The air was thick with the scent of blood, amongst other unpleasant scents. Sweat and piss came to Vesa's mind as he unwillingly drew another breath, his face grimacing slightly as the salty, repugnant air assaulted his tongue. Almost as soon as he exhaled, he spat onto the damp, muddy earth beneath his steed's hooves, as if he were expelling the very taste and scent itself from his mouth and lungs. He wiped his mouth with the back of his glove-covered hand, and took a look at the carnage around him.
It was hellish. Bloody and muddy corpses were strewn all over, with some more intact than others. Discarded weapons laid half-buried in the autumn mud, their blades stained with dried blood, or muzzles blackened from repeated firing. Looking down, just beyond the snout of his mount, Vesa could see a headless corpse with a puddle of blood pooling around where the head should have been. It disturbed him very little, and in fact, the scene did not disturb Vesa as much as the smell. After all, none of the corpses were wearing the dark grey uniform of his soldiers.
Still, despite the ease of the battle, Vesa knew that he had to count his blessings. It was one thing to fight a roving ground of bandits raiding one of his border villages, but it was quite another to fight them on their home turf, in their own camp, after a long, arduous chase. Vesa had no love for criminals, but he had to admit, they fought bravely despite the odds being stacked against them. In the end, however, their spears, swords, and archaic firearms were bested by Vesa's men and their modern weapons.
The sound of approaching hooves from behind drew his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder. "Everything in order, Okkava?" He asked, his breathy voice betraying the fatigue he had hoped to hide.
If Okkava detected Vesa's tiredness, he did not show it. The captain was taller than most Burlians, but he was still almost half-a-head shorter than Vesa, though he more than made up for that with his bulk. He had a slight grin on his face, as if he were amused by all that was around him, but Vesa knew him long enough to know that the affable captain simply looked that way. "Aye, sir." The captain replied with a nod, and tipped his hat in a belated salute. "Prisoners're all rounded up, though I say we best be off soon. Stonians aren't going to like us coming in uninvited."
Vesa frowned slightly. It was true; they had crossed the border some miles back, but Vesa highly doubted any self-respecting lord would sally out to confront anyone who was practically doing them a favour. Still, it was best to be cautious. "Agreed. I will address the prisoners, and then we shall ride for Raikkavar."
"Right this way, sir." Okkava said and pulled on his reins, turning his steed around. Vesa followed suit, and the two rode side-by-side through the battlefield. Occasionally, they passed a heap of charred rubble, or a crumpled sheets of canvas surrounded by wooden stakes. Both marked where a tent once stood, and as they rode through the battlefield, the two men passed easily a dozen of such markers.
The prisoners had been separated into two groups. One group was on their knees, wrists bound behind their backs, and were surrounded by a group of Vesa's men. The other, more curiously, contained both women and children, neither of whom looked like your typical brigand. They huddled close to one another beneath the paltry shade provided by a rocky outcrop. "Hostages?" Vesa asked, glancing at Okkava momentarily.
"Looks like," Okkava replied, and cleared his throat. "The lads found them in several tents. Some bound, some not."
"Our people?"
"Aye," Okkava said with a nod. "Mostly Stonians, though, and one or two merchants from elsewhere."
Vesa nodded slowly. "Right. Give them food and water if you haven't already. Those who wish to come with us may do so when we leave, except the Stonians. Point them in the direction of the nearest castle, and leave them some supplies for the journey." He paused, and looked at Okkava. "No one can say we abducted any of Stonia's people."
Okkava nodded. "Aye, sir. Got it."
With that, the captain peeled off to pass on Vesa's orders. The marquess carried on for a little while longer, and stopped in front of the row of kneeling prisoners. With an impassive face, he looked over all of them, running his blue eyes over each of them in turn. Though they were all caked in layers of dirt, mud, and perhaps even blood, Vesa could tell that none of them looked to be beyond thirty years-old. The youngest might have been even below twenty. "I will make this quick," Vesa said curtly. "You have all committed great crimes against the people of Raikkavar, and as their protector, I should have the lot of you drowned in the northern sea."
