Selm
Camp for the Order of the Golden Warriors
Sir Mathens ushered them down one of the many paths of the camp. The medical tent was in a central cluster of large tents, each one much larger than the ordinary sleeping tents or barracks tents that the average soldiers use. All the while, he chattered to them in a stuttering voice that either stemmed from nerves or a genuine stutter. Perhaps the latter was made worse by the former.
"I s-still can't believe you-you all lived through th-that." He said as they waited for a line of soldiers to cross. Their neat and orderly march out one of the two entrances in the camp took precedence over their escort. "T-that must hav-have been awful…"
The leonin shook his head in dismay at their situation, despite not even knowing the half of it. At this point, no one else had spoken up about their visions of burning agony at the hands of some unknown woman and her army of the damned. Selm certainly did not want to be the first to speak up about it either, however, should she find reason to, she would.
"It was… scary," Inathia muttered out, quietly. Only Sir Mathens, Selm, and Baz seemed to hear the dragonborn girl.
Sir Mathens shuddered in sympathy. "Th-the way we found you… i-it was not pr-pretty. I-I was o-one of th-the pe-people to bring you b-back to camp." The way that Melia had described it seemed better than what had truly happened to them, but even then it was far beyond anything Selm had seen back at the capital. The most gruesome act she had seen, until recently, had been a public execution her father had forced her to attend. That had given her nightmares for weeks. Selm did not need to be a prophet to predict that she would not sleep well for years to come. There was only so much trauma a formerly sheltered woman could take before she cracked.
"...I m-mean you-you all are sig-sightly yourselves… i-its just the state… we f-found you i-in was n-not." Selm realized she had tuned out Sir Mathen's mumbling for a moment, resulting in a confusing point on re-entry.
"What?" She questioned, out of the loop.
"He is apologizing for calling our… wounded forms unsightly," Yule informed her, leaning down a bit as to whisper without interrupting the knight. Selm was certain she heard him nearly say 'corpses' instead of 'wounded forms', but that only furthered the idea that he wished to continue with the narrative that they were being told. For now.
"By Keldar's w-will, you all sur-survived!" Sir Mathens said, no small amount of amazement in his voice. Selm had heard that tone before, often from individuals praising her singing or her charm. To hear it for the act of surviving some mysterious massacre drove the point home that she had entered an entirely new chapter of her life.
The rest of the group did not seem to be much for conversation, and Selm was with them on that point. Sir Mathens was a chatty person. He did not come across as ill-meaning or desperate, just awkward. It took him the entire short walk to their destination for him to catch the hint that they did not wish to divulge the details of their battle. Selm felt a bit bad at the way she saw his fluffy ears droop a bit when he figured it out. At the very least, the knight had figured it out before Runner had the chance to tell him to be quiet in a rude manner. Selm held no doubt that the Runner would lash out at the well-meaning knight if he had not stopped.
They had arrived on the opposite end of the central cluster of large tents. This one was especially large. The tent's apex was about twenty feet high, the height dropping steadily towards the outer edges of the circular construction, the lowest edge still being about twelve feet tall. It was almost unusually large, all things considered. The cloth around it looked thicker than what had made up the medical tent, and many more soldiers were guarding this one.
Two heavily armored knights stood side by side in front of the entrance of this tent. They wore armor that looked far more hefty than what Sir Mathens was wearing. Unlike many of the relaxing soldiers around camp, these two knights, as well as all the soldiers around this tent, had their helmets on and were standing at full attention. Each of them gripped a halberd in one hand but also had a large shield upon their backs and a blade at their hips.
"Sir Eldrig Mathens, of the Se-Seventh Squad, reporting i-in with the rescued victims of the un-unknown ambush, sir." Sir Mathens stated, presenting himself with an air of professionalism for the two large and dutiful guards. His back was to Selm, but she was certain he had his fist upon his chest, one of the forms of salute common across Keldanis.
The guard to the left nodded in acknowledgment, his gravelly voice echoing from inside the helmet. "Hold here for a moment. I shall inform the Lieutenant Commander of your presence." The guard took a look at all of them for a moment before turning on his heel and entering the tent with all the practiced care of someone whose life was dedicated to their duty.
There was a reason why Keldanis' military was feared. Call it nationalistic pride, but Selm could not help but feel some modicum of comfort in the fact that she was in good hands.
They waited outside of the tent for little less than a minute, listening to the sounds of the camp all around them. From here, they had a decent view of the front gate of the camp's fortifications. On either side of the heavy wooden gate, sentries were standing in thin towers. Careful watch was being kept over anyone attempting to approach the front gate. Or anything attempting to approach, Selm mused, as well as being able to call out should there be a reason to open the entry-exitway.
