《Revolution》


 ch.1.1 The absent-minded farm boy

    Excerpt from Alistair of Brokridges, Herald of the bloody revolution, dairy: 34 BAR


    That¡¯s life they say; it¡¯s hard, unfair even or most definitely unfair. and you¡¯re supposed to fail they say. no matter whose cunt you fell out of. Ha, what an optimistic view. Failure is put on a pedestal, ¡°you¡¯ll learn from it¡± they say with their weak smiles pretending that you can¡¯t understand pretending you won¡¯t see the despair in their hollow eyes, they¡¯ll say they''re content with their simple lives. Content, what a horrible word that is, how many have fallen for the trap that is content. Ignorance is bliss as they say and none are more ignorant than the sheep being herded by a hungry shepherd.


    Ch.1


    This is freedom or as close as I¡¯ll ever get to it at least, ha what a low bar for freedom sitting an unwanted hill in the middle of an unfertile field the hot sun bearing down its joyful gaze or whatever emotion it has while making me sweating like a dammed pig though it would be disingenuous to blame it entirely. But that¡¯s life, well the one that I¡¯ve got at least slightly better than most significantly worse than a few but¡­


    ¡°Luther you worthless brat, get ur arse down here!¡±


    The ever-loving screech of a caring father ringing out to break my grand musings on my existence.


    Standing seemed to ache more than usual; my burgeoning muscles burning in anger at the intrusion on their rest. I guess the morning thrashing took more out of me than I thought. Speed, however, did seem to be essential in this situation with that harsh tone the old man appeared to have at least. Wonder what the old fart wants? there shouldn''t be much work to do.


    Nevertheless, it does seem an extravagant waste of my now, unfortunately, limited energy to rush back down the rocky hill to the house or decrepit shed if you asked someone more well-to-do; no matter how swift father wants me to be, however, as the old man always barks at me ¡°you lazy sack of worthless shit¡± in the apt, description of my effort put into a majority of physical tasks, before promptly smacking the back of my head with his stick or "practice sword" as he describes it.


    With that scary thought now thoroughly wedged into my mind, it would probably be prudent to at least enthusiastically jog back down to the house.


    Though being truthful it does feel and likely looks more akin a brisk walk, or maybe even a trot, the distinction probably isn¡¯t important than to a jog of any kind.


    The hill although not the steepest thing in the world any kind of help is welcome in this trying time, though the rocks are going to kill my poor feet as my soles beat against the small rocks similar to when pa beat me this fine morning in his so-called ¡°training¡± angry old drunk.


    And with that final thought it seemed, I was in¡­ viewing distance? No that¡¯s not right I could see the house from the hill. Hmm, smelling distance? Yes, that¡¯s better I could smell the horse shit Afterall. Couldn¡¯t do that at the hill.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Though I could, in fact, see the house more clearly; the two-room mud cottage in all of its distinguished glory. My eyes moved across all the lackluster spectacles of my home. The chopping block with an old iron axe, sunken deep into its wooden body, covered in ravine-like scars and gashes in its head, who knows how long Pa has had that. longer than me at least. The thatch roof that would need to be replaced soon, probably by me, was blowing straw everywhere.


    It¡¯s better than what the majority of peasants here have, but still, a pigsty compared to the lord¡¯s keep and some of the more well-placed peasants in the village proper.


    Though it''s never good to compare yourself to your betters as old Marwin says.


    As I finally reach the house, my thoughts begin to drift off as they do quite regularly. Not focused on one specific thing constantly shifting between mundane musings like should I cut my hair and staring blankly at the sky. Though a moment of clarity did allow me to remember the fact that I had been called here. By father. Scrunching my face in confusion I begin to crane my neck searching for father. I hope he didn''t fall asleep that old foo...


    Pain at the back of my head seemed to clear my confusion. ¡°stop daydreaming you shiting brat¡± It seems I walked right past him. I never understood why he hit so hard. ah, his breath stinks.


    Turning fully to get a look my father''s bearded face, though calling it a beard is a bit much it was a greasy, scrappy thing, farther seemed to try very hard to make himself look as destitute as possible with his gaunt eyes and unkept long hair like he just woke up in a swamp with two black eyes though that''s not entirely unlikely other than the swamp part no swamps in fralisan lands at least as far as I knew. I wasn¡¯t a bastion of geographical knowledge.


    Now, although I dreamed of responding with a witty comeback or something along those lines and "beating" father would be satisfying. It would, however, be something that would get me my arse beat... the pain of a second slap once again enlightened me to the reality of fathers irate face, somehow making it more frightful with his rotten teeth-baring for the world to see (ah... I wonder if I look like that it¡¯s no wonder the other kids avoid me), meaning that he expects a response.


    ¡°so..rryy pa. I just got lost in my thoughts ya know¡± It seemed to come out a bit more wimpery than expected.


    Not, the most prideful response I''ve ever put together but an effective one nonetheless if the softening of father''s hard features was anything to go off which sometimes they weren¡¯t.


