyes of the Maker. Do you think you can handle that?”

Author: Luthene, Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2015 12:48 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

Instinctively, Luthene stiffened at Galin's suggestion that she unbend. There wasn't a script, she knew that much, but little else. In truth— a truth she wasn't about to reveal to Galin— she didn't have much experience doing any of it for real, and now she had to pretend. A script would make the whole thing significantly easier. She might have learned the lay of the land, learned about the clans, and it would have been work, but it would still be easier, she felt.

"As I said, I understand," Luthene said in response to Galin's comment about not having intended to do what he did. "To sell the story." In truth, she didn't fully understand what he meant. She believed him— he would not swear it if it wasn't true— but she wasn't sure why he would have regretted it. But she wanted to move on, not to dwell on it, not to think too much about it. "A surprise attack I am ready for, but friendly fire, when I am denied the option to fight back, can anyone prepare for that?"

He accepted Luthene's apology, thank goodness, and then Galin seemed genuinely pleased with the information she was able to provide. "Granted I haven't spent a considerable amount of time in the duchy," she warned, "but how well do Northmen know the place? And if something isn't quite right, the discrepancy can be blamed on Timedeath." And me, Luthene thought, before Galin explained more about the men of the company. She knew something about them as a people— she'd spent time around Galin before the war, after all, and there had been a few raids when she was in the North, after the Valley and just before the death of the Hours. The Northmen live on war, but as a mercenary, so did she. Galin spoke of what the captain planned, of raids and plunder, and something of great value to Luthene: reputation. "Perhaps I might begin to redeem mine," she said. "Take my name back and wear it with honour instead of shame Once I can be sure they're not in a lynching mood, anyway." She sighed. "I'll have to bring down at least two champions for it, I think. One for who I am, and the second to make up for lying about it." She paused, thinking. "What would it cost your reputation, to have helped in the deception?"

Luthene was not a religious woman. She didn't believe in the gods, and while the god of the Highlands wasn't one of the Conclave gods she had fought to bring down, she had no faith in him, either. Her own lack of faith wasn't a secret to Galin, but she felt the need to remind him just in case.

"The name suggests a creator god, but the way you have spoken of him, he seems like more of a warrior. He's the only god of your people, which is different from much of the rest of the world. So, I know a few things, probably less than they'd like, but also about what they'd expect a southerner to know." She hesitated a moment, and lowered her voice even more. "You know I don't share your faith, right? I won't tell the men that, of course, that would make a hash of things, but I must be honest with you about it. It won't stop me from taking the oath, and I'll mean it, but… perhaps not the stuff about the Maker. That's not a problem, I hope?" She wasn't sure just how devout Galin was, if her lack of belief in his god would put an end to things before they fully began.

"If it's not a problem, perhaps you should teach me the words. I expect it'll go over better with the men that way."

Author: Galin, Posted: Tue Oct 20, 2015 3:19 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“Well, here’s the thing Luthene, there’s no damned script to it,” he said, calmer now than before. “It’s not as though you’ve got to bed me in the main hall during a meal so everyone knows and sees. It’s just… unbend a bit and show a little affection when we’re about, touch my arm, laugh at my terrible jokes, and the like. The rest is covered by sharing a hut with a single bed. The conclusion draws itself, more or less, as your indignant look said when you arrived.” He shook his head at her suggestion of trying to pass herself off at a woman from the North. “You don’t have the look, the accent would never be right, and you would have to have studied every valley and hill of that land to pass, know every chief and clan, and everyone’s dirty business. These men would see through it in a second and you would be branded a liar along with me. The story, it’s not ideal, but it is just the two of us that have to keep it and I trust that we can.”

He caught her in her pacing and held a hand on her arm a moment when she stammered and flushed. “I had not originally intended to do that,” he said, and touched his amulet with his other hand. “I swear it on the Maker I didn’t. It just came to me and I knew that I would regret it if I didn’t. So I seized the moment. For what that’s worth.” He let go of her arm and leaned back against the wall, and winked. “Anyway, shouldn’t a warrior always be ready for a surprise attack? Some recruit you are turning out to be.” When she leaned against the wall alongside him, he leaned a little into her and nudged her should. “And I accept your half-assed apology, you pain in the ass,” he said with no little amusement or affection. It was the best he would be able to get out of Luthene short of a week with the rack and hot irons, and even then he was not sure it would be any better.

