Arthur decided he hated the north.
Truthfully, he had decided so long ago, when he first reached the fort with the hunters he had infiltrated. Any sane person would have concluded the same. While the dreary sky could be excused, it even reminded him of home, there were too many other things to find fault with.
Foremost, the cold. Oh, how he hated the cold. There was no escaping from it. It didn’t matter if he wore a cloak, draped himself in furs, wrapped his hands, and stuffed his boots, the cold still managed to cut right to his bones. The slowly falling snow was deceptive. It was easy to ignore, even scenic, but it quickly dusted anything left outside. It didn’t obstruct him, but watching a layer of snow fall from his arm or shoulders whenever he moved was a little annoyance that worked to undermine his already foul mood, growing to be a bigger bother every time he recognized it.
Compounding the gloomy weather were the gloomy people. Arthur was used to not being welcomed. Graywatch was not a loving community. It was more so a collective of small social circles that constantly clashed except for when circumstances forced them to overlap. People didn’t trust those who didn’t belong to their families or their crews. Walking into the wrong alley could be the last mistake of a young pirate’s life.
Despite that, it wasn’t a cold practice. Arthur had to live under constant threat at home but he didn’t despise his would-be attackers and knew they didn’t despise him. He understood that he was just the same as his attacker or his victim. They shared the same values, love of gold, love of women, and a tendency to stupidity after a night of drinking. The same could be said for strangers. Arthur had never been bothered by the thought of going off to the Hall because, although the place was different, people remained the same.
The people of Victory were not the same. They were strange and cold. Their rejection was not the wariness of pirates, who knew the man they were drinking with would have no problem stabbing them for their wallet. It was blanket disapproval of a group forced to tolerate their inferiors.
Arthur could say for certain that the people of Victory shared no values with anyone. They traded gold, women, and free drinking for steel, blood, and more blood. They didn’t even worship the saints, replacing the faith of the kingdom with admiration of their insane ancestors and a seemingly unshakable loyalty to the James family.
He could tolerate both those things if not for his last and biggest grievance with the north. That was the lack of entertainment.
Arthur was appalled that there was nothing else to do in Victory besides fight. Not for outsiders. They didn’t have taverns, whorehouses, or gambling dens. No dog fights or races. Oh, those things existed. Strange as they were, northerners were still human and had human vices. However, those vices were managed by their orders, along with their training. Nothing was made available for outsiders.
It all made the campaign that much more unbearable. With each passing day, he grew more miserable and he wasn’t the only one. The knights seemed fine, even lively, but the hunters were dragging themselves through the snow. The acolytes were worse, practically dead men walking. On top of everything else, they had to deal with mana strain.
Their fearless commander, the soon to be great Alana James, had little use for them but she put them to work where she could. The day after they left the remains of the titan, they were set upon by a bleak moon bear. A pillar of white fur and muscle three times the size of their tallest man. And for some reason, it had a flower growing on top of its head.
The reason it was named after the most prominent order of knights in the north was because they served as a test. Taking down one of the bears, and other creatures given the bleak moon designation, was how trainees became official knights.
A threat that one of the knights were able to handle was given to all fifteen attending acolytes to handle. They barely managed to bring the thing down, as it kept coming no matter how many spells they pelted it with. He doubted the poor bastards would have survived at all without the future hero.
He’d made a terrible impression at the qualifiers but Robert Quintana was undoubtedly skilled. Or at least, he wasn’t as bad as the rest. If he hadn’t kept his nerve and kept the bear contained, the acolytes would have received worse than a few minor wounds.
If that wasn’t enough, the following day, they almost tripped over a pack of slothpaws, small monsters that slept beneath heavy layers of snow. They could hibernate for months, even years, until moving prey awakened them, according to a chatty knight around dinner. Then the entire swarm, which could grow to over a thousand, all awoke and followed their namesake.
Thankfully, it took the passing of large prey to disturb them. The movements of an army qualified but a scout could pass unharmed. Normally irrelevant, as a slumbering slothpaw was undetectable to even the north’s best scouts, but that did not apply to the elf. She had come jogging back and alerted them well before they walked into the threat.
