716 Arc, 5th trail of Ashan
The Barracks
5th Break
The Barracks
5th Break
Peake sat in his stool, frowning already at the letter that was delivered into his very hands. It wasn’t often that a letter from the upper ranks was delivered, especially when spoken word was the preferred way of delivering orders, along with a yell or two. At least, that was Peake’s usual delivery, and it was his favorite. This letter, however, was something different. A letter delivered into the hands of an inferior ranked meant burning the letter afterwards, not letting anyone else read it save the name written in the envelope. The Iron Hand’s wax seal was Peake’s focus, having stared at it for the past few trills, lost in thought and wonder as to what he’d find inside. Nothing good, for sure. Looking over towards the squire that was fidgeting with the leather straps of his plate armor, Peake barked at him. “Not like that. Make sure the strap is in a straight line, otherwise the breastplate will move.” Growling, Peake saw the squire’s fear take a hold of him, the young teenager visibly more nervous now that he had brought negative attention towards himself.
Peake looked back down at the letter and finally tore the wax seal, extracting the message inside and sighing before he began reading in silence. “Peake Maxos Andaris, Steward of the Moseke Knights, member of the Iron Hand….” Peake was too busy to read through all the formalities, and jumped a paragraph or two. Not that he’ll miss anything. Scouting through the words to find something relevant, finally he began reading again. “You are hereby dispatched to deal with this threat with utmost importance…” Had he jumped too much forward? Grunting, Peake went back a paragraph. “It has come to the attention of the Iron Hand and the Kingdom of Rynmere that a fellow is currently hidden in our King’s territory. His crimes range from tax evasion, tax fraud and assault to murder, assault to a nobleman, and unlicensed practice of Arcana, specifically Necromancy, as various witnesses have reported. It is because of our King and…” Blah blah blah, though Peake, as he jumped paragraphs once again. Reading through these official letters was a pure waste of time. Most of what they wrote was fat, and very little was actual meat. Someone used Necromancy and killed a couple of people. Can’t they write it like that?
The squire tapped Peake’s right shoulder, Peake moving the letter to his left hand before he raised the targeted shoulder. The squire placed the pauldron and began adjusting the leather straps, stapping it all to Peake’s arm. It brought back memories for Peake, unfortunately. Squires were basically servants until they were taught to be men. They spent the day cleaning and looking after the true soldiers, then wondered all day which end of a sword they should take. Thankfully, those days were far away from Peake’s life, and so now he enjoyed the pleasures of full membership, plus the perks of authority. That also meant he could micromanage squires as much as liked, and he most certainly did. “No.” He barked again, bringing his arm up and down violently, the still not strapped pauldron jumping up and down. “You see what you’ve done wrong? You’re strapping it too hard that you’re cutting my blood flow. Do you know to do something properly, boy?” The boy muttered something, face going red and eyes moving to the ground to avoid confronting Peake, who stared with his usual coldness. He missed alcohol already.
Returning his attention back to the letter, Peake proceeded with his artificially accelerated read. “You are hereby dispatched to deal with this threat with utmost importance…” Skip. “… excused from ordinary duty in the duration of this…” Skip. “… find and capture…” Skip. “…. bring judgement if necessary.” Sighing, Peake made the letter into a ball before placing his eyes on the squire once again. He was completing the strapping of the right pauldron, last item before Peake himself armed his gauntlets and gloves and was ready for action. The kid was visibly nervous, his work slow yet precise. Not good enough for Peake, however. “Faster, come on. I’m not an Immortal, child.” The kid hurried up, and finished its work quickly after. Before a squire dressed armor, he had to know to use it, which is why they helped the actual Knights dress the battle gear. Putting on armor alone was impossible without help, being the reason why Peake had to go all the way to the Barracks every morning for assistance. He always promised himself he’d buy a slave to do it for him, but he had to feed that thing and clean after it, so he kept postponing it.
The squire moved behind him and handed over Peake’s gauntlets, helping him put them on while Peake remained observant, watching every last motion of the boy and waiting to judge him. The boy itself was already nervous enough by Peake’s comments, so feeling the gaze drilling through his undeveloped skull was a pressure he didn’t quite need. After the gauntlets, the kid moved to put the last piece of the armor together – Peake’s black cloak, symbol of his status and his noble origin. Standing from behind and adding it to the armor, he’d keep it folded in his hands until Peake raised to avoid the cape falling onto the ground. “… all done, sir.” Said the boy, Peake standing up immediately after. With his 6’5 height, he towered among regular citizens, his frame standing even higher in the eyes of the scared child. “Bring the cloth.” Said Peake, the boy rushing towards the corner, retrieving a bucket and a cloth and going on its knees before Peake. The boy then began to shine the armor, Peake’s presence requiring to be completely magnificent whenever he went. His blood and his lineage demanded it, after all.
The boy seemed to have encountered a stain, in which he focused most of his scrubbing trying to remove. Peake sighed and looked away, only to look back down and find the boy bringing a finger to his mouth and licking it before trying to clean the plate with it. Of course, that was unacceptable. With a quick and loud interjection, Peake called the attention of half the barracks, especially the one of the kneeled boy that was looking up with doe eyes. His fear was only increased when he found Peake’s frown in full power, staring down from the mountain of plate that he was. Opening his mouth, he watned to say anything, yet no words came out. Instead, Peake spoke for him. “Take this.” He said softly, opening his hand and revealing the ball of paper that had been the letter. The boy obeyed, his crystal blue eyes already shining brightly due to the dampness that was gathering inside them. “Dip it in the water.” Said Peake, to which the boy obeyed, eyes still locked with Peake’s, unable to move due to pure fear. “Good. Now, put it in your mouth.”
Peake’s request was an unusual one, the boy’s tears falling down from his cheeks as he glanced up at his patron. The squires that came and went witnessed the scene, yet they could do nothing but move along and return to their duties, their word being unworthy of mention as they couldn’t compete with the word of a steward. “Put it in your mouth.” Peake repeated, to which the boy whined, sound resulting from his attempts of holding back the wail that wanted to escape him, yet nevertheless he obeyed. The damp paper entered the boy’s mouth, and his jaws began chewing on it. Tears and snots fell greatly from the young teenager, whom was clearly not used to these kinds of abuses. Peake was doing him a favor, really. He was toughening him up until he improved and was worthy of something. Still watching from above with his straight and royal stance, his bearded face was as cold and inexpressive as usual. The boy seemed to suffer with every chew, and only eventually he swallowed the paper completely. The wail was escaping him every trill that passed, not going to be able to hide it for much longer.
It was then when Peake crouched down, eyes still locked with the boy’s, and an armored hand came forward to gently hold the boy’s chin. “Tell me, boy.” He whispered, so close to the boy that he could almost smell the angst within the youngling. Even so, that didn’t mean a thing to him. “Did I tell you to eat it?” The boy seemed to enter some sort of shock, truly shocked by his eagerness to escape his mistake that he had entered another. Now, he truly began wailing, his cries filling the barracks as if they were the bread and butter of every man in there. IT truly wasn’t, and they all looked at Peake but nobody said a word. Peake stood up and turned around to retrieve his helmet. Ignoring the squire’s angst, sadness, wail and frustration, Peake only focused on the day ahead.
“Go and bring my horse.”