He paused for a moment, looking over the prisoners once more. Some looked scared, but others still appeared defiant. "However, I believe that all not all of you would have chosen to be brigands had you any other choice, and so I offer you a chance for redemption. Serve the people of my march as labourers, and you shall be released to do as you see fit, no questions asked. It may take years, but you have my word as marquess that when your term of service ends, you shall be released."
One of the prisoners spat on the ground, and glared up at him. "That's fucking slavery!"
"Call it what you wish," Vesa said dismissively. "But I will not make the same offer twice. Those of you who wish take it, make yourselves known."
Almost immediately, the youngest of the prisoners spoke up. "M-Me!"
Vesa nodded, and looked to one of the guards. "Unbind him and get him up." He said, then looked back to the prisoners. "Anyone else?"
One by one, four more voiced their acquiescence. The remaining prisoners, however, were all still unmoved, their faces filled with defiance and anger. It was a look Vesa knew quite well, and he was not at all perturbed by it. "This is your last chance. Anyone else?" He called out.
No one moved.
Vesa nodded, then looked to his guards once more. "Kill the rest," He said brusquely, as if he were discussing nothing more than the weather. When he looked back to the prisoners, all of them had shock written across their faces. Perhaps they had believed that they would be carted back to Raikkavar for sentencing, and that they might have time to plan some sort of escape. If that were the case, Vesa was more than happy to prove them wrong. Now, several of the prisoners began to cry out, voicing their desire to take up Vesa's offer, but he simply ignored them. It would simply be improper of him to go back on his word. "Make it quick," Vesa said, shouting above the clamour of the prisoners. "We move once they're dead."
Without another word, Vesa pulled on the reins of his horse and rode away, just as the first of many gunshots rang out.
The residence of Raikkavar's marquess was far from luxurious. Built from the same wood that made up most other north Burlian houses, and built in roughly the same, two-floored style, it simply looked like a larger version of the average home. Were it not for the banners hanging on either side of the entrance, each emblazoned with the coat-of-arms of Raikkavar, or the short flight of stairs leading up to the large, double doors, the house could have been mistaken for the residence of someone who was merely wealthy.
Vesa felt the comforting warmth of a roaring hearth greet him as he stepped through the front doors of his home. After a long hard ride through the northern cold, the heat felt like a quilt gently wrapping itself around him. He eschewed the throne - which was only a throne in name, if he had to be very honest - and took his seat at one of the tables on either side of the long, rectangular room, facing the hearth. Vesa had fond memories of hiding at a corner of the room while his father held court, giggling whenever a presumptuous village elder mistook casualness with laxness, and thus earning the ire of his father.
"Back from your hunt, then?" A woman's voice drew Vesa back to the present, and he looked up to see a lady standing on the other side of the table, her arms crossed and a displeased look on her face. She was dressed simply, wearing a plain, blue dress underneath a grey jacket. Though she dressed like a servant, and technically was one, Vesa knew better than to treat her as such. After all, it would be ungrateful of him to be rude towards the woman who had practically raised him from childhood.
"Happy again, I see." He replied, voice flat.
The lady sighed, and looked down for a moment, pressing a palm to her forehead. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked back up, this time with the hint of a smile on her face. Aside from the crows feet clawing at the corners of her eyes, she had a face that did little to reflect her thirty-seven years. "I'm sorry. I was simply worried." She admitted. "Welcome home, Vesa."
Vesa returned the smile with one that was just as small, but no less in meaning. "I'm happy to be back, Raiki." He said and gestured to the seat opposite him. "If there's anyone who doesn't need to stand on ceremony, it's you. Please, sit."
Raiki chuckled, shaking her head as she sat down. "There are very few people who must stand on ceremony with you, from what I've seen, so forgive me if I don't feel special." She paused for a moment, chewing her lip and glancing down at the table as if she was thinking carefully about what to say next. "A messenger from Hesey arrived while you were out."
"Are they finally giving me the men I asked for?" Vesa asked, scorn dripping from his words. Ever since he had taken up the mantle of marquess of Raikkavar, he had sent request after request to the capital, asking them for more ships to patrol the northern sea. He could deal with brigands on land, but pirates? He had only two warships, and even they were ageing and due for replacement.
