Axiom ~ 28!

~ 28 ~

Two years had passed since Yvessa entered the D-ranks. This morning was notable for only one reason: Irene had unbalanced the daily routine by making a massive cacophony at the gate. She was furious, and it roused absolutely everyone from whatever they had been doing.

A messenger had come to declare a new expeditionary force once again chasing raiders was moving their way in. The scout was there early to bring the matter to the attention of the cloister, since the area was officially bound to the church. The expedition force would be occupying it as temporary lodgings, and would use the centralized outpost as a headquarters while they performed their duty. Irene was irate not because this disrupted the comfortable days they had come to know, but because that swine known as Keeper Kendra was part of the incoming force.

This was that day everyone learned that Keepers famously do not get along, and hold bitter rivalries due to their interpretations of the scriptures. Interpretations meant different opinions. Unless there was an Arbiter on the matters being discussed, the discussion was more along the lines of screaming. Keepers became aggressive and violent to one another, never feeling the need to hold back in order to come out on top.

Artorian was woken that day by the crude sound of a guard tower crumbling to the ground as shattered splinters. He poked his head from the window, only to take in the absolute smackdown raging between two livid Keepers. Both of them found the energy to scream obscenities–as well as break half the cloister–without regard for what the other appeared to be uttering.

The argument was something about… the correct amount of bread one took during prayer? Artorian couldn't tell, too distracted by emergency ducking away from shrapnel slicing through his open window. Kendra was infuriated, and she picked up a wooden beam from the ground like it weighed little more than a broom, sweeping the courtyard with the support pole. The beam was kicked away by Irene, forcing the tip to slam into the hardened ground. This provided more than enough stability for her to leap on the beam and dart a few steps along its surface to roundhouse kick the other Keeper.

Kick may have been too gentle a description, as Irene spun her body before unleashing the Essence-fueled blow. Kendra didn’t have the time to pry her fingers free as her world went blank. The woman crumpled into a pile after being launched into the damaged cloister. Cracked scaffolding noisily collapsed on top of her.

*Thud*!

“I said. Half. A. Loaf! No exceptions!” Irene vengefully punted the unconscious Kendra out from under the ruined logs and sent her barreling into the surrounding expedition force members. Before a raging Irene had a chance to continue the attack, the freshly arrived group rushed their Keeper off to get medical aid. Glancing back to ensure there was no pursuit, they saw the sizable new hole in the outer wall. A hole made during what had likely been the gentlest of arguments to come.

Tarrean arrived in full armor and Cleric regalia to break up the commotion, but only managed to disperse the onlookers when his shouts were joined by Nefellum, the Head Cleric of the expedition force. They firmly shook wrists on meeting and plowed through welcoming rituals with elaborate hand-sigils. Artorian stopped paying attention once the action passed, feeling no further need to spy. The gossip mill wouldn’t be turning for a while, but it would be sure to catch him up in due time.

This new expedition force looked to be all business, and Artorian recognized no one when he cycled Essence to his eyes to get a better look. Having forgotten what cycling pure Essence did to your vision during the day, the colors lathered in richness and the sunlight stabbed in right into his eyes. “Argh!”

The shiny sky orb was always there with the sneak attack, just waiting for you not to pay attention! Artorian stopped cycling and smoothly eased his way out of bed, doing some test motions. He went through basic stretches, bothered to dress properly, and picked up a gnarled walking stick that hung next to the table. The commotion in the cloister already made it sound like regulations and organizational plans were in full effect. He could hear a large man snap at Initiates to pick up the pace, followed by the distinct fumble-bump of someone hitting the dirt. Artorian made a mental cue to expect more yelling, and sure enough; it was almost instant.

The drill instructor’s voice was a hardy baritone. “Get up, Initiate! If I have to pick you up from the dust one more time, then by the Celestial… I swear I will find the worst job in this cloister and dedicate you to it for a week!”

The wet *fwack* of a strong hand striking a rear spurred the risen Initiate to start jogging laps around the cloister’s outer perimeter. Poor boy looked like he was going to collapse any second. Artorian’s shout was far friendlier than the one the drill sergeant. “You can do it, m’boy! Don’t let up!”

