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The lantern sat on an outcropping between the two men, allowing the light to dance on both of their faces for the other to see. Lucian noticed that Gillot had not come here with a helm, but did come with livery astronned across his chest as to make his person known. Stone workings of the Dwarfs were unusually comfortable, especially in the plate armor of the Bretonnians, yet comfort did not come easy for either of them now.
Lucian held back his tongue even more, allowing the Prince to say his piece. It was something he had seen many priests do and the tactic was natural to him as well. If someone approached you they likely had a plan for how things would happen. It was best to let their plan go out, especially when they seemed almost ashamed in the simple act of speaking.
“We are a long way from home, both of us, Lucian.” He said first, as if that was the most important thing to them at the moment. Perhaps it was that to him, “I tried to approach you with a full force of Knight Errants. We received your letter from the Damsel and rode out in pursuit. When we were at Castle Aquitaine, three of my men decided to stay at the Castle instead of advancing forward. Then we crossed the border with Bastonne, witnessing the war that you so brutally stopped, and decided to return to their Father’s lands.”
Lucian did not wish to say a word for in truth he felt some interest in the happenings. To hear so quickly what his actions were causing had fastened his attention to the teller. Yet he was starting to guess what was the meaning of telling this story.
“When we reached Bastonne and were told the story there, several began to waiver in our pursuit. A Fairy Tale of Beastmen underground being slain by the hundreds with such ferocity that it caused the earth itself to shutter under the weight of their death. When we reached the Eastern Fringelands, the war between two Counts had taken the rest who had joined me for the simple glory.” He gave a wave of the hand, showing how little he felt in truth for the departure of these men.
“It was when we saw the undead hordes marching towards Karak Ziflin, that those I called friends left me. They did not have a good reason for leaving me, they simply allowed their fear and terror to renounce their oaths and flee.” The Knight tightened his grip then. That was what struck him hardest of all things. A betrayal of his closest.
It was, at this point, Lucian felt an understanding could be made.
>We were the only ones who could face it
>No better than the Peasant Rabble
>The point, exactly~?
>Keep silent, let him cook.
