Eager to commemorate their journey and the beginning of their shared path as comrades, they gathered at the Broken Arrow Inn with hopes to forge stronger bonds before venturing into their next chapter as knight candidates.
The innkeeper Wilbur Bregast, ready to deliver their drinks and hearty meals, cast a proud gaze upon the neatly dressed young men seated across from each other before speaking up.
"For the knight aspirant Ismeth Crimsongale, a fine vintage Moryl wine from the distant west and a well-done charcoal-blackened steak, cooked to perfection," Bregast announced, turning to the tall man seated at his left, his face contorting with displeasure.
The dark-skinned man prodded his steak with his fork, noticing its rock-hard texture. For a brief moment, a hint of distaste flickered across his face. He suspected that his colleague sitting opposite him had influenced the innkeeper to change his order, evident by the gratuity exchanged. He understood the crude jest aimed at his skin color, but he chose not to protest. Nothing could dampen his spirits today.
"Now you can be absolutely certain that the cow is truly dead, Ismeth!" exclaimed the fair-haired young man seated directly opposite, his noble gaze piercing.
In that moment, the innkeeper approached, extending the order to the fair-haired youth.
"For Derek O'Derylson, a Deryl wine from his homeland, and a well-done, well, let's say, juicy steak," the innkeeper presented.
"Your steak is somewhat less refined than a cheap whore's, Derek," Ismeth interjected, and they all erupted in laughter.
Derek forced a contrived, lopsided grin, though the jest stung him. As a member of the esteemed Deryl lineage, it was challenging for Derek to tolerate mockery from someone of lower birth like Ismeth.
Perceiving Derek's readiness to escalate the conversation, Elphered, the man with a dusky complexion, seated beside him, exercised caution and imparted his counsel to his companions. "Gentlemen, let us allow Bregast to tend to his duties. He has other patrons who require his service."
Derek and Ismeth shared a knowing glance, affirming their understanding, and offered a nod in unison. They held Elphered's wisdom in deep regard and redirected their focus to their meals, savoring the harmonious blend of flavors. And their faint hope for a bond of camaraderie permeated the atmosphere.
Today was a day of revelry, and regardless of their disparities, they were resolute in their determination to commemorate the occasion together.
"In honor of Elphered Gallantstone, a South Galantry malt beer and a serving of pork pastrami from his homeland," the innkeeper announced, extending the order to the dark-skinned man seated beside Derek.
"Now, here's a man who appreciates the offerings of his homeland," Derek remarked, raising his glass in a toast.
"Hold on, we're not done yet," Ismeth interjected, and the innkeeper continued his presentation.
"And lastly, for our esteemed pride of the region, Brad Silverhilt. Despite Brad's denial, a bear-slaying wine from the Dunhar region and a prime rib of a boar that swam in its own juices, causing the fire to flee at the mere sight of it."
A cold smile appeared on the broad face of the burly man, whose shoulder width was at least one and a half times that of the other three seated at the table. Ismeth suspected that Derek was behind this alteration in the order too.
"It appears that some still underestimates the Brad I know. Many knights in training have tried and failed to match his prowess," Ismeth emphasized. He gave Derek a mocking glance and swiftly rose to his feet. Standing at nearly six feet five inches tall, maybe more, he towered over the table, his dark complexion contrasting with the gleaming teeth in his wide grin. He raised his bottle in the air.
"The sacred circle is complete. Now we can drink until the bottom is reached. I raise my glass, or rather, my bottle, to the four Illuen Knight aspirants sitting at this table, including myself, who will embark on patrol duty tomorrow," Ismeth proclaimed with fervor and pride.
"A level below the lowest," Derek grumbled, discontentment evident in his tone, as he raised his glass.
"Every duty is important, Derek. Remember that Knighthood is a sacred calling," Elphered, the quiet but powerful figure, his long dark hair framing his face, objected.
Brad's gaze fixed on Elphered, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, Gallantstone. We must be vigilant and always strive to do our best in service to the Kingdom of Light."
Derek's tone softened as he raised his glass. "Then let us drink to the free peoples of the Kingdom of Light," he said, his voice filled with reverence.
