ARC 6-Winter War-53
Shortly after we leave behind the aggressive knights, in the loosest sense of the word, we are brought to a stop. This one is expected and the ones doing the stopping are no thieves. They are true knights, the stern frowns they’re undoubtedly wearing obscured by their helms as they watch us step down from our carriage and go about inspecting my cargo.
I stare up, and up, at the towering wall of the fort. It’s not my first time seeing a wall. The capital has plenty and one surrounds Quest. They are walls meant to keep out wild manabeasts and theoretical armies, as there has never been an actual war in the history of the Harvest kingdom. The conflict with Aggro doesn’t count. Rather than a war, that was a one-sided siege we realized we couldn’t win.
This wall…I don’t know what it is meant to keep out but it must be titanic. It truly towers over me. If I hadn’t enhanced myself beyond all human capabilities, I’d imagine I’d hurt my neck with how much I have to crane it to see the top. It’s also thick. Thick enough that I can make out men walking along the top of it.
The twin towers at either end are even taller. I bet they can see the whole of their ramshackle town and well beyond from there. No chance any force sneaks up on them. Also very good for taking down aerial threats. There aren’t many dangerous flying manabeasts in Harvest, that I know of, but maybe it’s different in the north. Who knows what comes out of those mountains?
As impressive as the wall is, I can only stare at the bleak stone for so long. My attention moves to the knights rummaging through my things and blocking us from continuing. They have the usual full-plate armor, painted dark blue. Where most armors are polished to a shine, theirs seems to…turn it away. Makes it seem darker than it is.
They don’t have the half capes knights in the capital favor. Fur sticks out from the joints of the metal. I have to smother a chuckle at the thought that it makes them look fluffy. Their helmets, with fur along the sides and the top, don’t help the impression.
I’m deeply curious but there is a solemness in the air that keeps me from voicing my questions. Something about the fort is…heavy. It would be easy to act against the mood but I’m a bit wary of making a fool of myself. This is Alana’s home. The thought of making things more complicated for her makes me hesitant.
“Sir!” One of the knights comes jogging from the back of the caravan, coming to a stop before the knight blocking us from proceeding. My eyes move to the crescent moon painted on the back of his breastplate. Moon. Ah, these must be members of the Order of the Bleak Moon. The order sponsored by the James family. According to some people, and the oldest traditions, the only true knights of the Victory. My curiosity deepens but I hold my tongue.
The jogging knight comes to a stop, pounding a hand to his chest twice before continuing his report. “We found nothing unusual.”
“Mm. Back to your post.”
“Sir!”
The leader turns his gaze to us, his helm throwing a menacing shadow over his hard brown eyes. Kierra and Geneva are unaffected. Alana stiffens. I smile, hoping to take a little weight off the air. It doesn’t work.
“Listen here, hunters. You are here to fight our enemies and, for as long as that remains, that makes you allies. That does not make you one of us and Victory does not take kindly to outsiders. The lot of you are being housed on the north side. You can’t miss the bunks. Give your mounts to one of the servant boys and he’ll see them to the stable. Keep your heads down, your noses out of places they don’t belong, and respect our ways, no matter if you agree with them or not. Do that, and you’ll be just fine. Don’t, and you won’t last long enough for the monsters on the other side of the gate to tear you apart. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” Once again, Alana, the daughter of the ruling lord, is not acknowledged. Once again, she is not even recognized. While incredibly insulting, I’m not surprised after our run in with the borderline bandits from earlier. However, I am surprised that Alana doesn’t slap them with her title. Why is she taking this?
“Good.” The man turns his back on us, showing a quarter moon painted on the back of his breastplate. In his hands, he holds a simple spear. He turns it so the end’s out. He lowers into a stance, body tense as he stands before the gate. I can almost feel his concentration. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, he strikes, the end of the spear hitting one of the metal bands reinforcing the wooden gate.
I wince at the sharp clang that rings out. From how loud that was…if that was a regular door, it’d be splinters now. Maybe dust. One thing I know for certain is that this man is strong. Physically. There was no sign of any magic being used. Can he use magic too? Saints. Using the knights I’m most familiar with as reference, the doorman for this place is probably ten times stronger than the Ironcast brothers.
