A Morning in the Defense of the Homeland [AU]
Oct 26, 2017 15:41:53 GMT
Fyremage and Lord Newbury like this
Post by TheCalmOne on Oct 26, 2017 15:41:53 GMT
Light shined through the terrace into Lucius Agathos’ eyes as he rose out of his fitful sleep. Closing them tight, and then opening them once more, he managed to make out the fuzzy details of the room around him. Despite being the commander of nearly five-thousand men and thus being entitled to the living quarters afforded to his predecessors, Lucius had furnished his room with only a simple bed, cupboard, wardrobe, and off-white walls. When he had first accepted his position, he had often been asked why he chose to live in a footman’s quarters, instead of the better-furnished suite that had been set aside for him. At the time, Lucius had been unable to answer to a satisfactory degree – he just felt more comfortable staying in the room he had used for almost his entire life than switching to such a luxurious space.
Lucius pushed himself up and sat on the edge of his cot, reaching towards the cupboard and opening the top drawer. In one swift practiced motion, he opened the drawer, reached inside, and withdrew a leather-bound book. The book was well worn, with parts of the leather cover frayed or faded. On its cover were four words: The Art of War. The marshal opened the book to the intended page, a page that – much like the leather cover of the book itself – was faded and worn with use. Squinting slightly, he slowly pronounced,
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”
Lucius let the words float in his small bedroom, staying absolutely still. Then, in a sudden motion, he gingerly placed the tome back into the cupboard. Shuffling around slightly, he withdrew another book, similar in disposition to the first. Unlike The Art of War, however, this book was more ornate, golden letters replacing black ones in spelling out The Dialogue of Artis. Instead of speaking as he had before, Lucius simply placed his wrinkled forehead against an especially worn spot of leather, closed his eyes, and prayed. Artis had chosen Lucius and his men to fight; the marshal hoped that the god would protect them as well.
The old man replaced the book and closed the cupboard. Placing his hands on his knees, he stood. Stepping quickly across the cold stone floor, he donned a tunic that was the same off-white color as the walls that surrounded him. Wrapping a well-made leather belt around his waist, he inserted the metal holder into the third hole, which was larger than the rest, and tightened the strap around his waist.
There would be no battle with the Boteri today, and so armor would only weigh him down. Thus, he left his gleaming silver armor and white cape in the wardrobe as he donned the marshal’s frock. After buttoning the last button of the uniform, he placed his hands on the doors of the wardrobe and watched the light glint off the armor as he slowly closed them, wishing for the days in which he could walk around in the heavy armor without tiring. Instead, Lucius made do with simply strapping a gleaming longsword to his belt, frowning slightly at the constant weight of the weapon.
Daily preparation done, the marshal exited the barracks and crossed a long and wide courtyard. Even at this early time of day, knights and their pages were already practicing their swordsmanship. Upon seeing him, some of the men and women paused and saluted, their right fist crossing their chest in a show of respect. Others simply turned around and returned to training their respective pages, pretending to have not seen their commander.
Lucius nodded back to those who paid their respects, and sighed inwardly. He knew that some of his men thought that he was too old to lead. Still, he could trust them to perform their duty, for the time being. All of his men hated the Boteri, and they would follow him as long as he led them against the savages. Only, Lucius had grown tired of all the bloodshed long ago.
He reached the keep and entered his study. Valken, his page, was already there waiting. While Lucius was supposed to be honing his martial prowess – a task that he had done in years past – the marshal found himself teaching the young man more about the morals and ethics of the Knights-Solaire. He was a fiery one, that Valken. One of those who believed in fighting to obtain peace. Thus, the teacher oft found himself in debate with the disciple about the best course of action for important decisions.
“Sir,” he handed over a stack of reports, “here’s the daily report. There are a couple things that you’ll need to sign off on.”
“I see. Thank you for your diligence.” Lucius knew that Valken had likely woken up early in order to prepare these reports, even though it was not necessary. It warmed his heart that the page would do so, despite their ideological differences. Holding the sheets close to his face, he glanced through the stack of paper; there were only mundane things like financing, trade, and the usual sightings of Boteri ships off the coast.
“Has the Queen of Alendron replied to our request yet?” Lucius inquired, hoping for a positive reply.
“Yes, she sent a letter saying no.”
“I see. Did she say anything else?” Lucius hoped she would make a concession at the least.
“No, she just wrote no.” Valken was struggling to contain a slight smile, despite the implications of the message.
“Just… no?”
“Yes, sir.”
As much as Lucius wanted to join Valken in appreciating the dry humor of the Queen of Alendron, he simply could not, for consequences of her message were too great. He began to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. A man soon came in, his armor covered in dirt and face drenched in sweat, with him came a few other knights who must have been curious as to what was going on. Lucius recognized him as one of the scouts that had been patrolling the east.
“Sir,” the man spoke as fast as he could, gasping for air between each word, “there’s been a Boteri raid. Three villages have been burned so far, and they were moving towards a fourth as I left.”
