"You nearly killed me boy!" Sir Bjorn hissed at Soren when the fight ended after a long hard-fought rally.
Soren pulled the silver helmet off and grinned "It's not my fault you don't like wearing helmets during our sessions," he said with a wave of dismissal.
"I've spent the last 15 years, training you. I will not have it end with a moment of your carelessness Frode."
Sir Bjorn walked up to Soren and put a hand on his shoulder, the smell of charcoal and soot giving Soren a sort of comfort he'd feel from smelling petroleum at a gas station.
"What's the motto of our banner Frode?" Sir Bjorn questioned, those green eyes boring into him searching for something.
Soren sifted through the memories in his head. Rolling his eyes "Learn. Serve and Respect"
Bjorn's eyes softened and he jabbed a finger at Soren's chest. "Exactly, respect is important my boy. Learn when to use force and when to hold back. That is how you will serve your lord best."
"Come, lets get this heavy armor off. A mighty performance you put out there lad, the people are impressed."
Soren smiled and followed Sir Bjorn back up to the Castle. He looked around wondering where he had be transported to. He saw a large fortified gatehouse looming over the cobblestone path leading to the castle. A drawbridge covering the moat, connecting the gatehouse to the path, along with a single tower facing the quaint town of Le Havre. Behind the castle was a sheer drop down to the edge of the ocean, a perfect defensive location.
Soren nodded with approval. Seems like a well-funded Barony under the Norman Duke. But I'll need a map to get a better understanding of our situation.
"Sir, do we have a map of use in the castle?" Soren inquired.
"Of course boy, what do we need a map for? More of your studying sessions?" Sir Bjorn chortled.
"If you spent as much time with the sword as your brothers, you'd be more popular among the folk, Frode."
"Ah but that's where you are wrong, Sir. Control of a barony and its people require more than just an iron fist." Soren clenched his glove to emphasise the point.
"That's only if you manage to get it in the first place, boy." Sir Bjorn gave Soren a side eye.
"Follow me, I'll take you to our war room. A map should be laid out over there."
Their boots clicked on the cobblestone as they made their way past the gatehouse and into the inner courtyard.
Soren stopped, noticing a looming fiery red haired figure dancing with two blades as he battled against three opponents, kicking the feet out of one person as he pivoted to block the blow of the second.
Sir Bjorn turned around to notice Soren's stare, "The bastard's at it again, Erik will never be seen dead without his swords."
Erik was the oldest brother of the family, a fanatic of the sword and a man of few words. Whatever he did say held a lot of respect and he was proported to be the next in line for the title. Only if Soren couldn't do something about that. An evil smirk broke across his face.
They peeled their eyes off the scene, staying long enough to let Erik know they'd been watching. Sir Bjorn kicked a door open and strode into the war room filled with weapons and souveniers hanging across the wall. A large wooden table that looked straight out of the movies stood at the center of the room. Soren's skin prickled in anticipation. History is what he loved, cartography and map making being very important components of it.
Sir Bjorn plucked a parchment from the stand and blew out the dust from the surface. Walking up to the table, he spread it across and slammed his hunting knife pinning it to the table.
"There we go Frode, we now have the kingdom of France at our disposal." Sir Bjorn lifted his arms up to present the map.
Soren walked up to it and took a deep breath as if to absorb everything on the map. Our barony was located on the port town of Le Havre, a key fishing and trade port for the French. Our Lord was Baron Harald, the conniving rotund ruler of our land and father to my brothers and I.
While the entire Barony was beholden to the Duke of Normandy, William the Conqueror, Soren got a shiver just thinking about his infamy.
Alright, enough fantasizing. He looked up. "Sir, I'll need help getting all this armor off."
"Where is that little bastard? GORM!!!" Sir Bjorn looked around and slammed the table.
Within seconds a wiry looking boy around 15 years old scurried into the room. "Yes Sir?!"
"Go help Frode get his armor off," he said with a wave of dismissal.
GORM swivelled over to Soren and bowed. "Mi lord, right this way."
Seeing Gorm's dirty blonde hair and wiry build gave Soren an idea. I'll need to know what my brothers are up to at all times and intercept any message that comes in and out of the castle. Who better than a wiry boy they'd saved from the streets nobody would ever notice!
An evil smirk once again broke out across his face. With my knowledge of history and lockpicking, I'll be unstoppable.
"Lead the way Gorm, I have a proposition for you."