And it seemed she had finally awoken to the reality of her situation and had begun to help with the story. Alyson, he reminded himself as he thought of her, apparently knew the look and habits of the swordmaster enough to be able to sell the story and his name was a blessing. Galin leaned his head back to touch the wall and smiled so she could not see. “Aleksander. Right! I couldn’t remember the damned name in there. Well done. All I knew was his reputation and it seemed to be the sort that would lend itself to our purposes and you’ve completed the illusion. Well done.” He paused a moment to meet her gaze with a steady, unblinking one of his own. “Very good question, about the men, I mean. What you need to remember is that, unlike in the War, we are proper Northmen again. Aye, we can fight in the shield wall as well as any and better than most but we are a people who live on war. When we have no one else to fight, we bloody each other, raiding and plundering with the regularity of the tide. Land or sea, no matter. Because a man’s reputation isn’t won in a farmer’s field. It is in war, and the rumor is, the captain is looking to take us out like we ought to be, not guarding fat southern merchant wagons from the plains raiders. We should be the ones raiding!” Galin’s eyes were brighter when he spoke about war like this, the sort that filled the mountains of the North. “In a proper raid, I could kill a great warrior and make my name, Galin Ochiern, the man who killed the Champion of Adeluna or what have you. I could be rich in silver and gold, and with reputation and wealth, I could become a leader of warriors in my own right. That is the sort of men you have joined.”

He paused, letting the excitement bleed off. “And speaking of joining, you will have to swear your oath in our fashion, to the Maker. What do you know of the faith of the North? I wouldn’t want you making a hash of things.”

Author: Luthene, Posted: Tue Oct 20, 2015 12:55 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

To be fair, Luthene probably deserved at least some of the berating Galin gave her, though she didn't regret anything she'd said, either. True, she had broken her oath during the war, and that was part of the reason why she was in this mess to begin with. But she still had some honour left, and Galin's story had stripped her of that. Now she had to play the part of some loose woman who went to bed with her superior, and somehow convince the men of the company she was going to bed with Galin. "If I had known this way your plan," she murmured. "I'd have worked harder on a Northern accent, and perhaps might have passed for a relation of some sort. I might be more convincing that way. I haven't the slightest idea how to be this woman you say I am."

Luthene took to pacing the hut again, like a trapped animal… and in a sense, she was. The hut suddenly seemed so much smaller than before. Somehow, she would have to make this work. He was right, she didn't have much choice. Besides, it might reflect badly on Galin if she did suddenly leave, and she certainly wouldn't be able to count on his support again.

A year and a day. And perhaps at the end, they could drop the charade and she could be herself again.

"Alright, alright. I wish, if you had always intended to do… that," she stammered, her cheeks colouring, "I would have preferred if you had asked, first. I understand why, but…" She paused for a moment, not wanting to cause him any insult. "You caught me off guard!"

Luthene was a fighter, and not much of a peacemaker. Galin understood, she hoped, because it would be damned difficult to make this lie work if they couldn't stand each other's company. She leaned against the wall beside him.

"Aleksander," she said finally. "That's the name of a swordmaster at the Academy. I've seen him at the tavern in Egjora a few times, and he's found of the drink, bawdy jokes, and barmaids. If someone asks— I'm sure it will come up eventually— use that name. I doubt anyone will question it." She tried to meet Galin's eyes. "I'm not going to be the reason you lose the respect of these men. And I imagine part of that will be making sure we tell the same story. I still haven't the slightest idea how to act, but I'll try. So, let's figure it out. Is there anything else I need to know about now, since I'd prefer not to mess it up in front of the men."

Author: Galin, Posted: Mon Oct 19, 2015 5:08 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

He should have seen it coming.  If he was honest, he knew it was, but he made no move to stop it.  Wincing a little, he rubbed the red mark on his cheek as she began to upbraid him for his charade.  And while her hissing anger washed over him, Galin refrained from shouting at her and destroying the whole story she was chastising him for.  Instead, he gave her a crooked smile, sure to infuriate her, and listened, leaning against a timber near the door.

"Have you about finished?"

Galin looked at her and the smile dropped a fraction.  He was frustrated and tired of being treated like a good-natured buffoon nearly every waking moment.  It was a great sham to avoid taking on greater work for the captain, but it did not mean that he was actually as dense as he could seem.  "Good.  Now it's time I lecture the General about tactics," he said, pushing himself off the wall and standing very close to her so he would not have to raise his voice.

"So, General.  You needed a story.  The only one that would even get you a moment's time in that hall was the Academy, and if you were booted for incompetence, you would have no place.  So it would have to be something that would be a matter of reputation and not skill.  Secondly, it would have to be something that they would not really be able to confirm.  I don't expect the Vesporans would bandy about that their swordmaster was sheathing his blade in the students, so they would have to take it as it is, and it would explain why you were drummed out but still able to fight."  His jaw tightened as he growled out his reply, a fist clenched at his side, nails digging into his palm.