"No," Raiki replied. "It's about Merriedge."
Vesa almost guffawed, but he settled for a scoff. "Unless I've been made the king of Merriedge while I was out, I don't see why I have to be informed about what's happening there."
Raiki leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest once again. "Don't play the fool, Vesa. You know full well what this is about." She said, eyes practically boring holes into Vesa's skull.
If there was one person who could make Vesa squirm, it was Raiki. Whether it was due to conditioning after years of being looked after by her, or if she was just simply that commanding, the fact remained that Vesa looked away from her gaze, covering his mouth with a hand to hide his scowl. After a moment, he looked back at her, and leaning over the table, he said in a slow and measured voice, "I said no the last time, and I'm saying no again. How can I leave Raikkavar now, of all times? You and I both know that Autumn is when the raids are at their worst. I'm needed here."
"You have Okkava, or Saka, or Oiskavin, or any number of officers you know you an rely on." Raiki replied, the frustration in her voice building with each word. However, at the end of her sentence, she let out a sigh, and looked at Vesa with a slight, almost wistful, smile on her face. "You're too much like your father. He always did like to handle things himself, as well."
"Best way to make sure things go according to plan," Vesa replied and leaned back in his seat, looking off to the side.
Raiki sighed. "You need an heir, Vesa. If you want to keep riding into battle, I can't stop you, but please, at least have someone you can pass your title on to."
At that, Vesa grimaced. Whether he liked it or not, Raiki was right. Having an heir was never something that Vesa had put much thought into, and whenever he did, it was always something he thought he could do later in his life. However, how many times has his life been in danger? There were simply too many incidences to count, too many times when a stray bullet or careless swing of the sword could have cost him his life. Of course, he could always do as his father did, and sire a bastard, but there was no telling how the other Burlian royals would react to having the bastard of a bastard be among their ranks. Vesa knew from firsthand experience that a regular bastard was already not something they accepted easily.
"I'm not saying that you have to come back to Raikkavar with wife in hand," Raiki said, though her words did not quite register in Vesa's head. "But at least try, Vesa."
What would happen if he indeed died on the battlefield during the next skirmish? Without a successor, it was highly likely that one of the neighbouring lords would simply absorb Raikkavar into their territory, and who knows how they would treat the people. Who knows if they would even bother with dealing with the roving bands of pirates and brigands terrorising the border settlements. Of course, there was just as much a chance of Raikkavar falling under the rule of a noble who would treat the people well and deal with raids, but that was not something Vesa wanted to leave to something as fickle as chance.
"Vesa?"
With a sigh, Vesa looked back at Raiki. "Alright," He said with a nod. "For the sake of Raikkavar, I'll go."
A good month later, Vesa found himself on the unfamiliar streets of Merriedge. The bustling crowds were certainly something that he was not used to, and something that discomforted him. He doubted that the entire population of his march could even come close to matching that of Belchester. That said nothing of the glances he received as he rode down the cobblestone streets, the hooves of his mount clacking against the smooth flagstones with every step. A Burlian might not necessarily be something to gawk at, but Vesa supposed that a Burlian in a soldier's uniform might be a little eye-catching. Still, the attention did not sit well with him.
Prior to his departure, Raiki had reminded him again and again that he was to wear his finest clothes during his first appearance at Belchester castle, but it appeared as if the Gods had other ideas. The fine clothes of soft fabrics and intricate designs were ill-suited for the rain, as light as it was, and that meant that Vesa had no choice but to wear his usual attire of a grey frock over grey pants, with grey gaiters cinching them tight around his calves and covering much of the brown of his boots. The only splash of colour on him came from the light brown waist and shoulder belts, and the dark blue band around the crown of his hat.
Vesa gave a silent thanks to the Gods. Fine clothes never did suit him, he found, and he felt quite certain that they would have been rather uncomfortable as riding wear. Still, he did make sure to shave himself cleanly that morning. Even though he looked like a soldier, Vesa was aware of etiquette enough to make sure he looked like well-groomed soldier.
