“I will assist you, but I did not exaggerate when I said I know nothing of this world. I do not know what a troll is or how best to face them. If we are to fight alongside each other can I ask your names however?” I make sure to meet each of the four in the eyes as I say that, not simply addressing the scarred woman, hopefully not a faux pas.
Fortunately she takes it well though she is distracted by appearing altogether surprised at my answer. “Ahh. Well I am Dame Grigoria Ballea. This is my son, Markos. Photios and Ioulia are my householders.” Photios being the veteran with the crossbow and Ioulia the heavily built young woman with a lance. She continues. “I welcome you to my village as a welcome guest but what honourific should we use? I do not feel comfortable addressing one... Such as yourself, as Alessandra alone.”
I instinctively want to simply assure the woman that no honourific is necessary but then catch myself. This is not an egalitarian society, this woman likely owns the village. Maybe she owns most of the people living here? Those farmers who are lurking in the middle distance and gawping at the exchange? I might be gigantically tall and have wings but I am pretty sure even petty nobility treat anyone who they feel is a commoner with far less respect. “Captain Alessandra then though I have not used that rank for some time. Shall we proceed? I will walk, I doubt any of your horses could carry me.”
Also I have ridden a horse all of three times and an absolutely not dressed for it. At best I would embarrass myself. Markos moves his mount alongside as we start to return to the village, Photios turns in the saddle to shout at the farmers. “Back to work! Our noble guest will be aiding us against the trolls but that is a matter for when I address the council this evening!” This... Actually does not stop most of the farmers from watching as I stride along between the horses.
“Captain Alessandra.” Markos is careful to keep his gaze upon my face now, or perhaps my wings, which I am keeping tightly furled despite their inclination to shift with each step or try to telegraph my insecurity by flaring and twitching. “Does that mean that you commanded a force of your kind? That must be a mighty force indeed.” His mother, Grigoria, seems curious as to my reply and does not interrupt.
I carefully phrase my answer. “In my home we do not raise armies as levies or utilise mercenaries. We have a host tens of thousands strong who are all volunteers and who have no role beyond training and fighting as commanded. It is an honoured position but not one coupled with great influence or power. I served during a great war against a far weaker foe and after we slaughtered them and my term of service was completed, I resigned my commission.”
This has them all looking perplexed as we continue toward the village and there is a pause before Grigoria answers. “I had imagined that things were more abstract in the higher realms? I know that angels have appeared to the high priests and greatest of saints or nobles on occasion but they are far more imperious. They certainly do not offer explanations as you do. Captain Alessandra.”
I work to avoid flaring out my wings, they still twitch. “I imagine that they are here for a particular purpose and mission rather than having been pulled to this world unprepared and unwillingly. They probably also know how to get back. I just had to kill about ten people then walk thirty miles across hills and forest without sleep and I do not have the assurance of some manner of divine missive to deliver. Still. Apparently you asked for help and I have arrived, my being grumpy and cynical is it seems part of the bargain.”
Photios, the veteran, smirks at this, the as yet silent Ioulia seems to frown. It is Markos, the knight's son, who speaks first. “Might I ask which god you serve, Captain Alessandra?” This one I have prepared for given it is an obvious inquiry and I do not actually know the names of any of the gods.
“No.” Having shot down Markos I turn my attention to his mother, we are moving up the switchback trail, past the 'castle' and toward the open village gates, he seems offended, she seems amused. “So, Dame Girgoria, what can you tell me of trolls? I literally do not know what they are. Do they fear flame?”
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She gives a glance to her son, we proceed on through the gates, she shrugs her armoured shoulders. “They are at least as tall as you and heavier. Thick, tough skin, claws and fangs but smart enough to make clubs or crude spears. They see freakishly well in the dark, mostly active in twilight, heal fast but mostly? They die slow and hard. You can run one through the chest with a lance and still die to it.”
