"Staring holes into that fire won't light up your non-existent sense of humor" says his employer, smirking with his missing tooth. Employer, the thought alone makes him sick. He's a mercenary crossbowman from Arlon gate, supposedly been transporting goods through the edges of Altena Forest for nearly a decade now. Considering the avoidance of popular trade routes and how dangerous the forest has become as of late, the cargo probably isn't something normal like grain or cloth. Harold didn't bother to ask. His employer's name or what the cargo is, it's not his business, not anymore at least. Not since father…
"Hmph, won't even bother speaking huh? I swear, if I had to spend more than 3 days travelling with you I'd be permanently crippled by boredom".
"Yeah" is all Harold has to say.
"Well, if you're gonna be like that then I might as well hit the hay. You take the first watch, wake me up in four hours and we'll rotate. We're moving at the first sign of light, if the weather holds we'll reach our destination by the afternoon, you'll get your pay then" he says.
"Sure"
The crossbowman looks at him for a moment before scoffing and going to his tent.
Harold could only sigh as he ruffled his hair. Once called the most charming knight of the academy, can't even keep a smuggler entertained. What a sorry sight he was, his brilliant golden hair resembling a dirty blonde. Small bags had formed under his eyes from a lack of sleep and rust was beginning to edge into his armor, even his helmet wasn't spared.
Harold, a man (boy) born barely 19 years ago. Third son of a duke, from a young age he was taught to be a proper noble, to bring glory to his house. Sent off to an academy upon reaching 15. A place where secondary children of noble houses prepare for their future as knights, bureaucrats, advisors and mages.
Until recently, someone whose life was a perfect example of aristocratic elegance. So how did he end up here? Sitting in front of a campfire while calling a low life of society his employer. Sleeping in the wilderness like an animal, escorting a wagon that in all likelihood held cargo of questionable origin. All for a few pieces of silver. He'd have fed himself to the ants had his peers at the academy seen him like this.
Even now he felt a tugging sensation at the back of his mind. Just go back and apologize to father, go back home and stop wasting time on this senseless rebellion, he was long past that age. This wasn't how a son from the house of Lyons should be acting.
He continues to struggle to push such thoughts out of his mind while settling down for his watch. It was cold, wet and uncomfortable and his steel plate harness certainly wasn't helping. He'd have taken it off, but he didn't trust the mercenary to not rob him. If he lost his harness, he'd likely be forced to go back to his family begging.
No, neglecting his harness was unacceptable. It was the only thing that could allow him to pull through. He suddenly felt like a fool for allowing it to rust. Next week, he promises himself. Next week he'll scrub all the rust off and oil it properly (he ignores that he made the same promise a week before).
With him mulling over his depressive mood, his shift seems to end in a flash. The mercenary takes up watch and Harold goes to sleep while dreaming of days that somehow feel distant and seem so near at the same time. Mornings spent with teachers of poetry, history and mathematics. Afternoons learning etiquette and swordsmanship, long evenings riding across his family's estate.
He dreams of how it all came crashing down because of some pointless argument.
With unpleasant dreams filling his nights, day light couldn't have come sooner, and after a short breakfast the pair of them were moving once more. Harold drives the wagon while Harold follows on his horse, occasionally scanning the perimeter to make sure they don't get jumped.
The mercenary tries to make some small talk, apparently his name is Vannol, before giving up after realizing that Harold is determined to ignore him as much as possible. After that it's silent, with only the sound of tapping hooves and rolling wheels to accompany them. Harold didn't notice that the forests was far too quiet, it wasn't natural.
It was just a few minutes away from their destination when Harold heard something else, the scuttling of small feet. He sees them a moment after. "Army ants!" Vannol yells as he rushes to load his crossbow.
Realizing they've been detected, a dozen giant army ants rush out of the forest foliage. Harold dismounts his horse to meet them head on. He can't reach them with his sword while on a mount. He suddenly regrets not grabbing his lance when he left home.
*THWACK* a crossbow bolt hits one of the ants straight in the head, killing it instantly. "Don't let them reach the horses!" his employer yells. Harold nods before charging. The army ants are quite large, if they were to stand on their rear end they'd reach his shoulders. It was his first time seeing one in person.
Nonetheless, swinging a sword at an ant and a human isn't so different. His first swing takes one of their heads clean off. He chains his swing into a thrust and kills a second one. Their exoskeletons are tough, but no match for enchanted steel befitting the son of a duke. The ants attempt to bite his arms with their sharp mandibles, but Harold's been training with a sword since he could run. His stance is formidable, and he keeps just enough distance to not get swarmed while still being close enough to attack his foes.
Harold has to admit, the crossbowman is certainly a sharpshooter. In a short period of time two more bolts find their targets, killing one and disabling the other. Harold seizes the opportunity; three quick thrusts kill three more foes. It was only a moment later that he realized his mistake. He had overcommitted in the heat of battle while there were still four more foes remaining, he's surrounded.