The heavily armored knight appeared from the inside of the tent, holding the thick flap open for them. "The Lieutenant Commander shall see you. Keep your hands off your weapons, and keep your tongue respectful." No need to warn Selm twice. Whoever was in control of this military operation was someone who deserved respect. Not to mention, they likely were the very reason why she and all of the others were still alive. Or, perhaps, why they were brought back to life.
While Selm was certain she would be on her best behavior, she was not the only one in this circumstance. With a worried glance towards Runner, she entered into the tent. If anyone was going to be rude, it would be that woman.
The inside of this large tent revealed its overall purpose in the camp. This was a central command tent. The center of the space was dominated by a large table, all sorts of maps spread out across it in a large spread, each pinned down by small metallic weights placed strategically upon their corners. A few orderly stacks of small wooden discs had been placed at the edge of one particularly large map. The map itself was covered in over two dozen of the little wooden pieces. At the briefest glance, it appeared that each of the tokens had a symbol or two carved into them, but their purpose remained unclear.
There were several other tables placed in an outer ring around the tent, mixed in with a few simple desks. Nearly every surface was covered in some form of parchment, scroll, or journal. There was a level of order to the piles of ink and what it was written on. Every pile was neat and carefully stacked. Selm had to admit, it was quite impressive.
However, her attention was not drawn to the maps, nor the organized papers and desks. Her attention was on the two other individuals in the room. The farthest one from her, on the opposite side of the large map table, was an older man. A tiefling, one born of the infernal blood through some mean or another, stood leaning over the map in contemplation. If she had to guess, she would place him near the middle of his life, at the point where men gained gray hairs and complained about their aching knees more and more. For tieflings, she believed that was around fifty years of age, but she did not meet tiefling men often enough to have an accurate gauge. His skin was a heather-adjacent color, not quite purple nor gray but a happy medium between the two. His eyes were a deeper shade of indigo, full in color and lacking pupils. His hair, both on top of his head and upon his face, was short and well-groomed. It was at a point where it looked quite nice, a common look back in the capital amongst nobles that Selm had seen. Sort of a circle beard around his mouth and chin, leaving the sides of his jaw clean. His horns curled out of his skull and back, an arc that ended a few inches away from his head.
As they entered the tent, he looked up at them with a neutral look. He had finally spoken when they had all made it past the entryway(Sir Mathens included).
"I welcome you to our camp. My name is Lieutenant Commander Isomeren Vendire of the Third Company. You may refer to me as Lieutenant Isomeren for ease of conversation. We have much to talk about." His voice was stern, and he spoke quickly and at a clipped rate. Each word was enunciated properly and eloquently at the same time. All things considered, this would be solid evidence to Selm that this man was of some level of nobility.
However, Selm was of no right mind to make this connection. At least, not at the moment. This was because her near-full attention had been captured by the other figure in the room.
That figure was a Golden Warrior.
Not a knight of the Order of the Golden Warriors.
This was a Golden Warrior in all of her glory.
~~~
By the gods, Selm thought, completely in awe, w-what is this day?
The woman standing before them, on the right side of the map table, was massive. She stood several feet taller than even Inathia. From shoulder to shoulder, Selm estimated that she was at least three feet wide. It was certainly hard to tell with the imposing and thick armor that the Golden Warrior wore.
The armor itself was a work of art, marred by scars of battles long since passed. The color of the metal was a pale gold, albeit not made of the soft metal. Intricate engravings, runes, and markings had been carved into the metal. All meant something to the wearer of the armor, even if it was not outwardly obvious. The previously noticed scratches and gouges in the protective suit looked to have been by teeth and claws of… well… Selm did not know what made those markings. She hoped she never would have to.
The woman looked… human. Which was odd. For as massive as this woman was, decked out in armor that likely weighed more than a cart, she still gave out the feeling of being a human. She did not seem to have any of the other humanoid races' features on her face and head(the only part of this woman that had no armor upon it), no horns or fangs. Her ears were rounded and proportional to the size of her head. She looked… well… normal. Just massive. Her head was smooth, free of hair. Her skin tone was a light tan, the same as someone who was out in the sunlight often, but also not always. Normal human lips and a slightly blocky nose. Again, they looked perfectly human. It was her eyes that were different. They were anything but human. They look like pools of liquid gold, Selm thought. Each eye glowed with an unnatural power, actually emanating light.
It was within those eyes that Selm's attention had been captured. Enraptured by their sight, those eyes seemed to bore into Selm's very soul. Under the gaze of this mighty warrior, Selm felt herself shrink. It was as if this woman knew every wrongdoing Selm had ever done. As if she could cause Selm to confess simply by her prolonged look. Likely, she could. Selm felt a tingle of divine magic in that gaze. This woman was a being blessed by the gods to fight against the dark tide of monsters. A holy warrior of no equal, besides her brothers and sisters in arms. Being in her presence was an honor and a privilege.
