With a head still in delirium and half in aching pain, Trent half dumped the bowl to the cleaning staff in a forceful manner. His short-temperedness was caused by one of his troublesome headaches and second of not having a good fill of food, but really what he had to eat was just some scraps left over undesired by hungry soldiers. Like the heels of the breads, the part of the bread that everyone touches but no one every wants them.
Trent regretfully dragged his body away from the bonfire as he feels his mental state was in no condition to keep himself awake. His sight occasionally reveals details that even he questions if he was still sane. The colours he perceived has a unnatural tin to it that suggests his brain's is no longer is working in optimal compacity.
Soldiers still buzzed with energy at their makeshift eating area. With the smell of burnt wood still lingering in the air, which redden Trent's eyes as the smoke entered his optical. Squinting and with measured steps, and a hand still knocking on his head to alleviate his pain, Trent left the light shrouded by the bonfire. He carefully avoided the clusters of men scattered around the area engaging in avid conversation, as well as the left-over tools that were left on the plain grassland uncared for.
The diminutive figure pardoned himself from the social exercising his comrade was engaging in, instead, he treads back to the tents located at the outskirt of the campsite.
It was a dark and desolate place, with no one in Trent's sight as it was still too early for sleep. His comrades were still enjoying the nightlife and their fair share of legendary tales. But for this below-average-sized man, his first cause of business was to find the tent he set up two days prior and get a good night's sleep.
The man wandered through the many different sized tents that his fellowman had set up, through the plain grassland field where they had set up site.
The man looked left, looked right, but when he recollected no memory of where he may have set up his humble tent, picked a random direction, and headed forth. His both arms wrapped around himself as he tried to calm his cold and shivering skin. In the distance, an owl howled to the moon, even though it was hidden behind the greyjoy clouds. Tents stacked liked fair mountains as Trent travelled between the little valley in between.
The joyous mood from his comrades emitted far enough for Trent to hear, the sounds of celebration lingered in the background of where Trent stood. Though he is sure that another half of the comrades are still sober and drunken by their misery and failure.
In light of this thought, Trent still discerned the cone geometric and simplistic tent that rested at the very outer edge of the campsite. A sigh of relief came from Trent as he finally arrived at his intended destination, the man crouched inside the tent.
Inside was decorated with a few things, his trusty longsword stored in his scabbard, his backpack rested in the corner of the tent, and his makeshift bed made out of spare clothing.
Makeshift, yet it oozed a vibe of home. Trent scrunched the pile of clothing together, roughing it up to a comfortable form before crashing head first in the pile of clothes.
"Ahh, sweet o- bed."
Trent drifted into his dormant state, his eyes wrinkled close as he wished to forget the headache that is still present.
The pain will be nothing more than a distant memory, disappearing once he drifts asleep.
However, before that could happen, voices in almost a whisper tickled Trent's ear
The sleeping midget couldn't quite discern what they were speaking, but he was undoubtedly annoyed by this little fly buzzing around him in his tent.
In annoyance, yet also as tiredness dulled his sense, Trent coughed his ears with his hands, hoping to shut out the voices. Yet this didn't accomplish much, as his keen senses still picked up on those pesty annoyances.
.
The horn of the destitute thundered in the middle of the night, being the largest contrast to the calm atmosphere at the campsite. – They have guests and one that is not of humble backgrounds.
Men of Hestanar dropped their bowls, their laughter dropped, and their cheery mood wiped off their faces as a tense reaction encompassed their senses.
The hand of the commander rested on his sword hilt, as he prepared to withdraw his longsword from the scabbard resting on his waist.
"We have guests." The commander muttered to the lord beside him
The lord nodded his head, and he carried a irked expression. No man, nor woman would dare to blow their horn so openly. The blowing of a horn is only used for formal usage, it's a matter of declaration, for ease of grabbing attention or those needing it. No soldiers in Kent's rank would do that, especially for fear of angering their lord.
It is the arrival of another, without a doubt one with high or formal status.
"And how we treat them?" The lord questioned, eyes darkened as his hands clasped tightly.
"We'll see." The commander replied, his head turned to the crowds of men long silent and awaiting orders, eyes looking fixated at their superiors.
The stern commander had his men prepared, ordering them to each collect their weapon of choice, some held spears, some held axes, some held swords. But each came prepared for conflicting situations if they ever occur.
Deryk led at the front, with the lord slightly behind. And behind the two major characters, a sea of men in arms followed closely. It was an impressive stand, one that is to show their might and to deter any sinister motives.
Men on fine and tamed horses resided on the outskirts of the campsite, there was a fair distance between the tends and the unknown visitors from afar. The lord looked at the distance, where each rider held a torch in their hand to light up their surroundings.
