Dion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

“No need,” Ketill answered, not granting her the pleasure of even looking back at her. He held onto the reins tightly as they marched, heading towards their next stop. They were going through a small mountain range, crossing into Grosswick and then shortly after into Murkran. It shaved about two days off of the travel. Though that was preferable, it did not matter in the long run it seemed. “You don't ride because I pity you,” he then said following up on his comment. Much as he had protected her, he also did not feel anything towards her. Perhaps she had been correct in her assumption that he treated her like a possession, though he did think to himself, were they savages? Had they attacked her brutally because they were savages and impious followers of the Monarch? Perhaps it was a religious duty, he insisted on himself, that he would grant mercy and shelter even to the sworn enemies of the Monarch. A Sawarim woman was an infidel, but no less a creation of the Monarch. Some degree of civility was expected, no? He struggled with these questions, for in all his time at Coedwin, he had not once thought of these things, being used to merely slaying them, taking them prisoner and hanging them, executing them lest they submitted to their will.

The peasants were sure to disagree, and they had a right to. No mercy for Sawarim followers in Broacien, no privileges. Just abuse. Those were the laws in reality.

After a moment of silence he returned to reality, looking ahead of him, staring at the figures at the head of the march. Atop horses were the other leaders of the expedition, pointing out the landscapes and trying to figure out the best route to take for the many men that walked in a long column. “You're on a horse because, if you decide to grab the reins and flee, you're easier to shoot down over the heads of these men,” he replied.

A vision came in his head, imagining the scene. She'd grab the reins, and quickly spur on the horse. Ketill knew that any Sawarim worth their share could ride a horse like no other. But when she rode off, he'd promptly grab an arrow from the nearest archer, and his bow, and shoot her down. It was easy, he thought, and would likely succeed. And of course, he would not be the only one that shot an arrow or two at her. Many here would have no problems shooting down a Sawarim woman. They were on a holy expedition after all, no? Surely killing a Sawarim woman would give them the blessing of the Monarch.

He was drawn back to reality by the sound of a horse approaching, from behind. Ketill looked over his shoulder and slightly upwards, seeing ser Oliver, the de-facto leader of the expedition, riding up to him. “Ketill,” the young man said, looking at Saina briefly before returning his gaze to Ketill, a slightly confused look on his face. He rode closer, so that he could ride directly next to Ketill, passing by Saina quickly. He rode on the side of Ketill where he also held his shield, slowing the horse down slightly.

“I want to let you know that the commander has decided to hold a trial for your actions, and will be demanding weregild for the two men,” Oliver then said, a serious look taking the place of his earlier confused look. It seemed like there would be repercussions after all. “And.. the judgement will be passed by the advisors and me. We will hold the trial at nightfall. We hope to reach a town before then, but otherwise we will do it in the commanders' tent. Just be ready.”

Ketill nodded, replying with a mere “.. okay,” and ser Oliver nodded and rode his horse off again, towards the front, to join the other advisors. It seemed the night was going to be a long one.

---

Later that evening, the march had made camp outside the palisade walls of a smaller town. The two quartermasters had gone into the town to barter for goods, and buy supplies for the road. It was always a good idea to do that, and it seemed they had the coin for that. At least for now. It would be typical to run out of money later because of un-thought out purchases earlier. Similarly, Ketill would have taken Saina to the market to purchase some items. He had personally not had too much time to prepare and so he was lacking some items, but it was nothing that he needed. Saina, however, would preferably be dressed somewhat more appropriately.

Even if she was a slave, Monarchists and Ketill especially would have at least some decency. It was generally considered bad manners to have slaves walking around in left over clothes. Not just for the slaves, but also anyone else that would have to look at the slaves.

The market itself was not as busy, since it was evening, but there were some people out still. There were many stalls, and the noises coming from them were deafening at times. Every trader was yelling about their wares, and most of them were selling food. Meat, vegetables, most of it was either brought in by local hunters or were staple foods brought in by farmers from the areas outside the town. A single merchant was selling jewelry and other bits and bobs that were of little interest to anyone looking purely to survive, but it attracted a few nobles that were on thoroughfare in the town. A few others selled other items, tools, a single merchant sold swords and armor, and a few sold clothes. Nothing too impressive, but it fit the nature of the town.

Ketill walked through the stalls, looking left and right for something that would befit a slave, though would also not be too sober, nor too extravagant. If anything, he could pass her off as a slave that was meant to be an entertainer. She had no notable skills that he knew of and it was well known that any woman could sell herself and become an entertainer. Whether that meant actual entertainment or entertainment was another matter, but it was a good disguise.

Momentarily he looked back at Saina and instructed her, “If you see anything, let me know.” He'd considered giving her some silver coins to purchase something for herself, but it seemed like a bad idea. He just knew time was of the essence, as his 'trial' was closing in swiftly.

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

She flinched as she saw the man’s hand coil back, ready to strike her once more. Involuntarily, her eyes closed to prepare for the blow, yet she received no pain, only feeling a wind across her face, and at this, her eyes snapped open just in time to watch the man fall backwards. The gruesome sight of his hanging jaw was jarring, but Najla had no time to be disgusted before her apparent rescuer stepped in front to block the sight.

Distracted by the sight, Najla found herself thrown to the side, and she fell to the ground roughly. There she stayed, a hand reaching up to gently touch her cheek, watching the scene unfold in front of her with wide eyes. She looked horrified, but at the crack of the man’s nose, she did not flinch.

It was only when the commander grabbed Ketill’s arm that Najla finally scrambled up. She kept her head down as the commander spoke to Ketill, not wanting to anger him any more. She did not look up to see the men leave or the crowd disperse, only glancing up when she was given an order. She nodded, grasping the horse’s reins and following Ketill towards the tent, making sure to keep her eyes forward and off any staring soldiers.

Is he angry with me? Perhaps he had heard her insults and would punish her for provoking them. This however, seemed a worry born entirely out of fear, for surely if he had wished to punish her for her actions, he would not have broken a man’s jaw. Was he worried at the commander’s words? Najla was, knowing that a Servant would be a difficult target for a militia commander to harm, yet a Sawarim slave would be far too easy. Why had he done it?

Her mind raced as she followed him to the tent, and she tied the horse outside quickly before following Ketill in. She dove under the tent flap, only to stop just as she entered. His words about her things caused her to look up for the first time, glancing at the emptied bag. It did not surprise her to see it emptied, after all, he had every right to look through her things. What did surprise her were his words.

Continue serving? He still wants me here? After all the trouble I’ve caused him?

She spoke none of her concerns, but when he approached her, they were all too easy to read. Najla met his gaze as he spoke, and even though he had given her a command, she did not move. She stood with a slight frown on her face, and her eyes searched his. This time, her gaze did not venture to his scars or the marks on his forehead, but remained locked onto his. It seemed a strange sight, for she was far smaller, still shaken, and her cheek was beginning to turn pink, a sure sign it would bruise soon. He, on the other hand, had proven himself to be a skilled warrior, though she had assumed this already, and she had just watched him break a man’s nose. However, for a few moments, Najla showed no fear or deference to her master, only a desire to understand.

