Chapter 1: Prologue
Dingy. That is the only way that Hal could think to describe his surroundings. Mold of some sort seemed to cover every inch of the tavern, and the denizens of the establishment mirrored it. The only thing he found to be worth looking at were some whores, covered poorly in makeup, but still not completely terrible to look at. Seeing it all made him miss home.
"Pour me a glass, goodman," Hal said to the bartender.
"At'ever ye sey, lordy," and though he complied, Hal bristled at the tone.
"Sir, how dare you take that tone with me, I'll have you know that my fath…"
"Kid, I don't rightly cere 'o yer fether is, now shut the fuck up or get the 'ell out of my tevern."
Hal did as he was told, paid the man, and learned that a full stomach outweighed a wounded pride.
✦✦✦
Days of riding had made everything sore and stiff, the few towns Hal had encountered from Orvus his only respite. And though he was able to sate himself to a degree, it would soon be back on the saddle. He did not understand his father's obsession with honor or why he should not indulge himself. What were the perks of nobility if one could not enjoy it. But to no avail, one too many trips to a brothel and riots with his friends had condemned Hal to a lifetime in the military.
A thought passed through Hal then "A guide would have been helpful through these woods. Oh well, there is little time to dwell on that now. So long as I'm not faced with any threats, I should be fine."
However, Hal had jinxed himself, and was woefully unprepared for the bandits that did appear. Mired in dirt and smelling of horseshit, one might've thought them lepers if it wasn't for the blades that they carried. They surrounded Hal, most on foot,with only one on a poorly cared for horse. And while Hal's father had given him little for his trip, he had given Hal a beautiful steed and the skills to maintain her.
Before the vagrants could ask for anything, Hal had bolted through them. Faster and faster he urged his horse one, wind and trees whipping by him. The faint shouts of "Kid, get beck 'ere" and "'et the 'ell is wrong wit' you" slowly drowned out, replaced by the rushing of wind as Hal rode on. For near half an hour he rode like that, hoping by then they had abandoned their pursuit, and because Lucia was damn near dying, Lucia being the horse. When she had regained her stamina, Hal began again at a canter, slowly approaching his destination. Slowly moving towards war.
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