    ¡°boy you¡¯re to be a farmer¡± farther seemed to be constantly reminding me of that lately. ¡°ya need to stop with that constant daydreaming ya hear boy got no need for it¡±


    While it is admirable for a farther to want his son to follow his footsteps, I dream of better things for myself. And its a general rule of thumb I have learned over the twelve years of my life to not follow farther too close in anything, he does smell like shit after all. Well, I do too but more due to circumstances than choice.


    ¡°I hear ya pa¡± in a steadier voice, happy even well as close as my meager acting skill can get it, I even look at the ground letting long hair obscure my eyes like a shy maiden. Great genius I may be, grand dreams I may have, spine I do not possess.


    Though the squint in his brown eyes showed he wasn¡¯t buying the bullshit I was selling, never was a great salesman in that I¡¯ve never sold anything in my life.


    Looking up the meet fathers¡¯ eyes he sighed; probably in exasperation, and maybe a little knowing disappointment. ¡°now boy I¡¯ve got to go to the manner¡± announced father


    Ah, I couldn¡¯t help but let a sincere grin brake out oh fantastic a day to myself. The naps that I will have will be legendary. my dream is broken quickly.


    ¡±And ye is coming¡± the creasing of his eyes and his shit-eating grin, there might actually be some shit in there, made it seem as if he¡¯d told an amusing improper joke or just won a pound of silver, though it didn¡¯t get to me, the tightening of my face be dammed it¡¯s this cold weather never mind the sun joyfully bearing down above, the sadist.

 Ch.1.12 A horse

    Excerpt from joseph luguins; The System 130 BAR:


    ¡°The manor system is the main system of rulership used by most lords in most states. The manor is ruled by a lord who is given land by his liege, the lord will then to split the land between, his demesne which is controlled directly by the Lord himself; the dependent overseen by serfs who owe labor to the lord and free peasant land who pay rent to lord. All the population of a manor is legally subject to the lord.


    A smile still on my face, as fake as a whores (not that I¡¯ve met any whores), ¡°father wouldn¡¯t it better if I..¡± the old Basterds grin just got larger if that''s possible.


    ¡°boy now what did I just say¡± father drawled out.


    An involuntary gulp seems to be forced on me, I know that look. It''s the ''do as I say or get beat'', look. So unfair, but as I say ''that''s life'', more taught to say but that''s not important.


    ¡°you said I¡¯m coming with ya,¡± I stammered a bit more bitterly than I intended but giving the old man¡¯s laughter away in response well it¡¯s more of a crackle it seems he doesn¡¯t seem to mind my tone if he even noticed it. which he most likely did. He''s a perceptive bastard if nothing else.


    His seemingly mad crackle is broken up by sudden fits of coughing and wheezing ha God''s punishment for mocking me, though whatever discomfit it''s causing him doesn¡¯t stop the laughter I don''t think even a punch to the gut would stop him from laughing at me. He, somehow, manages to rein himself in before he topples over, his belly fat makes him a bit forward heavy.


    ¡°Stop grinding your teeth boy or you¡¯ll lose em¡± fathers winded response as much as I hate to say contains good advice, teeth are important and no one is more an expert on losing teeth than father.


    ¡°ok pa¡± I reply blowing out a frustrated sigh I don¡¯t understand why he enjoys tormenting me so much. A beating in the morning and ride to the manor how fun.


    ¡°now while ya was lazing about on the hill after practice, I was doing something productive¡± he motions towards the back of the house with his fat thumb.


    it''s not like you worked me to near exhaustion this morning, the smirk on his face shows that he noticed my annoyance.


    ¡°basket is all saddled up¡± I guess that means I have to get the old horse, as I watch the old man saunter back into the house you could even say he did it confidently I wouldn¡¯t, id say it was more careless than confident especially with his ass hanging out slightly though the distinction doesn¡¯t truly matter to me. swinging my eyes away from father as he enters the warm light of the house to find whether he needs hopefully a belt and cloak to make him presentable wouldn¡¯t want him to get a beating from the lord now would we, a self-satisfied smirk plasters my face with that pleasant thought.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Stretching my poor back muscles, as I make my way to the back ah swinging a heavy wooden stick really takes it out of you, turning the corner and there he was, old basket a spotted brown rouncey. Another thing that separated us from most peasants in the manors'' land, we were free peasants after all though the difference in actual status from serfs is minimal at least from what I could tell. Basket seems to have noticed me as the aged horse rears its large head towards me, blowing through its nose, a lob of snot just missing my small body. My smile probably appears much more strained now, the old beast absolutely meant to hit if the disappointment in its large brown eyes is anything to go off anyhow. Is it bully Luther day?


    Carefully moving my hand onto the beasts¡¯ brown coat, stroking him slowly to make sure he¡¯s calm if the beast wanted to crush me looking at how small my hand seems it defiantly wouldn¡¯t take much effort from the beast. Giving the beast a winning smile confident and cool, at least I think it is, I walk more a waddle towards the pole that baskets rein and begin to untie it, baskets consent nudges do add some difficulty but it¡¯s not like I have the daring to reprimand the horse, it would crush me.