There is a loud creaking as the gate is slowly raised. The gatekeeper turns back to us. “Welcome to Victory. May your swords stay sharp and your hearts keep warm.”
“Victory or death,” Alana says suddenly.
His gaze turns to her and the look in his eyes changes. I wouldn’t say he softens. It’s…yes, I see it. He hadn’t really been looking at us. We were just another group of outsiders. Nuisances to be endured for the sake of the war effort.
But once she says those words, he looks at us, properly. Then he nods, apparently approving of what he finds. “Victory or death, sister,” he replies, before stepping out of the way. Two other knights standing on either side of the gate knock on their breastplates twice. Alana gives them both nods of acknowledgment before turning on her heel and climbing onto the carriage. I follow her with furrowed brows and wait until we’re moving before asking my question. “Victory or death?”
“Those are the only options,” she says absently.
For the first time, a bad feeling twists my guts and I doubt my decision to come here. People warned me about the physical dangers, the cold and the monsters. My body can easily handle those. However, no one warned me about the attitudes. The hostility. The unnerving conviction. Not even a day in this place and I have the distinct feeling that something is wrong here. That disturbing saying is enough to make me nervous. What kind of place is this where “Victory or death” replaces a simple goodbye?
On the opposite bench, Kierra hums happily. “What a wonderful place.” She closes her eyes. “The smell of blood and fear. The clashing of weapons. The tension, the excitement.” Her eyes open. “It has been too long since I have indulged in war.”
Indulge, she says. Like it’s a hobby.
“Are we still going straight to the house?” I ask. The gatekeeper told us to keep going north, to an area that seems to have been set aside for the hunters. It’s rather obvious that the duke isn’t expecting her and that promises to be an awkward reunion. More importantly, Alana has gone from looking tense to two moments from hurling. The least I can do is offer her a way out but knowing her, she won’t take it.
“No.” She straightens her features. “We go to the house. I am a James daughter and you’re my guests. We won’t be sleeping in the bunkhouses with the outsiders and servants.”
Thank the saints. I was getting worried but there’s that stiff spine and cool confidence I love. Something tells me she’s going to need every speck of courage and daring she can muster if we’re going to survive this place, let alone make our marks.
ARC 6-Winter War-53
Shortly after we leave behind the aggressive knights, in the loosest sense of the word, we are brought to a stop. This one is expected and the ones doing the stopping are no thieves. They are true knights, the stern frowns they’re undoubtedly wearing obscured by their helms as they watch us step down from our carriage and go about inspecting my cargo.
I stare up, and up, at the towering wall of the fort. It’s not my first time seeing a wall. The capital has plenty and one surrounds Quest. They are walls meant to keep out wild manabeasts and theoretical armies, as there has never been an actual war in the history of the Harvest kingdom. The conflict with Aggro doesn’t count. Rather than a war, that was a one-sided siege we realized we couldn’t win.
This wall…I don’t know what it is meant to keep out but it must be titanic. It truly towers over me. If I hadn’t enhanced myself beyond all human capabilities, I’d imagine I’d hurt my neck with how much I have to crane it to see the top. It’s also thick. Thick enough that I can make out men walking along the top of it.
The twin towers at either end are even taller. I bet they can see the whole of their ramshackle town and well beyond from there. No chance any force sneaks up on them. Also very good for taking down aerial threats. There aren’t many dangerous flying manabeasts in Harvest, that I know of, but maybe it’s different in the north. Who knows what comes out of those mountains?
As impressive as the wall is, I can only stare at the bleak stone for so long. My attention moves to the knights rummaging through my things and blocking us from continuing. They have the usual full-plate armor, painted dark blue. Where most armors are polished to a shine, theirs seems to…turn it away. Makes it seem darker than it is.
They don’t have the half capes knights in the capital favor. Fur sticks out from the joints of the metal. I have to smother a chuckle at the thought that it makes them look fluffy. Their helmets, with fur along the sides and the top, don’t help the impression.
I’m deeply curious but there is a solemness in the air that keeps me from voicing my questions. Something about the fort is…heavy. It would be easy to act against the mood but I’m a bit wary of making a fool of myself. This is Alana’s home. The thought of making things more complicated for her makes me hesitant.
