Trembling a bit as he stood with his arms outstretched, Niklas somehow managed to endure long enough for Belfort to fit him into the finest coat available to him. It was attire he had only worn for special occasions ever since he had come of age. The fabric was a rich emerald color highlighted by the golden epaulettes on its shoulders, with further golden accents in the form of threaded tassels and gleaming buttons. With it he wore a pair of crisp white silk gloves and tidy black boots, the latter of which Hemsley had vigorously rubbed with a cloth until they shone.
All the while the Medical Officer who had been sent by Lady Merida looked on disapprovingly, holding his arms crossed over his chest as he rested his back against the cool stone of a wall. As the two servants completed their tasks and pulled away to allow Niklas to inspect their work, the young Count struck a few poses in the mirror, carefully checking for any abnormalities or faults in his apparel. Seeing this, the Medic leaned forward to stand to his feet and sighed.
“My Lord, I still advise you to reconsider, or at least postpone this event for a few days more.” He said to Niklas, a note of concern in his voice.
Niklas did not look his way as he replied, his eyes still focused upon his reflection in the mirror. “My good sir, I assure you that I am well enough. Those people have waited for me for near a fortnight, and I do not intend to test their patience any longer, especially not when the winter months draw so close.”
“We Petricians are hearty folk, my Lord, a little cold in their tents will not be the death of them. You, on the other hand…”
As the man’s words hesitantly trailed off into silence, Niklas was just giving the hem of his jacket a satisfied tug, and he then turned away and towards the doorway, though he gestured for the man to follow along as he began to descend the spiraling staircase beyond.
“...You have yet to fully adjust to the weather, coming from a temperate and humid climate, whereas this one is colder and dry.”
Together the two circled the spire several times until they reached the doorway which led out the Castle’s 4th story. Through the door the plain cobbled stone opened onto a long hallway, its walls lined with large and leering portraits of Nobility long-passed, and its floor with faded and moth-eaten carpet. Though now thoroughly cleaned by the backbreaking effort of the two servants, still a dour and dark sight it remained.
“...your diet of late has varied drastically as well.” Continued the nagging Medic. “If I recall correctly, until recently you had been subsisting entirely on grain-porridge and tea-”
Niklas could not help but scoff as he recalled that drying rack where Belfort would hang the wet teabags after use, and while the Medic cocked an eyebrow at his reaction, the man did not pay it any further mind.
“After undergoing such a harsh transition into a poor diet, along with losing the usual exercise routine you maintained at your previous home–”
“--Your point, officer?” Niklas interrupted him.
“My point, my Lord, is that you are currently putting yourself through an incredible amount of stress, and I am not just referring to the mental burdens you have incurred. It would be inadvisable for an average man to endure such trials, let alone a man with... conditions such as yours.”
At that Niklas stopped, and so to then did the man at his back. The Count turned on his heel to face the officer, and he put a hand up on his shoulder as firmly as he could, trying to instill some kind of comfort in him.
“I am fine sir. And as I said before; I cannot leave my people waiting any longer.”
As Niklas turned and continued on his way the Medic could only grimace silently and follow him once more. Together they made their way down another slightly shorter stretch of halls, until they came to the stairs which led down to the second floor and into the grand ballroom which lay below.
“A-at least it is comforting to know that you get some exercise in this place!” The Medic huffed. Niklas did not bother to respond to this remark with words, but only grunted once in affirmation between his own labored breaths.
As the two quickly descended down that grand staircase they quickly spotted the two figures standing at the bottom looking up at them, who spoke betwixt each other in hushed tones–Countess Uldred and Lady Merida. Matching sets of eerie violet eyes locked upon Niklas as he approached, causing him to quickly direct his own stare off to one side to better avoid their gazes. Being scrutinized by one person with such eyes was bad enough on its own, so two doing it at once was nearly impossible to bear..!
Once he had fortified his heart enough to look back down at her, he saw that Uldred was dressed in her usual garb, appearing to him as inscrutable as she ever was. She wore dark clothes obscured beneath a thick black cloak, while its raised hood entirely concealed her neck, head, and hair. To top it all off, the simple face of her characteristic dull silver mask covered all of her face save for her eyes.
She looks the same as usual. Was Niklas’ internal observation.
…He looks cute. Thought Uldred as she took in his long-awaited appearance. However, when she realized what she had just thought, she then vigorously attempted to shake the thought from her mind.
“My Ladies, shall we?” Asked Niklas as Uldred recovered her composure.