One could tell from a distance that the Cleric in charge of the Initiates was a simple man with simple tastes and simple methods. The drill instructor’s dark head shone like a cue ball, perfectly bald and smooth. His ashen skin made it clear the man was from a warm climate. Right now, his arms were crossed, and displeasure was aimed at the old man shambling along in the Churches holy cloister. “Sir. I must please ask you to leave the premises, this is holy domain. Members not part of the church are not to tarry here.”

Artorian put some pleased pep in his stride. It had been ages since he’d gotten to be sly, and the opportunity was given to him on a platter! “Oh goodness me! No, my good man. I very much live here, and have for quite a few years longer than your cloister has been up. I suppose you should consider me the current landowner until the reigning Head Cleric is granted the title.”

The drill sergeant's eyes went wide. Oh abyss… did he just insult the landowner? He knew well that he could be magically persuaded to leave the lands by force of Mana if he was told to do so. Whether the old man knew it–or not–was not a risk he was willing to make. “My apologies, Sir. I did not know. Please, do be careful in your travels. My Initiates are blinder than moles, and I do not wish for their incompetence to cause you harm.”

Artorian slowed his shamble, his hand pressing to the small of his back dramatically. After all, why not play the cards you were given? He took his time and strolled right up to the instructor, holding out his hand in greeting. “The name is Artorian. Well met, my good man.”

The instructor shook wrists with the assumed landowner. “Marud, Choir second-in-command Battle Leader. It is both my pleasure, and a surprise, to meet a member not of the church in the domain. May your health stay firm through the sands of time.”

Such a strong shake! Artorian shook his wrist for effect, if only to unsettle the large man. Why were all the people in the Church so tall? He dismissed the thought, after all he was slightly hunched over. “I do appreciate it. Teaching the kids to run?”

Artorian watched one slop by with the dexterity of drunk rabbit exclusively using its hind legs to push onward.

“Indeed...” Marud stated with displeasure, keeping a watchful eye on his slacking recruits. “Move your feet, Initiate! Even this villager here could outpace you!”

Marud’s eyes went wide as he got a sassy reply from the exhausted man. “No, he. *wheeze* Abyss-well. *wheeze* Couldn’t!”

Before Marud could scold the recruit, Artorian had stabbed his walking stick into the dirt and was disrobing, hanging the lapis cloth on top of the firmly planted stick. With a twist, it pushed deeper into the ground than an old man should have any capability to do. His words were full of fight. “Young man, I am going to shuffle my way over, and I will be hot on your heels. When I catch you, I am going to give you a scolding on the benefits of being kind to your Elders!”

With a truly awful gait, the old man waggled rather than walked forwards, wearing only pants and shoes. His scars and shriveled appearance unsettled even the seasoned Marud. However, the instructor could see there was health hidden in the man. Sure, he might look old, have terrible posture, and a beard so long you could make rope out of it… yet he also had what Marud recognized as war-scars. In Marud's culture, one didn’t gain honor-marks by resting on one’s laurels.

His drill-instructor attention caught that Artorian had a vibrancy to his skin. There was a brightness in his eyes, and a forward momentum to his step that said he didn’t hurt one bit when he was getting a move on. He was just awfully slow. The old man clearly could not run. His legs were thin and spindly, and there was so little muscle on the aged wreck that Marud didn’t want to put any effort in thinking about how the old codger even remained upright.

What was he, eighty? Still, the old landowner was a delight. The instructor now had extra fuel to light under his recruit’s rumps. If they could not pass the aged grandfather, then he could hold that against them in future training and long-term practice. Marud’s thick fingers rubbed his forehead at the thought ‘long-term’. Bleh. They were going to be stuck here for at least a full season. His dark eyes watched the old fool fail to keep up with his exhausted recruit–much less catch him–but Artorian didn’t quit.