These few moments did not last long, and Najla was the first to tear away, unsatisfied at whatever answers she had received. She walked towards the bed and kneeled beside it, picking up the ‘rags’ that he had haphazardly thrown across the bed and folded them neatly before placing them in the bag. Every so often, her gaze flitted to Ketill before darting back to her work, but it did not take long before she closed the bag up and turned to exit the tent.

Does he want an apology? Or gratitude? Or is he truly so uncaring?

She did not offer any. Najla hooked her bag to the horse’s saddle, then untied the horse before pulling herself up onto it. It was slightly difficult, as the horse was larger than she was used to, but no task she had not accomplished before. She did not ask for Ketill’s help, nor did she sit sideways as she had before, but as she was used to. The saddle was still large, but the horse was a familiar presence under her, though not a calming one.

She knew what the men would think if they saw her riding while her master was walking before her. It would only do more to fuel their resentment, but she could not tell if Ketill did not know or did not care.

I suppose it doesn’t matter what they think. I can’t imagine any of them will be willing to risk a broken jaw. Except perhaps the commander-

Her worried thoughts were interrupted as Ketill emerged and she would follow him on horseback to their place in the march. Najla would remain quiet during the march, occasionally reaching up to touch her cheek gently, trying to gauge how tender it was. It would definitely bruise soon. Her arm was already starting to show where he had grabbed her, perfect red prints where his grimy fingers had been. Painful, but nowhere near enough to make someone feel sympathy when the man who had caused it was caressing a broken nose somewhere. Perhaps she would have aroused some pity if he had speared her on the end of his sword, but she doubted it.

She was not used to keeping up with marches. Her pace had always been swifter, accompanied by a few guards and as such, Najla was far more accustomed to travelling quickly. Now they were followed by supply wagons, camp followers, and slaves, who unlike her, did not have the fortune of a horse. It was a strange sensation, but not an unwelcome one, and much of her time traveling was spent in thought.

Some of her thoughts involved counting, trying to make sure her estimates of the expedition numbers were accurate. Some of her thoughts were just worries, some prayers, but most revolved around Ketill. Her eyes were either on the path around them or locked firmly onto him, as if his back could give an answer his eyes could not.

He didn’t like her. Najla wasn’t a fool, she could see that. Yet he treated her kindly, more kindly than she had expected, and far more kindly than any man in this camp would have. Even beyond that, he had put himself in a more vulnerable position for her, and had spoken nothing of it.

He would have done the same for his horse, I expect, or if a man had been taking his sword. I doubt he did it because I am a person, but because I am his property.

It was an unnerving thought, to compare herself to a horse and declare herself property, but Najla could see no alternative. She had not proven herself of any value to him and a holy knight would never defend a Sawarim woman, and so this, to call herself a possession, was the only explanation.

Do possessions show gratitude? She didn’t want to thank him. She could admit that he had saved her life, yet Najla could not bring herself to thank him for it. A year of serving the heretics up north had been humiliation enough, but thanking a holy knight would surely shatter the remainder of her pride.

She leaned forward and reached her hand out, lightly tapping the knight’s shoulder with two fingers. Whether or not he acknowledged it, she spoke, almost as softly as her gesture.

“My lord, I am in no great pain that I cannot walk. If you ever tire-” She left her words there.

It was an odd suggestion, Najla knew. It was not one borne out of gratitude, but it would still be the closest to gratitude that Ketill would likely see from her. It was a suggestion born out of fear, fears that had ample time to gather during the march. If the men were to see that Ketill allowed her to ride whilst he walked, her situation here could only be made worse by it. His likely would too, and Najla knew that if the commander ever followed through on his threat, her head wouldn’t be far behind. A selfish act in its entirety, but Najla could offer him no more in terms of thanks.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Ketill watched Saina leave, before lingering in the tent. He did not have to worry about packing it - the servants would do that. He also did not have to worry about packing the belongings he had, because he had little with him. As he looked around the tent, he looked at the furs that Saina had slept on, taking note of the bag that laid there. Curiously, he walked closer, and casually leaned in, grabbing the sack and opening it with his right hand. He rummaged through it momentarily, before simply turning it around and spewing the contents over the furs. He stared at them, looking over the clothes and bandages, as well as the boots. They were in pitiful state. It seemed almost as if the steward had given her nothing but leftovers from the other slaves, though he imagined Saina was used to that for now. He was about to put the items back in the bag, when he heard some commotion outside, a little further away from the tent it seemed.

He dropped the now empty bag onto the furs again and walked to the exit flap of the tent, opening it and peeking his head outside, before stepping out completely. Saina had been gone to fetch his horse for some time now. He wondered where she was, though curiosity as to what the commotion was took the better of him. He stepped off into the distance, towards where the voices were coming from. He could not quite hear what was being said - or rather, yelled. As he stepped towards the voices, coming ever closer, he noticed that some of the others were beginning to follow him, probably also curious about what was happening.

Ketill turned a corner at a tent, and came upon what he considered a rather unsightly scene. He stopped in his tracks and looked at the scene in front of him. A man, holding on to Saina, while the other one seemed to be brandishing his blade. Precisely when Ketill turned the corner, the man reared his hand back and then struck out at Saina, hitting her with his fist in the face.

Immediately he continued his pace, quicker now. The onlookers that had followed also joined, going to look at what was going on. Probably not going to stop any of the attackers however, as Saina was clearly a Sawarim woman, and Sawarim followers were not protected under the law in Broacien. Not that there was much of a formal law in Broacien at any rate, but most men and women agreed that Sawarims had no rights. Which was strange because even slaves that weren't Sawarim in religion had more rights than Sawarim followers.

When the man reached back again for a second swipe at Saina's face, he was unpleasantly surprised to find Ketill coming in from the side. A powerful punch flew past Saina's face, missing her by an inch, and instead hit the peasant man in front of her that was trying to hit her again. The single punch was enough to send the man pummeling backwards, landing on his behind. He used one arm to rest and sit up right, while the other dropped the sword and grabbed his jaw, which hung loosely, apparently broken at the hinges. Almost immediately Ketill stepped up again and grabbed the man by the shirt, pulling back his arm and launching another fist into the poor mans' face.

His friend immediately threw Saina to the side, and jumped forwards a few steps and then lunged onto Ketill's back, though he promptly received an elbow in the face from Ketill, forcing him off. The man reared backwards and set a step back, and then immediately reached for his dagger. While Ketill punched the man on the floor once more, breaking his nose with a sickening crack, the other man jumped onto Ketills back again and began trying to stab his chest with his dagger.

Through sheer luck, or perhaps a skill in battle - which arguably wasn't that unlikely - Ketill managed to grab the mans arm and twisted it, throwing the man over his shoulder onto the other one. He veered upwards and stepped back then, and reached for his blade, but found his arm stopped by a hand. As he looked to the side, he noticed the veteran militia commander, who happened to be the boss of these guys, standing there looking at Ketill with burning eyes. He was not satisfied, as the two peasants slowly got up, one holding onto his broken jaw with a painful look in his eyes.