If the city had not been enough to give Vesa a shock, the castle certainly did. The size of the castle notwithstanding, just the fountain alone was far more lavish and decorated than anything he had ever seen before. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could not recall the last time he had even seen a fountain. Such decorations were just unheard of in the bitter north. Then, he saw the carriages as he reached the castle's front doors. Each of the intricately decorated vehicles simply exuded regality. Vesa almost felt a slight sense of shame tug at his heart as he rode alongside them on his plain, brown horse.
That sense did not last long, however, as he found himself being amused by the memory of Raiki suggesting that he travel to Belchester by carriage. It was to add to his minuscule air of nobility, she had reasoned, but that idea was quickly dismissed in light of the horrible road conditions caused by the autumn mud, much to Vesa's delight. There was nothing quite like riding on horseback, as far as he was concerned. It also made him feel much better to ride alongside the men making up his personal escort, though he had long since left that escort back in a town just outside of Belchester. A group of armed Burlians might have otherwise caused unnecessary alarm in the city.
Vesa pulled back on the reins gently as he reached the front doors, and dismounted once his steed had come to a complete halt. Almost immediately, a servant came running out to take the reins from his hands. "Thank you," Vesa said with a tip of his hat, and was about to step inside the castle when the servant called for him.
"S-Sir!"
Vesa turned around, and his heart almost plunged when he saw that he had a carbine hanging from his saddle. Though that certainly explained the glances he got from the people during his ride through the city, the revelation gave him little comfort. He felt very certain that he had removed the weapon the previous night, in preparation for today's earlier-than-normal start. He groaned inwardly; his best guess was that muscle memory got the better of him, and he had fixed the carbine to his saddle during his early morning grogginess.
He cleared his throat. "Yes," He said and walked back to his horse, removing the carbine and slinging it on his back. "Apologies, I must have forgotten."
"It's no problem, sir." The servant replied, a smile coming back to his face.
Vesa gave him one last nod of acknowledgement before looking back to the gates of the castle. He drew in a deep breath, and took his first step inside. The interior was just as awe-inspiring as the exterior, although Vesa had to admit, such a display of opulence and splendour made him feel more than a little uneasy.
He shook his head to clear it. There was time to examine Merriedgean architecture later. For now, he had to find his way to the ballroom.
It was hellish. Bloody and muddy corpses were strewn all over, with some more intact than others. Discarded weapons laid half-buried in the autumn mud, their blades stained with dried blood, or muzzles blackened from repeated firing. Looking down, just beyond the snout of his mount, Vesa could see a headless corpse with a puddle of blood pooling around where the head should have been. It disturbed him very little, and in fact, the scene did not disturb Vesa as much as the smell. After all, none of the corpses were wearing the dark grey uniform of his soldiers.
Still, despite the ease of the battle, Vesa knew that he had to count his blessings. It was one thing to fight a roving ground of bandits raiding one of his border villages, but it was quite another to fight them on their home turf, in their own camp, after a long, arduous chase. Vesa had no love for criminals, but he had to admit, they fought bravely despite the odds being stacked against them. In the end, however, their spears, swords, and archaic firearms were bested by Vesa's men and their modern weapons.
The sound of approaching hooves from behind drew his attention, and he looked back over his shoulder. "Everything in order, Okkava?" He asked, his breathy voice betraying the fatigue he had hoped to hide.
If Okkava detected Vesa's tiredness, he did not show it. The captain was taller than most Burlians, but he was still almost half-a-head shorter than Vesa, though he more than made up for that with his bulk. He had a slight grin on his face, as if he were amused by all that was around him, but Vesa knew him long enough to know that the affable captain simply looked that way. "Aye, sir." The captain replied with a nod, and tipped his hat in a belated salute. "Prisoners're all rounded up, though I say we best be off soon. Stonians aren't going to like us coming in uninvited."
Vesa frowned slightly. It was true; they had crossed the border some miles back, but Vesa highly doubted any self-respecting lord would sally out to confront anyone who was practically doing them a favour. Still, it was best to be cautious. "Agreed. I will address the prisoners, and then we shall ride for Raikkavar."
