Captain Kasch Fletcher
Commander of the 44th Light Infantry Battalion
Dagomor Imperial Province
Year 20 HAII
The familiar sound of wood creaking and moaning against the heavy weight of loads placed upon it and the soft blue waves of the sea lapping against it in a rhythmic pattern were among a few of the many sounds currently springing across the bustling dock of the Capital of the Imperial Province of Dagomor. All around ships of all sizes and services, from simply cargo vessels to the interesting and somewhat out of place, depending on who was asked, sight of an old sloop that had seemingly changed out a few of her guns for a crew of man clad in the uniform of a land warrior. It was an odd spectacle to behold of an infantry battalion arriving on a ship dedicated for the art of war upon the high seas, but that was least of the currosities currently unfolding around the docks. Between the many ropes and sails of the gathering ships, local fisherman busily about their trade upon the sides of the docks where small ships could be seen resting upon doicks that pertruded out from the main landing like the roots of a plants across the ground in which it was planted, were the gathering of men, and a surprising bit of women, from many different trades, stations, and even nation it would appear by the strange attire that many had found themselves clothed in as their toiled away upon the docks unloading grates full of goods and food among other more serious provisions as illustrated by the frequency of crates with with imposing label of 'explosive' or 'shot' that were found in large letters upon the sides of the crate for all to see. But these were soldiers after all and as much was expected by them. Many still had their rifles, muskets, carbines and in some stranger cases bows and spears, as was the case of a ship off to the side of the port, currently flooding the docks with strangely clad men who seemed to be out of some old tale that a grandfather might tell of the old expeditions to the lands surrounding the Empire and beyond her own borders.
Off to one side, not far perhaps from the strangest clad men and their archaic weapons they carried were another ships full of strangely dressed men, these instead carrying much larger weapons, in the form of swords of old and wearing what appeared to be dressed of some kind, in a resemblance almost to skirts. The appearance of such burly men in a strange uniform, nevermind the 'bags' they seemed to carry, which might resemble a pincushion if one were asked to describe their appearance, had drawn the attention of many, almost as much as the men carrying the weapons of their ancestors long past, and the only reason for such being the very nature of the men, which seemed to simply be begging for the attention of those around them, in some sort of self-fulling way. Like it was needed that these men be recognized for whom they were and not to be cast off as simply another arriving Battalion, if such would even be possible if the men were all mute and their hands tied in station behind their backs. Besides the two hiccups of the outlanders arriving, most battalions seemed to reside in a normal military function, with the exception of a few militia units who might as well had been from the surrounding townhouses if it were not for the fact they looked completely foreign to the surrounding buildings, and secondly were disembarking rather than embarking upon the grand ships of sail which had just arrived in the port with her sister ships, though it was likely all such were from different postings and groups, as all Battalions currently arriving in the backwater province were new to the area, with the exception of a particular Captain among them who seemed to be missing from the action at current. No doubt finding some way to avoid it with the advanced knowledge of their arrival.
The confusion of many different arriving Battalions, all unto a unfamiliar landing was the perfect recipe for something to go amiss among all that was currently unfolding; Sergeants and Lieutenants running across the docks, their footsteps causing a creaking noise, in conjunction with the many carts and enlisted footmen busily loading and unloading them, that grew to a crescendo that would make one think the landing itself was close to collapse, were it not for the sound of yelling and laughing, the latter coming from the many troops of the home guard, or rather that of the Province's Colonel, laying about and scoffing at their newly arrived comrades in a most distasteful manner, though most seemed to occupied with their own business to pay even a bit of mind to the men who were acting as if a ship of exotic animals from Acc had just arrived for the pleasure of their viewing and there's alone in that regard. Though, one would not be able to argue that among the strange uniforms and dressed of the men who had just arrived, painting a dull sort of rainbow as many wore simply grey or tan clothing, indicating that most were of some militia or light infantry battalion, accented with the appearance of the dress wearing men and their archaic coupling, gave off a most interesting picture and aura, that would certain make for a popular piece should one of the locals have a thought of painting it. It might even catch a fair price in the Imperial Capital itself, though it was at the same time hard to think who enjoys seeing a seemingly disorderly mess unfold before them? It was not as if it were the arrival of the esteemed divisions of the inner provinces, such as Imperial Grenadiers whom always brought the cheering of the masses upon their parades on their many events within the Imperial Capital itself.
