SKiddles
I think I might like it here
Prelude
"That way."
"Is this a ploughin' joke? You want us to go up there?"
"Aye, and further past. Those mountains will be a speck at our backs by the end of our journey."
"...An' jus' why would we go up there? Who's ploughin' idea was it fer us to settle up 'ere?"
"The Patrikios, you know that. And no amount of arguing or complaint will make the journey any less fulfilled, sir."
"I'll argue an' complain 'owevah much I ploughin' like. Yer speaking to the Bastard 'ere, an' I do as I please."
"Until the Patrikios comes by, of course."
"Plough it all, Mathius. I'll find more miserable company further on in the column."
The two exchange a grunt of laughter, hefting their packs around their backs and tightening the hardened leather straps. With a quick nod of farewell, the two head over to their horses, undoing the ropes that had attached their steeds to a nearby tree. Mounting in a swift motion, the two split; one moving north, the other south, riding along the flank of a long column of soldiers just recovering from their moments of rest. The northern portion of the column was quicker to respond to the marching call, and were already shuffling into their ranks, their breath beginning to show in front of their faces as the cold was growing on them. At the head of the column were a series of mounted men, each wearing heavy cloaks of purple and gold. The rider approached them, and a few turned their heads to the heavy hoof steps, "Belisar. How was the rear?" a giant of a man with a guttural accent spoke, who was clearly a veteran of these cold temperatures; a braided blonde beard covered most of his face, helping to combat the cold. The rider replied to this giant with a grunt before speaking, "No less optimistic than up 'ere. Mathius 'as the same minds as you an' your Vorandes, although certainly not as dull and lacking" Belisar smirked to the giant with the braided beard, who responded with a hearty laugh and a heavy pat on the Bastard's shoulder.
"Hoh! The Bastard prefers his grass and his summer milkmaids."
"The Bastard prefers a place where my breath is seen less frequently than grass."
"Do not complain too much, Bastard. Up here, no one can bother us, and I hear dwarves always look to the rock and cold."
Belisar grunted once again and trotted forward, gazing about to the landscape they were marching across. Behind them were trees, bushes, grass, and all the green in the world; but ahead of them, the snow ruled, and killed all colors except the grey rock of the towering mountains ahead and the blue sky, which even now looked colder. Belisar approached another member of the mounted vanguard, nodding and easing up beside him, "Strategos. I see all's fine up 'ere. At sunset's rest, check on the rear an' report back" the calm and collective officer nodded to him, "Aye, sir. Anything else?" Belisar chuckled and shook his head, driving his boots into his mount, urging it quicker on, "Aye. Find me someone that doesn't enjoy this march."
"That way."
"Is this a ploughin' joke? You want us to go up there?"
"Aye, and further past. Those mountains will be a speck at our backs by the end of our journey."
"...An' jus' why would we go up there? Who's ploughin' idea was it fer us to settle up 'ere?"
"The Patrikios, you know that. And no amount of arguing or complaint will make the journey any less fulfilled, sir."
"I'll argue an' complain 'owevah much I ploughin' like. Yer speaking to the Bastard 'ere, an' I do as I please."
"Until the Patrikios comes by, of course."
"Plough it all, Mathius. I'll find more miserable company further on in the column."
The two exchange a grunt of laughter, hefting their packs around their backs and tightening the hardened leather straps. With a quick nod of farewell, the two head over to their horses, undoing the ropes that had attached their steeds to a nearby tree. Mounting in a swift motion, the two split; one moving north, the other south, riding along the flank of a long column of soldiers just recovering from their moments of rest. The northern portion of the column was quicker to respond to the marching call, and were already shuffling into their ranks, their breath beginning to show in front of their faces as the cold was growing on them. At the head of the column were a series of mounted men, each wearing heavy cloaks of purple and gold. The rider approached them, and a few turned their heads to the heavy hoof steps, "Belisar. How was the rear?" a giant of a man with a guttural accent spoke, who was clearly a veteran of these cold temperatures; a braided blonde beard covered most of his face, helping to combat the cold. The rider replied to this giant with a grunt before speaking, "No less optimistic than up 'ere. Mathius 'as the same minds as you an' your Vorandes, although certainly not as dull and lacking" Belisar smirked to the giant with the braided beard, who responded with a hearty laugh and a heavy pat on the Bastard's shoulder.
"Hoh! The Bastard prefers his grass and his summer milkmaids."
"The Bastard prefers a place where my breath is seen less frequently than grass."
"Do not complain too much, Bastard. Up here, no one can bother us, and I hear dwarves always look to the rock and cold."
Belisar grunted once again and trotted forward, gazing about to the landscape they were marching across. Behind them were trees, bushes, grass, and all the green in the world; but ahead of them, the snow ruled, and killed all colors except the grey rock of the towering mountains ahead and the blue sky, which even now looked colder. Belisar approached another member of the mounted vanguard, nodding and easing up beside him, "Strategos. I see all's fine up 'ere. At sunset's rest, check on the rear an' report back" the calm and collective officer nodded to him, "Aye, sir. Anything else?" Belisar chuckled and shook his head, driving his boots into his mount, urging it quicker on, "Aye. Find me someone that doesn't enjoy this march."