"Right this way, sir." Okkava said and pulled on his reins, turning his steed around. Vesa followed suit, and the two rode side-by-side through the battlefield. Occasionally, they passed a heap of charred rubble, or a crumpled sheets of canvas surrounded by wooden stakes. Both marked where a tent once stood, and as they rode through the battlefield, the two men passed easily a dozen of such markers.
The prisoners had been separated into two groups. One group was on their knees, wrists bound behind their backs, and were surrounded by a group of Vesa's men. The other, more curiously, contained both women and children, neither of whom looked like your typical brigand. They huddled close to one another beneath the paltry shade provided by a rocky outcrop. "Hostages?" Vesa asked, glancing at Okkava momentarily.
"Looks like," Okkava replied, and cleared his throat. "The lads found them in several tents. Some bound, some not."
"Our people?"
"Aye," Okkava said with a nod. "Mostly Stonians, though, and one or two merchants from elsewhere."
Vesa nodded slowly. "Right. Give them food and water if you haven't already. Those who wish to come with us may do so when we leave, except the Stonians. Point them in the direction of the nearest castle, and leave them some supplies for the journey." He paused, and looked at Okkava. "No one can say we abducted any of Stonia's people."
Okkava nodded. "Aye, sir. Got it."
With that, the captain peeled off to pass on Vesa's orders. The marquess carried on for a little while longer, and stopped in front of the row of kneeling prisoners. With an impassive face, he looked over all of them, running his blue eyes over each of them in turn. Though they were all caked in layers of dirt, mud, and perhaps even blood, Vesa could tell that none of them looked to be beyond thirty years-old. The youngest might have been even below twenty. "I will make this quick," Vesa said curtly. "You have all committed great crimes against the people of Raikkavar, and as their protector, I should have the lot of you drowned in the northern sea."
He paused for a moment, looking over the prisoners once more. Some looked scared, but others still appeared defiant. "However, I believe that all not all of you would have chosen to be brigands had you any other choice, and so I offer you a chance for redemption. Serve the people of my march as labourers, and you shall be released to do as you see fit, no questions asked. It may take years, but you have my word as marquess that when your term of service ends, you shall be released."
One of the prisoners spat on the ground, and glared up at him. "That's fucking slavery!"
"Call it what you wish," Vesa said dismissively. "But I will not make the same offer twice. Those of you who wish take it, make yourselves known."
Almost immediately, the youngest of the prisoners spoke up. "M-Me!"
Vesa nodded, and looked to one of the guards. "Unbind him and get him up." He said, then looked back to the prisoners. "Anyone else?"
One by one, four more voiced their acquiescence. The remaining prisoners, however, were all still unmoved, their faces filled with defiance and anger. It was a look Vesa knew quite well, and he was not at all perturbed by it. "This is your last chance. Anyone else?" He called out.
No one moved.
Vesa nodded, then looked to his guards once more. "Kill the rest," He said brusquely, as if he were discussing nothing more than the weather. When he looked back to the prisoners, all of them had shock written across their faces. Perhaps they had believed that they would be carted back to Raikkavar for sentencing, and that they might have time to plan some sort of escape. If that were the case, Vesa was more than happy to prove them wrong. Now, several of the prisoners began to cry out, voicing their desire to take up Vesa's offer, but he simply ignored them. It would simply be improper of him to go back on his word. "Make it quick," Vesa said, shouting above the clamour of the prisoners. "We move once they're dead."
Without another word, Vesa pulled on the reins of his horse and rode away, just as the first of many gunshots rang out.
The residence of Raikkavar's marquess was far from luxurious. Built from the same wood that made up most other north Burlian houses, and built in roughly the same, two-floored style, it simply looked like a larger version of the average home. Were it not for the banners hanging on either side of the entrance, each emblazoned with the coat-of-arms of Raikkavar, or the short flight of stairs leading up to the large, double doors, the house could have been mistaken for the residence of someone who was merely wealthy.