The disorderly order of chaos on the landing of the capital's docks could not last forever, and at some point it would have to be broken in some regard, as whatever spell had been cast on those arriving would soon have to wear off for the men upon the docks were no doubt pushing the limits of whatever magic currently protected them. Suck a breaking of the spell came in the form of a loud cracking sound that shot throughout the landing like the firing of musket does to woodland creatures when fired off in the quiet of the evening forest. Looking up from their work one would be able to spot a single wagon not far from a ship where it has just disembarked a moment before, loaded to the brim with an assortment of all goods from simple cloth and blankets, to large crates not only labeled as rations but with that of tools as well, with some extra spades and picks thrown upon the top of the cart as well in an disorderly manner. Elsewhere one could spot a few muskets laying haphazardly off the side of the cart and a few packs of a soldier had been thrown on as well, no doubt by those whom were loading it as all the soldiers around it appeared to have been relieved of their packs for the task of loading the wagon. And it was no doubt this overloading of the cart that had lead it its eventual failure in performing its role of moving said items to the barracks and staging area of whatever Battalion it belonged to. Looking past the load on the top of the wagon one would easily spot the source of the break as the axle which had seen to the powering and steadying of the cart, that being the rear axle and snapped near clean in half, only be held together in a small arc by a few threads and fibers of wood that seemed ready to break apart and fall in two at the simple breathing of a man observing it too closely. Standing next to the wagon itself was young man, perhaps of his mid to late twenties releasing a disappointed and likewise annoyed sigh at the luck that had befallen him and his compatriots around him. The man himself had a somewhat muscular build, not quite that of a soldier but one of a man who was used to hard labor all the same, albeit of a different kind than that of soldier for the most part. His skin reflected this in the nearly bronze tan the man held, only fading into a lighter color upon the occasional breeze that made parts of his uppers arms and torso show, as he had currently rolled his sleeves up quite a bit to deal with the hard labor unfolding around him. His hair was of a darker color and less shiny than that of his skin, a dark brown like that of the Western Imperial Chestnut tree, a poplar wood used in furnishings of the even the high Princes in the capital, and cut back in an orderly and military manner, though at current was in a mess about his forehead from the sweat of his labor. His eyes carried a dark green color, like that of leaves in mid summer and they sparkled like that of the ocean around the landings, albeit in a cleaner shade of green that the waters filled with the guts of fish and other rubbish. His attire was no different than the men who stood around him; possing a darker grey overcoat upon his back covering a simple set of seemingly loose fitting light grey pants and shirt, the latter of which had been rolled up past his elbows like that of his overcoat and compariots around him. He carried no musket, and instead had a single holster across his chest and falling at his right hip, indicating him as an officer, as those around him did not carry the same armament.
No sooner than the man had let out a sigh at the misfortune that had befallen him, did a figure steadily make his way towards himself and the cart which had broken down off to the side of the landing, luckily for most not blocking any sort of foot or horse traffic on the large landing, one of the more grandeur things in the province it would seem. The man rode upon a grand steed that placed his at least a whole body over the men who were still gathered around the cart, attempting to collect the crates that had fallen in an orderly manner, as well as removing additional ones from the wagon as to allow repairs to be made in some respect; at least enough to allow for them to reach the staging area in somewhat good time. The newly arrived man wore a soft face upon his head, in a way that almost made him seem quite young, those to the keen eyes his body would tell a different story of a man at least ten years or so major to those who stood around him and the cart. His face was also lacking in any kind of weathering, be of a well kept style, as opposed to those around the cart whom wore faces of many years in the hot and demanding suns of the Empire and the lands both close and far to it, as he too lacked a tan colored skin of the men. The mounted man's hair was mystery but was likely cut short to the point where it no longer matter, as illustrated by the white and no doubt powdered wig that sat upon his head in the most orderly manner. Almost as orderly as his clothes which seemed unwrinkled and freshly cleaned; having an under shirt of a white no different from that of the wig upon his head and an equally white overcoat that almost painted him as a member of the Canon, though most may have joked he looked more like a blank tapestry than that of a man, given the uncanny matching of white found in both his face, clothes and mounted stead. He carried no weapons upon him, though then again, neither did many of the men on the landing who were busy unloading the carts, though he did instead where a light smile upon his lips as he approached the stricken men around the cart in an attempt to appear kind as he greeted them.
"Good afternoon, lieutenant!" called out the mounted man to the that of the brown haired young man instructing those around him to raise the cart in a fashion as to allow for the fixing of the axle, as it would be too time consuming to replace it given the current position in which they rested and the steady stream of men moving too and fro around them. Though at the sound of a voice calling out to him, the young man turned to find himself nearly face to face with the mounted man, should he have been off his horse.
Looking up at the strange fellow it took a minute of the young man to understand whom he was, but given the lack of other mounted men, and the fact that many of the soldiers around; those patrolling rather than unloading had paused to gander at the mounted man, made it all clear he was a man of some authority, though of what the young lieutenant could not tell at the moment. Caught a bit by surprise, the young lieutenant whipped around like a top that had been spun by some small child and shot back a series of quick responses, partially to hide his ignorance of the man's status and equally to have him hopefully leave him about to his business of fixing the wagon, "Good afternoon, sir! I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir"
The man seemingly oblivious to the ulterior motive behind the young lieutenant's response began to further barrage him with question, taking away from his ability to assist his men in any fashion with the wagon. Having been delighted with such an answer the man turned to more personal matters of conversation, calling out to him in a jolly voice once more, "The gods have a rather strange kind of humour, lieutenant. Let’s not split hairs over it. What is your name?"
Returning in much the same tone as he had previously, his men now fully finished in assembling the missing perishables and crates that had been thrown from the wagon earlier, "Lieutenant Ferson, sir. 44th battalion, 2nd company" came Ferson's flash of a response, as he watched the colonel turn his horse and attention towards a group of men laughing so hard upon one of the cafes you would have sworn a lung would come out flying if they did not stop.