"So that explains the original plan.  Now for the maneuvers, General," he said, almost spitting the title out like bile.  "I expected to volunteer for more duty in the hall to give you time to yourself here.  And it you looked under the cot, you would have noticed a spare blanket for me to use on the ground.  As for marching, it clearly will not be too far-fetched to have a bloody shouting match and be estranged on campaign, so you would remain unmolested but still nominally taken so when we returned, you and I could reconcile and you would have a place still.

"And finally, Alyson, you will need to accept the reality of your situation.  You are an oath-breaker, a deserter, and the general of an army that ravaged a continent in a needless war of idealism.  There is blood up to your eyeballs and your name is not among those covered in glory after the War.  So either you live that life, as a deserter, unable to be trusted, and reviled for the actions of that army, or you bear up and make a go of this until the furor dies down and you can reclaim yourself.  Me, I'd rather not find out if the locals are still in a lynching mood, were I you."  he sighed heavily through his nose, his jaw screwed shut.  He fought hard to keep his composure, but his temper won out for one last volley.

"And one more thing," he said, barely speaking above a whisper, "what you may not understand is that to my people, an oath is more than just words and good intentions.  I gave mine and fought, and for that, I am accorded respect.  Not honor, but the respect given a man who has shown his worth.  Here, if you used your name, no matter the War, you would have been turned out before your shadow hit the floor of the hall.  I know why you did what you did, and I clearly do not hold it in contempt, but we Northmen are not known for our nuanced views of right and wrong.  And so when I vouched for you, I tied my word and reputation to yours, and I did it freely.  And if it is not yet clear, that is about all I have in the damned world anymore.  So if you cannot handle that responsibility, steal off in the night and I will pray the Maker speeds your journey.  Otherwise, accept the hardship your decisions have caused and show some damned grit."

He slumped back against the wall, shaking his head.  "And that's more words than I have said since the new year," he muttered.

Author: Luthene, Posted: Mon Oct 19, 2015 12:18 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

The fight over, Luthene had time to be fully furious. She had trusted Galin not to say anything objectionable, but he had. Then he had kissed her, and when the fight was over, claimed her as thought she were chattel. True, that had been done to save her from having to fight off the other men of the company, but it wouldn't have been necessary had he not told such a scandalous lie in the first place. Now they had to share a hut, and he had a smile on his face about the prospect.

As soon as Galin stepped inside the hut and the leather flap closed behind him, Luthene closed the distance between them and slapped him— and she would have punched him instead, but didn't want to leave a mark. "How dare you," she said, her voice furious but quiet. "Of all the things you could have said, why did it have to be that? And now we're to share a hut, there's only one bed, and you seem pleased about it?" She looked at it, and judged it to be too small for two people, unless they wanted to be on top of one another— and Luthene certainly did not want that. "One of us is going to have to sleep on the floor."

She took to pacing the small hut, needing to expend some of her energy and unable to properly yell or hit something (or someone). She was desperate, she needed this job, but thus far, it was a disaster. The only thing she had in common with Alyson of Egjora, it seemed, was skill with a blade. She wasn't sure she could be Alyson, not the way Galin was describing her.

"Galin, you know me. You know I'm not like that. I appreciate your help, but I don't know if I can keep up appearances, especially if we're to march. They'll know I'm not who I claim to be, and then what? It will reflect badly on you for speaking for me, and I expect I'll have to leave. I don't see how this could go well for either of us."

Author: Galin, Posted: Sun Oct 18, 2015 9:17 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

As the men set the spears in place for the traditional challenge, Galin watched the man take up his arms.  He was the captain of the warband, a great fighter with a reputation to match, but Galin had always thought he was too confident.  At some point confidence can breed carelessness.  Though in this case, he had every right to be confident.  He had trained every day with the men and fought in combats since the War.  Luthene, it seemed like, was a little less conditioned.  Galin trusted her though.  She had a good head on her shoulders and as long as the captain did not sweep it off with his blade, she would do well.  Just before she stepped into the square, he walked over, took her by the shoulders, and kissed her square on the lips.  "Good luck, and don't make me look bad," he called as he pushed her into the fray.

The fight, as he expected, went well and as it ended, he held out his hand for the coin of the men that bet against her.  It was good to make money from fighting, and better when you did not have to do the actual bladework, he thought with a chuckle as he tipped the coins into his pouch.  "Now captain, let's be kind to the lady, before she tells everyone you got beat by a girl.  Albeit one that is good with her hands on a sword."  He winked and the captain laughed, taking Luthene's threat in stride.  He had not become a leader of warriors by being easily cowed.