Vesa felt the comforting warmth of a roaring hearth greet him as he stepped through the front doors of his home. After a long hard ride through the northern cold, the heat felt like a quilt gently wrapping itself around him. He eschewed the throne - which was only a throne in name, if he had to be very honest - and took his seat at one of the tables on either side of the long, rectangular room, facing the hearth. Vesa had fond memories of hiding at a corner of the room while his father held court, giggling whenever a presumptuous village elder mistook casualness with laxness, and thus earning the ire of his father.
"Back from your hunt, then?" A woman's voice drew Vesa back to the present, and he looked up to see a lady standing on the other side of the table, her arms crossed and a displeased look on her face. She was dressed simply, wearing a plain, blue dress underneath a grey jacket. Though she dressed like a servant, and technically was one, Vesa knew better than to treat her as such. After all, it would be ungrateful of him to be rude towards the woman who had practically raised him from childhood.
"Happy again, I see." He replied, voice flat.
The lady sighed, and looked down for a moment, pressing a palm to her forehead. Drawing in a deep breath, she looked back up, this time with the hint of a smile on her face. Aside from the crows feet clawing at the corners of her eyes, she had a face that did little to reflect her thirty-seven years. "I'm sorry. I was simply worried." She admitted. "Welcome home, Vesa."
Vesa returned the smile with one that was just as small, but no less in meaning. "I'm happy to be back, Raiki." He said and gestured to the seat opposite him. "If there's anyone who doesn't need to stand on ceremony, it's you. Please, sit."
Raiki chuckled, shaking her head as she sat down. "There are very few people who must stand on ceremony with you, from what I've seen, so forgive me if I don't feel special." She paused for a moment, chewing her lip and glancing down at the table as if she was thinking carefully about what to say next. "A messenger from Hesey arrived while you were out."
"Are they finally giving me the men I asked for?" Vesa asked, scorn dripping from his words. Ever since he had taken up the mantle of marquess of Raikkavar, he had sent request after request to the capital, asking them for more ships to patrol the northern sea. He could deal with brigands on land, but pirates? He had only two warships, and even they were ageing and due for replacement.
"No," Raiki replied. "It's about Merriedge."
Vesa almost guffawed, but he settled for a scoff. "Unless I've been made the king of Merriedge while I was out, I don't see why I have to be informed about what's happening there."
Raiki leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest once again. "Don't play the fool, Vesa. You know full well what this is about." She said, eyes practically boring holes into Vesa's skull.
If there was one person who could make Vesa squirm, it was Raiki. Whether it was due to conditioning after years of being looked after by her, or if she was just simply that commanding, the fact remained that Vesa looked away from her gaze, covering his mouth with a hand to hide his scowl. After a moment, he looked back at her, and leaning over the table, he said in a slow and measured voice, "I said no the last time, and I'm saying no again. How can I leave Raikkavar now, of all times? You and I both know that Autumn is when the raids are at their worst. I'm needed here."
"You have Okkava, or Saka, or Oiskavin, or any number of officers you know you an rely on." Raiki replied, the frustration in her voice building with each word. However, at the end of her sentence, she let out a sigh, and looked at Vesa with a slight, almost wistful, smile on her face. "You're too much like your father. He always did like to handle things himself, as well."
"Best way to make sure things go according to plan," Vesa replied and leaned back in his seat, looking off to the side.
Raiki sighed. "You need an heir, Vesa. If you want to keep riding into battle, I can't stop you, but please, at least have someone you can pass your title on to."
At that, Vesa grimaced. Whether he liked it or not, Raiki was right. Having an heir was never something that Vesa had put much thought into, and whenever he did, it was always something he thought he could do later in his life. However, how many times has his life been in danger? There were simply too many incidences to count, too many times when a stray bullet or careless swing of the sword could have cost him his life. Of course, he could always do as his father did, and sire a bastard, but there was no telling how the other Burlian royals would react to having the bastard of a bastard be among their ranks. Vesa knew from firsthand experience that a regular bastard was already not something they accepted easily.
"I'm not saying that you have to come back to Raikkavar with wife in hand," Raiki said, though her words did not quite register in Vesa's head. "But at least try, Vesa."