No sooner than the man upon the horse had departed did the form of another man appear alongside that of the young Lieutenant, catching him by the same surprise as the mounted man, as it would seem, the newly arrived man had someone managed to find a place alongside the broken down wagon without alerting any of those near it, though it was not to say the men working on the wagon were particularly on the lookout for strangers of any kind approaching their position. They frankly had a bigger mess in front of them, and there were enough soldiers that only a fool would attempt at thieving from them in their current state. The new man was slightly taller than the Lieutenant, not to the point where he was looking down on him with a cocked head, but far from eye level at their current positions, no more than a step or two apart from each other. His build was similar to that of the Lieutenant, but he appeared slightly more widely than his comrade, and was wholeheartedly built more like a soldier than he was a farmer, though a similar tan could be found upon his exposed forearms, like that of the Lieutenant. However, his tan was far lighter in color, perhaps of that of a light cup of tea, rather than the shining bronze of the Lieutenants. This was a result less of the man's time in the sun, as he appeared a bit older than the lieutenant, and his face wore a more weathered expression and carried his fair share of cuts and scrapes upon his arms and legs, but rather was a result of a difference in birth. It would be easy to tell by looking around that the newly arrived man didn't quite seem to fit in with those around him, his face and body features of a different style than was common in many reaches of the Empire. His face itself carried a set of light blue eyes, almost resembling sapphire, especially when the light of the sun played off them, as it was doing now, and we wore a calm look about him. Something reflected in his lips, as they had cocked into a slight grin as he had no doubt been watching the situation around unfold before him. Though, portions of his face had been a mop of light blonde hair, nearly a creaming white in some respects, that fell about his head in a thin curly mess, not helped by the work of unloading crates and the beaten up old Straw hat that sat loosely upon his head. As for clothes, he wore a simply uniform like that of the Lieutenant, though while Ferson had rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, the newly arrived man only exposed his forearms, cutting off the rest of his upper arms and elbows from view, though fine lines of sweat would still be seen cutting across them like faint streams after a spring storm.
Still holding the element of surprise in his favor, the newly arrived man let out a dry sort of laugh and he began to speak out to the young lieutenant who at current had been letting out a sigh of his own towards his most recent interaction, "I haven't seen you straighten out like that since our meeting with the duchess!" called the newly arrived man, his sly grin cracking to allow for the passing of a short burst of laughter at the expense of the Lieutenant.
The young lieutenant turned to find himself face to face with the newly arrived stranger, though a look of of both relief and relaxation passed across his face, though it was hard to tell as his features hardened, and his face twisted a bit like leather as his eyebrows both raised a bit over his eyes. "You know how I am around clergymen, Cap'n." He answered back in an almost sarcastic tone, though with just enough steadiness in his voice one could be sure there was truth to be held in his words. "Besides," He continued, "The man got the jump on me, and you know that's not easy to do."
"Yes, yes I know Henri" came a reply from the man in a bit of an odd accent, as his face returned to that of a steadfast expression as he squatted down to help one of the other soldiers lift the wagon, so that a plank could be inserted under the bed of the wagon, to allow for repairs to begin. As he rose back up to a standing position with a bit of a grunt he turned to face the young lieutenant once again. "So," he began yet again, "What did you think of him...The Colonel?" his eyes and face holding the steadfast expression.
"That was the Colonel, eh?" was the first set of reaction from the young man before he turned to look on at the mounted man, now seen to be the colonel, yet again as if simply looking at him would reveal more to Henri as he looked on. "I suppose he strikes me as would a colonel, I would think. Charismatic you could say" he continued as if almost unsure what the Captain was really asking of him, thus he turned his head towards the man only to catch him shaking his head from side to side, eyes closed as if disappointed in a way.
As he stopped the movement of his head, his eyes flashed open to reveal an icy color, the color seemingly becoming even more opacity than it had before, if such was even possible, and revealing a piercing glare that took the Lieutenant aback, even though it was not directed at himself, but rather at the Colonel who seemed busy instructing one of his men to assist with the wagon for what he could only guess was some trivial matter. "Charismatic isn't the right word Henri" came a steady and unshaken reply from the Captain.
"What do you mean by that, Fletch?" was the natural reply of the young lieutenant as he stared at the Captain with a question and curious look.
"He doesn't possess the Charisma of a Military Man. The man has an aura of a powerful man." Explained Fletcher, almost as if he were teaching the man on the subject.
"I'm not sure I follow." Came the confused reply of the man, as he directed the newly arrived Corporal from the Colonel's own Battalion to help the others with securing the run away crates and food that had gone with him.
"A man in power makes people wish to stand around him" he said as he released a small sigh, the color generally returning to his eyes, as he sat down with a hammer and a few steel nails, intent on patching together the axle in some form for their departure to the staging grounds and barracks. "A man in command, makes people wish to follow him. That is a difference between a man who should lead and a man who should watch" he continued.
And between a man who does things with his thoughts in mind, and he who does with the thoughts of others He mused to himself with a slight, though seemingly melancholic chuckle under his breath.
"I'm sure I quite understand that Cap'n" he said as he turned to look as the Colonel rode away towards some unknown destination, "But, I'll keep it in mind going forward." He then turned back towards the Captain who was underway strapping some nails to the broken beam of wood which represented the axle of the cart, and watched as the newly arrived Corporal accidently kicked a box of fruits, sending the beam which held up the wagon out of place, and causing the back end of one of the nails to bite down firmly across the Captain's hand.