Four hands worth of time later, a disheveled, sweaty, heaving, and out of breath old man was pressing a hand against the small of his back before he hobbled his way to the point he had started. Once there, his hands fell to press on his knees, catching his breath as his iron gaze caught Marud’s amused little smirk. “Again. *Gasp* Tomorrow.”

Artorian coughed out the words with an energetic wave of the hand, grabbed his walking stick, then draped his robe over his shoulders before staggering off. “I am going to catch those unbaked little loaves and put them in the oven!”

The Marud suppressed a snort at the old man’s ire and persistence. He was fine with this, as it was just more measuring sticks to goad the recruits. “Sure, old timer, come back tomorrow.”

“Ah… ahaha! I did it. I did it!” Marud’s face snapped back to the Elder, who sounded absolutely elated. His fist was shaking in the air. Even though Artorian was wobbly, he was clearly pleased about some sort of accomplishment. What? Had it been a few years since he’d even made it around the perimeter?

“Hah.” The drill instructor didn’t see the Elder again until the next morning came. When the second in command rolled up with a powerful stride, ready to discern which recruits to chastise, he was surprised to actually find Artorian mingling with the crowd of Initiates. In fact, he was joining in their stretches.

“No, a little more down, M’boy. You want to push your leg down as far as it will go, while you keep your opposing knee bent. Feel the muscle stretch in the taut leg. That little tremble? That’s what you’re looking for. Remember to stretch after training as well, it’s awful being sore.”

Marud let the instruction slide, and his voice boomed through the mottled line of tents. Half-asleep Initiates scampered, partially dressed, from their resting spots and made their way to the front gate in a hurry. When they were all present, Marud firmly gave them a short speech on preparedness. Only one person had vanished.

“Now where did the old man get off to?” He called out for Artorian, looking around for the old man.

One of the recruits pointed around the bend of the wall. “He started already, Sir. Said he was going to get a workout in and catch us before he washed today.”

The instructor threw his hand in the direction of the corner. “Well, get going then! The old man is beating you all in performance! Move, move, move!”

The stampede of feet began in a hurry. That day, they all passed the old man at least thrice before he’d made it back to the front gate. As before, Artorian needed to stop at that point.

Marud couldn't hold back his enjoyment, nor his commentary. His gleaming white smile countered his natural darker profile. It was rather delightful to see, artful even. “Ah-ha-hah! What are you doing, landowner? You plan on being here every day to catch my Initiates?”

“Indeed I will, my boy!” Artorian replied with confidence as he straightened up and did more stretches. “I can’t catch raiders if I can’t even keep up with your lads!”

“Sir. Please. You joke too hard. You… catch raiders?” Marud broke down in hearty, thick laughter. His disbelief mounted with his humor. “I would not let a gentleman such as you leave the safety of the Cloister! That is what the Church is for, we protect those who cannot protect themselves.”

The smile on Artorian’s face matched Marud’s, but for a different reason. “Well then, I’ll just have to outpace all your Initiates, won’t I! Let me? Pah! I’ll get so fast that you won’t be able to stop me!”

Artorian pressed his fists to his hips and posed with conviction. It only made Marud double over once more, failing to control himself. “Oh. Oh, you are too much! Please. Come. Outpace my recruits. I wish to see this.”

“And. You. Will!” With a stern nod, Artorian was off, swaggering off to the stream. He spoke with the stubborn self-assured tone of the old man that he was.

Artorian was back the next morning, and the next, and the next. What did surprise the seasoned instructor, was that not only was the old man succeeding in such strenuous daily activity, but he was improving. His crippled shamble had developed into a smooth jog. His knees no longer bent at odd angles either. Every day, some incremental change or progress could be seen in the aged man’s posture, breathing pace, or muscle strength. After just one week, what Marud before believed to be a cripple was now doing two successful laps around the cloister. By the second week, he did three. By the fourth, he caught the slowest Initiate.

Marud had a field day that morning. “You let him catch you? What happened to being a proud member of the Choir, recruit? Are you holding out on me? On your team? He caught you! He. Caught. You!”