That took the danger out of the encounter. The creatures were great ambush predators and walking into the midst of a swarm was a death sentence but the monsters were relatively weak, compared to the other creatures in the north. A good stab to the heart or head ended them swiftly and they weren’t sturdy. With Kierra able to point them out, killing the swarm was as simple as stabbing a spear into the ground. Grunt work that was happily pushed onto the acolytes and hunters. Including Arthur.
Despite willingly becoming Lou’s lackey, he hadn’t seen many benefits. The opposite even. His life had become infinitely harder since he made himself available to the noblewoman’s whims. Not to mention he would eventually have to deal with his father’s ire for refusing his orders. He wasn’t as free as he made himself seem.
If it were the old Arthur, he would have turned around at the fort’s gates rather than deal with something so troublesome. Or he would have tried his luck with one of the lady knights and gotten his head removed. However, he was a changed man after his…experience with the succubus. He had learned the value of patience. More importantly, he had learned the value of a good opportunity. And being connected to Lourianne Tome was the best opportunity.
So, despite being exhausted to his bones and utterly miserable, he didn’t let out a word of complaint as he sat amongst the other hunters with his food, seated in the snow near the large fire in the middle of the camp.
He scarfed down the soup and bread, nearly choking himself in his haste to swallow. His hurry was because the fire would be left to burn out once the last bowl was served. He wanted to be firmly tucked in his bedroll by then. They were also given a finger of the liquor that warmed him from head to toe. It left him nice and comfortable before bed. He didn’t want to have to waste it because he stalled at dinner.
He didn’t pause when a weary Robert dropped beside him, eating his own food with far less enthusiasm. Only after he finished dinner did he turn to the dispirited young man. “You better hurry up. The line is ten men deep so that fire’s going to be gone in minutes.”
After giving the pirate-son a side-eye, he sped up his chewing. “I think I understand now.”
“Yeah? What do you understand?”
Robert grabbed the small wooden cup that contained his drink and downed it, grimacing at the strength as it burned its way to his gut. “I understand Lourianne. Why people tolerate her and why she’s so successful.”
“Oh? And what did you realize?”
He gulped down the rest of his soup before viciously biting into his bread. “People like her…they’re necessary. Her strength is necessary. If things like these monsters ever make it to the kingdom…” He shook his head. “Nobles are taught to value strength and status more than anything. I thought it was all excuses but if our predecessors had to face creatures like we’ve been facing, then I…I understand.”
“Took you long enough to see which way the wind blows.”
“Lourianne is a problem—"
“Because you keep making her one.”
“—but there are far worse problems. And if she can keep them back, then…then she needs to be tolerated.” His eyes hardened. “At least until I’m strong enough to handle them myself.”
Arthur chuckled. “Do you think you can single-handedly handle all the terrible things in the world? You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”
“I can do it. No, I’m the only one who can do it.”
“Like I said, an idiot. You’re not the only talented person in the world.”
Robert huffed. “I’m the only one in known history born with four affinities. There’s only been one recorded instance of anyone born with three affinities since the founding of the kingdom. My destiny is obvious.”
“Talent doesn’t equal importance. You know how many talented people I’ve watched the sea swallow?” Arthur scoffed. “Let me educate you, boy. Talent means nothing. You want to know what makes legends? Luck.”
“Luck?” Robert echoed in disbelief.
“Yeah, luck. A lucky hit on an impossibly strong monster. A lucky encounter. A lucky coincidence. At the end of the day, we’re all human.” Except for Lou. He seriously doubted her remaining humanity. “King, noble, pirate, or beggar, we’re all at the mercy of the storms. The ones who survive aren’t the strong, or the clever, or the just.” He added the last with a pointed look.
“It’s the lucky ones. They live, they find and hatch wyvern eggs, they meet the beautiful women with fortunes who are willing to spend it all on lost causes. And you, Robert, are not lucky. You may be the unluckiest bastard in Harvest. Which means, if you want to live long enough to be the hero you think you are, then you need to be a little more cautious. And maybe learn to kiss a little ass.”