    ¡°boy, pray tell, why isn¡¯t there fooking horse in front of me!¡± fathers hard shout does always give me ample motivation to speed up. Grasping the reins, I reply ¡°sorry pa, just a minute¡± barely a shout but I was never very loud, pulling on the reins I begin to move around front ¡°come on boy¡± I say softly though I say most things softly. The patronizing looks the horse gives me Is slightly embarrassing, but he follows so the point was understood, and you should never be embarrassed about something that works.


    As make my way around the corner, I¡¯m surprised to see that father did make himself seem presentable. With a thick woollen black riding cloak covering a clean green woollen tunic, which I didn¡¯t know he had, his face his hair no longer is allowed to fall whoever it so pleased was tied up behind his head, though no change to the scrappy beard, it''s shocking he almost looked like he doesn''t eat shit.


    ¡°come on boy were losing daylight¡± although the rugged sound of his voice will quickly dispense that misguided notion.


    quickening my steps I pass baskets reins over to farther, as he moves to grasp It I manage to get a flash of what¡¯s under the cloak, a sword, my jaw tenses whys father bringing a sword?.


    Father carefully places his large foot on the stirrup and effortlessly swings himself over Basket.


    why? there¡¯s never any bandits on the road we''re only a 10-minute ride away from the manor after all. He¡¯s never taken a sword befor¡­ ¡°what ya doing boy¡± father sticks his rough hand out to help me up, I glance at his eyes something seems different in them, they look sad? No, they look serious, fathers never serious.


    I quickly move my hand to grasp his outstretched one. The rough scars on his hand seem to radiate an unexpected warmth as my small hand is enclosed in his. He hardens his grasp before yanking me on the saddle.


    ¡°Well then, off we go, YA¡± he proclaimed kicking for Basket to move forward, I quickly wrap my arms around father''s large waist as the sudden acceleration almost launches me off the old beast, father feeling my arms tugging at his waist just laughs. It seems I have some thinking to do as we make our way towards the manor. At least the scenery is nice.

 Ch.1.13 The Side Entrance

    Excerpt from lord flinches: Castles and other fortifications, What are they?. 62 BAR:


    There are multiple designs for castles, that are used within the world, the most popular due to the fact that it is the cheapest and easiest to construct is the motte and bailey castle. this castle is a simple structure wherein; the keep (made of either stone or wood) is placed on a raised area (man-made or natural) called a motte. This motte is then accompanied by an enclosed area, the bailey, surrounded by a palisade and a ditch (may or may not have water).


    The daunting sight of the fortified wooden palisade that rises into the air like a great tree trunk that surrounds the motte and bailey were the manor rests is only the second indication of our distance from the manor as we ambled our way down the wide dirt road.


    The first is, unmistakably the manor itself; a towering structure that laid like a great dragon on top of its immense horde that is the grand Motte.


    The man-made hill that lays at the tail of the fortified bailey, the lords'' manor, a refurbished fortress draped in a multitude of banners undoubtedly all possessing the lords'' crest. And decorated with tremendous long glass windows glistening in the morning sun.


    The fortress now manor was constructed, in only two days apparently, during the black river war, in which we, or should I say the kingdom gained this scant strip of land in the peace settlement 20 or so summers ago, or as I¡¯m told at least.


    Marwin is always grumbling that we should have pressed for something considerably more substantial for all the men that we sacrificed.


    Originally there was only one supposed to be a gate into the bailey, more defensive supposedly, where the village coalesced overtime after his lordship was given control of the castle. But the lord in his seemingly infinite wisdom had another gate built at the side. Can''t be mingling with the dirty peasants now, can he? Though supposedly it was just to get to the Forrest quicker.


    As we move closer to the towering wooden palisades, my arms seem to tighten around father¡¯s waist at its daunting appearance, the sight of the lords'' banners placed precariously on the palisades becomes clearer and clearer.


    The lord I''ve come to learn is only from some cadet branch of some other prestigious noble house; though hell if I know who they are.


    His crest is therefore split into two parts, the crest of the main house and His own personal crest though, I could only guess at which is which.


    The crest on the left of the banner displays twin red snakes intertwined with each other ascending to the sky like a spear trying to pierce the heavens; the right crest is a black fox peering back as if observing its prey. Both are placed on a deep blue field that seems to drag the eyes towards it.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Closer still, to the imposing large walls and the faint radiant glow of steel helmets be seen, the fletching of arrows peek over the lower part of the parapet, a warning, that¡¯s built on the wooden battlement tall enough to hide a man behind them if need be. One of the guards casually leans over the parapet as we slow our approach, his long brown beard pushing past the leather strap of his gleaming kettle hat. ¡°hail good man¡± his shout seemed to carry a weight to it.


    Father brings the horse to a stand, with a yank of the reins, "Hail" father''s voice is loud like a crack of thunder, not the voice he ordinarily uses.