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that his hand had been slice open, though the cut itself wasn't too deep despite running across abreast of his palm and threatening to relieve him of a finger had it cut slightly higher upon his hand, he simply raised himself up and turned towards the young Corporal, his face devoid of either anger or pain, and unsettling calm at the thought of a cuthand. The young Lieutenant and the two men near him looked much the same, going about their own business with the wagon, restoring it to a state of being raised once again, as Fletcher began to speak towards the young Corporal, in a calming and friendly voice, his face even cracking a bit of a warm grin and his eyes relaxing, "Go along lad, we've got this all covered, isn't that right men?" he called, glancing about his with a slight shimmer of pride on his eyes as they sat in their sapphire state. "Damn right, sir!" came the fervent reply from the two men, one in his late twenties and the other perhaps in his early twenties, as two large smiles came across their faces, in the split second they looked up from their handy work.
The young corporal looked confused and lost in a way, not meeting the eyes of the Captain and instead looking towards his hand where a small stream of red was funneling down the man's hand, mixing with his sweat, and falling to the dried and near colorless wood of the landing, where it splatter like a heavy rain drop leaving a leaf in the early hours after first rain fall. He simply nodded at the Captain's words and scurred off towards the Cafe once again where he was joined once again by his comrades. At his disappearance the two men and the lieutenant behind him began to let out a slight laugh, a smile cracking across the Captain's face as he ripped a piece of cloth from one of the boxes and fastened it around his hand, the brown cloth of the blanket, in color and not from dirt surprisingly, began to quickly fade into a shade of dark red.
The Captain was the first to speak as the laughter died down and the men returned to work, his voice still unphased and echoing out in his typical strong deep sound, accompanied by his foreign accent, "You think I spooked him a bit?" Came the question in an almost innocent like manner. After a long sigh, the Lieutenant was the first to answer. "I think spook might be a bit understating that Cap'n. Though, I imagine he at least now has a story to tell his buds" spoke the Lieutenant casting a slight glance back towards the cafe, ignoring the stares of some of the Colonel's, the First Battalion, men. The lieutenant then spoke again, his voice more relaxed than energetic or full of laughter as it had been but a short time earlier, "How's about you go find
Doc and get'im to patch you up. The men and I'll do this for ya."
Fletcher just shook his head at the suggestion, instead squatting back down besides the broken axle, hammer in one hand and nails within his mouth to avoid using his injured one for the moment. "Go on and gatzer ze men" came the respite from the Captain as he continued to hammer in the metal nails with an astonishing speed for a one handed man. "I figured you'd say something like that..." was the seemingly disapproving voice of the Lieutenant as he walked away down the landing to find the reminder of the Forty-Fourth Battalion, who in reality had already finished unloading and were gathering under their respective Company Commanders. No sooner had the Lieutenant left than did Fletcher stand from his current work with the axle, a clean bunch of nails hidden deep within the wood that would hopefully keep it steady until they had reached the barracks. As he stood to begin helping the two men besides him load the heavy crates upon the wagon's back once again, did he catch the sight of several birds flying about in the air. One appeared to be a larger bird of a brownish color, likely a hawk of some sort, perhaps even a
Whittler's Hawk, common to the Imperial innerlands, but slightly rare in these reaches of the Empire. The other birds were much smaller and of a black variety, and were quite busy diving at the larger bird in what seemed like an attempt to drive it away, and to some success.
No doubt he flew too close to the birds' nest he thought as he continued with the loading of the crates.
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Having arrived at the barracks, seemingly without further incident to the surprisement of all given how things had gone on the docks, even going so far as to have one of the Sergeants muse
if only our equipment was half as sturdy as our men upon helping the Captain finish the repairs to the Wagon a short time earlier; the Forty-Fourth Battalion yet again found themselves in a mess of wagons and soldiers as it would appear there was a great struggle for barracks and officers quarties, a slight disappointment given the current weather they were having and the long strolls it would require of the men to reach the drill fields each morning for certain activities of the earlier morning hours. Here and there some familiar faces and uniforms could be seen, like those of the Highlanders and their colorful if oddly patterned dresses and the simply clothing of the steppe people that had been seen unloading their archaic and unusually fashioned weapons earlier. There was also the loud sound of hooves upon the loose dirt and gravel roads, as the few cavalry detachments that had arrived seemed to be a bit lost navigating the tight streets around the barracks and the seas of men around them. But this was of little concern to the Forty-Fourth, who had already claimed a small barracks off the side of the soldiers quarters, and nearest to the training fields, as to cut down on the time it would take to move between the two when it was time for such action. Elsewhere, a set of officers quarters had been snagged near to the Barracks, and as requested by Fletcher upon the first floor by a young and relatively quiet Lieutenant by the name of Jameson, who had ridden out a short time ahead of the main force and by some miracle had found the required space and defended it against attempts of other Battalions to take it from his hands. Whether this was up to the merit of the politeness of nobles, or a savage element in the young lad of no more than his earlier twenties, remained to be seen and told when it was time for the men to gather for their dinners.
