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It was already late when Martin just finished his help serving bread and soup in the dining hall when Aden and Gilbert joined in to get something to bite. Phil was sitting on the corner of the dining hall eating his last bite of bread with ale in his left hand.
the four young men were accidentally met with Ser Cedric and Ser Gareth in the dining hall. The two knights asked them to replace their position manning the rooftop where Old Man Jedd was left alone. It seemed like they needed a private place to talk so they had to clear the dining hall from anyone.
On the rooftop of the courthouse, the hwachas were fully prepared and ready for battle. Every intricate detail was thought through and every component checked, the siege weapons were primed and ready to be unleashed.
Old Man Jed, seated by the hwacha in the northern corner of the courthouse rooftop, held a jug of ale in one hand while his other hand clutched onto something hidden within his shirt. The almost empty mug rested beside him, a testament to his solitary presence in the midst of the chaos unfolding around him.
With a solemn expression, Jed withdrew a ragged yellow-streaked feather and a small red cloth from his shirt. His weathered eyes fixated on the feather, his gaze filled with a mixture of longing and nostalgia. The feather, a relic from a distant memory, held deep significance for him.
As he stared at the feather, memories of a long-lost home flooded his mind. He could almost feel the warmth of the hearth, the familiar sounds of laughter and conversation, and the comforting embrace of loved ones. The weight of his emotions became too heavy to bear, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down his weathered cheek.
Quickly, Jed brushed the tear away, unwilling to let his vulnerability show. He knew that dwelling on the past would not change the present reality, but in that brief moment, he allowed himself to acknowledge the ache within his heart.
"I'm home," he whispered softly, the words carrying a bittersweet tone. Though physically far from the place he called home, Jed found solace in the memories that resurfaced through the touch of the feather. It was a reminder of the love and connection he once had, a reminder that he was not alone in this desolate world.
A sense of determination glimmered in his eyes as he spoke again, this time with a resolute tone. "I'll see you soon." The words held a mixture of anticipation and longing as if Jed was yearning for a reunion that lay beyond the boundaries of the physical realm.
At that moment, as chaos and despair enveloped the world around him, Old Man Jedd found solace and strength in the simple artifacts he held dear. The feather and the cloth served as symbols of his past, guiding lights in the darkness that urged him to keep moving forward.
As he lamented on his past, Old Man Jedd heard the sound of multiple sets of feet climbing up the stairs, and soon enough four young men appeared from the stairwell. They were Aden, Phil, Gilbert, and Martin.
The old man quickly brushed away his tears, feigning that there was something in his eyes. He shifted his gaze between each of them. "What are you lads doing in here? where are the knights?"
Aden responded, "Sir Cedric and Sir Gareth taking a break in the dining hall for a while. We'll take their place in the meantime."
Old Man Jedd shifted his gaze again, looking for someone missing. "and Percy?"
"Ser Percival has some nature business," Gilbert replied.
"Ishtara tits, those knights are sloppy as always," Old Man Jedd cursed the knights' absence from the rooftop post.
Phil, Gilbert, and Martin grimaced as they heard the old man's words.
Aden whistled, "Language, old man."
The ruhimi reminded the Old Man to mind his profanity.
"You lads do as you like," The Old man turned and walked toward the stairwell, "I'll be at my tent if the captain needs me."
"All right, and good night," Aden replied shortly with a vague shake of his head. He couldn't believe someone as old as the old man Jedd was supposed to be the wise one like Father Edgar still acted like he was in his early teenage. Back in his land, as degenerate as someone was, when they reach old age they would behave and start leaning more to God in order to prepare themselves for the afterlife.
Aden's gaze was drawn downwards towards the courthouse steps, where old man Jed ambled along, no doubt heading for the rest tent after a long day's efforts. As the wizened elder made his way forward, he crossed paths with Indry, Laura, and another maiden of cute, feminine frame.
Jed offered them a polite greeting, which the women returned with respectful nods. However, the sly old dog then leaned in, murmuring something under his breath with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Eww~!" The shrill cry of disgust rang out in eerie unison as all three ladies recoiled, revolted expressions etched across their faces. They rapidly backpedaled, putting distance between themselves and the unrepentant cad.
Rather than looking chastised, Jed merely let out a shameless giggle, an unmistakable smirk plastered across his weathered features. As he continued on his way, he made no effort to avert his roving gaze, shamelessly drinking in the view of Indry's shapely curves from behind.
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"I bet a gold regal he said something lewd," Phil muttered, having witnessed the whole spectacle unfold.
"Obviously," Gilbert confirmed with a bark of laughter, equally amused by the old rogue's antics.
Aden could only shake his head again in a mixture of disbelief and grudging amusement.
"Unbelievable," he remarked, unable to hide the upward quirk of his lips. Depravity and innocence faced the same harsh realities, it seemed – and levity could be found even in the most unlikely of places.
⁕⁕⁕
All four of them leaned on the parapet with drinks in their hands and proceeded to know each other by telling each other's story with the chill breeze of the late night blowing from the mountain.
Phil was the first to talk, about how he got into the empire dungeon by setting up a fire to the circus showman's tent and spread out to the neighborhood. There was a hint of hate, pride, and remorse at the same time in his voice.
Aden was about to ask how many casualties but the look of Phil's eyes told him everything he didn't want to know.
Phil didn't look very comfortable talking about his bad deeds. He started anxious and shifting his eyes between them. until his eyes landed on Martin.
"How about you, mute? what's your story?" Phil asked Martin casually, maybe a bit rude. but somehow it didn't offend the mute. He tried to change the topic.
instead of showing disdain, Martin's eyes lift up with life. Maybe this was the first time someone other than his relatives showed genuine interest in his life.