"Aye, you can have your place with us.  We can sort the details after we've eaten tonight.  For now, we've got to get you into quarters.  Any volunteers to give Alyson a place in their hut?"  Hands shot up throughout the hall and low chuckles seemed to rebound off the walls.  Galin gave Luthene a wink and stepped next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist. 

"Sorry lads, I know you've all got your swords out and ready, but she's spoken for.  It'll be my hut.  Now sod off, the lot of you."  His pronouncement was met with a chorus of good-natured grumbling and curses spat in his direction and he just waved them off.  Still pulling her close, he walked out of the hall to the cluster of huts where the men lived when they were not serving in the hall itself.  His was a small affair, a single room with a heath at its center and a low thatched roof.  As he pulled the leather hanging aside that served as a door, he let her walk in first while he spoke, almost to himself.  "It's a cozy one, this.  Walls are stout, the roof's not got a leak…"  He trailed off and grinned once she was squarely in the hut.  "Oh, and one more thing," he said, sticking his head into the hut after her, "there's just the one bed!"

Author: Luthene, Posted: Sun Oct 18, 2015 12:29 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

Luthene knew it was a risk letting Galin come up with a story for her, and one she now regretted taking. The part about nearly taking his arm off, that was a good, favourable lie, but the other? Kicked out of the academy for sleeping with her superior? How dare he! And she couldn't even let her fury show, lest it betray her. She was good, but she'd have to show herself to be better than the lot of them, else she feared there would be no end to the unfavourable advances she'd have to fight off. She'd have to yell at him about it later; this wasn't time.

One of the men stepped forward. "As good as any man here, eh?" He drew his steel, a spatha, and reached for a shield. Luthene drew her own blade, a simpler broadsword; it was a good enough weapon, though it had been a while since it had seen a quality whetstone. She chose a buckler, and hoped it would be enough; while her opponent wore a leather cuirass, all she had was her tunic. Perhaps this wasn't going to be a fight to the death, but she was nervous all the same. She needed this, and if she failed their test, even Galin's word might not be enough to get her in.

"Any rules?" Luthene— no, Alyson— asked as other men stepped back to give the pair room.

Four spears appeared, and were used to mark the corners of a square. "Leave the square, you lose," her challenger replied. "Otherwise, fight to first blood."

She stepped into the square, then nodded to indicate she accepted and was ready. First, they circled each other, feinting occasionally, and Luthene sized up the man. He was larger than her, and probably stronger, but she was used to that. Still, it meant that trying to push him out of the square wasn't a viable strategy. His reach was longer, too. Not an insurmountable problem, but it meant she would have to be fast to close the distance between them without getting cut herself.

The first strike was his; she caught it on her buckler, and she tried to knick his arm as he withdrew, unsuccessfully. The blow was powerful, moreso than she expected, and nearly knocked her off balance. When he struck again, she stepped away, and she countered by holding her shield between her body and his blade, and lashing at him with her own weapon; he blocked with his own shield, and she withdrew before he could get his spatha over her buckler for another strike.

As they fought, some of the men were exchanging coins, betting on the outcome. She couldn't tell who they favoured. By her own estimation, she and her opponent were somewhat evenly matched. That wasn't good for her. She wanted a victory, but also one that looked decisive. Tossing her shield aside, she switched to a two-handed grip. The sword had been made for a man's grip, and with her smaller hands, she was able to make it work, but only just. The next time he struck, she parried, and the force of the blow wasn't as jarring. Another attack, and ducked under his blade, striking out as she did so. He brought his shield down to block, but she brought her blade low, slicing at his calves just above his boots. The resulting cut wasn't deep, but it bled.

"Seems she really does know how to work the two-handers," her opponent said with a smirk when he saw the wound. "Can she handle a bigger sword, though?"

"Hand me one, and I'll show you what I actually cut off that time Galin thought I was aiming for his arm," Luthene replied. She didn't typically use such crude language, but she'd spent enough time around soldiers and mercenaries to be familiar with it. "Now, you got a contract for me, or what?"

Author: Galin, Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2015 4:50 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"I doubt that you'd be thirsty long, so quiet yourself, eh?  I bought you one, didn't I, and you tried to get me killed."

Galin winked at her a moment and smiled.  She was being unfair to herself, though that did seem like the sort of thing he would expect from her.  At least in a fight she was sure of herself, though, and that was what counted.  "And if you ever try to sound like one of use Northfolk again, I'll take back the offer.  You sounded like a goose with wind."  He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble there and idly wondered if he ought to grow the beard out properly like the rest of the men in the company.  "And they usually would not, no.  But I would vouch for you and that should carry enough weight.  Now, you've got to remember, it's a soldier's camp full of Northmen and we won't be changing because a lady's present, so be sure you are in for the whole way, yeah?"

