QUESTION OF HONOUR

[Jihnyny 2572]

Spoiler

not a missive

 

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THE QUESTION

 

Honour.

Where is honour found? Is it found within others or within yourself? Baldr thought on this subject, sitting upon one of the cold fjords of the unclaimed Urguani coast. For he had faced a decision of honour the day prior, one that ended with a gruesome faith that he had not expected. 

The strange events began with the first greeting of the ferrymen. In their own peculiar fashion, they greeted Baldr with a kidnapping of both him and his king. He was only there for his King’s comfort, since no Khazad were in the Ferrymen company. At this point, Baldr held no care, for he had been exiled, and one of his raids was to come. He knew that if the Ferrymen had wished to bandit him, they would have already thrown his body into the sea. To his King's surprise, the Ferrymen held a civilised conversation with him. No shears or executioner swords were threatened, only the welcoming palms of an armoured, blonde heartlander. 

After their conversation was over, Baldr challenged one to a fight for an ear. The fight was well fought; the Mali’ker raider threw Baldr to his left and to his right, and Baldr threw the Mali’ker to his front and to his back. The outcome had not come in favour of the beardling, however, for he had lost his swordbreaker in return for his failed victory. No elven ear was claimed that day.

Upon returning to the city, which was made possible by the Ferryman's quick release, Baldr joined his kin in combat training with Urguan’s ally, Númendil. The combat training was grand, and the sons of Urguan sat in the lead. The construction of the new Adria was left echoing in laughter, watching the last bout between the Númendillians and the Urguani Dwarves. Drinks were shared, food was eaten, and overall, it was a grand experience for the half-elves and pure Dwarves. But the entertainment stopped once the words came from the South.

“FERRYMEN IN THE CITY!” 

 

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THE DECISION

Baldr looked to his comrades, already atop a steed. Without a second thought, he and his trusty scout, Thormodor, rode to the white city of Númendil in search of the pirates. Baldr arrived first. He was met with two warriors, one wearing the teal mask of the company and the other, large and frightening, wearing a pig's head.

“Where are they?” Baldr questioned the man, though his face was unknown to him, he was sure this was the same man that he had met an hour or two prior.

 

“Who?” asked the teal-masked man.

 “The Ferrymen.”

   “They went to sleep” The pig face spoke to Baldr in return.

“We seek a fight.” Baldr explained, Thormodor arriving to his back.

  “Just the two of you?” Laughed the man behind his mask.

“No, more arrive from the east.”

  “Where are they, how long will it take for them to come?”

 

The sounds of birds leaving their nest came from the wood to their east. Thundering hooves blew through the earth and then through the marbled steps of Númendil, the cavalry had arrived.

 

“They’re already here.” Baldr answered confidently, the cavalry halting their horses behind the smaller Dwarf, all facing the tavern and the two bandits. 

 

The numbers were far too great, it seemed to be around twenty to two. Baldr did not like these numbers.
 

“I’ll join their side to make it fair” Offered Baldr, too confident for his own age.

 

The two bandits finished their drinks, and without a second to think, they slipped past the soldiers of both Urguan and Númendil, none of which held their weapons drawn, and escaped from the city. Baldr was disappointed. He prayed for a fight, and in the moment of his prayer, a teal mask reflected in the corner of his eye. In between the gates of Númendil, at the base of the wood, sat the company of Ferrymen atop their horses. After the rest of the soldiers took notice of them, they fled. Dwarves and Adunians alike hurried behind the Ferrymen, catching up to them in due time. The two companies met each other's eyes, some behind the helm and others behind a mask. The Dwarves wished for a conversation, and the Ferrymen begged for a fight. The two groups prepared themselves, drawing their weaponry. Baldr then took a look at the Ferrymen numbers. They had significantly less than his own. “Baldr! What are you doing?”   Questioned one of the Dwarves as he rode his horse to the Ferrymen flank, joining their line. “Its not honorable, they are outnumbered.”  “With the Ferrymen?”  “Aye, come, join me.” He offered to his crewmates.  “No, not with the Ferrymen.”  “Loyal to you captain.” Thormodor joined Baldrs flank.

The countdown has begun. Baldr, unknowing of the certainty of the situation let out a beaming smile and a roar among the wood.

 

“LET THIS BE AN HONORABLE FIGHT BROTHERS! LET NO DWARF DIE ON THIS DAY!”

 

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THE BATTLE

 

Baldr let a breath loose. Only upon hearing the final number of the countdown did he understand the meaning of this battle. Númendillians and Urguani alike began to flee, horse after horse striking into trees and cottages as they fled with fear. The Ferrymen Company fell in charge, and Baldr kicked at his horse to follow. He held a lance in his hand, striking an Adunian off of his mount. The Adunian fell to the mud below. Baldr continued to ride forward, taking a sharp bend to follow the rest, but after taking note that the Ferrymen were up ahead, he went back to take the Adunian down. Cowering within the field next to one of the cottages outside the city, the Adunian was struck with another lance yet again. He grasped his longsword in return, a beautiful Adunian mark that shone across the lightened moon. Baldr tried to leave his steed to finish him with his sword, but the skill of a horseman he did not have, and Baldr stuck himself in the stirrups. The Adunian swordsmen left no time to waste; he swung his sword to attack Baldr, and then the teal-masked cavalryman struck the Adunian down with a lance of his own.

 

“Thanks.” Baldr called, pulling himself back atop his horse proper.

 

“To the gate!”

 

The Adunian men shut the gate, but some of the Ferrymen got inside. They slaughtered the Adunian and Urguani Dwarves like an Aaunic cattle barn, and then like foxes, escaped from the chicken coup. The remaining Ferrymen and the two Dwarven sailers, Thormodor and Baldr stayed at the front of the gates. They watched and stalled the Adunians, and a last, remaining Dwarf. 

 

“Leave brother!” Called Baldr in plea to the Dwarf within the city.

 

“No.” Answered the Dwarf in return.

 

“They’ll get in, get away!” 

 

Baldr begged. But it was too late, the Ferrymen came behind the Dwarf and put a sword into his back. Blood fell from his mouth as his armor struck against the steel gate and then, the dirt. Baldrs eyes widened, calling for mercy.

 

“Do not kill him!”

 

The Ferrymen, filled to the brim with something akin to dwarven greed, struck the Dwarf down, ignorant of Baldr's plea of mercy. The Dwarf took his last dying breath, looking upon Baldr with the eyes of betrayal. Baldr’s eyes were met with tears. He had witnessed something he had never seen before: the death of a Dwarf. He pulled at his horse, departing from the city. Dwarven corpses were all he could see among the forest. Dwarven blood, dwarven flesh. He returned to his ship with loot but no satisfaction. Nothing but shame had filled him.

Was it more honourable to join his dwarven brethren? Breaking his oath of exile? Baldr did not know. He did not have the philosophical knowledge to understand his question or where to look for an answer. Wrapped in a direwolf cloak, Baldr looked out into the open sea. He only knew one thing for certain.

“I need to learn..”

 

[Cpt_Noobman 1377]

"Coward, Kinslayer, Traitor. If any honor remains in your abhorrent soul you will submit to your just punishment. If not, Vuur'Dor awaits."