Martin looked like someone who didn't belong anywhere. but he still helped set up tents and work in the kitchen. Aden never took his eyes off of him - being mute, he was an easy target for harpies or anyone wanting to do harm.
Despite often being perceived as slow-witted, Martin had a kind heart that shone through his work. He was diligent and sincere with every task he undertook. Since the moment they arrived at the courthouse, Aden had been keeping a watchful eye on him from afar.
In a silent dance of hands and gibberish voice, Martin eloquently conveyed the tale of his unjust imprisonment. with the help of Gilbert and Phil confirmed each of his sentences.
Born the son of a castle cook in the northern territory of the Regalyon Empire, Martin's days were spent assisting his father in the bustling kitchen. Unfortunately, his position made him an easy target for the incessant bullying of the lord's son.
In the heart of the bustling castle courtyard, a cruel spectacle unfolded as the mischievous lord's son orchestrated a degrading performance against Martin. The air buzzed with sinister anticipation, and a crowd gathered, eager for the unfolding drama.
As Martin navigated the courtyard, burdened with a jar of honey for his father's culinary endeavors, the lord's son, a figure of malevolence, lurked in the shadows. With calculated precision, he stuck out his foot, causing Martin to stumble and lose his grip on the jar. The jar crashed to the cobblestones, releasing a golden torrent that sullied the lord's son's immaculate boot.
Seizing the opportunity to exert his perceived superiority, the lord's son's face contorted with malicious glee. In a sadistic display of power, he pointed imperiously at the sticky mess on his boot. The crowd, a mix of snickering courtiers and curious onlookers, hushed in morbid fascination.
"Clean it," the lord's son sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. The courtyard echoed with a collective gasp as Martin, helpless and humiliated, knelt before the lord's son.
The onlookers, torn between sympathy and fear, watched as the lord's son forced Martin to carry out the degrading act. With a mix of shame and defiance in his eyes, Martin bowed his head and began the humiliating task of licking the lord's son's boot, the taste of bitterness and degradation lingering in the air.
The twisted spectacle lingered in the memory of those who bore witness, a stark reminder of the insidious cruelty that could permeate the privileged halls of the castle.
The taunts and humiliation reached a boiling point, and when Martin finally summoned the courage to stand up for himself, the vengeful lord's son cunningly called upon the castle guards to apprehend him. The outcome: Martin found himself unjustly thrown into the unforgiving confines of the empire outpost's dungeon.
his father begged the lord but the lord handed him over to the crown's watch instead.
he is the second most scrawny person after Phil in the rescue party.
Gilbert talked about how this mission would carve the path for him to be a scholere of knowledge. The scholere title would give him and his family a better comfortable life. and also to quench his thirst for knowledge.
"So, what are all of you going to do after you get your Crown's Pardon?" Gilbert asked, looking each of them in the eye inquisitively.
Aden spoke first, a glint of suppressed excitement in his voice as he said "Since I'm already here, I think I'll venture into Wessen for a while."
Many foreigners tried to make a living in the Regalyon empire to the point they had to enter the empire illegally or as mercenaries and sellswords. While foreign mercenaries and sellswords were not allowed to own property in the Empire, Aden was presented with a unique opportunity through the Crown's Pardon. This would grant him all the same rights and privileges as a citizen of the Empire.
"Have you heard about Arumia?" Phil chimed in, his eyes lighting up. "It's a great place for performers and there are plenty of opportunities. I'm eager to get started there!"
"Uh..wah," Martin tried to communicate with Gilbert and Aden, waving his hands in the cold air as he uttered gibberish. Described a castle, fingers portrayed a walking man and other undescribable gestures.
"You want to go back to your lord's castle?" Gilbert asked, trying to decipher Martin's gestures.
"Uh," Martin nodded in agreement. He talked again with his hands.
"You want to get your dad out of there?" Gilbert interpreted again. Slowly, Gilbert became a master of understanding Martin's sign language, even though he initially was just guessing the mute's intentions.
Perhaps it was because Martin used simple gestures to effectively communicate his message. Over time, Gilbert began to recognize subtle differences in Martin's signs and build an intuitive association with their meanings.
The mute nodded more fervently this time and Aden chimed in with approval, "Smart move."
The jovial conversation flowed freely, the four men swapping stories and bawdy jests without a care in the world. So engrossed were they in their revelries that none noticed the passage of time until a particularly biting gust of wind caused Aden to shiver.
"Well, it's already late," he remarked, glancing up at the inky blanket of night draped across the heavens. "We should get some rest."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group as Aden stepped away from their rooftop vantage point. Phil and Gilbert affirmed with rumbling "ayes," while Gilbert simply nodded, his scholarly demeanor having rendered him a contented listener for much of the evening's tales.
The quartet made their way across the aged shingles with care, locating the masoned stairway propped against the eaves. One by one, they descended, boots scraping against the steps until they reached the front yard's solid ground once more.
As Gilbert's feet hit the earth, he stumbled momentarily, nearly losing his footing on the uneven terrain. A bout of good-natured laughter erupted from his compatriots at the ungainly display.
"Keep it down out there!" a disembodied voice hollered from a nearby tent, prompting a fleeting silence amid the jovial din.
Phil shot the others a conspiratorial wink before extending a steadying hand to hoist Gilbert upright again.
"Pipe down, ye night owls!" The gravelly admonition carried a warning edge.
Shoulders shaking with subdued mirth, the men hurried across the darkened courtyard toward the cluster of tents serving as their temporary quarters.
⁕⁕⁕