Lady Merida nodded in acknowledgement before turning an inquisitive glance towards Uldred, who curtly folded her arms and grunted to signal her own agreement. So then the Count gestured forward, and the two Noble Ladies began to make their way down towards the Castle entrance, just beyond which lay the courtyard. Niklas, however, paused to take one last slow breath, attempting to settle the butterflies in his gut. He turned back over his shoulder and shot the Medic a quick thumbs-up in as reassuring a manner as he could manage, to which the man skeptically cocked his brow, before hurrying on after them.
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Whistling as he walked, the pleasant chirping tune that sprang from Thomas’ lips sounded quite alien amidst the dreary, gray, and obfuscating landscape of Petrice. Beside him trotted his stalwart companion, Missy the Mule, laden with many assorted bags and packs and looking entirely nonplussed about the goings-on around her.
His whistling nearly abated for a moment as some large silhouette came into view through the fog. He did not fully end his song just then, but his note fell low and out-of-tune for a moment as he observed it. Some sort of mound heaped along the side of the road steadily began to take shape as the two drew nearer to it. Eventually, Thomas realized it was made up of the carcasses of several horses and men who were presumably their riders. They must have been running at quite a speed before something caused the poor mares to collide and roll themselves into an early grave. Although the corpses appeared quite fresh, they were already beginning to take on an ugly stench, and a noisy cloud of small insects were busy at work making a nest of their hides, so the two travelers did not linger.
Once the bodies were well and truly behind them Thomas’ happy tune flared up again, not unlike a low fire rekindled with a heaping of dry pine needles, and already that abhorrent sight was out of their minds and memories as if it had never existed at all. So the pair walked on for a while more. The day’s fog, though it had considerably lightened, still obscured most signs a man could use to take measure of his time or location, leading to a feeling that one may have accidentally stumbled into some other plane of existence, where minutes and meters held less weight.
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All too soon his whistling was nearly halted again as, this time, a few small silhouettes began to enter their view through the fog. Once more he held the tune, now low and out-of-tune, as the majority of his attention was held by the ominous shapes as they grew steadily closer. Soon enough he could make them out–it was another horse, and another rider. Both quite dead.
Thomas wondered for a moment if they had accidentally walked in a circle and come upon the same corpses as before, but in an instant he dismissed the idea as he realized there were only one of each type of body in this particular mound. His expression turned a little more serious as he took note of a fletched bolt protruding from the dead horse’s haunch. No longer was there any possibility that this could this have been a case of an unhappy accident; no, this had been a battlefield.
Still, with a clap of his hand against Missy’s own haunch to urge her forward, he once again dismissed his unease and leapt back into his regular charming tune as the two of them continued on down the dirt path. The bodies quickly disappeared back into mist behind them and back out of their thoughts as well.
The two trotted along for a good while longer before they finally stopped to take a rest. Thomas immediately fell to his seat upon a patch of earth and began to dig into a handful of tender jerky from his pouch, while Missy went about finding her usual meal of whatever dry grass was available nearby. As he took a mouthful of his meal the swordsman finally took a break from the cheerful whistling he had sustained up ‘til then.
Yet for the third time, now approaching them as they rested, a dark silhouette once more grew nearer and larger as it came. Thomas did not react to it in any way, though he kept one indolent eye trained upon it even as he chewed upon his jerky. What came into sight then, as it moved at a slow trudge, was what looked to be a large warhorse, her head hung low as she moved rather dejectedly towards the resting pair of travelers. When she reached the patch of coarse grass where Missy the Mule stood grazing, looking as uninterested in her surroundings as she always did, the two nuzzled their muzzles and sniffed at one another in some form of bestial greeting. Thomas, as if sensing the mare’s intentions, retrieved an empty wooden bowl from one of Missy’s sacks and filled it from his waterskin before offering it to her, and the horse lapped at it greedily until not a drop remained.
And so the pair of travelers became a party of three. A warhorse was an expensive beast, and in fact she may have even outranked Thomas himself in terms of Nobility, depending on her previous owner. If this was so, it would clearly be his duty to rescue the poor creature from her distress, and so Thomas led her by the reins and she trotted happily enough down the road beside them.
Thomas maintained a vigilant watch over his surroundings as they trekked, now in complete silence. However, they thankfully did not encounter any more festering corpses for the remainder of their journey.
