Hynes Family/Alois/Crusade2/RP12

He woke to the sound of waves crashing against the shore and the sounds of a military camp; The cursing and grunting of men working on menial tasks, busy work to keep them occupied. Snorting warhorses. The clatter of mock battle, wood on wood, as men prepared, physically and mentally, for the assault. The shouts of Captains as they drilled their units, inspecting their performances, berating the few who broke rank.

They were back on the Campaign after a short downtime for the tourney in Ibladesh, and everyone, from the lowliest Man-At-Arms to the bravest knight to the Highest Lord was eager for battle.

He stepped from his tent into the morning air, letting the warm sea breeze flow over him, stretched the soreness from the small of his back, trying to massage it out as he walked amongst the camp.

Small groups of men dotted the camp, men in brown-and-tan and blue-and-white checkered doublets mingling yet mostly staying apart. Men fletched arrows, sharpened daggers and spearpoints, borrowed equipment from each other. The few not working socializing. He caught pieces of conversations as he walked through camp. Over exaggeriated tales of sexual conquest, rumors of the coming fight, bitching. Barracks talk.

"Ser!"

He turned suddenly, towards the voice, the sound distorted and carried by the howling wind. Walking towards him from a clump of soldiers was pate, carrying a hunk of stale black bread and a mug of wine, offering it to Alois. He took it, bit a piece, and found it nearly too hard to chew. He dipped the next mouthful into the mug, moistening it, making it soft and chewable.

"Thank you," he muttered over a mouthful, still half asleep, his movement slow, mind clouded.

"I've fed the horses," he said with a bright smile, "Shall I gather the men for training?"

Alois shook his head. "No. Let them rest. I want them rested for the fight."

Pate blushed, embarassed, hid his eyes.

"You're doing good," Alois said, trying to soothe the boy's ego, sucking a mouthful of spiced wine from the pores of the bread. "Walk with me." he commanded, still chewing.

Alois could see the outline of Chaos Island as they reached the shore, massive and frightful. He let his mind wander back, thought about working beside the peasants in Kalmar City, hauling in the nets with bronzed fishermen and building houses in Alvaret. He thought of the men he'd lead into battle, the volunteers he'd picked up in the Inn, the men who stayed when he had no gold to pay them.

They were mostly dead now. Massacred, brutaly, viciously, without any cause or reason but blood thirsty rage and blind hate. The few who were left would be waiting for him in Chaos Temple, their home. Drafted, impressed back into the military along with most of the Stronghold's population so the mad rebels could retain their stolen land, And he would have to kill them, or they him, because it was their duty.

He closed his eyes, bent his head towards Chaos Island, said a small prayer to God, feeling like a fool doing it in front of the Boy the whole time.

When it was done he nodded, looked over at the boy and smiled. "A hard fight, Pate," he said quietly, struggling to keep his voice from cracking. "Come. Care to show me where you found that wine?"