Bernard was a good man. He may have been physically fit and slightly more handsome than the average citizen of Lone Peak. He may have gone on more adventures than most of the city guard combined and bragged twice as much as the rest of them. One thing he couldn't get over, though, was his height. His friends and companions were a normal to average height. But he, Bernard Sturdyshield, was one of the shortest in the city defense force.
Lincoln, however, his closest friend, was at least two heads taller than any of the other guardsmen and three times as wide. Rumor was that the seamstress who made his uniform quit as soon as she had completed it, swearing her hands would never be the same.
They were as polar opposites as any pair could be. Bernard had dark long hair, while Lincoln's was blonde and cut almost to his scalp. Bernard's eyes were brown and enticing, while Lincoln's were blue and airy. They had become friends by the sheer fact that few of the other guards desired to spend any more time with either of them than necessary.
Bernard often found himself boasting of his previous exploits, and perhaps exaggerating on some of the finer details. Lincoln, however, instead of living up to be the hulking brute that most assumed him to be on first glance, spent his time composing poetry.
Unfortunately, he wasn't very good at it. Bernard had told him so many times, but it had never dampened the large man's attempts at verse.
"What rhymes with bird?" Lincoln asked Bernard one day while they were on guard duty atop the noble's wall.
"Come again?" Bernard asked. He had been in the middle of retelling the story where he had single-highhandedly defeated thirty fox beasts on the plains north of Lone Peak after his entire company had been cut down by the monsters.
Wrents, as was their proper name, were foxes who walked like men but were shorter in stature. They lived to the north of Lone Peak and would sometimes venture south and give trouble to the men who lived in the Kingdom of Darrion.
Bernard and Lincoln were a part of the city guard, the capital's armed forces. Darrion was the sole human kingdom on the great continent of Irradan. At one time, the ships of Darrion would sail from Ruyn to Redact and then on to the Holy Empire itself. Even the banner of Darrion bore on it a mighty sailing vessel, with the three ruling houses of nobles all emblazoned underneath.
Those days were distant memories.
Calamity, fate, and a lack of natural resources had left Darrion a shell of its former glory. Even the guard's equipment was getting old and rusted. Many elders talked of the glory days of old, but even they were only small children when the kingdom began its decline.
Bernard returned his sword to its sheath after demonstrating how he had beheaded three creatures in one blow and returned to the wall next to Lincoln.
The large man had his spear resting on his shoulder while he wrote on a minuscule piece of paper with a charcoal pen.
"What rhymes with bird?" He repeated.
"How about absurd?" Bernard offered. "Kind of like your attempts at writing lines."
Lincoln pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in concentration, not hearing Bernard's insult.
"No, absurd doesn't really work."
He folded the tiny paper and returned it to his pocket along with the pen.
"Oh," he added as he scanned the city below, as was their job. "The last time you told that story there were only twenty foxes and three of your company had survived."
Lincoln also had a fantastic memory for details.
The Lone Keep guard was tasked with policing the city and ensuring its safety. Bernard had joined for the promise of more adventures and exciting assignments. So far he hadn't had either. The life of travel and adventure was also an expensive one. Bernard had many debtors collecting a fair portion of his pay.
Lincoln had told Bernard he joined for the promise of a good meal at the end of a day's work. It wasn't hard to see why someone so large would be so motivated. Neither man had any family to call their own. Bernard had left his father and mother in the distant Darrion city of Bestone. Lincoln's mother had been his only family in Lone Peak and had passed away the week after he had joined the guard. Out of loneliness or desperation, they had found each other's company tolerable and clung to one another for friendship.
Albeit a shaky one at times.
Bernard shrugged at Lincoln's recollection of his story.
"It was a very dramatic experience,” he said with an air of pride. “Maybe I've forgotten some of the details."
"I think you mean traumatic," Lincoln corrected him. "What's that?"
"Which?" Bernard asked, confused now and scratching his head under his helmet. The air was warm and he was hoping for a cool breeze to make standing out in the suns a little more bearable. "Dramatic or traumatic?"
"That," Lincoln said, this time pointing his finger towards a group walking towards the gate of the Noble House. Bernard turned his attention to the street, following his friend's finger.
Walking up the street in the middle of the day, was the oddest looking group Bernard had ever set eyes on in Lone Peak. And that was saying quite a lot. A female elf, three human men, two women, two halflings, a female pirate, a dwarf, a teenage girl and some odd cat like monster were heading under the gate and right into the Noble House walls.
"What's that gray looking monster?" Bernard asked as he stared at the group with a hand on his hilt.
"I think those are called Skirlx’s," Lincoln replied, seemingly not bothered as Bernard by the odd assortment of adventurers. "They're like men, but with catlike faces and tails."
Bernard scoffed.
"That's not a Skirlx," he said. "Those things are twenty feet tall and have wings like dragons."
A Noble House guard was escorting them up the path. Bernard had the impression that he needed to draw his sword and defend the wall from this strange group.
"Max is coming out," said Lincoln, turning to face the other direction.
