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As the Priests of Morr they had all marched out into the lands of Bastonne the next day. It was said to be a forced March for the Knights knew that no foes stood between them and the Duchy that was their objective, thus everyone had to march for twelve hours straight to make sure they arrived ahead of the Orkish marches.
The most prominent of those marching was none other than the Duke and his Cadre of Knights. Each of them holding a Title that was above Lucian’s own understanding. Among them Lucian recognized the helm of Lucqin among them with the powerful presence of Orange among his plume. For the others he could not know, only that they were warriors second only to the Grail Knights who remained at the First Chapel.
All around them were Knights of the Realm and Knight Errants. Lucian quickly noticed the Ducal Prince Gillot among those marching alongside him. He was attended with those of the fancier plume and armor Lucian realized to belong to Knight Errants, placing him apart from the rest of the Errants who were busy practicing their lance formation off to the side.
None of the Noblemen were terribly pushed or harmed when making such a hard march. Their Horses were at a trot and thus did not suffer any perils of the long distance walk.
For the Peasants it was a far different story, Lucian being among them to suffer alongside. The speeds of the horses forced many who were alongside Lucian to either jog or make the occasional sprint to keep up with the Knights. As they crossed one of the many hills Lucian watched as three of his fellows fell face first into the ground and was trampled on by those that were marching behind him.
Witnessing this Lucian gave a prayer to Morr for their safety and hoped the Priests who were in the rear could see fit to help them. At the very least they would be the first to arrive at the Gardens of Morr when all of this was over.
Lucian was one of those who had to jog to keep up yet it did not deter him. His muscles ached and some of the bruises from his beating still stung. There were no wounds though, no bones broken even as steel slammed into his flesh like it had.
His hand tightened upon the Scythe that was carried all the way from Verac. He could feel its weight was true within his hands and that it would serve him well.