Galin looked up when he sensed someone moving closer and smiled at the barmaid.  "Did you order…" he began, speaking to Luthene, but the barmaid cleared it up with her comment seconds later.  Galin winked at her as well, tipping the tankard toward her in thanks.  "Much appreciated, though I don't know what I did to deserve it.  Just means I am now obliged to get you one back when the taverner lets you rest a moment, eh?  Be sure and let me know, always like to honor my debts."  Next to him, he heard Luthene's tankard hit the table, empty and before he could order her another, she left, saying they would meet in the morning.  Shrugging, he waved as she left, then took a long pull of the ale.  "Women," he muttered, then looked back at the barmaid.  Not all of them, it seemed, were so complicated, he thought as she made her way over with a tankard of her own.


______________________________________________________________________________________

Easing himself out of the bed, Galin looked around the room for his boots.  He had gotten drunk as a lord the night before and things were a bit unclear as he tried to focus on the unfamiliar room.  Padding softly in bare feet, he found his trews and tunic near the door, crumbled by his boots, and his belt was draped over a clothes chest at the foot of the bed.  Dressing in the half dark, he made to leave, then remembered that his coin purse.  It was the jingling of the coin that gave him away as he tried to make a quiet escape, so as the barmaid of the night before began to stir, he beat a hasty retreat out the door, down the stairs, and out through the kitchen of the tavern so he could pilfer a fresh roll on his way.

Happily munching on his ill-gotten breakfast, he noticed Luthene irritably pacing out the tavern's door, looking up and down the street.  Then he looked up, his head still heavy from the night's drinking, and saw how high the sun was.  He was late.  Very late.  "Oi, Luthene, this way, would you?  The lads have set up on an old lord's estate just past the walls."  Still munching his roll, he set off at a quick pace, seeking to put some distance between himself and the tavern.  When they arrived at the hall, men were pulling down old reed thatch and replacing it, one of the onerous works that went into maintaining a hall.  "All right, I'll make the introductions, but remember, you're looking to be a damned warrior.  Dishonor can be a good tool, Alyson."  Chuckling, he pushed open the doors and nodded to the men inside, now gathered around the fire to discuss matters with their captain.

"Oi, lads, look about.  I've got us a new recruit.  Alyson of Egjora, a product of their academy there.  Got booted for… what was it again… ahh, right, for humping the swordmaster.  Something about needing to really learn how to work the two handers.  And no, he's not just a very pretty man.  She's a proper her and a good hand with a sword.  Nearly took my arm in a fight once, and she's looking for work.  I can give my word that she's as good as any man here.  And she'll prove it, blade on blade."

Author: Luthene, Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2015 2:14 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

As Galin went on about the will of his god, Luthene was reminded why she had gone to war in the first place, to fight against these so-called gods. It had made sense at the time, to bring down such capricious beings and free the people from their tyranny. That was why she had asked Galin to join her, before the valley, before everything went so wrong. Probably for the best that Galin had turned down her offer. He may have ended up worse off. However noble Luthene's original intentions had been, they'd made the world a worse place for it.

He punched her shoulder and made her an offer, and as Luthene laughed with him, she felt a bit relieved. Had the tension really past so quickly? Or was it the drink? Either way, things had taken a turn for the better.

"If I had to wait for strange men in taverns to buy me a drink, I'd die of thirst!" she replied, raising her mug to him as if to toast him, then taking a drink. "You think they'd take a lass?" she added, trying to mimic Galin's Northern speech, albeit unsuccessfully. "I'll need to come up with a name to use. Hmm."

As Luthene thought, she saw one of the barmaids eyeing Galin. Well, fair enough, he was easy to look at, but then the woman approached them, and set another mug of ale in front of him, getting a little too close to him as she did so. "On the house," she said. It didn't escape Luthene's notice that there was only one mug.

Picking up her own drink again, she drained it— never one to waste perfectly good ale— and stood. "I'll leave you two and head off to bed. We can meet in the morning, and I'll sign on with the company.

---

Luthene was up early the next morning, first polishing her blade, then wearing a groove in the tavern floor pacing, waiting for Galin. She tried not to think about why he wasn't there, but of course she was the one who had neglected to set a time before she left him the night before.

When Galin arrived, she was eager to go, letting Galin lead her to the stone hall the company kept in Adeluna. It was built in the Highland style, she noticed. How much harder would it be for her, a southern woman, to join them? Hopefully Galin speaking for her would be enough. "I'll let you make the introductions," she whispered before they went inside. "Tell them my name is Alyson, and then make up the rest, I'll go along. But nothing dishonourable!"

