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Of Honor and Trust

- - - - - honor trust

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#1
Leigh

Leigh

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The wind was blowing steady over the prow of the Nightingale, as it steadily cut through the waves, bouncing gently up and down.
Draven stood with his hands on the railing, leaning on it, staring out over the ocean as the crewmen ran back and forth shouting,
doing each their appointed tasks.
He thought of the recent years of his life, stationed on Dagger Isle. He had been stationed there for four years, but it seemed a
lifetime. The seemingly endless horde of Orcs from the depth of the frozen mountains had given him a focus, and a training edge
that he had most likely not had the chance to gain in most other places of Sosaria.
Orcs, of course, weren't the only threats of the region. The garrison had also been ordered to keep the "inhabitants" of Dungeon
Deceit at bay, the undead under the mountain. Indeed, the nights had been disturbed often, by the wailing cries of a spectre, or
the dark cackle of an occasional lich.
He shook his head softly, to banish the memories to the back of his head, and his hand went absently to a rolled up scroll in
his belt. A letter from the Britain Commander. He had been reassigned, to the city of Trinsic. It was a letter he cared for dearly,
as Trinsic could only be considered a much better change of scenery, and he was indeed looking forward to what the future may
bring, in a place where there are actual people, instead of gritty militarymen, and occasional sailors coming in with supplies.
Perhaps he would even have time to visit some of his family, in Britain where he grew up, son of Kharl, a carpenter, and Vivian,
his musician mother.
He took a deep breath, then looked towards the west, ovre the prow of the ship. In the far distance, land had started to appear,
and he would likely dock in Trinsic in a matter of Hours.
He turned about, and headed below deck to get some rest.
He wanted to look his best, when he arrive in Trinsic.


#2
Leigh

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A roar sounded, as the orc smacked his mace into Draven's shield with a loud clang, spittle from the orcs mouth spewing unto his armor. With a slight grunt, Draven adjusted his stance, butting his right leg firmly behind him, boot burying into the snow, and positioned himself defensively, as his blue eyes eyed the surroundings through the slit of his Helmet.
The orc pulled back his arms, grabbing the axe with both hands, ready for another strike. The second the Orc lifted the axe, Draven pushed his weight forward, sword coming in for a low upward slash with his weapon, making a deep wound across the orcs' chest, sending it stumbling backwards with another roar. Repositioning himself, Draven uttered a silent grunt, as the Orc reinforcements started streaming out from the caves, as far as he could tell, about two dozen of them.
He turned around quickly, and ran through the snow, trying to keep his balance while running through the cliffs at the side of the Frozen Mountains.
As he turned a corner, making a quick glimpse, he turned around swiftly, pushing his feet into the snow, shield up front, as a throwing axe thundered against his shield with a loud clank. Only seconds after, a rain of arrows came from what was now behind him, impaling four of the orcs, dropping them to the ground quickly. As the orcs came towards him, axes, crude swords and spears raised for attacks, two militiamen clad in steel armor, wearing the emblem of the
kings Army, stepped up besides him, two handed swords more than ready to meet the Orcish onslaught.
As the two groups got closer together, suddenly a small flash erupted, and an explosion sent both men and orc flying through the air. Draven clashed against the mountainside, and fell down on a rock, his helmet flying off. He heard a loud cackle, coming from the mountain peak. He looked up, to see another bright flash, as a lightning bolt hurled towards him.
Just before it hit, he rose quickly, bathed in sweat, in a bed inside the Traveler's Inn, in Trinsic.

Another bad dream, another bad memory, he could hardly tell the difference anymore. His years on Dagger Isle had taken its toll, and left him seemingly permanently scarred.
After clearing his head, he stood up, and went to wash himself up. Today was the day he was to don the Trinsic Uniform, and he wanted nothing to get in the way of that.
Especially not his own, twisted mind.

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