Having finally been able to settle down, their goods be sent to various storage areas, and the men offloading what little they would keep off their bodies, mainly personal artifacts, as everything each needed for his soldiering duties as a Light Infantryman rested safely in a small pouch that each wore across their body as one would a messenger bag. Within in it were several pockets and spaces reserved for such items, as shot, powder, flint for the lighting of fires, dried rations for their marches and other materials that were to be used in the fields of battles should they need them. The pouches themselves had come at no expense for the men of the Battalion nor their officers, instead being the parting gift of a young Duchess who had overseen the colonial territory they found themselves in for the five years, six for the original members of the Forty-Four before the appointment of Fletcher as it's head, and who had taken great interest in the strange qualities of the Battalion and their commanders. As such, the bags had been a gift as they were to be sent out to a new station, and seemingly they had worked well in the few exercises the men had committed to before boarding the grand ship of sail for the first time in Five Years to set out for a new land. Most of the soldiers, instead, found themselves unloading the battalions materials, such as the extra boxes of shot and powder they had brought with them themselves, not wishing to have to rely on the local armories for too much of their goods, not telling how long some of it has likely been kept and not wanting to risk an accident to the men on behalf of someone else's misjudgement and mistakes. Though some had moved from the unloading of the crates, many of which were now beginning to show signs of being the Battalion's speciality gear, rather than that of simple Shot and Powder, instead containing and myriad of fruits and vegetables as well as other items such to be found as seeds and tools of all shapes and sizes, from hoes to the occasion plow that had been brought along, usually requiring a wagon of its own to make, giving off the appearance of something besides a light Infantry Battalion and perhaps a Line Infantry battalion.
Though, rather than unloading as he had been before, too busy helping moving the various crates into the soldiers barracks among other things, such as helping to move the plows to a position where the pack horses could easily be moved into to latch up, Fletcher soon found himself simply off for a small stroll back towards the circle of wagons that had formed near the barracks claimed to be the Forty-Fourths, a young Jameson Long helping to make sure everything went relatively orderly, when an older man began to approach Fletcher. The man's face was rough and covered with a myriad of cuts and scrapes, some caused by sword and bayonet, others by brambles and thorn bushes alike, and carrying a distinct feeling of age and strength simply by looking at it. A squinting face held a pair of crisp hazel eyes that seemed to have a dash in green upon them, reminding one of perhaps Hazelnuts as they mature upon the branches of a tree, and carrying a deep cutting look like Fletchers own Sapphire set of eyes, though both held a warm quality to them, especially in the case of the older man's who's were naturally a more earth tone than that of Fletcher's. His hair was of a dark brown color, not unlike that of Lieutenant Ferson, who at current was doing rounds of the soldiers already established within their bunks and likely preparing themselves for the night's dinner. Like Fletcher, the man wore an old and between up straw hat that held back a bit of hair, long like Fletchers but without the curls and instead in a straight slicked back like manner, that was lost mostly under the Straw Hat upon his head. Such hair also extended down towards his jawline were a thick, though short black beard could be found, with a few grey hairs showing themselves every once and a while, though the man would prefer the term 'Silver' rather than that of an oldman's grey. His attire too was identical to Fletcher's being in the same Battalion after all, and still retaining the rolled up sleeves, this time in the same fashion as Fletcher's, only showing a portion of the forearm, rather than that of Ferson's preferred style of above the elbow.
As the older man approached Fletcher was fast to recognize the form of the older man and called out to him as he neared. "Ah, Gregor!" he bellowed, his deep voice ringing out towards the old man like the thundering of a cannon, rather than a sharp pitch of a musket being fired, as he nodded towards the approaching figure.
Now having reached about a few steps distance from Fletcher, the old man relieved the orient wooden pipe from his mouth, letting out a puff of grey color smoke and to free his mouth for speaking, as he placed hi hands behind his back, less in a manner of formality and more of habit. "Good to see you as well, Cap'n." Came the reply in a voice equally as deep, though more gravelly and without the accent Fletcher carried with him in all manners of speaking. "How's the hand treat'in you?" came his next spit of words before return the pipe to his mouth to take another breath of whatever mixture of herbs could be found in it.
"You can drop the formality Gregor, we're both off duty here and far from the eyeshot of neither officer nor colonel" He spoke with a jolly spirit in his voice, even as he continued. "And would there seem to be a problem with my hand?" came an innocent reply, as he did not even bother to look down toward his hand where a fresh white bit of cloth had already turned dark red as the brown cloth had before though this one seemingly only had a brown tint, perhaps indicating that the bleeding at stopped for the time being. Though despite such facades, he possessed a slight wink towards the old man who let out a soft laugh as he removed the pipe from his mouth.
"Quite the spot you've picked for us,
Lesnik" spoke the Older Man as he tapped out a slight bit of ash from the end of his pipe and watched as it was carried away on the slight breeze drifting westwardly through the barracks. "I'd expect no less from a man of your stock. Come, tell me what do you have instore for us this time?"
"It means quite well to hear that from you, sir" came Fletcher's reply, as he turned to guide the man out on a stroll across the grounds that lay around them. "I suppose it would do to have the corn about here, around fifteen by twenty should do good for the men, though it will be sometime before we shall have a chance to plant it would seem. Some fall squash and Summer Melons should do fine about here" he said pointing towards another large slot of land, the Old Man simply nodding before interjecting on his own, "Some
Groundsman Fruit would sit well with the men too I would think" and was answered Fletcher no sooner than he had said it, "I was thinking it might do some good, though I worry about whether the soil can handle it..." he trailed off, rubbing a bit of dirt between his hands.