Arthur decided he hated the north.
Truthfully, he had decided so long ago, when he first reached the fort with the hunters he had infiltrated. Any sane person would have concluded the same. While the dreary sky could be excused, it even reminded him of home, there were too many other things to find fault with.
Foremost, the cold. Oh, how he hated the cold. There was no escaping from it. It didn’t matter if he wore a cloak, draped himself in furs, wrapped his hands, and stuffed his boots, the cold still managed to cut right to his bones. The slowly falling snow was deceptive. It was easy to ignore, even scenic, but it quickly dusted anything left outside. It didn’t obstruct him, but watching a layer of snow fall from his arm or shoulders whenever he moved was a little annoyance that worked to undermine his already foul mood, growing to be a bigger bother every time he recognized it.
Compounding the gloomy weather were the gloomy people. Arthur was used to not being welcomed. Graywatch was not a loving community. It was more so a collective of small social circles that constantly clashed except for when circumstances forced them to overlap. People didn’t trust those who didn’t belong to their families or their crews. Walking into the wrong alley could be the last mistake of a young pirate’s life.
Despite that, it wasn’t a cold practice. Arthur had to live under constant threat at home but he didn’t despise his would-be attackers and knew they didn’t despise him. He understood that he was just the same as his attacker or his victim. They shared the same values, love of gold, love of women, and a tendency to stupidity after a night of drinking. The same could be said for strangers. Arthur had never been bothered by the thought of going off to the Hall because, although the place was different, people remained the same.
The people of Victory were not the same. They were strange and cold. Their rejection was not the wariness of pirates, who knew the man they were drinking with would have no problem stabbing them for their wallet. It was blanket disapproval of a group forced to tolerate their inferiors.
Arthur could say for certain that the people of Victory shared no values with anyone. They traded gold, women, and free drinking for steel, blood, and more blood. They didn’t even worship the saints, replacing the faith of the kingdom with admiration of their insane ancestors and a seemingly unshakable loyalty to the James family.
He could tolerate both those things if not for his last and biggest grievance with the north. That was the lack of entertainment.
Arthur was appalled that there was nothing else to do in Victory besides fight. Not for outsiders. They didn’t have taverns, whorehouses, or gambling dens. No dog fights or races. Oh, those things existed. Strange as they were, northerners were still human and had human vices. However, those vices were managed by their orders, along with their training. Nothing was made available for outsiders.
It all made the campaign that much more unbearable. With each passing day, he grew more miserable and he wasn’t the only one. The knights seemed fine, even lively, but the hunters were dragging themselves through the snow. The acolytes were worse, practically dead men walking. On top of everything else, they had to deal with mana strain.
Their fearless commander, the soon to be great Alana James, had little use for them but she put them to work where she could. The day after they left the remains of the titan, they were set upon by a bleak moon bear. A pillar of white fur and muscle three times the size of their tallest man. And for some reason, it had a flower growing on top of its head.
The reason it was named after the most prominent order of knights in the north was because they served as a test. Taking down one of the bears, and other creatures given the bleak moon designation, was how trainees became official knights.
A threat that one of the knights were able to handle was given to all fifteen attending acolytes to handle. They barely managed to bring the thing down, as it kept coming no matter how many spells they pelted it with. He doubted the poor bastards would have survived at all without the future hero.
He’d made a terrible impression at the qualifiers but Robert Quintana was undoubtedly skilled. Or at least, he wasn’t as bad as the rest. If he hadn’t kept his nerve and kept the bear contained, the acolytes would have received worse than a few minor wounds.
If that wasn’t enough, the following day, they almost tripped over a pack of slothpaws, small monsters that slept beneath heavy layers of snow. They could hibernate for months, even years, until moving prey awakened them, according to a chatty knight around dinner. Then the entire swarm, which could grow to over a thousand, all awoke and followed their namesake.
Thankfully, it took the passing of large prey to disturb them. The movements of an army qualified but a scout could pass unharmed. Normally irrelevant, as a slumbering slothpaw was undetectable to even the north’s best scouts, but that did not apply to the elf. She had come jogging back and alerted them well before they walked into the threat.