Likely the battle which had occurred had been between Men, Thomas thought as he walked, for the majority of Monsters that he had seen in his years would devour their prey, and would certainly never leave such a hearty meal as a horse and rider to rot. His mind went back to the bolt which had been stuck in that dead horse’s haunch; no, he was quite certain now that this was a Human affair.
…Such a skirmish isn’t a very Petrician thing, is it? He mused.
Something caught his eye and distracted him from his thoughts then, from deeper into the mist just off of the road. However, this time it was not a looming shadow, but some kind of small, bright gleam from the dim sunlight striking upon a piece of metal. Thomas was not sure why this quite common sight piqued his interest as much as it did in that moment. Nonetheless, he brought his two companions to a halt and directed them to patches of grass upon which they could happily sup once more, allowing him a chance to break off and investigate on his own. Whatever the thing was, it was off the road by a good distance, perhaps fifty yards or so. Several times he peeked back over his shoulder to measure the distance and direction he had traveled from his friends, in case the fog grew thicker and he lost sight of them. With care, but not any sort of real fear, he crept through the patchy grasses and around small bushes and boulders, until the source of that peculiar gleaming light came into view.
It was a sword wrought of a black, iron-like metal, whose blade was shaped into a distinct and wavy pattern.
“Huh.” Thomas huffed out as he came to a halt before the blade, placing his hands on his hips as he looked it up and down.
This errant flamberge protruded diagonally from the bark of an old, fat and leafless tree. The depth to which it had sunk into the tree, about halfway up to its base, and the heavy splintering from where the tip emerged out of the back of the trunk, led Thomas to believe that it had been thrown at a great speed by some means or another.
“Now whose was this one again..?” Thomas pondered aloud, scratching at his chin as his mind raced through his memories of the faces of his peers.
Suddenly then a thickly-muscled, copper-colored arm emerged out from behind the tree, and its hand clasped upon the hilt of the sword. Though it might have taken several men of an average strength to wrench that blade free from that tree, due to how deep it had plunged, for this figure one arm appeared to be all that was required. As the weapon was torn free so too was a great deal of bark and sawdust, and the whole tree sagged to one side and collapsed beneath its own weight between the two individuals who now occupied that clearing.
“Finally! There you are!” Came a woman’s voice, with the lightly chiding tone one might expect to hear from someone retrieving their runaway cat. “Now don’t you go leavin’ my sight again!”
Nayantara reached back and slid her sword back into its sheath, which rested in its usual spot between her shoulderblades. Only once she had done so did she notice her current company. Thomas put up a hand in a small wave of greeting.
“Thomas?”
“Nanny! How fare you on this fine day?”
His eyes then moved down to her right arm, where her copper skin grew slowly ashen and then fully black further past the bicep. At about her wrist the skin could not even be called such any more, for it was so burnt that it had hardened and cracked like charcoal, these patches interlaced with dark red scabs that once leaked ichor, and light pink flesh.
“It was serious, then?” Thomas asked knowingly and with some small surprise.
“Eh, only at the end, really–”
It was then that a terrible whining growl suddenly sprung up between the two of them. Nayantara clutched a hand over her belly and smiled apologetically. Truthfully she had not eaten properly for several days by now, for her packs and other things had been strapped to the back of that old mare Chestnut who the Count had sped away on, and meanwhile neither game animals nor edible plants were easily found on these dry and dreary plains.
“...Can you spare a morsel or two, perchance? I’m famished!”
Thomas put out his arms in a welcoming gesture. “By all means, feel free to join our merry little band, though it has recently becoming less and less ‘little.”
Nayantara looked over his shoulder, and at a little break in the mist she spotted Missy and the warhorse huddled together around a particularly green and succulent patch of grass and weeds.
“Missy!” The Huntress called out happily, running over towards the mule. At her sudden approach, Missy tilted up her head to see who it was, and when she recognized the new Human she closed her eyes and let out a quiet honk. It was obvious that she adored Nayantara, for this was the most emotion Thomas had seen out of Missy in recent memory. As Nayantara embraced the mule and scratched gently under her chin, drawing out a few more satisfied honks from Missy, Thomas made his way over as well.
“We were just headed to the Castle. Feel free to join us if you’d like.”
Nayantara’s head shot up in surprise. “That’s perfect! I was headed to the Castle as well!”
“Well, it is grand to have more company for the road. Especially yours, right Missy?” The mule honked again in reply. “But first things first, let’s do something about that empty belly of yours!”
And such was the beginning of a humble, but merry dinner shared among the four of them, followed by most pleasant travels, as the four of them journeyed down the road leading back towards the Castle of the Count.