"We'll liable have to dig a new well or two, I might suggest having the men search for one in the morning hours tomorrow" continued the Old Man, gazing across the field at no particular point, as if imagining what the field would look like in a few months, or even years time depending on the length of their station. "That's well, though hold the men off on digging for a bit. I have a suspicion the Colonel wishes to make a show of his new Regiment and I do not wish to over exert the men in the coming day, especially after such a voyage as ours." The Old Man nodded once again, "I agree. I will gather a part of men to search for a sight of a well, and begin the sectioning off of land for plowing in the 'morrow"
"How's about then we see to the finer details of the land tomorrow, say over a drink." Came Fletcher's reply, "Any recommendations?"
"Surprise me. You were always a better choice of drink, but making it a Whiskey, hardy if you can." He replied, "That is if 'Ole Ferson hasn't drank the last drop of it!" he continued with a hearty laugh that was shared by Fetcher as well, as the two men stopped their stroll to part ways.
Though as the Older Man began to walk way, off towards the Barracks and Fletcher towards the Officers Quarters where he had certain business to take care of, he called off to the man with parting words that had seemingly escaped his mind during their conversation, "Ah, Gregor. If you would, I have informed the men personally that I will not be able to join them for dinner tonight, but if you could save me some of your Smoked Fish" known as a delicacy in the Battalion, Gregor having seemingly perfected the art of cooking fish over their many escapades in the Colonies where it was a popular dish and having received some as a reward for assisting a local Fisherman earlier in the day, "I'll be sure to repay you with a fine Whiskey, even if I must fit Henri for it!" he continued, to which the old man nodded his head and laughed before continuing off for the barracks to begin the preparing of dinner rituals among the men of the Forty-Fourth, Fletcher himself finding himself within the confines of his Officers Quarters, where he found two men waiting for him, seemingly, if it were not for the fact they paid little attention to his entrance.
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The room of the Officers Quarters were as one would expect of an Officer's being much better toff than that of the rankmen among the battalion, not that Fletcher cared for much of it, as it was unnecessary and would more happily find himself sleeping in a tent among his men than a closed off area like this, though he was at least relieved to find it was on the first floor of the Officer's Quarties, not wishing to have repeating the incident with Eisenberg, and remembering it caused him to instinctively look down at his hands, were the one not covered by a blood soaked cloth appears to look like a dry piece of leather that had been worn down by many years in the sun and dust, though with a certain touch to it that seemed to indicate that it was not the result of hard work, like that of Old Man Gregor's leathery old face. Looking about the room, ir was fairly largely sized with a grand staging area in the front where a few chairs and a large desk could be seen, with a small room set off to the far back, that was no doubt the sleeping and more personal quarters of the private officer's quarters, with hints of a large bed suited better for three people then for a single one and a large dresser and mirror some style, though a half shut door prevented him from seeing most of it. Even back on his manor Aswen, he had not found a room such as this, even in his father's personal quarters, which he only entered upon inheriting the manor for himself years ago, and he felt almost at an unease being in such a room, as even in the Colonial station he had refused board among the colonies overseer's manor and instead spent many a night battling the heat and stinging bugs within the company of his men, all to his delight, and he would have likely felt even more restless, had it not been for the two other men who were present in the room, though seemingly paying little attention to their newly arrived guest.
One of the men was Lieutenant Ferson, whom after no doubt completing the rounds of his Second Company men, had settled down in the Captain's room, despite having on of his own, the Colonel likely finding the idea of the Officers, even junior boarding with the Rank to be distasteful in his so called up and proper mind, and was quickly sucking up an old looking bottle of what was no doubt Whiskey like an apple tree in the mid summer's heat. His attire was the same as it had been before, not even bothering to change after the work of unloading the supplies of the men, and likely to avoid changing clothes until they fell from his body in tattered rags, should he be given the option to by those around him, who even being farmers and their sons, might complain about the man's stench. Thought for the time he seemed occupied with simply devouring the fine bottle of Whiskey, no doubt at least a decade old, as if it were simply a glass of water, though it was no to say he was not enjoying it for its worth. Across the room, occupying a chair near one of the many bookshelves in the room, stacked to the ceiling with all manner of books, a number on theology, though many about the provinces culture and history, a fine touch for the newly arrived Captains to enjoy in the coming days, sat another man, a few years minor to Ferson and quite a number more to Fletcher. He was a shorterfellow and not quite built like either Fletcher or Ferson, though it was plain to see he was no push over either, despite some possibly relating him to a twig of a tree in his size and a blade of grass in demeanor. His face was tanned like Ferson's and sat in a similar way, indicating he too was of Dallic birth, though it was doubtful he hailed from the Western Reaches given his build. His eyes were of a light brown, like that of dry dirt one might find on the many roads criss crossing the provinces outer areas where foot and horse traffic was often scarce, but though they lacked the piercing qualities of Fletcher's or the sparkle of Ferson's but rather a hungry and keen look, like the young man was taking in all that was around him, whether it was to be seen or noticed, as the two often finding different meanings depending on the situation at hand. His hair was a light brown mess, much the same as his eyes and was laying loose, though short about his head, in a manner similar to Ferson's but lacking the part of the left side, and instead just hanging about in a mop of straight brown lines, like a bramble bush in the early winter days, but without the thorns. His attire was similar to that of Ferson and Fletcher's though he had discarded his overcoat, which lay on the back of the chair he sat in, and instead wore his undershirt without the sleeves rolled at all, hiding his arms, though if they were rolled, one would find he held a strong 'farmer's tan' where as his forearms carried a lighter shade of the bronze that Ferson wore, but his upper arms and torso were of a much lighter color, like one who had no spent quite as long in the sun, and rightfully so, as he had only joined the Battalion some two years ago, though his keen eyes and quick mind had earned him a commonision in Fletcher's eyes fairly quickly.
