PM to join Don't Let a Peace-Tied Weapon Get Rusty (Alex)

[Harkon]

Timestamp: Fall 15, 514 AV Location: Border of Sitai and Morealis Plantations Time of Day: Just after 9th Bell Harkon turned away from Blacksugar main house, not receiving any assignments for today. Work so far this season had been, sparing at best. His muscles were yearning to be used. There were times where he could swear his axe was complaining to him. It was that or sheer boredom messing with his mind. He couldn't make Zith attack, or Rujaro interfere, or slaves to escape, and maybe it meant that if it weren't happening constantly, he was doing his job properly. But he couldn't have his senses, his abilities degrade. When at war, you fight. When at peace, you prepare for war. And his preparations were lacking, in his own eyes at least. He decided to follow the Kenash river westward. He wanted some solitude for what he had planned. Most of the family would be based around Blacksugar buildings, slaves and mercenaries would be north in and around the fields. He kept a safe difference from the water's edge. He'd seen enough slaves fall in and become prey for granidiles to take that risk. He removed the peace-tie from his axe, hefting it up as he walked. He rolled his wrist around, remembering the comfort his weapon brought him. It almost brought him to the point of apologizing to his axe. As if his axe had feelings. At that moment, Syna's light reflected off of the blade and into his eyes. He sighed. His father would call that a sign, a sign that his weapon was talking to him. He stopped, looking down at his axe with a look of disbelief on his face. Speaking to it, "Really?" No response came, of course it didn't, it was just an axe after all. But he had this feeling his axe was not happy with him. It had this chiding feeling, one that was incredibly familiar. It reminded him of his mother, when he'd disappear for long stints of time, and suddenly showed back up. It was worry, pain, indignation. "Hey, I'm going to take care of it now. What else do you want from it?" He continued along the river, swinging his arms back and forth, stretching out his muscles, warming up. He was grateful for his Eyktoli upbringing, getting used to Syna's strongest of embraces. Because of this, the humid air and the beaming smile of the goddess didn't make him sweat at such an easy task such as walking along the river. After a fair while of walking and stretching, he found himself coming up on the tree and fence border between the Morealis and Sitai properties. This seemed like as good of spot as any. He picked a decent enough spot against a fence and leaned against it, holding his axe out in front of him. If he wanted to prepare for the worst, he had to think of what could go wrong. Leaning back, he peered over his shoulder at the Sitai lands. His eyes spread over their land, still amazed that this in Kenash was power. Land was power. But it was only one kind of power. The axe before him was power. So what kept those with his kind of power, from taking it all away from the Dynasts. The light reflected into his eyes once more, giving his blade a golden sheen. Money. Gold. Buy more axes, and people to wield them, and you keep your power. So perhaps one of the threats he'd never faced, was someone buying more people like him, and turning them onto those in his charge. He stepped away out from the fence. The greatest threat was other mercenaries. He'd have to train to fight them more. And he'd start right now. He found a spot, that was clear on all sides by many feet. He kept his grip on his axe firm, but not too tight. There was comfort in holding his axe properly, holding her properly. He pictured one of the mercs that worked on the property standing before him, sword in one hand, small buckler strapped to the other arm. He had no armor, save the scowl on his face. He stepped forward, a downward chop with his longsword. Harkon swung his axe up, meeting the blade with his handle. His mind told him this was a terrible idea, as he mentally realized he'd just ruined his weapon and likely got killed. Even if it didn't chop all the way through the metal neck of his weapon, it would damage both. But his would be at a greater disadvantage. His opponent certainly had a balanced approach to combat, offense and defense equally. Harkon on the other hand, had no such balance. His defense was not getting hit, and hopefully being faster and smarter than his opponent. He really needed to change that up. Aggressive offense worked when against mindless animals like Zith and the like. But people were different, varied, smart. He was about to start the practice over, when an idea struck him like lightning. His axe wanted a name. "Your name is Ceasa, happy? Can we get back to work now?"

[Alexander Hamish Moore]

There was no work for Alex today, nothing that required his skills in the swamp, or just duties none of the mercenaries wanted. He had considered heading to town, but he had spent most o the early morning relaxing in the cool morning as the sun rose. A few small fires had smoldered away, the people tending them had dispersed to their various duties, or had taken carriages into the city to gamble, drink, and whore their earnings away. Alex couldn’t begrudge them, he had and will likely keep doing the same for as long as he stayed in this city. That was the only way to vent, and this job needed a lot of that.

The lynching of the runaway slave, and the scars the encounter left behind were still a searing wound. He didn’t really feel like doing much of anything yet, he hadn’t learned to cope well with the murder of people. An action that had been completely new upon his arrival to the Kenash. Until he left the employ of the caravan merchant Alex had never even raised his hand in anger to another person. There had been incidents with bandits, but having a large group was a deterrent to raids, bandits were quite cowardly when all things were added up at the end of the day.