Ismeth turned to Brad, the burly man sitting next to him. "And what do you toast to, my friend?"
Brad surveyed his fellow knights with a stoic gaze, his piercing brown eyes scanning their faces one by one. Then he softened, revealing a rare smile. "To brothers in arms," he replied, raising his bottle in a silent salute.
The others at the table echoed his sentiment, their bottles clinking together in a moment of camaraderie. The night was still young, and they had countless tales to share before the dawn.
"We're partners now, Brad," declared Ismeth, his voice imbued with a resolute tone. "For better or worse, we're in this together. Until death do us part." He laughed then, a sound like crunching gravel that grated on Brad's nerves.
"We didn't promise to get hitched, Ismeth," quipped Brad, attempting to lighten the mood. "We're just patrolling together."
Ismeth snickered. "You're full without drinking, tinned hilt," he taunted, poking fun at Brad's surname.
In a swift, fluid motion, Brad twisted Ismeth's wrist, his grip unbreakable. He glared at the other knight, his eyes ablaze with fury. "Never make fun of my last name again, Ismeth," he growled, his voice low and menacing.
Ismeth winced, his wrist throbbing where Brad had just gripped him brutally. Despite his penchant for testing boundaries with his jokes, he moslty knew when he had overstepped his bounds. He shook his head, regret etched on his face. Since the first day they met, Brad had always been intolerant of disrespect, and Ismeth had no intention of tempting him any further.
The other two knight candidates at the table played ignorant, feigning indifference to the argument. It was their day, and they wouldn't let a minor disagreement ruin the celebration. They continued their revelry, exchanging laughs and banter as if nothing had happened.
Ismeth's impression of their training supervisor, Captain Percy Marveltov, was uncanny as he mimicked the man's mannerisms and intoned, "Without intelligence, there can be no victory. Combat and communication are inseparable."
"Aye, old Percy loved to hear himself talk," Ismeth remarked. "But seriously, what is our mission?" he asked his companions.
"We shall safeguard the people with tenderness. We'll cuddle them like a puppy," Derek quipped.
Ismeth continued, "And occasionally, we'll have to knock a few heads to keep the thieves at bay."
"Dare I ask, Ismeth, how often have you faced off against thieving scoundrels in the tapestry of your life?" Derek inquired with a mischievous glint in his eye.
"And pray tell, Derek, how many battles of true mettle have you graced with your presence?" Ismeth parried back, his words laced with a sly challenge.
Once again, anger dyed Derek's countenance a fiery hue. "I bear the blood of the Derylson lineage, Ismeth. We stand as the vigilant guardians of the border province, the vanguard against the marauding hordes of orcish and goblin ilk, emerging from the shadowed realm of the southwestern lands."
"If ever the fates decree an encounter with an orc or goblin, I'm sure that you will..." Ismeth's voice trailed off as he succumbed to uncontrollable mirth, his laughter echoing through the chamber.
"Hold your tongues, esteemed gentlemen," Elphered interjected, his instincts warning him that Ismeth's jest threatened to traverse treacherous terrain. Turning to Brad, he posed a question, laden with curiosity. "What say you, Brad? Should the fates conspire to bring these two face-to-face with a true orc wielding a gleaming axe, how would they fare in such an encounter?"
Brad's lips curved into a serene smile, followed by a solemn shake of his head, expressing a resolute negation.
"Dare ye ever engaged in combat with those diabolical entities, Brad?" Derek inquired, his curiosity mounting.
Brad bowed his head, his response tinged with uncertainty. "I have faced off against different demons," he replied, his tone laden with ambivalence.
"In the realm of Temple Knight training, perchance?" Derek queried further.
Observing the stern nod of Brad's head, a gesture Ismeth had witnessed several times before when tension coiled within Brad, he interjected, "Nay, Derek, clad in the guise of a drill sergeant," and erupted into raucous laughter.
Derek's countenance soured, signaling an end to the conversation. Meanwhile, Ismeth continued his jesting remarks regarding their forthcoming duties. When Elphered grew weary of the jests and japes, he stepped in, reminding Ismeth earnestly of the knight's code they embraced.