Warrior's Lessons
Seventh Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Adarar Sanin had always known that he was unusual as far as slaves went, lucky. He had been picked out at a young age as being cleverer than his peers, at least as far as the masters cared about it, which meant always giving the answers they wanted to hear and never speaking out of turn just as his father had taught him. Not for nothing had his old man been an overseer and majordomo. When the fever finally took him 'Trusty' San died in a bed with a healer at his side, not tossed out to rot in the slave shacks, but that did not mean he liked the masters no more than his son did. The day he died his father had told Adarar: "Listen here, boy, I taught you to live as well as a slave can, but if you ever get the chance to be free, really
truly free and not just meat for the dogs, you take it with both hands and you
run."
When the day had come Adarar had not run he had ridden, since his master had trusted him so far as to have him taught to ride to carry messages across the widely separated estates. He had not ridden far, though, not to the city or the sea, only as far as the company of men flying the dragon banner, only as far as the Legion. He had never looked back to the small estate in the hills by the Greywater, and now it was his turn to help some other slaves shake off their chains, his turn to keep the Dragon King's peace.
Tyrosh Construct Guard Posts: 30/28 (Complete)
A strange guttural roar jarred him from his thoughts, half way between an angry steer and a snake followed a moment later by another more doglike one.
Not this shit again, he thought as he set off running across the dirt path between the tents.
He arrived to find two of his squad's Darkenbeast fighting over a hunk of meat in the drill square, Vargen's and Harla's of course. Both wolf-heads, both with new riders, and worst yet young riders.
Going over to the smaller of the two beasts, Adarar grabbed it behind the head and started pushing its face towards the ground, the sort of thing that would get your hand bitten off if you tried it with most dogs, but the strange winged beasts had been grown somehow to recognize men as dominant when they were familiar and handled them just right. Of course it wasn't exactly fun to do it this way. The spore sacks would always open a little setting your eyes stinging and your throat burning, but he would just have to handle it until Vargen's voice finally changed all the bloody way.
"Broke-Tooth! Heel! Heel!" Harla called the other beast off, the creature backing off at once at the sound of its mistress' voice. Worked like a charm of course since that was part of the magic that made them too. Once they got used to a rider's voice his or her commands would cause the mount to feel pleasure or pain depending on the rider's tone.
"I'm sorry, sir, it won't happen again..." the girl gasped as Adarar finally forced the recalcitrant beast's head into the ground, gentling it.
"Not your fault," he grunted. "Squad mismatch, too many wolf-bloods, and we're all still training."
"Yes, sir..." she hesitated.
"Spit it out, I'm not going to bite your head off," Adarar said, dusting himself off.
"All this training is more for us than for them, isn't it? They have just been
made to listen to us, right?"
"Yeah," the officer nodded, unsure of where this was going. It was a bloody good thing they didn't have to train the beasts the way you would a horse. Getting tossed out of the saddle five-hundred feet up because something spooked his mount was not something Adarar liked to contemplate.
"Have you ever thought that the King could just have made them smarter and just as obedient..." Harla swallowed. "Better slaves, like the magisters wanted."
The others who had come out to see what the ruckus was about seemed shocked, one man even started to heckle the girl. You didn't do well to criticize the King in a Legion camp. Still, Adarar saw the real fear in the girl's eyes. He stared down the heckler then turned to answer her. "You remember when we were out by Eel Point? With that old bastard who was shaking in his boots that we were just going to loot everything that wasn't nailed down and kill his kin in the bargain? Was it fair for him to think so, d'you think?"
"No, sir," the young rider answered at once.
"Why not? We had weapons and armor, hell we even had a wizard with us. We
could've done everything he was scared of," Adarar pressed.
"Oh... oh," Harla blushed and ducked her head. "You mean that we should judge the King by how he acts, not what he could do."
Adarar nodded satisfied. "That's right, the real difference between us and the bloody House guards that roamed around here isn't the weapons we hold, it ain't what we ride, it's what we choose to stand for, and that's what makes the King great, too. Now get back to weapon cleaning, all of you!" he finished to all the onlookers
OOC: Another look into the inner lives of the Legionnaires as well as an IC presentation of Darkenbeasts.