“Those were my men,” he sneered, finally letting go of Ketill's arm with an aggressive motion. “I will have your head for this, Servant. You of all people should know Sawarim people have no place here, much less a woman.” With that said he marched off, and the fight was now clearly over. Ketill stared at the mans back when he left, before turning his eyes to the two peasants in front of him, who also drooped off slowly, accepting their defeat. The crowd dispersed, and Ketill turned to Saina then.

“Get my horse,” he simply instructed, seemingly not acknowledging what had just happened. He then walked away back to his tent, ahead of Saina. As he walked back he questioned why he had intervened, and grasped his head as he felt a headache rising. He wondered if he'd made a mistake. She was a Sawarim follower, the militia commander had been right about that. She had no rights here. But was he truly a savage man like that?

He entered the tent again and looked at the bag that still laid there. When she'd walk in he'd turn to face her. “You have nothing there but rags. You'll need something more proper if you want to continue serving me,” he simply told her. He walked towards her and stopped in front of her, looking her in the eyes then. “I'll straighten that out when we visit a city. For now, grab your items and get to the horse. You're riding again.”

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Najla did not stray that night. He had told her to do as she wished, and she moved to do just that, already exhausted by her fitful sleep the night before. She had expected that her night would be just as restless as the one before, fearing that it was going to be haunted by dreams of her brother. It seemed that her God had blessed her then, for her sleep was uninterrupted by fears or dreams, and she awoke only after her new master had.

He had moved quietly, yet it had been enough to wake her. She could hear that he was getting dressed behind her, and so she remained on her side, her eyes shut, feigning as if she had never heard him awake. Perhaps he would see it as laziness, but Najla seemed to prefer that to immodest. Her eyes only opened when she heard the rustle of the tent flap, and she sat up quickly, her eyes flitting across the tent, only to see that he had truly left her alone.

He was truly a strange man. He hadn’t touched her the night before, which had been a profound relief to her. Even this she could envision a number of reasons for, he was a Servant, and thus a more pious man than most, or perhaps he was simply sick of Sawarim faces, or didn’t like hers. Whichever it was, it was a welcome relief. What truly confused her was how uncaring he was towards her. Perhaps he truly saw her as no different than his sword or horse, simply less useful.

Najla could think of dozens of reasons for his attitude towards her, yet none were satisfactory. Thus, she slipped out of the tent, allowing these reasons to become something of a game as she walked through the camp, towards the edge. It seemed a dangerous move to walk alone throughout the camp, yet Najla could think of no alternative besides relieving herself in the tent. She walked as far as she could from prying eyes, thankful for the few bushes that provided her shelter. Once finished, Najla did not linger out in the camp, she could feel the heat of their whispers as she walked, and continued on with her list of reasons in order to distract herself from them.

The empty tent was a welcome refuge, and she took advantage of this emptiness, undoing the small bag the steward had given her. As she suspected, it was mostly clothes, a small roll of clean bandages and some healing salve, and thankfully, a spare pair of boots. He had given her a pair before she left, but Najla knew these were likely to wear out far too soon. She changed her clothes rapidly, though it was just into another tunic and hose, it made her feel slightly cleaner. There was no hairbrush, and so she undid her braid and brushed through her hair with her fingers, ignoring the pain of the tangles before tying it back up once more.

Leaving the bag on her bed, Najla slipped off the edge of the stack of furs, gently moving onto her knees. She closed her eyes and began to whisper a Sawarim prayer, one that she had not been able to speak aloud for far too long. These had been only been spoken in her thoughts for some time now, and that habit still remained, for as she prayed, her ears remained trained on any movements outside.

While Ketill had seemed not to care if she lived or died, Najla did worry what a Servant would think if he returned to see a Sawarim prayer being uttered in his tent. She whispered it quietly, praising God and his wife, thanking them for every blessing she had received and asking for more, not for her, but for her family, her brother. The whispers ceased as the slight rustle of the tent entrance began, and she quickly moved to sit on the edge of her bed again. When he entered, Najla found herself nodding at his words, turning back to grab her bag and shove everything back inside.

“What can you do?” She glanced up at the question, halting her packing to watch him as he tried to fit his sword into place. The question was somewhat surprising, but she supposed it was a valid one. After all, she had seen nothing that he wanted of her.

I can ride. I’m a fair archer. I can read, write, even do figures. I can sneak into cities and take on identities. Her train of thought quickly halted. She could no longer do those things, or at least, no longer knew if she could. There were only a few skills she still retained, though they would provide little use to a solider.

“I can ride.” She replied, returning to her bag. “I used to do figures for my father, though I’m afraid I’ve lost that ability.” Having packed her bag and drawn it closed, she looked up at Ketill once more. “Little that you would have use for, my lord.”

Her short list received only a command in response, at which Najla didn’t hesitate. She nodded and stood, slipping out of the tent wordlessly.

The camp was far busier now than when she had slipped out before, as men gathered their things, folded tents and, like her, rushed to grab their horses. The horses had been fed and watered, likely by slaves or servants, and it was under the watchful eye of the militiamen set to guard the horses that she moved to saddle it. She had never done it for herself before she had started traveling, yet it was a familiar process. It did not take long before she was calming the horse down to allow her to tighten the cinch as much as possible.

She had been aware that there had been eyes on her, but the busy camp had prevented any of the whispers that her morning adventure had brought. Now, she could hear them again, though these seemed louder, and far more angry than curious.

-Sawarim bitch

These were the first words that traveled to her clearly, yet Najla only had to ignore them for a moment longer before her work was done. Untying the horse, she grasped the reins and began to lead it back to the tent. This time, the whispers did not change, but followed. She did not look, but sped up her pace, hoping to return to the tent before her fears were realized. Najla managed to get closer to her destination, but she was not close enough before the whispers became a voice, loud and nearby.

“Oi!”

Najla turned her head, only to see the source – or sources- approaching her rapidly. They were only two men, obviously peasants, though someone had seen fit to thrust swords into their hands. Before she could say a word, they were at her side, too close for comfort. One pulled her arm, ripping her away from the horse’s reins, which the other took. Najla tried to pull out of his grip, but he was latched onto her, his face too close, his crude words now directly spat in her face.

“You’re that desert whore, huh?” Najla shook her head desperately, still trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. He only gripped tighter. Her eyes were wide and panicked, her movements frantic as she tried to pull herself out, but in his stare she saw only hatred.

“I never thought I’d see one of you.” His friend spoke up behind him, and the man holding her grinned, though without any humor. “Soon we’ll get to fuck one of em.”

At this, Najla pulled her free hand back, driving it into the man’s stomach as hard as she could. There was not enough force to really hurt him, but it was enough to cause him to let go. She slipped out of his grasp and moved to back up, but turned to find his friend standing behind her, waiting. For a moment, she considered running, leaving the horse behind and sprinting as far away as she could, but the chance was snatched from her by the sounds of a sword being drawn. She was forced to turn again, and came face to face with end of the steel. She had angered him.

“Stupid whore! I’m going to slit your fucking throat!” His friend grabbed her hair and pulled it back, exposing her neck to the man, before leaning in. “You’ll meet your pretend gods while I’m still raping your corpse.”