Upon entering Fletcher was the first to say a word, as both men seemed contempt with going about their business of drinking and reading, respectively. "What is this?" cried Fletcher upon noticing the bottle near Ferson, "Wasting such a fine Whiskey on
yourself?" he continued to a deadpan tone to his compatriot
Though it would seem the man picked up on it, for he shot back at Fletcher nearly as quickly, "Aye, well if you weren't so late to getting here, I might have waited for you. But that would have done injustice to this fair bottle of drink, and you know I can't disrespect the wishes of someone as gorgeous as she" he called back to Fletcher, in a proud tone as he took yet another sip from his glass, leaning a bit back in his chair, his eyes never leaving to meet Fletcher's
"Funny, considering the opposite is what landed you such a fine bottle..." he trailed off in a playful tone, moving to take a seat down the table from Ferson and he allowed the jab to settle in and await a response from the man. "Fine fine," came the response, a sense of defeat in his voice, "just shut your trap and having a drink" he continued as he slide the bottle towards Fletcher, who began to poor himself a glass as he retrieved a piece of parchment and a quill from the nearby desk that would likely serve as his place to dish out reports and the like when the time came and they were requested by the Colonel.
Soon enough, however, it would seem that he had recovered from the earlier jab possed against him by Fletcher and took to glancing over from his seemingly favorited spot on the hall of the room and instead on the parchment of paper where a storm of words were leaving the quill of Fletcher's right hand, the one without a cloth wrapped around it and seemingly his good one, at least at the moment as no much can be said about a hand with a gash across it, and began to attempt to read the words on his strange angle of approach, and upon seemingly discovering the source of the paper's purpose, let out a short humming sound in the direction of Fletcher, who didn't seem to flinch or look up from his work, nor did the young Jameson still buried nose deep in his book, titled
Fishing Techniques of the Dagomor Fisherman, not the most creative title for a book it would seem.
Seeing no reaction from Fletcher, Ferson now blurted out a phrase in a sarcastic, but cutting sort of tone towards Fletcher in a teasing like manner, "Writing to your betrothed, I see." He paused as Fletcher looked up, about to say something but cut him off before he could shoot any sort of reply, and continued in the same manner, "Alas, it seems our mighty Captain can last but only a few short weeks without hearing of her." Seeing as the person in question had written some number of letters ahead of time, and it was often the Captain would be found reading them upon the voyage. Ferson simply smiled as a look of annoyance passed across the Captain's face, something which was not easy to achieve, but it had seemed the young lieutenant had found a trigger.
It was now the Captain who finally found room to talk, and after releasing a deep sigh as his face returned to a state of regular calmness, he began to speak yet again in a calm manner as always, "Alicia, is but a friend" and though it seemed like he was about to continue Ferson interrupted him yet again, "Ah yes, yes, a friend. You must be
so delighted to find the only person who shares common footing with yourself" he jabbed in a sarcastic manner. "Well," began Fletcher, "at least I have found someone who shares similar sentiments on life and mind, though it would seem the task of finding one for yourself would be as hard as forcing Hibiscus to bloom in winter" he shot back with a smirk. "Now, how about a little tact, even in private quarters?" Fletcher spoke towards him in an almost rhetorical tone.
Though, as he was about to continue on with writing his letter, a voice hidden from view suddenly interrupted, followed by the opening of the door to the officer's quarters belonging to Fletcher, "You're the last person who should be lecture on the use of tact" came the voice. Looking up, both Ferson and Fletcher caught sight of a new man entering the room. Not wasting a moment the newly arrived man continued, "It's your lack of tact in any quarters that has brought us to this station, Fletch" was the reply, followed by a chuckle from both Fletcher and Ferson, as the statement was more or less true.