Max Condor was one of the ruling nobles of Lone Peak. There were three houses that, over the long years, had been the leading noble families of the sole human kingdom on Irradan. No king sat on the throne, but the leading member of the current ruling noble house would have the greatest amount of sway over policy and governance. Every five years, an election took place throughout the country to decide which house would rule, and by extension, which noble would represent that house in court.
The house of Condor had led Lone Peak for the last fifteen years, with Max at the helm. He was a good leader, in Bernard's opinion. Honest and kind, as well as a former Lone Peak Guard. Under his leadership, the kingdom of Darrion had thrived in the bleak circumstances it had been given. The other two houses, Bear and Leviathan, had switched from the second and third place during Condor's leadership. It was no small secret that they both craved the top position.
Each house had its own guard, tasked with its own responsibilities.
Condor's guard made up the defense force of the other cities of Darrion. Bear's guard was the majority of the armed forces. Leviathan held to the ships, sending men and sailors to protect the waters. Max's rule had been characterized by conserving resources and spending them wisely. Most recently, Condor house had been attempting to plant a grove of trees to provide for the future needs of Darrion.
“I desire our future to be brighter,” Max would say to the crowds that gathered at important speeches. “So we must plant the seeds for the next generation to thrive!”
There were some, however, like the nobles of Bear House who had campaigned for the last four years to unseat the ruling Condor house, that thought that Darrion could curtail the time of rebuilding under more aggressive leadership.
“We sit and wait for a future that could be realized tomorrow!” Robert, the ruling noble of Bear house argued in a recent and lively debate between houses. “I would lead us into that bright and glorious time in weeks, not generations!”
This line always got applause, but not from Bernard. He thought Max was doing the best he could. Plus, Robert was a short, balding man. Instead of possessing a fit figure, like the old but still able Max, Robert was round and tubby. Bernard couldn't find himself voting for someone who looked like he never wielded a spear a single day of his life.
Still, the debate was lively and had caused a few divisions, even within Condor.
A shortage of wood in recent years had been in the middle of the speeches. Max refused to send ships south to cut down the trees of the elves who lived there and he was hesitant to take down most of the forest to the north. Instead, he had clung to his new grove that was being planted and pleaded that wood products be kept to a minimum.
Not much wood could be found in Lone Peak. This was why both Bernard and Lincoln's spears were completely metal: strong and heavy iron that had been shaped by the skilled smiths of the city. Coal was used for fires and cooking.
Wood, then, was considered a sign of wealth and excess. Ships were commissioned only at a great cost and with careful consideration and planning. No waste of wood was to be found at the shipyard when one was made, either.
While most agreed the restrictions were a sign of restraint and responsibility, a growing number began to believe the house of the Bear's rhetoric. If Darrion were to grow in stature on the continent, the harvesting of wood could be the beginning of it. A new fleet of ships was the vision cast by the Bear and many had decided it was something worth pursuing.
Since the kingdom of Darrion was founded on the famous fleet of the three original noble lords that had established the settlement of men many hundreds of years ago, it was both an issue of national pride and security. Old ships were being outrun by the pirate elves who now appeared to control most of the inner sea. The ships that had survived the pirates were finding fewer and fewer resources to repair the wear and tear of normal use.
Bernard was on the fence about the whole issue, taken too much with his own tales of bravery to be extremely concerned about the lack of wooden bowls or tables. The only thing he knew was that Max was an old city guard, and that was good enough for him.
“Looks like they know each other,” Lincoln said as the noble walked forward and embraced the oldest looking of the group, a man carrying a beautifully crafted wooden spear. They all continued on into the house of nobles and disappeared from view.
“They look like trouble,” replied Bernard.
He had gone back to making pretend cuts and jab at imaginary enemies and had stopped paying attention to Lincoln. His former exploits were more interesting to him than a strange group of travelers Max knew.
“Soldiers!” came a harsh voice from behind Bernard. “Report to the barracks immediately!”
Both men looked up to see their captain: Kilgor Brave. He was an intimidating man. There wasn't a hair out of place on his head and his breastplate shone like the effort of one who cleans his armor with pride. This was a real feat, as most of the armor in the guard was quite old. He had been their captain for the two years both of them had been on the Lone Peak Guard.
“Why?” asked Lincoln, looking at their captain with an expression of curiosity.
Bernard kicked him. Or at least he attempted to. Instead of connecting with his partner's leg, his foot found the wall. He was hopping up and down in pain as he yelped, grabbing his aching foot.
“Don't question your senior officer!” Bernard howled.
He looked up from jumping around on his foot just long enough to see Kilgor sigh with a disappointed look on his face. Obviously, they were not his favorite guardsmen.
“There have been reports of increased activity of the Wrents in the north,” Kilgor explained curtly. “You two are joining the rest of your company to seek them out and rid the countryside of the beasts.”
Bernard let go of his foot just long enough to salute smartly, while Lincoln almost forgot to give his commanding officer a salute at all. Kilgor turned and walked off without another word, but Bernard could have sworn he heard another sigh from their captain as he continued on down the wall.
“We're going on a trip,” Lincoln said musingly, whipping out his paper and pen again to scribble a word or two.
“A mission!” Bernard said, happily, feeling the pain in his foot recede at the thought of his future daring deeds and bravery.
More tales would be told by such a venture, he was sure of it.