She did not stop struggling. She desperately tried to elbow the man behind her, fighting furiously to thrust her elbow back, kick him, anything that would cause him to let her go and slip away, to no avail. Najla called for them to let her go, though there was little pleading in her tone. Despite her frantic movements, she hardly sounded afraid.

She was afraid. Her heart was racing, her eyes wide, and it felt as if there were no thoughts in her mind, nothing to go on but her instinct. Unfortunately for Najla, her instincts seemed desperate to pierce her on the end of a sword.

“Let go of me! Dirty fucking bastards, let go! I’ll cut off any cock you pull out, I swear it!”

Her threats were meaningless, but she continued to spew them just as the men did insults, and was silenced only briefly when the peasant wielding his sword slapped her sharply, the sound cracking across her face.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

“Weaponry, courage?” he mused to himself at her answer, curious as to why a regular woman would find need of a weapon purely to escape. Had the story not been that she was a merchant? What would a merchant need from a weapon, or courage? Surely some coin would suit her better.. He was called back to attention when she inquired about anything he needed from her. Though none of her fears were true - he did not fear dirtying himself, as he had touched many Sawarim men in his time on the battlefield, in struggles between death and life. He also did not have any intention of touching her in other ways, though surely it was within his power to do so. “I require many things,” he said slowly, still staring up at the covers of the tent.

“.. but no, none of them I require from you. Do as you wish - stray from my tent, if you want. If you wish to find yourself on the end of a dagger tonight, stray far, far from my tent. Many of the men here do not like your kind.” Himself included. He wondered if lord Jachsen had known this, and had given her to him as an insult. He could not fathom why that would be the case but lord Jachsen knew that Ketill was a simple man with little need of assistance. A servant was beyond that. And if the Monarch favored the strong, then surely the Monarch favored those that worked for themselves and did not need other people to do that.

Even in Coedwin they had had slaves, purchased from the Sawarim slavedrivers that sought passage through Coedwin lands to the north. Mostly they had been women - like Saina - purchased to do mundane tasks like cleaning, or serving the more noble Servants that sought refuge in Coedwin, or had found themselves stationed there. Sometimes they had purchased a man, for the harder labor like moving crates, but those were expensive, and the coinpurses of the Servants were not as endless as it seemed.

It seemed also that Ketill had a rather uncaring attitude towards Saina. While he had stopped some of the stares they got earlier, and while he had helped her on and off his horse, and while he had 'defended' her in the commanders' tent, he did not seem to care whether she stayed or not. Despite a lack of formal acknowledgement that he was setting her free - which he was not, she was still by all means a slave - he did tell her that he did not care to go look for her if she escaped.

And to add to that, he also knew of the deceitful nature of Sawarim people, at least when it came to their attitude to the foreigners. On more than one occasion they had captured Sawarim warriors, and more often than not they'd either slit their own throats, or lie and deceive until they found a room for escape. He knew better than to trust her, and as far as he was concerned, she was lying about everything she told him. For him, to whom honesty was a very important value, this already marked the beginning of a long and straining relationship - lest she escaped, of course.

For that matter she might have wondered why he had not gotten rid of her already - sent her away, given her to another man, or even denied her when the lord offered her to him. The reason was simple, though Ketill himself was unaware if the Sawarim woman would've understood even if he explained. It was hard to deny a gift from a lord, even if it put you in a bad position. Telling the lord he did not want her would be equal to slapping the lord in the face and as such, a bad idea. Sending her away or giving her away, similarly, seemed to be a bad idea.

Without saying as much as a word more, he turned to the outside of the tent and looked at the canvas, before falling into his slumber. He left the woman to her own devices then, a sign of what was to come. Though she belonged to him now, he had no intention of spelling out her life for her.

---

The next morning, Ketill had awoken early. He left the tent without making much noise, dressing himself in the gambeson he usually wore quickly. He shot a quick glance at the other stack of furs to see if Saina was still there, but it'd not change his course of action. He walked to the edge of the camp, to a nearby ditch, and lowered the hem of his pants, relieving himself. Peasant or noble, everyone needed to go at some point.

Once that was done, he returned to the commanders' tent, where he found lord Oliver standing over the map. “Lord Oliver,” he said, approaching swiftly and bowing lightly. The lord nodded at him, and greeted him in kind.

“Ketill, I trust you slept well?” lord Oliver inquired.

“The beds in Coedwin are softer, but I slept as well as you'd expect from sleeping in a camp. We leave shortly, yes?”

“Yes, shortly, I was just looking over the map once more. If you wish, signal the quartermaster that he should prepare the camp for our departure.”

“Of course, milord,” Ketill answered dutifully, and bowed slightly again. He stepped backwards and then out of the tent.

When he left, he made quick way to find the quartermaster - the one that took care of day-to-day things, not the two individuals that were sent as advisors and investors. With a quick order he instructed the man to begin preparing to leave camp, and within a few minutes the quartermaster had send out messengers that would alarm everyone to begin packing up camp.

With haste, he made his way back to their own tent. Inside, he would most likely find Saina, if she had not run off on her own. “We are leaving,” he merely noted, beginning to retrieve some of his items. Though there weren't many, as they hadn't unpacked last night, and as such it'd be an easy job. With a few quick motions he grabbed his belt and zipped it around his waist, tightening it rather tightly, before grabbing his sword in it's sheath and attaching the sheath to his side.

“What can you do, anyway? You were a merchant, so you cannot cook, cannot lift. Maybe you can write, but I have no need of a writer. What can you do besides eat food and drink wine?” he asked her, though his voice was stern and commanding and not at all friendly. What you'd expect of a master talking to his slave, perhaps. He did not look at her, merely looking at his sword as he worked with it, before it was finally attached. He took the shield that was placed nearby in the tent - courtesy of lord Jachsen - and held it with his left hand, before turning to Saina finally. She might've been talking to him, and he would've been listening. When she was finished explaining what she could do, he didn't acknowledge what she said.

“Fetch my horse,” he merely said. An order, not a question, clearly.

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

Had it been anyone else, Ketill’s words may have drawn a laugh, though it would have been a humorless one. Now, they brought out only the faintest grin, leaving her eyes without a trace of humor.

If I was stupid, I would have rode north alone to see if my brother was dead. If I was brave, I would’ve slit my throat when they caught me.

That shadow of a grin faded instantly as the bag flew towards her, and Najla caught it just in time. His next words drew no grin, and she could only hold his gaze for a few moments before dropping it again. She only waited until he turned to go, and she followed him as best as she could, practically trotting in order to keep up with him.

She handed him the bags, all his but the one small bag of necessities the steward had given her. She had not looked through it yet, but assumed it was simply clothes. She could not hope for much more than that.

Ketill’s offer was met with hesitation and a hint of a frown. Najla obeyed regardless, taking his hand and pulling herself up onto the horse. It was strange, she thought, that a kind gesture could be done in such an abrupt way, yet she supposed he simply didn’t know how else to do it.

She adjusted herself on the seat, for though it was slightly uncomfortable, it was the most at ease she’d been in quite some time. It had been a year since she had been allowed on a horse, or even to touch one, whether it was due to chance or the stories of Sawarim riders that filtered to the north. Najla gripped the horse’s mane lightly, and for a brief moment, wondered what would happen if she simply rode the horse as she remembered, all the way back to her home. It was a brief, thrilling thought, interrupted as they approached the bridge.

