Brothers

[Sujamma Addict 514]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1KAnG44Iqw

 

Brothers

 

The ones who saved the man’s life
The ones who molded the man into a soldier
The ones who watched the man take his oaths

The ones who called the man, brother.

 

A lantern devoid of light and a small jaded journal rested upon a nightstand next to a spruced up featherbed; a soft faint shimmering from a small circular window gave it a pleasant scenic display. A man with golden locks covered by a fur cap briskly entered through the door so that the harsh winter snow wouldn't disrupt the interior. With a an emphatic swing, the door was shut returning the inside to it’s placid state. Over his chain maille came his surcoat which bore the sigil of House Rovin. He would whack his boots against the hardwood floor, removing any remnants of snow that had managed to clasp onto the bottom before making his way towards the nightstand. A low comforting sigh elicited from the man’s mouth as he lowered himself onto featherbed, crumpling the prickling fur blanket. He reached for the the lantern and unlocked the cage so that he may share his torch’s breath with it. He set the lantern in a niche along the wall behind him and fiddled with the wick before bringing his attention back to his goal.

 

The journal had been placed on top of the small table, a small feather finding its way out from the top. The man stared at it with apprehension before finally resolving to grab the book. Having his mind roused by curiosity, he abruptly darted for it, even questioning himself as to why he did so. The book felt rigid, wrinkled, and chapped in his cold hands; it had been through a long journey.
The man handled the book with care as he delicately flipped passed the cover to the first page.

 

     

1464, 12th o’ t’ Deep Cold

 

      An old friend gave me this. Said I might benefit from writin’ down anythin’ I could. He promised t’record this in some library for future generations. Turns out he gave a journal like this one to more fellas although I personally don’t see the need to store my ****. Anyway, I’ll start off like Masho told me to.

 

I’m Tomas Kvasz, A Saint’s day ago  I ended up gettin’ separated from my cousin and now live with some men in tights and wite tabards with crosses.  I can’t say the timing could’ve been any better when this short farfolk lad lifted me out of some ditch in the ground. I honestly can’t even remember what exactly happened before I ended up there. I was just walkin’ down some road when I tripped into this hole in the ground.  Anyways I was lifted out of the ground by this small man named Rygecky.  I’m not even sure I spelled that correctly either… Well I was lucky enough to have been saved by him because right as I was hoisted up, these damn Uruks came and began assaulting some sort of gate keep they had been buildin’. he rushed me inside just as the gates were closed and he led me to the top where I was told to take cover. We all know how battles work so I’ll leave out the gruesome bits for Masho’s sake. 

 

After a few hours the remaining Uruks took off as the tremors grew harsher and we ended up falling back ourselves into this portal which led to what I was told to be The Fringe. Crowded little place it was,, filled with towns and people.
I’m sure the events leadin’ up to the destruction of Anthos are already written so I’ll leave out the **** that went on.

                   
                 

 

From a distance outside the door came a loud cacophony of men and dwarves alike. A particular discussion split off from the ensemble and began to make its way to the barracks.
The man closed the book, stood up, and tucked it away under his tabard as he faced the door. Two men leisurely walked inside, one bearing a large burlap sack swung over his shoulder. The other followed and wore a familiar casual smile on his face. The two men exchanged greetings to one another as they walked by.

 

The man once again stood outside in the frost biting cold that he was all too familiar with. He patted the lump under his tabard reassuring himself and turned for his own room within the barracks. After making himself comfortable in his own featherbed, the man once again opened the book back up, making sure to read as many entries as he could. He chuckled lightly when he came across a particular entry that he remembered all too clearly:

 

Damnit Eadgar.

 

The stories presented him with a taste of nostalgia; the rich accounts of  adventures they had once shared left a merry expression on him.

This joyful grin however quickly left him when he noticed an abrupt end to the journal. The following pages were deprived of any ink or markings causing the man to frown slightly. He began flipping through the blank pages one by one until eventually a page with writing that would have seemed to be written by a child resided.

 

1491, 12th of Sun’s Smile

My hands tremble and ache as I write this.
This illness will take me once it enters its final stages.

 

"For the glory of Aesterwald." as it is said.

 

During my lifetime I've witnessed nations rise and fall, leaders grow corrupt and fat, and leaders who lose the trust of those devoted to them. Men whom took up arms for their kings but lacked the morale to keep them for long. I’ve seen the toll politics has and can’t help but selfishly feel glad that I was left out of it. A figure for young men to look up to was all I needed to keep me satisfied. The title “ser” was one that I found an ambition for like many other young boys. I recall during my childhood when I only dreamed of harnessing a hand crafted blade made by the most skilled blacksmiths, suiting myself in the most intricate casing of armour that the land had to offer,  ferrum and aurum would radiate, and my steed be as white as ice.

 

These were the dreams of an ambitious child. Now at my birth year of fifty-seven I look back upon those days with great admiration. I accomplished my simple goal and although I lack a lustering white stallion and armour which could blind anyone within a mile, I still pat myself on the back and nod in approval of my achievements. The biggest being my devotion to God.

 

Once a Lucien, always a Lucien.

 

I serve a Creator who has  predestined for me to serve alongside my brothers. The very brothers that sheltered me when I had none, gave me a purpose in life when I had none, formed a home of steel on me when I had none, placed a title for me when I had none, and gave me the adventure of a lifetime when I had none.

To all of my friends and brothers in the Order of Saint Lucien,
Deus Magnus.

 

The book was closed suddenly when Eagle's Perch began to tremble and the aged knight busted in through the door, "They're here."

[Huh 91]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.