Mathus Oftsea places his hands on his hips as he peers all the way to the top of the keep, Krak du Roswhen
"I've come quite the ways. Seen many things, I have"
He begins nodding as he moves one hand to his chin, scratching his stubble of a beard as he nods
"Learned so damn much, more than any scholar could've in 10 years. I know that because I've done it."
He peers over to the small, scrawny, robed teenage boy
"And so have you" He adds
Patrick Toldfir smiles nervously, scratching his head
"So,you learned by fighting?"
Mathus lets out a bellowed laugh
"No, but by the manner in which led up to them. you were raised the same way as I. I suspect you'll learn soon enough. And I'm sure I'll finish up your knowledgable teachings, that being mostly mathematics and politics. Toov explaining Oren religion when he has the time."
Patrick nods, a much truer smile appearing on his face
"So, I'm gonna be a warrior too?"
Mathus smiles, chuckling a bit
"No, small one, that is not how I like to consider ourselves. More of the....."
Mathus ponders a bit, his smile fades, scratching his chin again, entranced in deep though, after a few seconds, he responds
"We're keepers of the good. We burn the heretics and slay the rebels. Keeping the peace, by destroying those whom disturb it."
Patrick nods, tossing his new robes up in the air lightly, frowning at how ragged they are, placing his finger through one of the holes, observing the battle damage
"I won't.....have to wear these too much...will I?"
Mathus gives an affirmative nod, blinking heavily
"Only so the Chivays get a good sense of you. And make sure you don't mutter anything of whom taught you. Filthy dark elves. They'll judge you for accepting a damned elf like that. She is fine, but they haven't proved that to them yet. Only me and you. Anyways, you best go find your bed in the barracks, I have notes to take. You'll have to prove yourself for the barons tomorrow."
Patrick nods, quickly jogging to the barracks.
Mathus pulls out a small journal, writing a quick paragraph down
" I am not the man I once was. Why must I give such disrespect to those whom have a simple disagreement with me? Perhaps, it is the influence of the Chivays. Or the journal and will of my dead brother. And that boys father. I cannot help but feel so much sorrow. I suspect the upcoming weeks will be filled the same, and I shall feel the same. And it is no one's fault but my own."
Mathus finishes writing, sighing and he closes the journal, walking upstairs.