She could see Jalil’s head still, though there was nothing but skull left of it. This was better than the beginning, when she could see the skin start to rot and had to wonder when she’d stop being able to recognize him. That time had long since come, yet Najla did not take her eyes off the skull for quite some time. Her expression did not change, and her eyes grew no sadder, but in her mind she was begging it for forgiveness.

I shouldn’t leave you, not here, not alone. I'm sorry, but i’ll get you home someday, I promise. Believe that, please believe I’ll never leave you.

Only empty eye sockets answered her, yet Najla felt no stupider for it. Finally, she tore her gaze off of her brother and to the camp before her. Instantly, her mind moved from prayer to habit, and she began counting off the tents, trying to guess how many people were part of this expedition. The knowledge would go nowhere yet, but at least it kept her attention away from the looks the pair were getting. These were nothing new to her; she had been a Sawarim in Broacien for a year now, which meant a year of these looks. Even still, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the idea that any of these people would be familiar with her face.

As surprised as she was that Ketill had aided her off of the horse, Najla felt even more surprised when he moved to help her off. This time, she took his hand without hesitation, and followed behind him into the tent. Instantly, they were greeted by shouting, then stares. Najla simply kept quiet as he pushed her forward, her eyes firmly on the floor, allowing Ketill to speak while she tried to look anywhere but the map or the men.

Again, Najla found herself surprised at his actions. It was clear that he didn’t trust her, he’d be a fool to, so she couldn’t understand why he had brought her with him. What was clear however, was why the others had allowed her to stay. He had a commanding voice, and his words were curt, leaving no room for objection. No doubt her new master would be a powerful leader in this expedition, and already Najla was trying to see how that could help or hurt her.

She stood for the rest of the discussion, and after a few minutes of it, began to feign boredom. She picked at her nails, bit her lip, all the while her ears were closely tuned to the men’s words. They offered little of help, mostly arguing about routes and the like, yet she listened hungrily. After some time, when it seemed the men did not notice her presence, she began to examine them, allowing herself to stare and judge without fear. She examined the map then too, though she did this much more cautiously, trying to fit their words into the map so she might have a better idea of their strategy. It grew exhausting to stand and listen to these men argue for so long, but Najla did not stop listening.

When the discussion was finally over, despite her exhaustion, Najla was almost disappointed. She was finally gathering information again, this time in closer conditions than ever before. Already her mind was racing, trying to remember where her cousins stationed their spies in Broacien. She could no longer rely on her own, they were long gone, but if she could just get to one of her cousins people…

The thought did not last long, for it was interrupted by a sharp fear as they entered the tent. Najla froze by the tent entrance, watching Ketill fearfully as he stripped himself of his armor. She had thought of this, or at least, had tried desperately not to. It was the first time she did not take immediately avert her gaze, but instead watched him carefully, watched his motions, waiting.

As he began to speak, the fear in her eyes began to fade. Her expression turned first to one of obvious confusion, as her brow furrowed slightly, but eventually even this faded altogether. Najla had not moved from the door, and she waited until he laid down on his bed before she moved to hers, sitting down gently on the edge as he spoke.

There was a silence when he finished. Perhaps she was trying to decide a response, or see if it merited a response at all. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, her eyes on the ground.

“I will not run, my lord.” She spoke these words awkwardly, as if he had asked her to repeat a promise to him.

“I have been in the north long enough to know what they think of my people. I have no skills, no weaponry, and no courage. You needn’t worry about me, my lord.” She looked up at him at her last sentence, and though her voice was still soft, they were a vipers words. She had every intention of becoming a danger to him and all of this expedition, so long as her God was behind her.

It did not take long before Najla spoke up again. Her words were tentative, yet she spoke as if the question came pouring out of her, as if she could not hold it in.

“Do you require anything else of me?” The question itself seemed innocent, yet the implication was clear. She simply wanted to know, to rid herself of any fear. For while it seemed, at least so far, that he had no intention of touching her, she knew these Monarchists to be a brutal, savage people. Perhaps he feared dirtying himself if he touched a Sawarim woman. Hoping silently that this was the case, Najla waited to be told to water the horse, fetch him some food, or even shut up and sleep, anything that would dispel this notion.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

“Saina?” he said, following her intonation. He mimicked how she spoke the name, though he did not do so perfectly, it was closer than many Broacienian man had hoped to get. Years in Coedwin had accustomed him somewhat to the strange sounds the Sawarim people made when speaking at times. She said she was from the Sultanate, and he merely nodded. Though he withheld some of his judgement, he appreciated the honesty at least. Many, many Sawarim prisoners would've lied if they had been given the chance. When she studied his response in the face, or rather, studied his marks and scars, he noticed but did not speak about it. It seemed natural to him - a captured woman would be wary of a new master, of course, and especially so if she was a Sawarim woman.

“You are either brave,” he spoke as he continued to pack his bags, putting a dirty white linen shirt into one of the linen sacks before pulling the cords and tightening it, closing it shut. “Or very stupid to tell me that you are from the Sultanate. Admittedly, your countrymen all seem more brave than stupid, as proven by my scars, so I'd be inclined to believe it's misplaced bravery.” He stopped packing momentarily and seemed to be having a moment of clarity, or perhaps a moment of thought. Finally, he veered upright and turned around, grabbed the linen sack he'd just filled with clothes and lightly threw it in the direction of Saina.

“Let us not play the fool, then,” he said, looking her directly in the eyes as far as he could, given she had a tendency to turn her gaze away. He turned immediately after, continuing to speak to her while he grabbed the two heaviest bags, leaving only a few of the clothes-filled sacks for Saina. Not that he didn't want to take those too, but his hands were full with the heavy leather bags. He wasn't sure on how to treat this woman, but just because he now had a servant of his own, didn't mean he could rest on his laurels and make her do everything.

He headed out the door immediately, keeping up his rather harsh pace. He was a man that wanted things to do - at the very least something on his hands, as simple as cutting a stick, or carving wood, bone, or even sharpening a sword. Anything was better than doing nothing. Meanwhile Saina looked like she had not seen hard, laborious work for years. It made sense, since she was a woman, and a slave kept in the house. But had she had less luck, and was captured by a farmer, she'd likely look much stronger.

No matter.

He continued on his way through the castle, not even checking if Saina was behind him. When he stepped outside the keep, he motioned for a stableboy to bring his horse, and when his horse was there, he slung the heavy leather bags onto hooks on the saddle. When Saina would approach, he'd simply motion for the bags and hang them from similar hooks. It was easier to ride that way.

Ketill glanced at the horse and then at Saina, before leading the horse closer to her. He held out his hand, though not with the common 'noble-like' courtesy of a gesture. It was rather manly in appearance, and seemed more like he wanted her to just listen than that he was offering her a hand. “You ride,” he merely ordered, grabbing a hold of her hand when she gave it to him, or if she did not, forcefully grabbing it. He'd then hold her hand as she got on the horse, likely seated sideways. It would be slightly uncomfortable since the saddle was meant for a male, but ultimately preferable over walking. He thought so, anyway.

