Maxim was having a rather bad morning: a broken nose and facial fracture would do that to fellow. Now he would have a crooked nose and an ugly dent in his face for the rest of his life. Well, he would just have to turn it into an impressive story to woo the ladies with. Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t all bad, but Bloody Burning Balls of Chaff, it hurt! He must’ve looked a sorry state. Not that he didn’t deserve it really. Ambushing someone while you were drunk was stupid. Doing it twice in a twelve-hour period was doubly stupid. Even if that bastard Caj deserved it. He still had a horrible head-ache from the strike that morning, and his stomach felt as though it had been turned inside out, and then promptly trampled on by Old Red. He reached up to rub at his aching eyes before snatching his had away. He already knew how painful that would be. He wondered if this was what a hangover felt like? He had never had one before, no matter how much he had to drink, he always felt fine in the morning. If he had to guess, he would say this was worse.

Father had been whispering a combination of encouragement for the upcoming test and criticism for his foolishness this morning and the night before. If he was being honest, Maxim didn’t much remember how or what happened last night, other than that he had been knocked out by Caj. This morning was a blur, but he remembered being told that Caj had put him out last night, and that the man had been found in Natalia’s bed. Or she in his. Something like that. Foolishly, He attacked the man. Even more foolishly, he hadn’t sobered up before attacking the man. Normally, Maxim wouldn’t have given a half-a-damn who Natalia was sleeping with, but he didn’t like that man. Caj Donovan was a twisted and cruel man, he told himself assuredly. That’s what it was. Not that the man scared him in the slightest. Not that at all.

These thoughts danced their way through Maxim’s aching head, moving to the rhythm of the pounding that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. Maxim tried to push them aside in favor of focusing on their guests. The recruiters. Once more he cursed his throbbing nose and dented cheek, they certainly didn’t paint the best picture of a warrior. While the test was ultimately a formality for him, he still would like to have the respect of the men who would be travelling all the way to Great-River with him.

Maxim’s father stepped forward to greet the two recruiting officers. Bietre was dressed in a dress uniform that he rarely wore, made of in dark browns and light tans, all accented with the slightest bit of gold. His clothing was not gaudy, like so many of the other fashions common in court, but there was a certain charm to it. Maxim was of the opinion that there would always be a place for military dress among the Nobility, as it was the one true fashion that spanned generations and cultural divide. Across his back, Bietre wore his great Claymore, its four-foot blade at a cant across his back. The sheath was tooled leather, with a long slit up the side to allow him to easily draw the large sword. It was curious, thought Maxim, that his father, who was born in Edral, preferred the Claymore, a weapon of the northern reaches of Whoid Stria, used primarily by the clans who resided in the Slainte mountains, while Maxim, born in Whoid Stria, preferred the saber of his father’s homeland Edral.

Maxim shook his head slightly, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. He thought that perhaps the impacts to his head that morning were causing his thoughts to shift in odd ways, and his head felt fuzzy. He looked up, worried that he had missed something important. His vision tunneled, then cleared sharply, bringing his surroundings into crisp relief. His head throbbed. Thrice Threshed lover of pain, but he needed a drink. He realized that only half-a-second had passed, despite the seeming minutes it had been in his mind. He looked up at the two approaching men, smiled crookedly, then promptly puked all over the cobblestones right in front of him. Maxim fell down face first into his own vomit, groaning. His head hurt so much it wasn’t even funny. As he was about to pass out, he heard a concerned voice, one that sounded like it came from Greatriver. It was probably the Lieutenant, Maxim thought.

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“What’s going on? Is he okay?” The Lieutenants tenor voice rang out like a bell.

“For the love of all that is holy,” Maxim muttered, “Can you please be quieter…” He cut off in a moan as Bietre’s usual boisterous voice rang out above him.

“No need to worry yourself Lieutenant, he is perfectly all right. This is just a part of my enlightened training methods, yes?” Maxim thought he could hear Caj chuckling as he slipped into oblivion. Thrice Threshed bastard…

***

Caj had to admit, that he felt a little bad for Maxim, laying facedown in the contents of his own stomach. Caj was confident that the slim young man would’ve been fine if not for the beating Caj had laid on him that morning. Maxim might’ve had a bit of a headache, true, but certainly nothing that he couldn’t fight his way through with a little extra focus. A concussion was a completely different beast, however. Caj knew from his lessons with Bietre that the greatest warriors could be laid low by little more than a stone to the head. Bietre seemed to find it quite funny, however.

“And then,” Bietre was guffawing, somewhat hoarsely, and wiping at his eyes. “Oh, this best part, and then, he tried to ambush Caj while drunk. It was ridiculous really, the only reason that it even came close to working was because this morning, I caught Caj…” he trailed off at a very prim throat clearing from his youngest daughter. Caj might be mistaken, but he thought he could almost hear Natalia’s threat. “Ah, ahem, that is to say, Caj was distracted due to his tardiness to the practice field. He was greatly embarrassed by the fact he was late. Isn’t that right Caj?” Caj fought off the urge to smile and grimace all at once. His brain was having trouble sorting through all of the events of the day. It was an odd one, for sure.

“Yes, Lord Noblis.” Caj said, attempting to gain some detachment from the situation. Caj was feeling especially uncomfortable at the moment. Not only was his morning a confusing jumble of unexpected and shocking events, but one of the recruiting officers wouldn’t stop staring at him. It was making him uncomfortable, as the scarred veteran was scrutinizing him as though he were seeing a long-lost friend, or a brother whom he scarcely recognized. Caj already struggled with a predisposition to dislike the Crimson Keepers, whose members escorted Dean Rankin on his journey to kill Narm, and the way that the aging man was looking at him was not helping that feeling overmuch. A somewhat awkward silence was entered before it was broached by the red-haired lieutenant.

“Well then. I think it is sufficient to say that Lord Maxim would be most welcome at the Knightyard, as his attendance was never really in doubt. If we could place him somewhere to rest until his is not so… indisposed, I think it would be for the best.” Bietre frowned slightly, and nudged Maxim with his toe. Not so much as a stir. He shrugged.

“I suppose that it probably would be. Caj, Lewis, can you please move him to that bench over there. Yes, the one on the right.” Caj and Lewis grabbed the thin young lord and easily moved him to one of the benches that lined the courtyard, rearranging his Saber and Kinjal so that they wouldn’t leave bruises when he awoke. Well, Caj did that. Lewis really didn’t seem to much care, but Caj was feeling somewhat guilty for the state that Maxim was in. When he was satisfied that the young man would not be in any more pain when he woke, Caj turned back towards their guests and stepped into alignment with Lewis, his face neutral. He tried not to look at the blood-red uniforms of the two men before him. They probably weren’t bad sorts, even if some of their comrades were. He tried to keep that in mind as the young fire-haired lieutenant began speaking to the two of them.

“I am Lieutenant Robert O’Donnell, and this is Sergeant Major Braxton Bolindear. We will be conducting your examination today. We will test you on your basic knowledge of the world, history, small unit tactics, large scale tactics, and most importantly combat.” He grinned wickedly and touched the one-handed longsword at his hip. “We start… now.”