Day 17 of Summer, 514
It had been more than two whole weeks since he was accepted into the order as a squire, and Balian felt no different than before. Sure, there was a grand ceremony at the garrison; words were spoken, oaths taken, and a sense of purpose had filled the day. But afterwards? Everything settled back to its usual routine, given no orders and was simply told was that his Patron knight would soon be along to begin his training in earnest. That was two weeks ago.
Instilled with a sense of purpose and a refusal to sit idly by, Balian took it upon himself to go to the garrison each morning and find something, anything that he could do to help out. Truth be told, he was restless and not just from waiting for his Patron Knight to finally arrive. He had been restless for several years now, looking out above the walls, to the outside and yearning to explore the world beyond. He had hoped that by joining the Order, he would at least be able to expand his horizons. Up until this point, it hadn't.
This morning was no different from the last several ones. He awoke early, however that in of itself was not unusual. In a community dedicated to farming, an early morning was one of the many constants. He groggily rose out of the warm embrace of his covers, walked over to a small pitcher of water that he kept on stand and poured himself a cup of water. Even though he was now a Squire, he still lived at home a small cottage near the garrison itself. Having received no orders to move into the squire dormitories at the garrison, his father, a knight himself, suggested that it must mean that whoever his Patron was to be was from the Castle itself, and that he would end up living there. That had gotten his hopes up.
He finished dressing himself, picking that day to wear his burgundy red tunic and brown pants. He hung the sword that his father had given to him as an heirloom; a bastard sword that had once belonged to his grandfather. The weight at his side was still unfamiliar and it managed to throw him off balance whenever he tried to run. The weapon looked ridiculous on him and he knew it. It was not that it was too big; proportionally it fit him about right. It was that no matter how confident he attempted to look, how sure of himself he appeared, anyone with any knowledge and experience could tell he was just a boy playing at knight. He could barely swing it, let alone kill a man with the weapon. It didn't help that the weapon itself was quite elegant; sporting a faint leaf type blade of middling length with an elegantly curved cross guard, a handle wrapped in brown leather, and round pommel. It was altogether out of place at his waist. But he was a Squire of the Order, set on becoming a Knight himself, so he strapped the weapon to his side nonetheless.
He was expecting another day spent at the garrison. Another day of helping out with pages, or at the stable, or where ever else the knights pointed to. Another day of waiting for his patron to arrive, another day of wondering if the Order had in fact forgotten that he existed.
It was then no small surprise that, as he stepped out the door of his home just as the early rays of Syna waxed the day anew, that he almost collided with a man in full armour reaching to knock at his door.
It had been more than two whole weeks since he was accepted into the order as a squire, and Balian felt no different than before. Sure, there was a grand ceremony at the garrison; words were spoken, oaths taken, and a sense of purpose had filled the day. But afterwards? Everything settled back to its usual routine, given no orders and was simply told was that his Patron knight would soon be along to begin his training in earnest. That was two weeks ago.
Instilled with a sense of purpose and a refusal to sit idly by, Balian took it upon himself to go to the garrison each morning and find something, anything that he could do to help out. Truth be told, he was restless and not just from waiting for his Patron Knight to finally arrive. He had been restless for several years now, looking out above the walls, to the outside and yearning to explore the world beyond. He had hoped that by joining the Order, he would at least be able to expand his horizons. Up until this point, it hadn't.
This morning was no different from the last several ones. He awoke early, however that in of itself was not unusual. In a community dedicated to farming, an early morning was one of the many constants. He groggily rose out of the warm embrace of his covers, walked over to a small pitcher of water that he kept on stand and poured himself a cup of water. Even though he was now a Squire, he still lived at home a small cottage near the garrison itself. Having received no orders to move into the squire dormitories at the garrison, his father, a knight himself, suggested that it must mean that whoever his Patron was to be was from the Castle itself, and that he would end up living there. That had gotten his hopes up.
He finished dressing himself, picking that day to wear his burgundy red tunic and brown pants. He hung the sword that his father had given to him as an heirloom; a bastard sword that had once belonged to his grandfather. The weight at his side was still unfamiliar and it managed to throw him off balance whenever he tried to run. The weapon looked ridiculous on him and he knew it. It was not that it was too big; proportionally it fit him about right. It was that no matter how confident he attempted to look, how sure of himself he appeared, anyone with any knowledge and experience could tell he was just a boy playing at knight. He could barely swing it, let alone kill a man with the weapon. It didn't help that the weapon itself was quite elegant; sporting a faint leaf type blade of middling length with an elegantly curved cross guard, a handle wrapped in brown leather, and round pommel. It was altogether out of place at his waist. But he was a Squire of the Order, set on becoming a Knight himself, so he strapped the weapon to his side nonetheless.
He was expecting another day spent at the garrison. Another day of helping out with pages, or at the stable, or where ever else the knights pointed to. Another day of waiting for his patron to arrive, another day of wondering if the Order had in fact forgotten that he existed.
It was then no small surprise that, as he stepped out the door of his home just as the early rays of Syna waxed the day anew, that he almost collided with a man in full armour reaching to knock at his door.