They had been despoiled of all their weapons. Begrudgingly mind you, but they had less than half the numbers of the Squirrels and all knew fighting another slave knight warband would be a deadly and terrible thing. It was not about the bodies that would fall. Instead, it would just be a long, arduous, and bloody battle that would lead to nothing that the warbands could get out of quick enough. Sir Wallace knew that more amicable means were required to get out of this mess, but he soon would learn there would be no reasoning with a madman. The Mayor.
Sir Wallace ordered the Wild Boars, and asked the Wenches, to disarm themselves and give up their weapons. None cared to, but thought to trust that Sir Wallace had a little more foresight than most. He did. For as they were escorted to the Mayor's estates they saw that the Squirrel's warband were not nearly half present when they had caught them unawares, on the boundaries of Haven.
The Squirrel's littered the streets of what was known as Haven. Sir Wallace counted near on five-hundred Squirrels in total, all fully decked out in armor and weapons, shining in the cloud light, ready to defend them and theirs at a moments notice. The Wild Boars and Wenches could not compare, nor compete, with all that the Squirrels seemed to be. The Squirrels had shiny, polished, nearly new armor, with nary a scratch or scuff found anywhere. Their weapons were sharp and good steel, without a notch, or crack, or crevice to dismay or bother them. It was as if they had just been forged. Castle forged at that. Wonderful to look at, but the lack of anything on the was telling of everything. The Squirrels had none of the clear distinction of a slave knight. They were clean and prim, as if they had just taken a bath, their weapons were not as oiled and as sharp as they should be, their cloaks were freshly laundered and pressed. They had none of the earmarks of fighters. True fighters at that.
Sir Wallace garnered many of these things from what he witnessed. The first being that this contingent of slave knights was unbloodied. Further, it would be safe to assume that none of them had any experience outside of Haven, doing anything for that matter, save patrolling or pretending to be real slave knights. Real slave knights, real fighters, real death dealers (as they were known to be) were not glossed up with such pomp. Their armor was rusty from the constant exposure of blood and sweat, their weapons were notched and scratched and cracked (albeit no less sharp and deadly), their cloaks were stained red and brown, stinking of shit and piss and the death that they doled out, rank and vile to high heaven.
The Wild Boars and Wenches' were more akin to what true slave knights were, because they were true slave knights. The Squirrels' truth was suspect. He looked about the warbands and saw that their armor and weapons were tattered and well run down. Many notches, cracks, chips, and unpolished material littered the leagues of these slave knights. A testament to how far traveled they were and how worn they were. The Squirrels were the total opposite.
It became apparent to Sir Wallace that all this was a show. A show of power, a show of wealth, a show of what this city was and represented. The Mayor was clearly as wealthy as God himself as he could afford not only this amount of slave knights, but also their freshly polished armor and weapons. But are they worth the metal they are in? I suppose not and I suppose we could obliterate these arseholes if need be, He thought offhandedly, but took no chance as he knew that a wrong deduction or misstep could cost them their lives.
Sir Wallace further deduced that this Mayor of theirs had money to spread and money to do what he wanted with. Not that any of this impacted the Wild Boars. Not that Sir Wallace would be astounded by the works of the Mayor. "A slave dies just the same, no matter how bedecked they be," he recalled his own battle commander, Sir Walter, murmuring at the Battle of Bunnell fields when the Lordships presented their fully and newly armored contingents of slave knights. That was a bloody and terrible battle and Sir Wallace knew that had slave knights been forced to fight, it would not be nice. It would not be sweet. It would be the worst of it all. Or would it?
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The Slave Knight Part 1: The Dagon
FantasíaA death. A contract. A quest. In a world ravaged by fire, magics and the fae creatures of old return anew to take the world back . Humans struggle to maintain their grasp of control with slave knights, bound to their meisters to do their bidding. O...