Author: Galin, Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2015 11:44 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

"No need to be sorry.  It is just the way of things, the way of the Maker.  The Maker is simply that.  He made us and we live to…"  Galin chuckled and shook his head.  "The holy men would say we live to praise and serve him, but I rather think we are here to amuse him.  Always seemed like a bit of a capricious bugger in the stories, a warrior and a bard at once, traveling about with his warband, drinking and fighting and screwing.  Inspires less reverence and more… Hell, I don't even know.  So I serve him by amusing him with my life.  He was a warrior, so he has a soft spot for idiots with a blade in their hand and battle rage in their hearts."

Galin sighed and took another long pull, some of the ale dripping down his stubble-covered chin.  He cuffed it away with his sleeve and pursed his lips in thought.  It did worry him some, having given his oath again.  Oaths were a sacred thing, even to as distant a god as the Maker.  A man's life was a series of oaths, some made out of duty, some out of desire, but all were shackles on a man's freedom.  He needed the coin, and had given the Company another year and a day of his life as their oathman.  Even as it galled him, Galin started to smile as the first whisperings of an idea came to him.

"So you've got your sword, at least.  That's something.  Otherwise you would have to try and kill them with your books and that would just take far too long."  He punched her in the shoulder and laughed at his own joke, a laugh that came easily to the Northman.  "So your time in the Valley's not been a help in finding work, but you've got a blade.  Seems to me, I might have the answer.  The company I served with in the Valley is looking for warriors and they took me back just this morning.  Maybe if you give your oath as well, but hide your name, we might be able to get you back in coin so you don't have to sit about in taverns waiting for strange men to buy you drinks, eh?  What do you say?"

Author: Luthene, Posted: Sat Oct 17, 2015 11:13 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

It seemed that the days following the war had not been kind to either of them. She was out of work and out of coin, and he'd lost his fiancee, and then his livelihood. The way he told it, it sounded as if he'd lost his faith as well, or at least some of it.

Faith. Luthene wasn't really sure where she stood on that front. She had joined with the Godslayer because she didn't believe that those who called themselves gods were, in fact, gods. When one of them was struck down, she thought herself vindicated. After witnessing the fallout of that event, however, she wondered if perhaps there was something to their claim. Certainly they were more powerful than the countless others who had died in that war.

"I'm sorry," Luthene said when Galin finished his tale. What more could she say? Some of his woes were her fault, after all. Perhaps she wasn't the one to wield the mace, but she was Randal's right hand. It might have been one of the men under her command who loosed the arrow that killed the head of Galin's company; her troops did their share of the killing that day. Then, the day of 'that whole situation with Time', Luthene had been there. Maybe if she hadn't been, Galin would be married by now, living in his homeland, with his crops and herd. Maybe.

It was hard not to laugh a little when Galin asked if she'd given up her ways. "My sword is locked away safe, and my armour…" Her voice dropped. "Gone. I suppose I have taken to a life of peace, but not by choice. Seems there's little demand for a mercenary who leaves before the fight is done, and less demand for a mercenary whose actions brought about Timedeath. It's hard to be a warrior with no work and no armour, but I'm not sure what else there is for me to do. I suppose I'm a bit lost these days, but then again, who isn't?"

Author: Galin, Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 4:38 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

Well there's a name I have not heard in ages, it seems like."

Galin sighed and stared into the ale in front of him.  His thoughts were in turmoil and it pained him.  Screwing up his face into a semblance of friendly calm, he looked back at Luthene.  "Well, you see, the whole situation with Time?  It put a bit of trouble in the way of a bard's ending to the tale.  When Time died… well… war changes things and after Time, she and I did not see eye to eye and she headed south while I went back North."  He spoke in a flat monotone, still smarting from the rejection all these months later.  A man, he knew, was judged by his reputation and her leaving him was more than a personal blow.  It struck at his honor and that strike bit deeper than any blade and healed slower as well.

"I spent the last year trying to live as my folk always have, running a herd and some crops in one of the valleys among my people.  It was a simple enough life and after the campaign I relished it.  But it seems that the Maker still has plans for me beyond my home.  I had thought the war would be enough, but more is demanded.  Fickle bugger," he said, with no little venom, and took a long pull of his ale.  The Maker, the deity of the Highland peoples, was a strange one.  While the south saw men raised as gods only to fall again, the Highland men had their Maker, a great god who had once walked the valleys and hills of the North with his people.  His companions, all mortal men, fought and ate and drank with him while he walked the lands and, when he returned to his great hall beyond the clouds, they followed.  Now those that lived in the North worshiped the Maker with prayer and sacrifice, hoping that his power did not wane the longer he remained in his hall, the hall where all the faithful would feast after their death.  Galin touched the symbol of the Maker inscribed on the hilt of his dagger and offered a prayer that, no matter the Maker's plans, that Galin would serve them and gain honor and repute to honor his god.

