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Single Author Stories / The Tale of Jangeol Bakieck
« on: November 03, 2008, 12:11:44 am »
Ch 1: Slave
Jangeol sat on a stool in front of remaining embers of a fire, warming his hands. The night was quite, Jangeol enjoyed these nights, free from the usual shouting and vulgar banter that usually took place while they were encamped. Jangeol was of average size for a young man of fourteen, though he was visibly more muscled than most. His hair was jet black and his eyes brown, on his upper lip and strong jaw were a few unshaven whiskers. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in thought as he stared at the crude brand on his hand, which formed the numbers 7/7.
Sitting as such, after the men of the notorious Red Wolf Mercenary Legion had long since drunk themselves to a stupor and fallen into a deep slumber, Jangeol would often think as he did that night. He wondered where it was that he had come from; he knew that he had been taken as many slaves of the Legion as an orphan. Perhaps bought, perhaps the Legion itself had orphaned him. It didn’t matter much; it didn’t affect what he would do tomorrow, or the next day. He did know Raelath had taken him in and treated him much better than most treated their slaves, almost as a son sometimes and Jangeol admired him almost as a father.
Raelath was a warrior of legendary repertoire, in his prime he was said to be worth ten well trained men. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was built as wide as the oldest of trees, his strength unmatched even though he was far from his youth. Now he was mostly tasked with training the men, though he still found his way onto the battlefield often enough. While some said he was beginning to lose his edge, Jangeol didn’t believe a word of it; as far as he was concerned Raelath was still the greatest warrior in all of the Legion.
As he thought he heard the snap of a few twigs, Raelath must be awake he thought. Raelath had almost as much trouble sleeping as Jangeol did; it had grown worse since the death of his wife, which had left him without a son to call his own.
As he reflected Raelath’s massive hand grasped his shoulder, “You should sleep m’boy, goin’ ta be a long day fer ye t’morrow.”
Jangeol looked over his shoulder, his voice a bit distant, “I’ll be fine, don’t be worryin’ ‘bout me suh.”
Raelath smiled a bit, “I talked to Teros, I asked if I could use ye in tha raid t’morrow, told him ‘bout how ye were real good with tha sword ‘n such.”
Jangeol’s face turned to a bit of surprise, followed by a rare smile, “Really?”
Raelath’s smile grew broad, “Aye m’boy, yer ta act as relief this time, but if ye do well, I’ll prolly be able ta convice him ta let ye in fer better jobs.”
Jangeol jumped up from his stool, no longer smiling but it was quite obvious he was ecstatic, “Thankye Raelath.”
Raelath patted him on the shoulder, “Ye’ve earned it, now get some rest, can’t have ye fallin’ asleep while yer on post now can we?”
Jangeol sat on a stool in front of remaining embers of a fire, warming his hands. The night was quite, Jangeol enjoyed these nights, free from the usual shouting and vulgar banter that usually took place while they were encamped. Jangeol was of average size for a young man of fourteen, though he was visibly more muscled than most. His hair was jet black and his eyes brown, on his upper lip and strong jaw were a few unshaven whiskers. His thick eyebrows were furrowed in thought as he stared at the crude brand on his hand, which formed the numbers 7/7.
Sitting as such, after the men of the notorious Red Wolf Mercenary Legion had long since drunk themselves to a stupor and fallen into a deep slumber, Jangeol would often think as he did that night. He wondered where it was that he had come from; he knew that he had been taken as many slaves of the Legion as an orphan. Perhaps bought, perhaps the Legion itself had orphaned him. It didn’t matter much; it didn’t affect what he would do tomorrow, or the next day. He did know Raelath had taken him in and treated him much better than most treated their slaves, almost as a son sometimes and Jangeol admired him almost as a father.
Raelath was a warrior of legendary repertoire, in his prime he was said to be worth ten well trained men. He stood nearly seven feet tall and was built as wide as the oldest of trees, his strength unmatched even though he was far from his youth. Now he was mostly tasked with training the men, though he still found his way onto the battlefield often enough. While some said he was beginning to lose his edge, Jangeol didn’t believe a word of it; as far as he was concerned Raelath was still the greatest warrior in all of the Legion.
As he thought he heard the snap of a few twigs, Raelath must be awake he thought. Raelath had almost as much trouble sleeping as Jangeol did; it had grown worse since the death of his wife, which had left him without a son to call his own.
As he reflected Raelath’s massive hand grasped his shoulder, “You should sleep m’boy, goin’ ta be a long day fer ye t’morrow.”
Jangeol looked over his shoulder, his voice a bit distant, “I’ll be fine, don’t be worryin’ ‘bout me suh.”
Raelath smiled a bit, “I talked to Teros, I asked if I could use ye in tha raid t’morrow, told him ‘bout how ye were real good with tha sword ‘n such.”
Jangeol’s face turned to a bit of surprise, followed by a rare smile, “Really?”
Raelath’s smile grew broad, “Aye m’boy, yer ta act as relief this time, but if ye do well, I’ll prolly be able ta convice him ta let ye in fer better jobs.”
Jangeol jumped up from his stool, no longer smiling but it was quite obvious he was ecstatic, “Thankye Raelath.”
Raelath patted him on the shoulder, “Ye’ve earned it, now get some rest, can’t have ye fallin’ asleep while yer on post now can we?”