    The guardsman appears to have recognized father if the knowing squint in his eyes and the slight twitch of his lips is any indication.


    A seemingly long second later and the guardsman''s face is plastered with a welcoming smile "milo, you old goat what are yous doing here?" the voice that I can now recognize as peter the old millers'' second son no longer holds any of that weight that did before.


    fathers response comes after a booming laugh, less like the crackle he has when mocking me, and more like a normal laugh. "Lord Reynard wished to have a chat with me, and who am I to deny our lords'' noble dream of chatting with one such as myself " although his face isn''t visible I can tell what kind of grin father has.


    The reply to a comment such as that should be one of reprimand, peter however just laughs a merry laugh.


    "Alright, alright," with a smile peter turns his head towards the other guard who seemingly still hasn''t discerned that we''re here.


    "Geor you sack of slack shit open the gods, dammed gate for our illustrious guest" the guardsman, Geor apparently, looks quite stunned if only for a second before replying.


    ¡°err¡± he stutters out his mouth slightly agape. Geors'' eyes seemed to flick between us and peter in rapid succession before bringing his gloved hand to his chest, a bit too vigorously if that pained whine is anything to off.


    ¡°right away sir¡± I do suppose guard duty is quite monotonous especially on this gate. Only the lord, after all, is supposed to use it so it¡¯s quite understandable to get lost in your own world though by the looks of it peter found his reaction to be quite amusing, with a grin eerily like fathers manifesting on his bearded face.


    As Geor slither away from view to open the large wooden gate, peter once again lazily leans over the wall, ¡°so milo, what the Lord wants with ya?¡± quite the intrusive question that, but I can''t say I¡¯m not interested in the answer as well.


    ¡°ah ya know just business, secret business¡± father says as he taps his forehead with a light chuckle.


    One of Peter''s eyebrows rises into his helmet at that and with a knowing smirk ¡°secret business eh. You beat one of those posh knights again dint ya¡± now that got me to raise my eyebrows, father beat a knight?


    ¡°Now why¡¯d I ever do such a thing¡± father''s ruff voice might sound hurt but I¡¯m sure he has that grim self-satisfied grin plastered over his face he has whenever he betters me.


    The audible sound of a shrill creaking prevents peter from making any kind of response. Hastily I lean around the side of father contorting my small frame so that I''d be able to get a greater view of the massive gates slowly opening.


    I¡¯m not even deterred by the dreadful stink of father pits; watching with vivid fascination as the great wooden gate opens inwards.


    Farther kicks for Basket to advance slowly preempting peters boisterous shout of ¡°in ya go then¡±


    I don¡¯t glance at him; the insides of the baily are greatly more interesting. I¡¯ve lived in the meager territory of the manor for as I can hope to remember, not that long mind you, but I¡¯ve never been allowed inside, farther, unfortunately, doesn''t appreciate festivals. Well, there has to be a first for everything Afterall.

 Ch.1.14 Inside

    Basket slowly trotted towards and eventually through the now opened massive gates, under farther careful guidance.


    Passing through the distinct smell of the old wood that made up the grand palisades saturates the air, though as we made our way beyond the enormous gateway, that distinctive scent soon dissolved into the fresh air of the expansive bailey.


    Inclining my head towards the guardsman, Gord, in gratitude as we make our way past. It never hurts to be polite after all. Nonetheless, the pleased smile that he returns to me is an adequate reward.


    Father continues to steadily lead Basket onwards paying no heed to Gord, seemingly knowing where to go already.


    The dull creaking of Gord closing the mighty gate is the only audible noise, that I''m unable to disregard at least, my head twisting and turning in constant motion soaking the new environment as much as I can.


    The different sights of the bailey fill my wide eyes, the different structures, a small chapel with its beautiful stained glass permeating its legion of bright colors onto the yard. The small barracks a home for the smattering of guards in the lords'' employee and a collection of other buildings that I can¡¯t discern with just a fleeting glance.


    Contorting my small body as much as I dare, I try to get a view of the new world in front of us, with a light chuckle father puts one of his large hands on my protruding head to push me back.


    "Close yer mouth boy you''ll get a better look later" his voice is sweeter than I''ve ever heard it. It seems I''m seeing a lot of new facets of father today.


    "yes pa" my reply is reserved but carries an audible tinge of excitement as I follow his instruction.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.It only takes a few more mute moments before we reach our apparent destination, a small wooden trough filled with calm if unclean water accompanied by tall pole to fasten a horse to, seated, demurely, at the base of the colossal Motte.


    Father swings himself off Baskey in a single fluid motion, before reaching to help me down. "here we go," he says with a small smile as he carefully lifts me off the horse; placing me softly onto the ground.


    As father goes to fasten Basket to the pole, I continue the energetic inspection of my new surroundings, however, my eyes are only drawn to one thing, the mighty keep dominating my sightline grand and imposing. It was imposing from a distance but here up close, the structure is truly awe-inspiring.