“Sir!” One of the knights comes jogging from the back of the caravan, coming to a stop before the knight blocking us from proceeding. My eyes move to the crescent moon painted on the back of his breastplate. Moon. Ah, these must be members of the Order of the Bleak Moon. The order sponsored by the James family. According to some people, and the oldest traditions, the only true knights of the Victory. My curiosity deepens but I hold my tongue.
The jogging knight comes to a stop, pounding a hand to his chest twice before continuing his report. “We found nothing unusual.”
“Mm. Back to your post.”
“Sir!”
The leader turns his gaze to us, his helm throwing a menacing shadow over his hard brown eyes. Kierra and Geneva are unaffected. Alana stiffens. I smile, hoping to take a little weight off the air. It doesn’t work.
“Listen here, hunters. You are here to fight our enemies and, for as long as that remains, that makes you allies. That does not make you one of us and Victory does not take kindly to outsiders. The lot of you are being housed on the north side. You can’t miss the bunks. Give your mounts to one of the servant boys and he’ll see them to the stable. Keep your heads down, your noses out of places they don’t belong, and respect our ways, no matter if you agree with them or not. Do that, and you’ll be just fine. Don’t, and you won’t last long enough for the monsters on the other side of the gate to tear you apart. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” Once again, Alana, the daughter of the ruling lord, is not acknowledged. Once again, she is not even recognized. While incredibly insulting, I’m not surprised after our run in with the borderline bandits from earlier. However, I am surprised that Alana doesn’t slap them with her title. Why is she taking this?
“Good.” The man turns his back on us, showing a quarter moon painted on the back of his breastplate. In his hands, he holds a simple spear. He turns it so the end’s out. He lowers into a stance, body tense as he stands before the gate. I can almost feel his concentration. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, he strikes, the end of the spear hitting one of the metal bands reinforcing the wooden gate.
I wince at the sharp clang that rings out. From how loud that was…if that was a regular door, it’d be splinters now. Maybe dust. One thing I know for certain is that this man is strong. Physically. There was no sign of any magic being used. Can he use magic too? Saints. Using the knights I’m most familiar with as reference, the doorman for this place is probably ten times stronger than the Ironcast brothers.
There is a loud creaking as the gate is slowly raised. The gatekeeper turns back to us. “Welcome to Victory. May your swords stay sharp and your hearts keep warm.”
“Victory or death,” Alana says suddenly.
His gaze turns to her and the look in his eyes changes. I wouldn’t say he softens. It’s…yes, I see it. He hadn’t really been looking at us. We were just another group of outsiders. Nuisances to be endured for the sake of the war effort.
But once she says those words, he looks at us, properly. Then he nods, apparently approving of what he finds. “Victory or death, sister,” he replies, before stepping out of the way. Two other knights standing on either side of the gate knock on their breastplates twice. Alana gives them both nods of acknowledgment before turning on her heel and climbing onto the carriage. I follow her with furrowed brows and wait until we’re moving before asking my question. “Victory or death?”
“Those are the only options,” she says absently.
For the first time, a bad feeling twists my guts and I doubt my decision to come here. People warned me about the physical dangers, the cold and the monsters. My body can easily handle those. However, no one warned me about the attitudes. The hostility. The unnerving conviction. Not even a day in this place and I have the distinct feeling that something is wrong here. That disturbing saying is enough to make me nervous. What kind of place is this where “Victory or death” replaces a simple goodbye?
On the opposite bench, Kierra hums happily. “What a wonderful place.” She closes her eyes. “The smell of blood and fear. The clashing of weapons. The tension, the excitement.” Her eyes open. “It has been too long since I have indulged in war.”
Indulge, she says. Like it’s a hobby.
“Are we still going straight to the house?” I ask. The gatekeeper told us to keep going north, to an area that seems to have been set aside for the hunters. It’s rather obvious that the duke isn’t expecting her and that promises to be an awkward reunion. More importantly, Alana has gone from looking tense to two moments from hurling. The least I can do is offer her a way out but knowing her, she won’t take it.
“No.” She straightens her features. “We go to the house. I am a James daughter and you’re my guests. We won’t be sleeping in the bunkhouses with the outsiders and servants.”
Thank the saints. I was getting worried but there’s that stiff spine and cool confidence I love. Something tells me she’s going to need every speck of courage and daring she can muster if we’re going to survive this place, let alone make our marks.