I consider my current armaments, or lack of them, just a single handed sword. We are moving through the village now along a cobblestoned street, the houses seem to be mostly wood though several of the more prosperous looking are stone and all are tiled rather than thatched, ahead of us is the small 'castle' and there seem to be relatively few people around. “I am going to have to ask for a spear then. Or some kind of polearm? I am going to need more reach than I can get with just a sword.”
Markos interjects again as the group drop down from their horses, I am envious of the facility with which they do so and also on some level gratified to be looming instead of looking up to people. I fight an urge to drop back behind the group and instead follow only Grigoria through the iron banded gate, Ioulia seems to be collecting the horses. “Can you strike them down with magic, Captain Alessandra? I have heard of such miracles.”
Can I? I muse on that for a second, I consider how drained I felt after unleashing it before and that, on some level, I am still not fully recovered. “I can but my ability to do so is not unlimited. Additionally I would probably start a widespread fire and would risk blinding you all. It is not... Subtle. Do any of you have magic of your own?” Now this I am curious to hear.
Grigoria shakes her head, we emerge into a narrow courtyard centered around a well, doors heading off to each side and a wooden stairwell heading up to the first floor, it is this that she leads us up, it creaks worryingly under my sandal clad feet and Markos apparently opts to wait until I and his mother have ascended before following. The knight taps a gloved hand to the pommel of her sword.
“My blade is well enchanted, we have protective runes on my armour and that of my son. The only practitioner in the village is the priest though and he is too old to ride with us.” She pushes open a door and we proceed on into a wide plastered and painted chamber, a dining hall of sorts? The floor is tiled, the table ornately carved if obviously not new, open shutters let in plenty of air from above the courtyard whilst arrow slits punctuate the opposite wall. After ducking through the doorway I find that I am still not quite able to stand upright and I hunch my wings down some to avoid brushing the ceiling.
Which is annoying but not something I am going to raise to my host. I note that only Markos follows us in, the two retainers apparently having other duties or simply not being allowed inside, it rankles a little.
“So a polearm... I can only assume you do not have any armour that would fit me.” Their expressions answer that for me and I continue. “If you could provide travel necessities better than those I bargained with shepherds for then it would be appreciated though, along with an escort to meet with the authorities in the town once we are done. I do not mean to impose overmuch upon your hospitality Dame Grigoria but I am lost in a world completely unfamiliar to me.”
The woman shakes her head at that as she strips off her gloves and deposits them upon the table, her sword belt following to be hung from a peg upon the wall as her son Markos follows, then an expansive gesture to the table. “Not at all Captain Alessandra. Please, be seated and make yourself at home. What you ask for would be the least I could offer to any woman skilled at arms who offered to fight alongside me let alone... Well. I can only imagine your magic to be formidable and I have never seen anyone with your stature.” She fails to not peer at my wings for a moment as well.
Limbs I am acutely conscious for as I sit, almost as bad as the too small robe, I keep my legs together and adjust it with one hand, I find myself frowning. “If you could recommend me a tailor in the town as well. Such stature does not make it easy to find clothing.” Markos is pointedly not looking at me as he retrieves flagons then moves to pour wine, for me first, then his mother, for himself last. This seems significant and I give a bow of my head to Grigoria, suppressing a flare outward of my wings as I do so. This seems acceptable?
Also I am glad that only the knight's chair has a back to it. Nobody seems to be drinking and I am being watched so I try a sip of the wine, it is moderately awful but I have tasted worse, so I smile. “Thank you Dame Grigoria, your hospitality is welcome though I do not want to over indulge. Actually, I have not slept at all last night so if we plan to seek out these trolls in the evening, could I ask for somewhere to catch a few hours of rest?”
Maybe if I sleep I will feel up to more magic? Whatever I did before reduced a half dozen soldiers in what I now strongly suspect was magical armour to ash in a second. Is that something I can do on a whim? Or will it take me weeks to recover? I have no idea. I am not sure I want to discover that the first option is the case.