"What it boils down to, I expect, is that bards are turds from the Abyss, making me into some great warlord, clad in mail and glory after the Valley.  I only did what had to be done when an arrow killed our leader.  The men needed guidance and I was too terrified to think of anything but pushing on.  At least then our shields were to our front.  But the way they sing of it in the North, I was some giant among men, laying about with a sword that could reap all the wheat in Adeluna in a single stroke.  It got men puffed up, thinking to pad their reputation by killing the great warlord of the Sarchu.  One of them died, the relative of a chief, and suddenly I was no hero but an outlaw.  So here I am, sworn again to the Company where I served in the War.  At least it gives me some coin, and, if the Maker is kind, a chance for some plunder."  He looked at his hand speculatively, the hand he had lain on the Maker's image to swear the oath, half expecting to see a brand there.  It felt as painful, to swear an oath and bind himself again after he had finally become free after the War, but there was nothing else he could do.

"And you, Luthene?  I do not see your swords or armor.  Have you given up your warrior's ways for a life of peace now that the madness has subsided?"

Author: Luthene, Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 4:16 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

At first, Luthene was confused when the barmaid brought her another drink. Then the woman pointed at the man who had paid for it, and Luthene froze. Galin. She hadn’t seen him since the war, since… well, she hadn’t seen him personally, in the valley, but she’d heard things. His company had been hit hard, attacking her own forces while the main Conclave troops retreated. They’d lose their leader, and Galin had been the one to take command in his stead. What had he been doing since the war, she wondered? How long had it been since the war? Long enough that he didn’t see her as an enemy, yes, but long enough to forgive? She didn’t know.

Taking the drink, she moved over to the bench beside him— but not too close, just in case she’d been wrong. Luthene saw he wore a knife; she was unarmed.

“It’s good to see you, too, Galin,” she said. She thought back to their last conversation before the valley. There had been a woman, a fiancée, what was her name? The drink had a way of dulling her memory. “How is Asmodeia?” she added when she remembered. “It’s been about a year for me. Came back home and found the place… wasn’t how I left it, anyway.” She took a long drink. “But what about you? How long has it been? What have you been doing?”

Luthene purposely didn’t want to say too much about how she’d spent her year. There wasn’t much to say. A year lived, more lost, and nothing of consequence had really happened. She wasn’t upset about it, not anymore, though initially learning that time had moved on without her had been hard to take in. It was for many people who, like her, had lost a large amount of time. Luthene had spent a week or so upset and drunk, but then she had decided that she needed to face the new reality and move on with her life, rather than waste time mourning the lost years. It probably helped that she’d lost a good amount of money in drinking, and couldn’t afford to keep going in such a way. Surely Galin had fared better, if he could afford to buy her a pint, especially after the war.

Author: Galin, Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 4:09 PM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“Well alright you miserable bastards, I’ll swear it, but these right are bloody robbery.  I might as well take to actual robbery, rather than letting you lot have all the fun.  Not a year ago, I was owed twice this!”
 
The men around him sighed and shook their heads.  It was not the same as when they had marched for the Conclave, with the promise of plunder and lands from the defeated.  Now there was only the prospect of small wars and little plunder, so the Company could not give more than what it would take to feed, clothe, and arm their men until a proper war started or they decided to raid some rich, peace-loving province and strip it of everything from crowns to cooking spits.  Galin grimaced as he placed his hands over the carved statue of the Maker and swore his oath.  It was not fair, he thought.  The War in the Valley should have left him rich in silver and reputation, a great man in his own time. Some of the men he had served with in the Valley campaign had left with their plunder as well.  Luckily for them, they had been able to make something of their time outside the Company.  Galin had not been that lucky.
 
When he returned to the Highlands, he was welcomed back as something not unlike a conquering hero and for a while, things had been good.  He bought a small bit of land and a herd, hoping to make a living from the hills as his family had done for generations.  His reputation, however, made that impossible.  Whenever he went into the vill to buy supplies or sell some of his stock, he would, without fail, find himself the target of some puffed up man’s attempt to show he was bigger, better, stronger, smarter, or whatever it was they wanted to prove.  Most days he took it in stride, laughing off the attempts to draw steel against him until everyone ended up best friends over a few pints.  Then three weeks back, one man, already drunk as a lord, decided to press the issue.  He wanted to kill the man that bathed in the New Order’s blood in the Valley and struck down the Archmage, blade to blade.  The trouble was, those were the stories, the songs of bards and poets, and not the truth of the war.  But that never seemed to matter once the swords were sheathed again.
 