And with that done he walked out of the castle, across the sturdy wooden bridge. The drawbridge was almost always down, since none dared attack the keep, and the northern tribes were barely a threat nowadays. When they passed the heads on the pikes, Ketill looked upon them with a gritty look on his face. It seemed cruelty and death did not phase him anymore. Right outside the keep was the camp of the expedition - a few hundred tents, though this was nothing compared to the army of Broacien.

A short, ten minute walk led them across the grassy hills to the camp. They were greeted by- well, nobody in particular. It was late in the afternoon, but most of the men already seemed to be resting, laying in their tents, talking to their fellows. Ketill led the horse through the camp, and admittedly the pair did get quite a few strange looks, some staring at them.

Ketill looked around, staring right back at the people, and that was often enough to force the men, and sometimes the women, to look away and busy themselves with other things. It was.. unsure, whether the looks were because of the fact that he was a Servant, whether it was because of the fact that there was a clearly Sawarim woman with him, or perhaps it was because of the duo together? Whichever it was, Ketill did not particularly enjoy the attention they gave him. He upped the pace even more, the horse following suit. They approached the center of the camp, where a center circular tent was set up. It was obviously the commander tent, where the five commanders, and soon Ketill, would meet for the discussions about the way to go about this expedition.

Upon arrival, he led the horse to a secluded spot nearby the tent and offered his hand to Saina again. As much as she would likely believe so, he was not a brute. Not in every way and form of that word at any rate, because some might argue he had some characteristics of a brute. Never the less, he did help her off the horse. Once she was off, he headed into the tent.

Inside the tent was a large table with a map on it. It was detailed, obviously expensive. It listed every major settlement, but also the small ones. Even the settlements across the border from the Sultanate were listed, though the map did not extend much further than the border region. There were markers placed here and there, but no concrete plan was visible as of yet. It seemed Ketill and Saina would walk in right in the middle of a discussion.

“It's a mistake, I'm telling you. The men don't have the morale for that route, the camp followers can't follow us in that treacherous territory, and you know how important female company is for the men. Furthermore, we'd be completely cut off from our supply lines! It'd be an early doom for this expedition, sir Oliver, and I've invested too much good coin into this expedition to have it fail because you think a shortcut is in order!” an older man with a greyish beard and thinning, equally grey hair yelled at a man in thin, leather armor. It was apparently the young nobleman that led this expedition. Or at least.. intended to.

“Give the boy a break, he's merely trying to help. Meanwhile, our good friend the slave trader hasn't even shown up yet. Where is th- oh, we have a visitor. Ketill Grímhilðrson, I presume?” the old veteran, dressed in peculiar armor, spoke. His voice was rugged, as was his appearance. The eyes shifted, looking at Ketill first, before their eyes all fell upon Saina. “And.. you've brought a Sawarim woman?” he continued. It was obvious from the tone that she was not appreciated that much.

Ketill put his hand in the small of Saina's back, pushing her forwards slightly towards the table, before he stepped forwards too. “Yes, I'm Ketill. And this is Saina, my servant. Courtesy of lord Jachsen.” Though Ketill was a few years junior to the veteran, and to the merchant, he was not so sure about sir Oliver, nor about the missing slavedriver or the other merchant. “She'll serve me, hence I brought her here. Did you wish to object? I thought not. Now.. let's discuss the expedition.” His voice seemed to command respect, though it could be said that it was not his voice but the three dots on his forehead that did the trick. Regardless, Saina was for some reason allowed to stay during the talks, with nobody objecting. Perhaps the slavedriver or the other merchant might've objected, but they were not there.

---

_{The veteran, leader of the militia}

---

An hour, maybe an hour and a half later, the talks were concluded. The issue was resolved - they decided on a shorter route that would not incur such a trouble to the traveling men or the camp followers. It saved time, and was less of a hassle. After that mess of a discussion, Ketill wanted to rest however, so he decided to retire to his tent. Saina of course, was meant to come with him.

As they arrived at the tent it became apparent that lord Jachsen had spared no money for him. The tent was large - though, not as large as the commanders' tent - and fitted two 'beds' comfortably, the beds consisting mostly of two piles of thick furs. One on each side, with a good meter between them. It was not as large as a room in the castle, nor as private, but it would be better than most other men, who slept on grass.

Without speaking much, Ketill went to his 'side' of the tent and sat down on the furs, which were stacked high enough to sit at least somewhat above the ground. He undid some of his light armor, putting it besides the stack of furs, while he looked at Saina. She must've feared what was to come - especially this night - and if he had been a different man she'd have been right to fear him. But instead, he looked at her with eyes that spelled indifference.

“Tell me, Saina,” he spoke, rubbing his wrists slightly before pulling off the leather vest, baring his chest which was covered in scars too. Small, mostly, but some larger. A sign of battle to be sure. “Will you run? You have ample time, at midnight, none will be awake to alarm anyone, and you'll be gone when I awake and realize your escape. It seems smart, it's what I would do.”

Promptly he'd lay down and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the cloth of the tent. It was simple white linen. It reminded him of himself - simple. “I hope you realize that there's a reason why you've never seen any Sawarim people here. People, not just Servants, don't like your people. You'd not survive long, or possibly be taken a slave again. I don't know why you are here, but you've crawled into the den of the bear, I suppose. I think you'd do best to stay. Think it over. If you are gone by tomorrow, I will not hunt for you. I know the others will do that for me.”

@Odin

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

It was the closest she had come to freedom in a year, yet Najla wanted no part of it. The details the steward had given her were sparse, and likely carefully planned, and as such, her conversation with him had left her confused and unsatisfied.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” The steward had never been cruel to her, but he did not like her, and now she was wasting his time.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t-” she caught herself before she could say ‘understand’ once more, knowing it would only irritate him more.

“You’ll be outfitted and readied tomorrow, he should be arriving then. Go rest.”

Najla disobeyed him. Her night was fitful, and to Najla, it seemed the steward had only told her that which would worry her. He had told her of the man she was to serve, and that kept Najla awake deep into the night, praying that a Servant of the Monarch wouldn’t harm her, or even that this Ketill would either be kind or stupid enough to allow her freedom someday. The steward had also told her that this was to be a holy expedition, nothing beyond that, and yet that was enough to keep Najla awake as well, pleading that the Monarchists would fail before she was made to betray her faith.

----

Najla spent much of the next day under the steward’s eye, being prepared for her new task. Thankfully, this included a chance to clean herself up some, and even some newer clothes to travel in. She asked no more questions about her future during this time, knowing the steward would offer her nothing else. Instead, she was given instructions from time to time, and Najla limited any questions to those instructions. Her prayers last night had eased her mind some, having convinced her that this was more of an opportunity than a setback, and with a diminished fear of her future, Najla was less keen to know it.

The steward had called on her when they had seen Ketill arrive, and she was simply told to wait until they could bring her in. She had been ready for some time, given a few necessities, her hair braided out of her face, though Najla expected that she would be made to wait longer as they spoke inside. Apparently everyone was as eager to leave Barren Flats as she was, for it took little time before the steward walked back through the doors, motioning for her to follow him.