One of the ants takes hold of his right arm from behind. It can't pierce plate but the unoiled, rusted surface of his armor serve to make it near impossible to break free from its grip. He only has a moment to curse his foolishness before one of the other ants takes locks his leg in its jaws and trips him to the ground. A third ant takes hold of his helmet and tries to bite through it. Harold thought he could hear yelling, but everything was lost in a haze of noise as mandibles met steel.
With strength fueled by desperation Harold draws the knife on his waist and stabs, the ringing suddenly stops. He gets up to see Vannol engaging two of the remaining ants while the other lies on the ground with a bolt stuck in its head. The man is by no means a slouch with a blade but with only a gambeson and a buckler to protect him he won't last long. Uncontrolled rage welling up from within Harold completely forgets his sword and tackles one of the ants.
The moment he took hold of his enemy, it felt like a dam that's been building up his entire life burst. One, two, three, four… Again and again he hits it in the head, again and again steel gauntlets meet exoskeleton. It almost feels cathartic in a way, to unleash his anger in such an unrestrained manner. With no worry for honor or glory. There was room only for the struggle of survival. With a yell, the seventh strike caves in its skull. He almost laughs out loud before he finally regains control of his emotions and reminds himself of how improper that would be.
Harold throws his helmet away and lays on the ground there, panting, once again wondering how he ended up here. Feeling satisfied for having caved in a creature's skull when he should've been training and learning at the academy.
Vannol lets out a boisterous laugh as he approaches. "Here I was thinking I was travelling with some disgraced snob, turns out he's more savage than any bandit I've ever met!" he holds out his hand, offering to help Harold up.
"I'm not disgraced! I…I chose to leave. And I'm the son of the duke of house Lyon! We're no snobs" Harold says defensively.
"Ha! If sons of dukes were so willing to cave in an ant's skull with their bare hands then these bastards would've run from the frontier long before I was born!" Despite himself, Harold couldn't help but chuckle at those words. He takes Vannol's hand. "I suppose Harold the exterminator does have a nice ring to it"
"Heh, so you can speak after all, here I was thinking I hired the first autonomous golem. But exterminator sounds far too impressive, I like Harold the 'brute' much better".
Vannol's face suddenly turn serious "But to see army ants so close to the frontier, things have truly gone to shit in Altena ever since that goatfucker Joachim slaughtered the elves"
"That was 6 years ago, was it? I believe it was at Arlon gate. Isn't Joachim's involvement in the incident still under investigation by the frontier council?" Harold asks.
Vannol scoffs "Complete farce is what it is, ever since the elven clans were shattered Altena has become a no-man's land. The fact that army ants are so close to the walls is proof enough of that. The council is delaying his execution because they can't find anyone capable enough to deal with the situation, and as much as it pains me to say it, Joachim is about as competent as you can get when it comes to holding the frontier walls against the hordes." Vannol sighs.
"Enough about politics and atrocities. More of the little bastards might swarm if they realize their scouting party got slaughtered. Less likely if they were to just disappear. I'll give you half your pay now, you stay here and burn the corpses. I'll deliver these goods to their buyer and hopefully we can put some distance between ourselves and the swarm before nightfall" Vannol says as he gets into the wagon.
Harold eyes him with suspicion. "You sure you won't bolt?". The mercenary laughs "Why do you think I hired you in the first place? Unfortunately, I like living and I'd be as helpless as a dwarf in water if I encountered a scouting party like that by myself. What would I do without Sir Harold the 'brute' to protect my maidenly self". He doesn't miss the emphasis on his supposed new title. "Trust in my self preservation and wait here, I'll be back within an hour. You're not allowed to know our meeting place anyway."
Harold reluctantly nods and gets to work on dealing with the corpses. It's certainly not an enviable job. The smell is worse than any peasant latrine and he struggled to get a big enough fire going without any oil. After an hour of gagging and more questioning of his life choices he had all the ants burning in a big pile. Ant flesh looked terrible and smelled ten times worse, he had to wonder how the wall garrison dealt with incursions. He refused to believe that any guard would be willing to put up with this on the regular
"Still alive Harold?" Vannol smirks as he approaches, now with a much emptier wagon.
"Barely" replies Harold with a green face. Vannol chuckles "Don't worry, you never get used to the smell, nor do you forget it. It's a lifelong companion for anyone living on the frontier. Know that you're now forever bound to the fine aroma of the devils' taint, truly exquisite stuff I tell ya" Harold could feel himself dying a little inside with each passing word. But he finds it in himself to smile nonetheless, he had just won his first serious battle, he had proven he had what it takes to survive and maybe even thrive.
He'd grimace, looking back upon these thoughts, thriving on the frontier had a very different connotation than that of his homeland.