As they finished up their stunt of laughter they were able to pay attention to their newly arrived guest. The man was about as tall as Fletcher, though perhaps like Ferson just a tad bit shorter, however, he still retained a bit of height both over Ferson and Long the latter of which had not looked up from his book during the whole exchange of jabs and bickering between the men. The new man had a darkened and tanned face much like that of Ferson and appeared to be a few year major to the man, though year or two minor to Fletcher at the same time, painting him as the second oldest man in the room at current, and one of the older officers both in years of service and age among those in the Battalion as a whole, only being beaten by perhaps Fletcher himself, though he would not hope to match the years of soldier of his Captain no matter how hard he attempted to. His face was of a similar leathery manner to that of Gregor, but perhaps on the lesser side, as the Sergeant still had a number of years if not decades major to the lieutenant in more ways than one. His build was closer to that of Ferson's as well, of a farmer rather than the more soldier like build that was possessed by Fletcher, and far from the more schoolish and military build of Long. His hair was a mope of messy curls in a shade of dark charcoal like color, a strong contrast to that of Fletcher's light, nearly white, blond hair, and was much more orderly, having a part to the side much like Ferson’s, though retaining the randomly placed stragglers like that of Long's cut. His eyes were of a solid green cut, like that of a rich orchard in the late summer season, just before they begin to bud, but not quite coming on with fruit or flowers, and they seemed to rest deeply in color, unlike the lighter eyes of Long and Fletcher, and unlike the two, seemed to burn with a fire in them, even if he was simply trading jabs with friends, or in the heat of combat, it was likely a look that never changed. His attire was much the same as his compatriots, with a long grey overcoat that had found the sleeves rolled up past his elbows like that of Ferson and different from both Fletcher, Gregor and Long. He seemed to wear a friendly expression on his face, with a slight grin cocked up towards Fletcher, who replied in turn with a grin of his own as the bottle of Whiskey was passed back down towards Ferson and then onto the newly arrived man, who's named would be Sawyer Korson, the last of the Forty-Fourth's Company Commanders, being the Lieutenant of the First Company, with Long picking up the third and Ferson the second.
As Fletcher finished off the last words of his letter, he looked up towards both Ferson and Korson whom were passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth as its level quickly dropped from half to that of a quarter, the first quarter already been sucked up by Ferson prior to the arrival of Fletcher within the Officer's Quarters. Placing the letter safely in an envelope where it would hopefully be safe both for its long journey to Einsberg and from the peer eyes of Korson and Ferson, Long was not the one to worry about, Fletcher began to speak as the bottle was passed his way yet again. "Why do I constant feel as though I am being stacked against when you two occupy the same room?" he asked in a sarcastic manner as he took a sip from from his glass, before pouring himself another.
However, it would be Long who would answer this time, casting a quick shot off towards the group without ever allowing his eyes to leave the pages of the book, that seemed to be moving from side to side faster than the contents of the bottle were leaving it, "Likely, 'cause neither would stand a chance against you alone, Cap'n." The young lieutenants voice came across unbroken and in such a deadpan manner that all were silent for a minute before Fletcher released a small chuckle which was met by the light nodding of a head from Ferson in an approving manner and a slight shrug from Korson in a similar manner of action. It was then that, closing the book, seemingly finished with it already, that Long now looked towards his fellow officers and spoke yet again, "Also, if I believe I am correct, the Colonel requested a dinner with all Captain's. Did he not?" The question was more statement than anything and caused all eyes to fall on Fletcher who released a bit of a disappointed sigh upon hearing the news, though it was not new to him.
"True enough, Jameson. Seems I got a bit too caught up saving this bottle from Henri" he cast a glance down the table before continuing, "Though it seems I will have to leave such a task in Sam's hands, even if I still feel weary for that poor bottle. I'm sure the Duchess would feel the same" he mused as he sat up from his seat and made his way over to a small chest that held a series of clothes, mainly uniforms of the same variety that he currently wore, though he instead traded his light grey jacket for a darker tan one, though he still retained his beaten up straw hat upon his head, and the rest of his outfit failed to change in any respect, as he even rolled up the sleeves of said overcoat.
Upon placing the coat on his shoulders and rolling the sleeves to the length they had been previously he had kept them at. Such an action drew immediate attention from Korson, "Ah, dressing up are we?" he mused as if it were a strange event to see the Captain take, even if the newly adorned coat was even more banged up than the uniform he had been working in all day since their arrival on the landing. "Well," began Fletcher matching the tone of Korson perfectly, "I have no doubt that even the Colonel can't stand to stare at dress uniforms the entire day, and besides." He paused casting a slight grin in the direction of Korson, "He'll be with us for a while. No need to quench him like a blade on the first night, or I'd say he may turn brittle and break!" which earned a bit of a chuckle from Korson and Ferson, the stoic Long unwavering as he selected yet another book from the shelves and turned to devorer it's pages as well.
And with that, he was off from the Officer's quarters and out towards the Colonel's or rather the Mayor's manner where the dinner was to be held, as he had learned from Long, upon equesting of him such information, the junior officer knowing much more about the event then himself. Though as he passed by the rows of barracks and out towards the manor, a gust of wind kicked by him, bring with it the smell of many fires, no doubt his men as they began to prepare their meals, most preferring to cook outdoors than rely on other means of preparing food, and most of the food present being grown or raised by the men eating it, and for a moment he stopped to take in a whiff, wishing he himself was among them like all the nights previous for the past five years, realizing in fact it was the first in such a time he would not be among them. It was then, as he turned back to the path that the faint sound of singing could be heard off in the distance of his men's encampment...
A recruiting sergeant came our way
From an inn near town at the close of day
He said 'my Johnny you're a fine young man
Would you like to march along behind a military band
With a scarlet coat and a fine cocked hat
And a musket at your shoulder'
The shilling he took and he kissed the book
Oh poor Johnny what'll happen to ya?
Posted: Sat Jul 28, 2018 7:13 am
