>>5918605 >>5918608 >>5918619 >>5918645 >>5918649 >>5918667 >>5918679 >>5918698 >>5918720 >>5918741>A tall man of the Highlands with the broadest shoulders you've ever seen, wielding a bow nearly as tall himself, which he cares for as though it were his own daughter.The other soldiers naturally group you with another outcast, a fair-haired man of the Highlands called Carwyn, who, though he speaks the Myrian tongue as the rest of you, does so with such a strong Highlander accent that he is incomprehensible to all but the sergeant and must make his intentions known to the others by the use of gestures and signs.
He is a rather jocund fellow, otherwise, always pointing and giggling at something or another like a child. The others regard him as something of a fool for this habit, as it will sometimes border on the inappropriate. The men of the Highlands are known for their indifference to the image of death, and Carwyn has more than once burst into laughter at the sight of a thief hanging from the ramparts of a castle, or a victim of plague lying dead in a pit, simply because the pose or mortal expression amused him.
But he is well-respected for his skill with the bow, not only in combat, but for the occasional pheasant or partridge or rabbit he sometimes will bring back from his "morning walks". This bow of his was quite unlike any other in the company, and the care which Carwyn took to maintain it was extraordinary. He would unstring it whenever it was not in use and oil the limbs with a special scented oil he had brought from the Highlands. The string he would keep in a small case and rub beeswax on it to keep it smooth and smart. Every night, he would check the wood for defects, and would moan like a wounded ox when he found the slightest crack or notch. More than once he nearly came to blows with a fellow soldier for attempting to handle the bow, for he would let none but himself touch it, and would even sleep with it on cold or rainy nights to keep it warm and dry. It was his one defect that he would complain endlessly of heat and cold and weather and for rest, not for his own need, but for what might happen to his bow. For this he was often teased, but he was too gentle to offer rebuke and would simply sulk.
You learn all this in the course of a month of marching and even manage to penetrate his Highlander accent by the end of it. "The revenant and the reeve" the others begin to call you (for it is rumored that the Highlander was the reeve of a village once upon a time, though none have been able to loosen his tongue on the matter).
Finally, the marching nears an end. The captain has secured a contract and now the company marches to battle: a typical skirmish between Myrian barons. You find yourself...
>In the rear, guarding the supplies and archers and waiting as a reserve>In the front, holding the line for the Baron's cavalry >In the flank, protecting the men from enemy cavalry>Write-in 