The recruit was in dismal spirits after that. That evening, however, the young man heard a tapping on his tent. “Excuse me, is this Initiate Que’els tent?”

Que pushed the flap open, and his dark features fell even further upon seeing who was waiting for him. Confusion replaced the expression as a skinned rabbit was pushed into his hands. “Eat some extra meat, my boy, and don’t tell the big one I gave it to you. I’m thinking that your growth is slowed because you’re not getting enough meat to eat. Some extra rations in you can only help.”

Before the Initiate could thank the Elder for the gift, he was gone. Artorian was learning how to move annoyingly fast for such an old man. In fact, the next morning the old man outpaced everyone. Marud held his face in his hand as he watched the farce of a training exercise. The long beard could only handle seven laps, but he finished them before his recruits did; and their current limit was also seven.

When Artorian walked to the stream like an unbending ironwood tree that day, he secretly relished the verbal beating the Initiate squad was suffering through. He was mid-wash when the booming baritone finally ended. Even then it stopped only because the clamor had attracted Marud’s superior, who demanded an explanation.

Their bickering forced all the Initiates to pay shamefaced attention to their feet and keep their heads down. The Head Cleric of the expedition was roasting Marud on the performance of the Initiates as Artorian strolled up with all the swagger of a star athlete. “Excuse me, my boys, why all the noise?”

Artorian would have said more, but an armored finger pointed a bare inch from the tip of his nose. “Is this him? Is this the fool that made all my recruits look so shameful?”

Marud kept his mouth shut tight, but his body language betrayed the answer. “Explain to me. Explain to me! How my top-class Initiates were left in the dust by… you. These men and women are the cream of the crop! Their potential is astounding, and now I heard the aged Landowner outran them? All of them?”

The... huh… short Head Cleric was almost foaming at the mouth, and Artorian would have been very interested in making a quip… if he wasn’t so puzzled by the pattern of behavior, he’d observed in Cleric leadership. Maybe it was chance? He shook off the thought and looked at the recruits. “Greetings Head Cleric, I must admit your armor is quite the impressive symbol of your order.”

The Head Cleric wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and straightened up. Yes, yes it was excellent equipment. At least the landowner recognized quality. Artorian continued, this time not quite as flattering. “As for your Initiates. I’m not entirely certain why this is a surprise? They’re barely eating! If they got some chow in them, I would never have been able to outpace them! I’m not sure what you’ve all agreed upon between the other superiors in the Church, but you are more than welcome to till some land and grow some crops for additional food. The work may be too demanding for the recruits, since only the strong should labor like that. Still… you’re welcome to do it.”

The expedition Head Cleric adjusted his gauntlet-strap and replied with a textbook answer. “Rationed meals are exactly portioned and even for every single Initiate. There is no issue with their intake.”

Artorian just shook his head, reminiscent of a disappointed father. “Would you have your troops drink more water in the desert, or bundle up with an additional layer in the cold mountains?”

The Head Cleric crossed his arms as if the answer was obvious. “Well, of course I would. The environment demands it.”

Artorian nodded sagely, glad the man understood. “Then you understand, good sir, that this is the Fringe. Individuals require more intake than is ordinary when they are in this region. While I don’t know why this is the case, it is true. If you have been giving the Initiates regulation meals, which was my assumption, then they are without a doubt… malnourished.”

He clarified when he saw the Head Cleric didn’t seem to understand him. “Underfed, Head Cleric. I won’t ask you to believe me, but if you give them a few days with additional rations, I’m betting you’d see significant improvement.”

The primary Battle Leader grumbled, but faced his vice-commander. “Marud, give them double rations for a week. No harm in checking the truth of this matter.”

As the superiors walked away together to discuss adapted meal plans, Artorian stepped past them and gave some of the tired recruits a pat on the back of their shoulders, humming along with a whispered, “You’re welcome.”

He had just gotten them all more food for the week! Everyone loved more chow. More than anything, Artorian smiled about his progress. He could walk again, and properly. Excellent progress. He just about jumped into the air, but held off. "One thing at a time, old boy."

"One thing at a time."