Everyone there said that Galin had been right, that the other man had drawn steel and swung first, but it did not matter when the man’s brother was chief over the lands where Galin herded his cattle.  Within a week, his entire stock had been slaughtered or sold and his croft torched. Rather than wait and see what the chief had in mind once he had taken everything else from him, Galin beat a hasty retreat south to Adeluna with a caravan through the Sarchu.  Once in town, he sought out the men he had served with in the war, looking to regain his position and pay.  The position they could offer, but, as the company’s quartermaster spent the last half hour making abundantly clear, the rate for a warrior who had nothing but his weapons was not nearly as high when the world was not about to end and the Conclave was not footing the bill.  But work was work, the Highlander supposed, and they even graciously paid him the three months back wages he was owed from the Valley, minus sundries, equipment costs, and every other charge they could imagine.  Still, it was coin in his purse and it meant he could have a drink.
 
Things had changed since the war, William was gone, as was the King’s Arms where the Company used to drink.  It was a shame, he thought, as he walked past where it used to stand.  In its place was some sort of trinket and bauble shop, which confused him further.  Replacing a tavern with a haberdashery smacked of madness.  Before he could delve deeper into the madness, though, he saw a creaking wood sign with a mermaid and a pint caddycorner to where the King’s Arms had stood.  “At least they haven’t changed overmuch,” he muttered and stepped across the cobbles and into the tavern.  He heaved himself onto a bench and waved over one of the slatterns.  After a muffled curse at the price of a pint, he grudgingly counted out the coppers, newly minted in the Queen’s image, and leaned on his elbows as he surveyed the place.  Fancier than he was used to by a fair chalk, he thought, and empty for this time of the day.  Just a few drunks that seemed to come with the kegs and bottles whenever a bar was built, and a blonde woman at the far side of the room.  Something about her seemed familiar but he could not place it until she lifted her head to speak to the barman.
 

Luthene.  The last time he saw her, it was the war.  They had been on different sides then, though, and his hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his long knife.  It took a moment to regain perspective and his fingers slowly uncurled from around the knife’s handle.  The war was over.  It took a lot with it, the war, and he was determined not to let it take him too.  It was the past and it would have to remain so.  And so when then slattern flounced back over and gave him his pint, he counted out a few more coppers into her palm.  “For the blonde over there.  Tell her… tell her it’s good to see her outside the Valley.  She’ll understand.”

Author: Luthene, Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 11:27 AM, Post Subject: Moving On [P]

“Please, Gaston, you know I’ll get you the coin, I always do.”

With a sign, the barkeep refilled Luthene’s tankard. “Fine, but this is the last one.” Pausing a moment, he passed her a slice of bread as well. “Find work, or I’ll have you scrubbing the floor to pay for your meals from now on.”

Luthene had to force herself to chew slowly. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and her stomach was now as empty as her purse. The barkeep’s charity only went so far, and she knew she’d have to find work soon, or else pawn the only item of value she had left: her sword.

The year since the Godslayer War had not been kind to Luthene. Well, for her it was a year; others said it had been five, ten, even twenty years since Timedeath, but for some it had happened only yesterday. Something had gone terribly wrong that day, and it had been her last fighting in that damn war. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a good career move. There were some who disliked Luthene for fighting in the war, and her role in Timedeath. Others didn’t like that she’d abandoned Randal; no one liked an unreliable mercenary. She’d found a bit of work, mostly escorting trade goods or serving as a personal guard, but none of it paid very well, and it was always temporary. Slowly, she had started to sell some of her equipment, though she never got what the items were worth. Times were hard, and if she had to give up her sword, it would be the end of her mercenary career. Unless something came along soon, she might not have a choice.

Adeluna had changed drastically since Timedeath. When she’d left Randal to return home, William V was King. Now there was a Queen, Qendresa I, William’s niece. The story was that the crown had been hers to begin with, and he had been a regent and a usurper. Luthene didn’t remember any of it; Timedeath had that effect on people. The city had grown, too, but at least the tavern had been in the same place. The tavern was where she usually spent her evenings since returning to the city. Adeluna was home, though it hardly felt that way since the war. The best thing, Luthene thought, would be a job that might get her out of the city, out of the whole damn kingdom, and keep her away for a while. As much as she liked the tavern, Gaston wasn’t much for company, and she had no ties to the city anymore. The Adeluna she knew was gone, as were the people she used to know. It was time to move on.