    The impressive fortress faces Westward so I can only imagine the majestic shadow such a massive structure would project upon the land; it could possibly devour the bailey whole.


    A firm hand is placed on my head, the weight forcing my head to tilt forwards. "come on, can''t leave the good lord to be left waiting now can we lad" his voice is soft as he saunters past me, a smile materializing on his rough face.


    I hastily move to follow, my eyes drifting to the sword strapped to his waist, its outline precariously showing through his thick woollen cloak. father stalls before making his way onto the steep wooden bridge to the keep, providing me the opportunity to catch up. As I come to stand abreast with him, he flourishes his long arm around me, bringing his large body low his mouth moves to speak


    "now boy, remember first impressions are important" his voice is as sharp as that sword loosely hanging by his side "especially with lording¡¯s, so be at you best ya hear." he peers directly, my freckled face reflected in his scrunched brown eyes, the stare seems to last a lifetime, though just like a lifetime it ends without much fanfare.


    He swiftly unclasps my body and maneuvers his body upright before assuredly wandering on, leaving me alone dimly starting at his back as it meanders up the hill, before kindly bringing me back to life "ya never know, a good impression might just add a few extra years on your life"

 Ch.1.2 The Jolly Bailiff

    Excerpt from Morgan Monts; The Guilds Who, what, why?: 43 BAR


    There are many Guilds across many different kingdoms, princedoms, duchy and even baronies. These guilds can be split into two distinct groups the Craft guilds made up of artisans such as stonemasons, cobblers and painters, and mercantile guilds. These guilds exist to protect and promote their members.


    By the time I made my way to the top of the enormous hill my legs were burning in furious protest, though the sight of the gate into the keep proper, and the flat ground it eluded to, was a welcome sight for my weary legs. The view of farther already chatting away with one of the guards outside it another one. The less time I have to spend listening to people blab on the better.


    Their conversation eventually arrives at my ears though in the form of blended laughter sounding like the symphony of a deaf orchestra.


    As I limped my way closer, I managed to get a better view of the two-guards. Covered in the same basic dull grey steel mail covering the unkept white, well what I believe to be white, gambeson underneath. As well as the same reflective kettle hat as all the other guards.


    "anyways milo" The guard speaking paused for a quiet moment at noticing my ragged approach to give me a skeptical glance before proceeding. "yer a bit early, but I''m sure his lordship won''t mind" The guard announced a lazy smile playing at his lips. The second guard moves to open the gate as my farther reply rings out "Oh, I''m sure he wouldn''t" his own smile in full bloom "the early bird gets the worm now don it" farther and the firsts guard juvenal laughter once again spewed from their mouths mixing in the open air as the other guard had managed to unlock and open the gate.


    The deep squeaking of the hinges dragged farther and the laughing guard from their cheerful exchange and back to reality. " guess I''ll see ya on the way out then milo" laughed the first guard "sure thing, Warner. ¡°Father chuckled out as he moved towards the open gate.


    "come on boy. stop yer dawdling" farther said peering back at me, I once again moved to follow, ignoring my legs fervent protest, as we departed through the open gate father patted the more silent guard on the shoulder "see ya too theo" the guard only inclined his helmeted head in acknowledgment as we advanced through.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    The sight of the keep this close was intimidating, less so than at the base of the hill, however. Something to do with the immaculate garden at the side of the path that leads to the main entrance decorated by a multitude of bright plants and other foliage.


    As father moves on as if all is right with world My eyes seemed to drift to the left at the sound of clanking, two men clad in thick padded Armor duelling on the only patch of brown ground that I could see. A practice area I summarise. Their swords, most likely dull, seem to cut the light in twain as the two men clash, parry and riposte each other in swift succession. I gawked in rapt fascination as one of the men the attacker strikes high but is stopped by his opponents'' the defenders'' own blade before power can be generated; the defender then like lighting slips his arm into the gap between the arms; pulling the attacker''s arm downward away from his own sword while simultaneously dragging his blade down the defender expertly disarms the attacking man before throwing him harmlessly to the ground.


    My enthralled gaping was interrupted by the loud knocking emanating from the door into the keep.


    Shifting to see that father had reached the keep, I quickly rushed to make sure I didn''t get reprehended again. The smug look on his face, no doubt noticing my earlier gaping, was irritating but I won''t let it get to me annoying as it is.


    Glancing once again in the direction of the practice yard it seems the two men were also drawn by father knocking the door. Both Stood there; swords held loosely held in their gloved hands. Father didn''t seem to notice their stares that seemed to pierce me just as well as their sword would. No, he stood calmly waiting for the door to be opened, in his apparent ignorance of the fact two armed men are staring menacingly at us; he could however just not care. If it¡¯s the latter like always I don''t know whether to call it arrogance or confidence.


    The door eventually opened and with it came the sight of a man that even I was acquainted with. The bailiff, in all his crimson glory the portly man is always easy to identifiable by that crimson red tunic that covers most of his admittedly large body.