What would happen if he indeed died on the battlefield during the next skirmish? Without a successor, it was highly likely that one of the neighbouring lords would simply absorb Raikkavar into their territory, and who knows how they would treat the people. Who knows if they would even bother with dealing with the roving bands of pirates and brigands terrorising the border settlements. Of course, there was just as much a chance of Raikkavar falling under the rule of a noble who would treat the people well and deal with raids, but that was not something Vesa wanted to leave to something as fickle as chance.
"Vesa?"
With a sigh, Vesa looked back at Raiki. "Alright," He said with a nod. "For the sake of Raikkavar, I'll go."
A good month later, Vesa found himself on the unfamiliar streets of Merriedge. The bustling crowds were certainly something that he was not used to, and something that discomforted him. He doubted that the entire population of his march could even come close to matching that of Belchester. That said nothing of the glances he received as he rode down the cobblestone streets, the hooves of his mount clacking against the smooth flagstones with every step. A Burlian might not necessarily be something to gawk at, but Vesa supposed that a Burlian in a soldier's uniform might be a little eye-catching. Still, the attention did not sit well with him.
Prior to his departure, Raiki had reminded him again and again that he was to wear his finest clothes during his first appearance at Belchester castle, but it appeared as if the Gods had other ideas. The fine clothes of soft fabrics and intricate designs were ill-suited for the rain, as light as it was, and that meant that Vesa had no choice but to wear his usual attire of a grey frock over grey pants, with grey gaiters cinching them tight around his calves and covering much of the brown of his boots. The only splash of colour on him came from the light brown waist and shoulder belts, and the dark blue band around the crown of his hat.
Vesa gave a silent thanks to the Gods. Fine clothes never did suit him, he found, and he felt quite certain that they would have been rather uncomfortable as riding wear. Still, he did make sure to shave himself cleanly that morning. Even though he looked like a soldier, Vesa was aware of etiquette enough to make sure he looked like well-groomed soldier.
If the city had not been enough to give Vesa a shock, the castle certainly did. The size of the castle notwithstanding, just the fountain alone was far more lavish and decorated than anything he had ever seen before. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could not recall the last time he had even seen a fountain. Such decorations were just unheard of in the bitter north. Then, he saw the carriages as he reached the castle's front doors. Each of the intricately decorated vehicles simply exuded regality. Vesa almost felt a slight sense of shame tug at his heart as he rode alongside them on his plain, brown horse.
That sense did not last long, however, as he found himself being amused by the memory of Raiki suggesting that he travel to Belchester by carriage. It was to add to his minuscule air of nobility, she had reasoned, but that idea was quickly dismissed in light of the horrible road conditions caused by the autumn mud, much to Vesa's delight. There was nothing quite like riding on horseback, as far as he was concerned. It also made him feel much better to ride alongside the men making up his personal escort, though he had long since left that escort back in a town just outside of Belchester. A group of armed Burlians might have otherwise caused unnecessary alarm in the city.
Vesa pulled back on the reins gently as he reached the front doors, and dismounted once his steed had come to a complete halt. Almost immediately, a servant came running out to take the reins from his hands. "Thank you," Vesa said with a tip of his hat, and was about to step inside the castle when the servant called for him.
"S-Sir!"
Vesa turned around, and his heart almost plunged when he saw that he had a carbine hanging from his saddle. Though that certainly explained the glances he got from the people during his ride through the city, the revelation gave him little comfort. He felt very certain that he had removed the weapon the previous night, in preparation for today's earlier-than-normal start. He groaned inwardly; his best guess was that muscle memory got the better of him, and he had fixed the carbine to his saddle during his early morning grogginess.
He cleared his throat. "Yes," He said and walked back to his horse, removing the carbine and slinging it on his back. "Apologies, I must have forgotten."
"It's no problem, sir." The servant replied, a smile coming back to his face.
Vesa gave him one last nod of acknowledgement before looking back to the gates of the castle. He drew in a deep breath, and took his first step inside. The interior was just as awe-inspiring as the exterior, although Vesa had to admit, such a display of opulence and splendour made him feel more than a little uneasy.
He shook his head to clear it. There was time to examine Merriedgean architecture later. For now, he had to find his way to the ballroom.