Though she could hear Lord Jachsen’s now-familiar voice as he introduced her, it was but a background to the rush of thoughts as she eyed the man. She only looked upon him for a moment, instantly casting her eyes downward when she caught his gaze. He was indeed a Servant, and the easily recognizable marks on his forehead caused her to bristle, though she did not have long to relish her anger before he approached.

Hearing the swift strides of his feet, Najla looked up moments before he grabbed her. His grip was as unrelenting as his pace, and he was far taller than her, leaving Najla struggling to keep up as he pulled her along. When he finally released her, she instinctively reached up to touch her arm, as if worried it would bruise.

“Your name?”

The harsh tone jolted her, and she glanced around the room as if suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings, only taking a breath before her response. “Saina.” It had been the name she gave upon her capture, and then her name for a year. It was a name of no importance to her, simply a common one she had conjured when she needed any name but Najla.

With that, she began to help. The harsh tone of his voice had not escaped her, and based on the way he was rapidly packing, she could guess as to why. Her movements were quick and clean, and she only hesitated as he asked her another question, again in the same tone. Najla was hardly surprised that he could tell, assuming that his time fighting her people had familiarized him with their faces.

“The Sultanate, my lord.” Her eyes flicked upwards, studying his face cautiously. She was watching his expression for any changes, the slightest flicker of a frown or snarl to gauge his reaction from. Instead, she found herself studying his scars at first, then the marks on his forehead, both of which seemed to provide her with enough answers. When her gaze moved from his forehead to his eyes, the like of which she had rarely seen, it lasted but a moment, and she looked down again as if embarrassed.

Her judgement of him had only taken a moment, and in spite of all her questions, it did not occur again. She continued to help him pack his things, all the while making sure to stay out of his way. Her work was swift, as she was trying to meet Ketill’s furious pace, and it did not take long before she had closed a couple of his bags. It seemed Najla was just as eager to leave as he was, for though she was certainly more fearful, leaving this god-forsaken keep had been a prayer of hers for a year now. She stood by the door with these bags in her hand, simply waiting, either for another command, or to follow him out. It was an odd sensation, to maintain such a timid attitude and wait around for another’s commands, but a year of this humiliating process had made her exceptionally good at it.

@persianversion

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich

A collaborative story based on Marches of Man, a roleplay set in a fictional medieval world.

ℰxpedition for the ℬanner of St. ℱriedrich.

Theme song for the arrival of Ketill

---

---

The road from the fortress of Coedwin had seen a few changes, not in it's appearance, but more so in the surrounding areas. As Ketill traveled, he noticed the shifts in the air. Though they were common, as you traveled from the warm South to the colder North, they gave him an unbecoming feeling, as if something that was coming in the future was going to go awry. But, Ketill thought, he also knew he had the Monarch at his back. A Servant never walks alone, they said, and that much had been true. Besides his brothers in arms, the other Servants, it was a comforting thought that where ever he went, the Monarch went, and as such he always felt blessed. Even in troubled times. But now he had received news, while on duty in the large fortress of Coedwin, that he was being recalled by the good lord Jachsen.

---

It was believed, apparently, by not only lord Jachsen but also the king, that the assassin had appeared in order to neutralize the expedition before it happened. This was in fact the first real lead they had on the banner - if the Sawarim sultanate cared so much as to send an assassin, surely they held the banner. This was not only a religious expedition for that matter, but had immediately turned into a political one too. None knew of the true intentions behind the assassination, but ignorance was bliss, and it was easy for the church to see less practical but more holy reasons in this assassination. Everyone knew lord Jachsen, and his wife, were both pious Monarchists. In fact, the princess-lady of the North was related to the king, and thereby stood in close relation to the Monarch. She was, after all, a daughter of the Monarch on Earth. Perhaps, the church thought, she'd been the intended target instead. No matter. According to what little Ketill had heard, the man was caught and his head put on a pike as a warning.

It had been a year ever since, and preparations for the expedition had just completed. It had taken a year only because there had to be a gathering of money, resources and of course, the churches approval. This came in the shape of the king's blessing.

Almost immediately, in the very earliest stages of the expeditions preparations, the help of the Servants was asked for by lord Jachsen and the king, and one name in specific was asked for by lord Jachsen; Ketill Grímhilðrson. The close ties to lord Jachsen that Ketill himself held were reason enough, but he was also a seasoned veteran, who knew the Sawarim enemy better than most. His scars were proof of that.

He had not been warned of this request however, and thus he was caught by surprise when a year after the request, he was told by the grand master of the Servants that he was released from service at Coedwin, and was to travel to the Barren Halls to receive a new task as advisor of the Expedition in name of the Servants. It would serve them well, it was thought, to have some holy knights.

Without question, he agreed, and left the day after.

---

It had been nearly two weeks travel, including a visit to the capital of Broacien. For such a small country, Broacien had treacherous roads and mountainous regions, especially in the south, where the sand dunes grew tall - though, not as tall as the deeper territories of the Sultanate - and in the north, where a natural border with the tribes was made by the Monarch in the form of these mountains.

During his visit to the Hoffburgt, he spoke briefly with the king in a rather formal ceremony. He was blessed by the Monarch on Earth, which gave him a better feeling about the journey ahead of them at least. Furthermore, he received some more practical notes about the expedition from the kings marshal. Supposedly, there were a mere ten knights and professional soldiers. It was relieving to know that there would be some professionals, though it was discomforting to know there would be so few.

Then, there would be five main leaders. These were divided, of course, into separate groups. There was lord Oliver, a young lad with ambition. His father was a noble in the far reach of the Murkran territories, and thus he was noble and therefore deemed fit to lead. From what Ketill knew, the boy was young, ambitious, brave and a good fighter - but not tactically gifted.

His father had bargained with the king to give his son this position, and as such, lord Oliver was set aside by Ketill early on as 'the noble blood that gives us a name'. A useful person to have, if you need him, but otherwise unremarkable and annoying. But he reserved judgement until he met the boy at least.

There was also two quartermasters, one that took care of armor, weaponry, and necessities for battle. The other one took care of necessities for travel - food, horses, carriage, camp followers, traders, money. The names that were given were of little importance, but what was important was that they came from the Hoffburgt merchants guild. That meant they were influential - and wealthy. Possibly they were investors in the expedition.

Regardless, they would be interesting, required, and above all, not of noble blood. The people you'd seek out if you needed a certain item.

The other three were simply put a leader of the militia, a veteran man called Gregor who had served in the wars before and had ever since taken up positions in various villages, training the militia for a small fee. He was known to be pious, zealous even. A capable fighter, good strategist, but a pain in the ass to get along with. He had brought the rest of the people - 80 militiamen. Though, in Broacien, militiaman just meant peasant with a sword. Or club, bow, spear.. cannon fodder.

The second was a slavemaster of the Coedwin region. He was Sawarimic in descent, though he did not follow the Sawarim faith. A dishonorable man that traded in slaves. He was only brought along because he had promised to pledge slaves for free if he was granted the opportunity to join the expedition. His reasons were unsure, but the slaves a welcome addition.