    The large man''s eyes seem to light up almost comically while regarding us "aha, just in time my good fellows." the bailiff merrily chuckled out as he maneuvered himself around "come come, his lordship is ever so excited to talk to you know" both farther and seem to move in sync as if entranced by the man¡¯s jolly domineer, there is a reason why after all it''s his job to collect taxes and the like you just can¡¯t hate the man even when he¡¯s taking your money.

 Ch.1.3 The Green eyed Lord

    I would love to say that the journey to wherever the bailiff was leading us was a quiet one. That, however, would be an egregious lie the man doesn''t stop talking. I don''t believe in the whole three minutes that we''ve been following the plump man his mouth has been shut for more than a passing second. Fortunately, it seems the man is thoughtfully ignoring my continued existence. Preferring to ravage father with his incessant small talk.


    Happily, the passing scenery made it particularly simple to disregard their insincere exchange happening as I trudge along like an unwanted puppy. A decorated sword here, a painting there, the opulence was eye-watering if not excessive for my admittedly low-brow tastes.


    It didn''t take long though for us to finally reach what I assume must be the lords'' study. Meaning "ah. I do apologize." the bailiff confessed feigning disappointment "it seems we''ll have to cut our riveting chat short. I do ever so hope you don''t mind" the bailiff apologized, a melancholy smile playing at his swollen lips.


    "it¡¯s no problem." Fathers gruff acknowledgment comes out significantly less eloquent than the bailiffs.


    "Oh good. now then." chuckles out the bailiff. Turning his head towards the red door, some exotic wood no doubt. His brown eyes seem to shine a deep amber, if only for paupers second. Before swinging back round to face us with an extraordinary amount of agility for a man so large.


    "His lordship will see you now." announced the bailiff with a bright smile. Confusion like always seemed to come naturally to me. Holding back my desire to question how in gods nine names the bailiff could possibly know the lord is ready for an audience without, you know, asking the Lord was quite the arduous task.


    It seems, though, that I''m the only one with an inquisitive nature in the family as father strides undeterred towards the door. Moving to follow him as he places his hand onto the door handle, a hand grabs me, holding me in place.


    " now my good boy why don''t you..." the bailiff began causing Father to pause, " tha boys coming in with me" father growled out craning his neck to glance, more glare back at the bailiff holding my shoulder. The shift disposition of both of them shocking me stiff.


    I winced slightly as the man''s grip tightened " the lord requested for your presence, not your whelp" the bailiff rebutted disdain tainting his words.


    Father straightened his back, fully turning to face the bailiff and I resting his hand on the blade that at the sharp tensing of the hand gripping my shoulder the bailiff hadn''t noticed " ''nd I said the boys coming in with me". The next few tense seconds seemed to take an eternity pass as sweat seemed freely flow from my body.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The bailiff released me with a quick flourish making me lurch forward "I suppose there''s no harm in letting the boy listen in" the bailiff said feigning his jolly demeanor" just remember. I warned you, " cautioned the bailiff.


    Father didn''t grant a reply, preferring the glare at the undoubtedly smiling man, I didn''t dare glance back as I made my way next father.


    Once I stood alongside father, he moved to open the door not moving his eyes from the bailiff "let''s go then, boy" father said turning the gilded handle of the door.


    The moment the door gradually creaked open, a light seemed to engulf the rifts as the door opened. More and more the light-flooded out, drowning the hall in the golden warmth of the sun as the door drifted open. father seemed cut the light as he pushed through the doorway and into the opulent room that had ever blessed my eyes with its presence. it seemed wrong to me at least that we could dirty such a room with our less than worthy existence though father didn''t seem to mind or care as he walks steadily into the center his presence dragging me with him.


    The utter wealth of the grand room seemed to blind me, as I seemed to forget why we here until father voice reverberated "My lord" my eyes finally drifted to the end of the room, seated rigidly at a desk, vivid green eyes focused on a single piece of parchment gripped loosely in his hand, his lips pursed in concentration unaware of our presence.


    The light kick to my ankle dragged my eyes away from the lord and to fathers bowing form.


    It didn''t take a great amount of deduction to realize what I was doing wrong. "My lord" my introduction came out much less like the confident address of my father and more like the yelp of a puppy.


    The sound of a loud sigh seemed to envelop the room "you may rise" the lords'' voice commanded.


    I may have risen too fast, as vertigo seemed to descend upon me as I once again rose to stare at the seated man. only this time he was no longer reading the parchment now laid delicately on top of the desk. no, he was gazing directly at me, his eyes almost dissecting my very existence.


    I''d like to say I met his gaze with confidence and bravado, but no, the only reason I didn''t avert my eyes from his own was due to the paralyzing panic that I felt throughout my entire being.


    His stare only lasted a second, but it felt as if my entire being was laid bare for him scrutinize.


    His gaze shifted with all the poise you would expect from a noble his long deep black hair shifting like an untamed waterfall " I''m glad you could come to see me Milo" the words said were soft but seemed to carry as loud as any "you''ve undoubtedly realized why I wished to have this chat no?" question the lord.