Lucius hid his reaction from the others, continuing to exert an air of confidence and command. Inwardly, however, he reeled from the impact of this revelation.
“What happened to the rest of your patrol?” There were fifteen men per patrol. The man shook his head, eyes downcast,
“Dead, sir.”
The marshal looked around at the men who had entered after the scout. They were all expecting the same answer from him, and Lucius knew that he could not let more innocents die. Peace would have to wait.
“Gather fifty knights, we ride east in an hour.”
Lucius pushed himself up and sat on the edge of his cot, reaching towards the cupboard and opening the top drawer. In one swift practiced motion, he opened the drawer, reached inside, and withdrew a leather-bound book. The book was well worn, with parts of the leather cover frayed or faded. On its cover were four words: The Art of War. The marshal opened the book to the intended page, a page that – much like the leather cover of the book itself – was faded and worn with use. Squinting slightly, he slowly pronounced,
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”
Lucius let the words float in his small bedroom, staying absolutely still. Then, in a sudden motion, he gingerly placed the tome back into the cupboard. Shuffling around slightly, he withdrew another book, similar in disposition to the first. Unlike The Art of War, however, this book was more ornate, golden letters replacing black ones in spelling out The Dialogue of Artis. Instead of speaking as he had before, Lucius simply placed his wrinkled forehead against an especially worn spot of leather, closed his eyes, and prayed. Artis had chosen Lucius and his men to fight; the marshal hoped that the god would protect them as well.
The old man replaced the book and closed the cupboard. Placing his hands on his knees, he stood. Stepping quickly across the cold stone floor, he donned a tunic that was the same off-white color as the walls that surrounded him. Wrapping a well-made leather belt around his waist, he inserted the metal holder into the third hole, which was larger than the rest, and tightened the strap around his waist.
There would be no battle with the Boteri today, and so armor would only weigh him down. Thus, he left his gleaming silver armor and white cape in the wardrobe as he donned the marshal’s frock. After buttoning the last button of the uniform, he placed his hands on the doors of the wardrobe and watched the light glint off the armor as he slowly closed them, wishing for the days in which he could walk around in the heavy armor without tiring. Instead, Lucius made do with simply strapping a gleaming longsword to his belt, frowning slightly at the constant weight of the weapon.
Daily preparation done, the marshal exited the barracks and crossed a long and wide courtyard. Even at this early time of day, knights and their pages were already practicing their swordsmanship. Upon seeing him, some of the men and women paused and saluted, their right fist crossing their chest in a show of respect. Others simply turned around and returned to training their respective pages, pretending to have not seen their commander.
Lucius nodded back to those who paid their respects, and sighed inwardly. He knew that some of his men thought that he was too old to lead. Still, he could trust them to perform their duty, for the time being. All of his men hated the Boteri, and they would follow him as long as he led them against the savages. Only, Lucius had grown tired of all the bloodshed long ago.
He reached the keep and entered his study. Valken, his page, was already there waiting. While Lucius was supposed to be honing his martial prowess – a task that he had done in years past – the marshal found himself teaching the young man more about the morals and ethics of the Knights-Solaire. He was a fiery one, that Valken. One of those who believed in fighting to obtain peace. Thus, the teacher oft found himself in debate with the disciple about the best course of action for important decisions.
“Sir,” he handed over a stack of reports, “here’s the daily report. There are a couple things that you’ll need to sign off on.”
“I see. Thank you for your diligence.” Lucius knew that Valken had likely woken up early in order to prepare these reports, even though it was not necessary. It warmed his heart that the page would do so, despite their ideological differences. Holding the sheets close to his face, he glanced through the stack of paper; there were only mundane things like financing, trade, and the usual sightings of Boteri ships off the coast.
“Has the Queen of Alendron replied to our request yet?” Lucius inquired, hoping for a positive reply.
“Yes, she sent a letter saying no.”
“I see. Did she say anything else?” Lucius hoped she would make a concession at the least.
“No, she just wrote no.” Valken was struggling to contain a slight smile, despite the implications of the message.
“Just… no?”
“Yes, sir.”
As much as Lucius wanted to join Valken in appreciating the dry humor of the Queen of Alendron, he simply could not, for consequences of her message were too great. He began to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. A man soon came in, his armor covered in dirt and face drenched in sweat, with him came a few other knights who must have been curious as to what was going on. Lucius recognized him as one of the scouts that had been patrolling the east.
“Sir,” the man spoke as fast as he could, gasping for air between each word, “there’s been a Boteri raid. Three villages have been burned so far, and they were moving towards a fourth as I left.”
Lucius hid his reaction from the others, continuing to exert an air of confidence and command. Inwardly, however, he reeled from the impact of this revelation.
“What happened to the rest of your patrol?” There were fifteen men per patrol. The man shook his head, eyes downcast,
“Dead, sir.”
The marshal looked around at the men who had entered after the scout. They were all expecting the same answer from him, and Lucius knew that he could not let more innocents die. Peace would have to wait.
“Gather fifty knights, we ride east in an hour.”