It was late in the morning now, Alex figured it was about three bells after sunrise, and he still had done nothing. The chill morning was cut slightly by Syna’s glow, but it was still a fairly crisp Fall morning. He needed to get his blood flowing, if he stayed still too long, all the nice food he was eating would become a detriment. He hadn’t shot his bow in some time, he wasn’t the best shot, but he didn’t want to lose any of the skills he had worked so hard to gain in his life. And He hadn’t shot it often since he had been here, in fact, he could probably count the arrows launched on one hand- if he could count that high. He rummaged through his cabin, and gathered some of his gear.

He tucked his hunting knife in the belt of his felt pants, and then wrapped the weapon harness carrying his longsword over that. The longsword was peace tied, but the hunting knife was not, and he used to weapon harness to conceal the knife. He grabbed his unstrung bow, and his quiver. He checked some of the arrows, they weren’t the best for target practice, but he would have to make due with what he had. Alex put on his wide brimmed leather hat, and adjusted it snuggly on his head. He left the little area that had been sequestered for mercenary use, and headed east, towards what he believed was Blacksugar. He couldn’t remember who the family was that controlled the lands. E didn’t think it would matter, he wasn’t going to be going onto their lands, at least not if he could help it.

Alex quietly entered a heavily wooded area that separated two well groomed fields. He could see a few slaves tending the crops, getting ready for the harvest. Alex always felt a pang of guilt upon seeing the slaves, he didn’t like the way they were treated. Many of the mercenaries enjoyed their work, and many enjoyed causing pain to these unfortunate souls. Alex had done terrible things, things he couldn’t stomach. If there was a way to undo them, he would gladly walk a different road. But, you cant change what was already done. As Alex walked through the dense under growth marking the fringes of a thick wooded area, his mind wandered over these thoughts. Though, it was little use, and thinking about the deeds didn’t change a thing.

The sound of something unnatural broke Alex’s thoughts, and he crouched. Alex scanned the forest, peering through the undergrowth that thinned the deeper Alex crept into the patch of trees. He nocked an arrow, as he approached the sound as quietly as he could. Each footfall snapped, and cracked on leaves and branches. Alex was by no means skilled in any form of stealth, but he hoped that he wasn’t heard over the grunting he heard.

Vaguely Alex could make the shape of a man, but he couldn’t tell any more at this distance through the trees. Alex kept his slow approach, slowly and unskillfully sneaking up as close as he could to the noisy man. A few more chimes of noisy stealthful steps, Alex could discern a few more things about the man. He was armed, with a large axe. He was swinging that axe wildly at an old rotted fence post. And the man would stop, and talk to his axe. What he was saying, Alex couldn’t hear. The man was most likely a mercenary, but not one that Alex had seen before. That meant he was dangerous, and unpredictable. Alex stood slowly, and called out softly, in his least threatening voice, “Ho there, fellow.” Alex was fifteen yards away, an arrow nocked, but his bow was held low, and while his fingers rested on the string, ready to pull it back, Alex made no aggressive action, or fierce stance.

[Harkon]

Having reset the practice run, Harkon visualized his opponent in front of him once again. The imaginary mercenary swung another downward chop at Harkon, who met it with the flat of his axe this time, and then pushed it out and away from his body. The man countered by stepping forward and punching with his small shield. Harkon stepped toward it, using his free hand to grip the rim of the shield, as well as softening the blow. He then stomped on the man's instep with his heel. It wasn't crippling, but he stopped him from lashing out with his sword again. Harkon then stepped backwards, to start again. The shield made it hard to get around while the sword was still in hand, especially without one of his own. The man charged toward Harkon once more, leading with his shield, sword ready to react it seemed. But the Benshira could see him leaning a bit more forward, to give him more force in the charge. Harkon waited until the last possible moment, swung the axe down at the top of the shield. He got the head behind the axe proper, then pulled toward him as he sidestepped. This threw the man's weight too far forward, and was sent sprawling forward onto his shield. Harkon rushed forward to deliver a fatal blow to the back and stood up. That seemed too easy. The man would have struggled a lot more. But without an actual training partner, that was the best he could do for now. As he stood up, he thought he'd heard rustling along the bushline between the properties. He turned his head, seeing if the sound continued, but it hadn't. He turned away again, only to hear a man's voice call out greeting him. Looking over, he now saw a man armed with a bow, nocked. The bow was held low, not pointed at him, but it was still a small gesture of threat, especially since Harkon wasn't trespassing. He raised his axe just a bit. If this man were to attack him from that range, there was very little Harkon could do unless he managed to close the gap. The man hadn't attacked yet, so Harkon simply assumed he wouldn't. So he decided to have some fun with the man. Harkon made his face as serious and grave as he could. "Are you that assassin all of the Dynasts are worried about lately?" He tightened his glare on the man for several long moments, before bursting out laughing, "I'm just kidding. Are you one of the Sitai's hired sw... bows? What brings you to this lovely neck of the woods?"