The last person was a priest, a bishop of a region in the North. He was put forward by lord Jachsen himself, which was interesting since there were many bishops to choose from, and Ketill knew this bishop in particular personally. Perhaps that was done on purpose, but Ketill knew that lord Jachsen did not like this bishop. It gave him food for thought, on the road for the rest of the travel to the Barren Halls.

---

When he arrived, he was greeted by the lord himself. He took Ketill to the main hall, where his wife was also seated in one of the thrones. Ketill followed him closely, and when he walked up to the center area in front of the thrones, bowed lightly to the princess while the lord took his seat.

“Ketill, your arrival is timely. The expedition is ready to leave - they wait for your command,” the lord spoke, glancing at his wife as he did.

“I see. There is no time for idle chatter then, my lord?” The lord shook his head, to which Ketill nodded. Understood.

“Although, there is one thing I might offer you yet,” the lord then added after a moment of silence. He looked upon the steward, near the large double doors that lead to the main hall, who nodded and left quickly. “.. for your prolonged service and loyalty to my family, Ketill, I would like to offer you a servant of your own. Though, I know you are not of noble blood, it seems fitting that a Servant of the Monarch has someone to share his burdens with.”

As if on cue, the doors swung open again and a olive skinned woman was lead into the halls. Certainly not a northerner. Not from Murkran either, though perhaps the Redsand province. Unlikely but possible. Maybe from the Sultana-

“.. took her in a year ago, and she's served us well. Though, she's yours now. Do with her as you wish - that's your right as a Servant, I suppose,” the voice of the lord interrupted his thoughts, as he had been staring at the woman for a good 2-3 seconds.

“.. thank you my lord.” Ketill said, looking back at the lord now.

He bowed quickly and turned around, facing the woman. His feet moved towards her rapidly, and with a firm grasp he took her arm, taking her along with him. There was no time to be wasted if this expedition was to be successful, and she would only complicate matters in the short run. He took her to the guest room he had gotten assigned to him, and closed the door behind them.

Furiously he began packing his bags again. “Your name?” he asked, with a certain masculine, forceful undertone in his voice. He was not angry with her, but perhaps it was possible to discern that he was not satisfied with the situation either.

It did not cross his mind to have this new slave of his pack his bags for him, or at the very least help him. She was, more or less, left standing in the corner of the room awkwardly, possibly depending on herself to make a move - or none, if she wished to be lazy about it. “You're not from here, you're not from Murkran, spare me the lies. You're from Redsand or the Sultanate - which is it?”

@Odin

In Defense Of The Genre [Part II]

Did anyone target people beyond the blacklist by my memory? I don’t think so. But I didn’t say they went beyond their server and antagonized anyone directly.

@Inkarnate

To clarify this blacklist: it was a 'project' that I did not agree with but was willing to host for the purpose of seeing if it did anything at all in terms of helping people avoid others. This was not for OOC grievances and I took great care to ensure that the only reason people could get placed on there was if there was any risk of them being a nuisance in an RP environment. I repeatedly left people off of this 'blacklist' because I felt the reasons were personal, not objectively due to RP experience.

An example I can give was I put a user on the blacklist that couldn't take no for an answer, and got upset emotionally when people declined her infinite requests for a roleplay leading up to suicide threats. I found that to be an objectively rational and reasonable reason to put someone on the blacklist.

An example of someone I didn't put on there was when someone brought forward evidence of someone being a bit of a twat and after reviewing the person's evidence, I decided that yes, the user was being a bit of a twat but keeping in mind the context I decided that this wasn't really worth a blacklisting because of caveat emptor, but also because it just wasn't that serious. It looked like personal grievance, not a legit complaint, and thus I didn't want it in my server.

I feel like your critique then is a bit dismissive of what it actually was, as if you looked at the title and decided 'blacklist' meant we simply put everyone we didn't like on there to publicly shame them.

You'll find that is a mistake and that RPG's hall of fame is more like a public hall of shame.

I hope I clarified what it was. I deleted it now because like I said, I didn't really see the merit and after hosting it it fell out of use because the idea was less good than people originally thought it'd be.

My point is Valhalla impact on the community is distinct and measureable, not that it has made a conspiracy to attack users beyond its inner confines and should be 'shut down' or some other sentiment. Your central idea was that it is just a chatroom with users to talk about the staff of the site, no?

Let me speak here as the owner of the server. The server was originally made as an off site hangout for my friends, from RPG and off of RPG. There was and is no relation to RPG beyond the fact that some members (most) come from RPG. The intent of my server however has nothing to do with RPG, and that includes 'talking about the staff'. If people perceive it to be that and thus join for that, that is not my concern, because they'll find that the server is more than that.

Yes, it happens to be that most banned people/critical people have treated my server as a sort of refuge to say things they can't say elsewhere. Treating that as the core of Valhalla is your mistake, not ours, because that's not what the server is about regardless of if that's how it's treated by some. Similarly that is their mistake, not ours.

Nor is it supposed to be a closed server where 'the guild terrorists' can meet, twist their mustaches and prepare terrorist strikes on the cities and streets of RPG. There's a reason I made it open to all. You know that. There's a reason why I let Hank into my server to assist him at some point to investigate claims made by a member of the server.

It's not because I want to bad mouth the admins. If I did, then I'd have kicked RomanAria and the person that keeps screenshotting things and sending it to you long ago. I am well aware of who enters my server and who is doing what behind the scenes. I'm not blind nor am I stupid.

Ultimately, after re-reading all of this I have come to the conclusion that I have no fucking idea how I went from How do you think Valhalla impacts the site to effectively answers Why do you think Valhalla is issue. You did not ask me that question and I just sort of loosely answered your question before misdirecting it which is an asinine tactic that is not only idiotic but intellectually dishonest. While I still believe what I believe there is no explanation or excuse for that kind of misdirect.

Apologies.

Nobody cares. Like you said. 'Valhalla' is not a topic worthy of discussion, which perhaps leads me to question why it was brought up to Mahz in the grand scheme of things, but honestly, none of the moderators have ever asked me about my server so it has lead me to believe that they, as a whole, agreed that my server is entirely uninteresting to RPG as a whole. Of course, there's a moderator presence now, but it hasn't stopped us from saying what we want to say. If anything it has made the time spent in my server for that mod slightly more unbearable, lol.

With that, I’d like to publicly clarify and correct something Hillan inferred – that I’m projecting feelings of members. I do not currently have any feelings about the people involved only actions done retrospectively. I have no problems with Odin or his friends and acquaintances despite misdirecting in a discussion when I should not have. Just because I criticize it does not mean I am currently in discontent; same with people here who have constructively had issues with staff policy. Beyond that, I am glad this is all sorted out and the only reason I replied is I said I would respond to points directed at me in the name of equal dialogue. If anyone wants to continue this discussion it probably would be better suited away from the thread as I much like everyone else do not want to deconstruct the work done here from all sides to effectively end the issues present. My PM and DM boxes are open. I will not ignore them.

The discussion is entirely irrelevant and I don't feel like it's gonna warrant another discussion because I don't think there are questions between us about the meaning of Valhalla. I think I clarified what Valhalla is and isn't.