    " yes, my lord" fathers voice was subdued, respectful even


    " Good, good. your experience will be invaluable against those dirty Lavashs, my good man," The lords'' words rang out, a somber tune seeming to drench them.


    However, my thoughts seemed to shatter at his words, like a stab in the dark shock permeated my being.

 Ch.1.4 The Letter

    Excerpt from Norman Hansacks; Armys: 364 BAR


    The main way the most kingdoms, princedoms, and whatever other kinds of doms you can think of building their armies is though the feudal obligation, this is where lesser men, the poor souls, serfs, and the like. If a king the one asking lords as well are made to turn up and do their duty for their superior and fight in their wars as thanks for being allowed to live and farm in the superiors'' land.


    Neither of the men seemed to notice or care enough to look at my shocked state. As my brain worked to delude out of the obvious.


    I was only dimly aware of the creaking of the what I assume is the lords'' desk as he stands.


    "Now now my good man." he laughs out his entire disposition seeming to change in an instant. Moving around his large desk towards the large shelves at the side of the room under my blank gaze.


    "Sauntering off to war, no matter how small, is never a trivial endeavor" the lord began searching the shelves with broad grandiose swishes of his head "I''m sure you agree?" questioned the lord pausing in his search to glance back at father. I gulped at the confirmation of the obvious.


    "course my lord." affirmed father in that gruff but somehow respectful tone he seems to have picked up. The lord squinted his eyes slightly, his lips cocking a slight smile before turning back to his search with a swish of long hair.


    "good man. now then" said the lord pausing slightly before reaching for a closed scroll "aha." he exclaimed as he playfully gripped the scroll above his head like a sword.


    "can you read my friend?" he questioned; tuning to face us once again.


    "No my lord" conceded father his tone steady


    "Ah," exclaimed the lord as he walked towards the front of his desk. The echo of his exquisite leather boots thumping against the hardwood floor reverberating around the room.


    "How unfortunate. Then I suspect ill have to be the one to read this to you then, no?" he mused a smile never dropping his face as he leans on the edge of his desk.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "My boy could read it to me if ya wish my lord" announced father, once again bringing me under the gaze of the lord.


    "Truly?" he gleefully questioned his eyes widening like a child with a new toy.


    "yes my lord" father affirmed. my eyes moving between the two of them


    "How extraordinary" begin the lord his bright green eyes gawking at me his body leaning towards me as if examining a strange creature


    "I was wondering why you brought your boy with you, my good man," said the lord standing straight.


    Fathers reply was an audible crass grunt. The lord slowly sauntered his way towards me a smile ever-present on his face under by fathers lapse in manners.


    His form dwarfs mine as he stands in front of me. "here you go boy, let''s see if you''ll be any use" the lord said as he softly handed me the scroll. His grin winded at my gulp as I grasped the scroll.


    I held the rough scroll in my now sweating hands. The pressure seemed palpable as both the lord and father expected gaze pierced me.


    As I unfurled the scroll my eyes drifted across the flamboyant black script drinking the words, before I begin to read top to bottom


    "His Grace Duke Stephan Hansack of Miltonfield an.."


    "Start from the third paragraph, boy, we have no need for pleasantries"


    My eyes sprang to the lords smiling face at the interruption before I nodded drifting my back to the page to the shortest of the paragraphs.


    "My young friend you know that I am loathed to send a request like this in most circumstances however with that bastard Norman kicking up a storm in the north I have been requested at court, and therefore I must request your aid in dealing with that upstart from Rook mill who believes he can cut up my lands like a roast. I hope you will make haste to arrive at Miltonfield within a fortnight. you will be given command of the garrison there."


    My eyes moved to look at the lord and father hoping that my words hadn''t slurred.


    I met the ever-present smile of the lord though it did seem slightly more subdued and the grim face of my father looking like his favorite sheep was just butchered


    "So what do you think Milo?" the lord pleasant voice rang out as I stood there still grasping the letter once again forgotten.


    "if I ''member right Rook mill has over a 100 men, milord does that letter say how many lords Hansack left in the garrison?" father replied rubbing his chin in seeming contemplation.


    At the mention of the letter, I prepared to look at it again to find the answer father''s question but the lords'' voice brought my eyes back to the conversation.


    "150"


    Fathers hardened met the lords'' bright ones.


    "it''ll be tough one milord, Lord Lavash is no fool" fathers said with a sigh before nodding " but ah think we''ll be able to beat em in the field"


    The lords laugh boomed out like the beating of a drum as he moved to clasped father on the shoulders " I love the confidence, my good man" he said as he patted father on the arms " now go down to the quartermaster and get fitted for some armor we leave on the morrow" he ordered as he moved back toward his desk.


    "Of course milord"

 Ch.1.5 A new, sweaty day

    Darkness is what greats me as my consensuses slowly returns. My eyes reluctant to open and grace me with the view of a new day.


    I can''t come to blame them honestly, the memory of yesterday still clogging my mind like mud in a carriage wheel.