Each wore simple clothes, yet it covered their skin all but their eyes. It was a group numbered only a dozen, a relief as the strangers are far outnumbered by the men Kent has available in his rank.
The cluster of men looked roughly the same, each wore unkempt clothes that hinted at a lower social status, or their lack of concern for their wear, but even from a distance, the commander can tell a newborn from a mature. Like when a snake can sense one another, the same too can Deryk feel their aura, a demeanour when carried by those who have taken another's life.
"Those men… are not ordinary," Deryk whispered, hands covering his mouth out of fear of being overheard by the armed men behind him.
"How do we proceed?" The Lord said in a low voice, cautious as this is something he has completely not prepared for.
"We must know their motives," Deryk said, taking a deep breath.
"What if it harms us?" The Lord asked, still being cautious, his eyes looking straight forward, hands clasped against his waist.
"Then we must put an end to them." The commander replied.
The lord behind Deryk tensed as he took a step forward, but then snapped back as he looked at the worthy adversaries behind him. "Aren't you going with me?"
"I am nothing more than a representative, not the true leader. We are the ones that are attempting to befriend them, not the other way around. You must go alone for them to loosen up." Deryk explained.
"But you're no ordinary man." The Lord asked, giving him an amused look.
"No, I'm not," Deryk replied without thinking.
A laugh echoed out from behind him, but Kent didn't bother with the source of the voice. It would seem he must go alone, vulnerable to those men shrouded in mystery.
Nerved to the core, the lord took another step forward, hand sliding down his sword hilt.
The men on horses gathered in a neat role in the distance, they were visible as they were on the open plain, though the night hid their faces, their unmistakable and threatening aura was clear for anyone nearby.
Finally, when the lord was only a few metres from the outsiders, with his hand still on his sword hilt due to his nervousness. A rider in a slightly different outfit separated from the group, his eyes lifeless and without a single hint of joy as if this man in front of him has never learnt the meaning of happiness.
The man spoke up, his words carrying with an air of the utmost importance and authority. "I am Leowe of Witford, in service of House Giraudus. State your status and business."
"I do not wish to harm you." The Lord spoke nervously, but a challenge burned in his eyes.
"I do not wish to harm you either." The man behind Leowe stated with an air of serenity and arrogance.
"We will find out for ourselves." The Lord stated, the voice as soft as a whisper, yet the tone seemed like sarcasm at best.
Trent refocesed on what appears to be the leader of the riders, with a half confident tone he stated: "I am Kent Alfhard of Hestanar Town, Earl of Hickneth Land and all within. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The Lord did a slow bow after revealing his official title, though it carried a hint of ridicule as if teasing someone that has a lower status.
The armed men behind Leowe took another step forward, hand grasping his sword, ready to draw it as soon as their leader commanded.
"Ah. The Lech of Hestanar?" Leowe inquired, though he carried a sneer, belittling the lord's nickname.
Kent gritted his teeth, he was losing the flow of the conversation, not ideal in a diplomatic situation.
The lord disregarded the remark thrown at him, changing the subject. "With all due respect, we are not here to discuss our titles, are we?"
Leowe smirked, not replying to the lord's attempt to redirect the conversation.
Leowe cocked his head to the side, observing the group of men in the campsite for a few seconds before returning his attention to the lord. "There better be an explanation for this."
Kent offered his explanation in an impartial way. "We are doing nothing but a group bonding activity. I express my remorse if we have interrupted the peace maintained in House Giraudus's domain."
The leader was unaccepting of the truth, he scoffed at the explanation as he steered the horse a step closer.
"However, I am prepared to pay you a reward." The Lord replied with an air of confidence, even taking a few steps forward when it was least expected.
"Money for what?" Leowe responded, his aura of authority disappearing.
"A similar one to those men I have seen around, I am told that men do charitable deeds," Kent replied, a twinkle in his eye as he added the last statement as if to bring up some joke.
"You're not serious, are you?" Leowe asked, suddenly unable to conceal his hostility.
"Not at all. I'm paying you for a service. But one that you must keep your silence."
"Oh? What exactly is it you need my silence for?" Leowe asked.
"Well..." The Lord did an exaggerated sigh to show his disappointment, "you can't expect me to reveal it until we reach an agreement, can you."
Leowe seemed to have turned some sort of a purple hue around his face, his eyes widening in anticipation for the lord to reveal what he was waiting to know.
"I'm sorry, I can't. Though, you do not need my information. You have already earned your pay for it. The reward is for you to take." Kent said, before raising his hand and patting the man on the back.
In a whisper, ensuring that no other could hear them, "Meet me in Hestanar at the earliest of dawn, you can collect your sum there."