That took the danger out of the encounter. The creatures were great ambush predators and walking into the midst of a swarm was a death sentence but the monsters were relatively weak, compared to the other creatures in the north. A good stab to the heart or head ended them swiftly and they weren’t sturdy. With Kierra able to point them out, killing the swarm was as simple as stabbing a spear into the ground. Grunt work that was happily pushed onto the acolytes and hunters. Including Arthur.
Despite willingly becoming Lou’s lackey, he hadn’t seen many benefits. The opposite even. His life had become infinitely harder since he made himself available to the noblewoman’s whims. Not to mention he would eventually have to deal with his father’s ire for refusing his orders. He wasn’t as free as he made himself seem.
If it were the old Arthur, he would have turned around at the fort’s gates rather than deal with something so troublesome. Or he would have tried his luck with one of the lady knights and gotten his head removed. However, he was a changed man after his…experience with the succubus. He had learned the value of patience. More importantly, he had learned the value of a good opportunity. And being connected to Lourianne Tome was the best opportunity.
So, despite being exhausted to his bones and utterly miserable, he didn’t let out a word of complaint as he sat amongst the other hunters with his food, seated in the snow near the large fire in the middle of the camp.
He scarfed down the soup and bread, nearly choking himself in his haste to swallow. His hurry was because the fire would be left to burn out once the last bowl was served. He wanted to be firmly tucked in his bedroll by then. They were also given a finger of the liquor that warmed him from head to toe. It left him nice and comfortable before bed. He didn’t want to have to waste it because he stalled at dinner.
He didn’t pause when a weary Robert dropped beside him, eating his own food with far less enthusiasm. Only after he finished dinner did he turn to the dispirited young man. “You better hurry up. The line is ten men deep so that fire’s going to be gone in minutes.”
After giving the pirate-son a side-eye, he sped up his chewing. “I think I understand now.”
“Yeah? What do you understand?”
Robert grabbed the small wooden cup that contained his drink and downed it, grimacing at the strength as it burned its way to his gut. “I understand Lourianne. Why people tolerate her and why she’s so successful.”
“Oh? And what did you realize?”
He gulped down the rest of his soup before viciously biting into his bread. “People like her…they’re necessary. Her strength is necessary. If things like these monsters ever make it to the kingdom…” He shook his head. “Nobles are taught to value strength and status more than anything. I thought it was all excuses but if our predecessors had to face creatures like we’ve been facing, then I…I understand.”
“Took you long enough to see which way the wind blows.”
“Lourianne is a problem—"
“Because you keep making her one.”
“—but there are far worse problems. And if she can keep them back, then…then she needs to be tolerated.” His eyes hardened. “At least until I’m strong enough to handle them myself.”
Arthur chuckled. “Do you think you can single-handedly handle all the terrible things in the world? You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”
“I can do it. No, I’m the only one who can do it.”
“Like I said, an idiot. You’re not the only talented person in the world.”
Robert huffed. “I’m the only one in known history born with four affinities. There’s only been one recorded instance of anyone born with three affinities since the founding of the kingdom. My destiny is obvious.”
“Talent doesn’t equal importance. You know how many talented people I’ve watched the sea swallow?” Arthur scoffed. “Let me educate you, boy. Talent means nothing. You want to know what makes legends? Luck.”
“Luck?” Robert echoed in disbelief.
“Yeah, luck. A lucky hit on an impossibly strong monster. A lucky encounter. A lucky coincidence. At the end of the day, we’re all human.” Except for Lou. He seriously doubted her remaining humanity. “King, noble, pirate, or beggar, we’re all at the mercy of the storms. The ones who survive aren’t the strong, or the clever, or the just.” He added the last with a pointed look.
“It’s the lucky ones. They live, they find and hatch wyvern eggs, they meet the beautiful women with fortunes who are willing to spend it all on lost causes. And you, Robert, are not lucky. You may be the unluckiest bastard in Harvest. Which means, if you want to live long enough to be the hero you think you are, then you need to be a little more cautious. And maybe learn to kiss a little ass.”