    War, a mere skirmish in the grand schemes of kings and emperors maybe but men still die in skirmishes that''s all that matters in the end. To me at least. Dying though wasn''t on my agenda and I hope not father either.


    My eyes seeming to finally grow bored of keeping themselves needlessly shut slowly open to meet the warm light of hearth that encompasses the house.


    As the world graces itself upon my eyes my other senses seemed to race to catch up, the sound of wood hitting wood and the smell of porridge drift their way to me.


    A muffled groan escapes my mouth, as I slowly lifted myself up and off my straw tick. A fleeting Glare at the uncomfortable thing for its transgressions against my spine.


    Stretching my arms out with a satisfying crack. I make my way towards the old hardwood table near to the, seemingly open, door to my daily portion of cereals in the form of a brown bowl of oatmeal.


    I have come over my short life come to resent cereal grains stuffing the almost tasteless brown mush into my mouth multiple times a day isn''t what I would call a pleasant experience though I suppose it isn''t supposed to be.


    The bowl, however, didn''t last long under the onslaught of my spoon as loath I do, I''m also of the belief that you should get things you don''t want to do but must over with quickly rather than to dwell. So, into my mouth, it goes.


    Throwing my spoon into the now empty bowl of slop, I made my way towards the door to join father who was undoubtedly training with that glorified stick that he pawns off as a ''training sword''.


    Still in my nightclothes, a thin cotton shirt and pants, I open the door and meet the warm glow of the sun and the light morning breeze.


    My eyes quickly move to the form of father striking the improvised pell, a thick wooden beam planted firmly into the earth.


    I move towards him a large yawn forcing my hand to my face and my eyes to water.


    As I drift closer my body still weary from sleeping on the demon that is the straw bead. Father still doesn''t take notice of me or just purposefully ignores me as I stand and observe his practice.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I notice the sweat soaking his cotton clothing forcing it to meld to him like a second skin and making his already greasy hair look like he''d taken a plunge in the river. How long has he been at it?


    Though that smell permeating from him quickly expunges that idea displaying to the world that he still hasn''t washed in over a week. At least.


    I stood there for only a few more brief moments before father finally took notice of me or at least felt it was time to stop. with the ''training sword'' still touching the pell after his last strike father held his form and gasped at the air catching his breath before moving to use the ''sword'' as a temporary cane.


    "yer finally up boy," he said in a grasping tone "we got a busy few months ahead of us ya know, so I thought I¡¯d let you get some final beauty sleep gods knows ya need it" he chuckled out undoubtedly not realizing that just inadvertently insulted himself. Though I do wonder what he meant by final.


    "now it¡¯s yer lucky day boy, ya don''t have a wrestling session with yer dear old pa" his stated resting his sword on his shoulder and changing to a more relaxed posture "you''ll need yer wits about ya, after all, long day ya know" he drawled out with a smirk. Of course, I know you old bastard I thought a frown marring my face.


    The old man just chuckled "Ima gonna go get ready boy, do yerself some favours and get some exercise in". I didn''t like the sound of that laugh, I thought as I stared at his retreating breath, but I wasn''t one to dwell.


    The next fifteen or so minutes were filled with the thing that I hate the most in the world physical exercise, truly the bane of my short existence.


    It was only a light warm-up certainly, but it still caused a frown to mar face.


    I''m not too fond of sweating one of the many reasons to dislike exercise, and under this sun any kind of exertion is going to make you sweat like a pig in heat. I much preferred the puzzles that old Marwin gives or gave me. They only made me sweat sometimes.


    Father was quick to return clad in a red padded gambeson his scruffy beard trimmed to an even length and his usual unkempt hair straightened and tucked behind his ears.


    I stared at him panting slightly as he marched his way toward me a brownish sack grasped tightly in his hand.


    My breath was forced out as father threw the sack straight at me "what was that for you old bas.." I snapped out forgetting myself for a second stopping myself at the last moment "Get dressed boy and make it quick, yer a soldier now boy and ima gonna treat ya as one" I stared at him no doubt looking like a gaping fish " BOY, get fooking dressed before I beat you soory little ass"


    I was quick to get changed after being threatened with violence though I didn''t enjoy the light breeze on my naked body as I did it.


    Father stood there like a rock unmoving.


    As I stood there finally dressed in a red shirt and green trousers. I stood attention at fathers unimpressed gaze.


    I watched as father put his fingers blew a whistle, I didn''t move to look but hearing the distinctive trotting of a horse I assume his prepared Basket when he woke up.


    "here''s what yer gonna do boy" father said as swung himself onto basket "yer gonna keep up" I stared at him in confusion my head tilting.


    I blankly watched a couple of seconds as my father slowly trotted away. my brain seems not following this turn of events.


    Before my reverie was broken by fathers¡¯ harsh voice "speed up boy, deserters get killed ya know"


    And that was all it took for me to sprint after him.


    Today was going to be worse than yesterday.


    This better not become a trend