It was no wonder that Selm broke out of that gaze by doing the only natural reaction to such a presence. She bowed. Whether it was by instinct or by example, each of the others who had followed her into the tent did similar, albeit to different degrees. Baz and Yule were polite. Inathia was overeager and deep in her bow. Runner… took a second, but looked positively nervous. Actual sweat had collected on her brow.
A sigh echoed out from the Lieutenant as if expecting this but still being irritated nonetheless. "Accompanying me is Golden Warrior Mivera, Blade to the Fifth Spear of the Golden Warriors. Mivera, with all due respect, please ease up on them. I doubt these civilians neither appreciate nor need your undivided attention."
The attention shifted off of them, turning back to the Lieutenant briefly before relaxing. Selm let out a breath she had been holding, the pressure of such a presence being a bit much for her. The others did the same. Straitening up, yet remaining in a respectful position, Selm took another look around the room.
Mivera had shifted her focus to the map below her. The table barely came up to her knees, which would seem silly if not for the fact that the woman was so awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Sir Mathens had remained rigid in his salute, but even with a wayward glance, it was easy to tell he was constantly looking toward Mivera. The young knight had an almost reverential look to him. Selm could not help but sympathize. The Golden Warriors were the glorious heroes of the kingdom. Any true Keldani would be giddy. Selm had seen other Golden Warriors from afar back in the capital. A few appeared for highly significant events. She knew that a full spear- the traditional name for a full squad of four Golden Warriors- always stood by the king's side. Never before has she had such proximity to one.
"State your names and any relevant titles for the kingdom's records." Lieutenant Isomeren said, dipping a quill in ink and hovering it over a fresh sheet of parchment. He looked at them all expectantly. When no one stepped up first to speak, he sighed and pointed to Selm. She had been standing the closest to the table. "Please, we do not have all day. You. Name and titles?"
Remembering herself, Selm looked back to Lieutenant Isomeren. "My name is Selm Bru-" she paused. Was that her name anymore? While being disowned did mean she was no longer a part of that house… did that mean that she no longer held a surname? Am I now just Selm, she asked herself, or do I still cling to the remnants of the past?
With a terrible taste left in her mouth, Selm took the cowardly way out. "Selm, formerly of House Bruthor. No relevant titles remaining." What a miserable coward she was. As noncommital an answer she could give. What happened to not needing to rely on them anymore? What happened to disowning them as much as she was disowned? It had been over a month since that day and yet that mental wound still bled.
Lieutenant Isomeren looked at her with a level of recognition that was only fitting for a noble. Selm could not bear to look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his hands as they began to write down her information. If he had any look of pity or anger at that reveal, Selm did not want to know.
"Yule Pyras Velemure, former mage of the Institute of the Blue Tower." Yule kept the flow of the conversation running, smoothly turning all attention towards himself. Selm was grateful. The silence that had stagnated the air after her introduction was unbearable and she held no energy to fill it. She did not miss the curious glance towards her, though, from Yule.
"I-Inathia…" The large dragonborn girl stuttered out. The Lieutenant stared at her, waiting for more. The gaze caused the Inathia to squirm uncomfortably. "...Korush… M-Morgiz." That resulted in a similar hush inside the tent. Selm found herself staring at the girl, eyes wide. That was a name she recognized. That was something that would be talked about later. It simply had to be addressed. For now, Lieutenant Isomeren was already moving on to the last two.
"Baz. No second name. Cleric of Hrex." Baz stated. Out of all of them, Baz held the most composure. He had briefly stared at the massive warrior in the room, but other than that he had simply stood still and watched patiently. Selm was envious of his acceptance of their situation.
Runner's introduction held a lot of interest for Selm. She was quite curious about who sat behind that nickname. Sadly for Selm, Runner was stubborn on the information-giving side of things. "Runner. Just Runner. Nothin' else to give, nothin' else to take." The Lieutenant gave her a good stare-down before writing down her information. He spent a little bit longer on her than the rest, likely getting down her appearance as well as her name. Just in case. It was only sensible that they at least knew what Runner looked like if she used such an obvious false nomer.
With all of their details written down and introductions made, the Lieutenant set his quill down and looked them over once more. His eyes trailed across what little armor the group possessed and their rather paltry weaponry. It was an assessing sweep, one that Selm was certain they were failing based upon the grimace the man sported.
"Well, I must say, you all were in dire straights when you were brought to our camp. Father Yieros was nigh ready to give you to Celiar." A shiver ran down Selm's spine at that. We were almost put out of our misery? "Fortunately, the powers that be decided to spare some very expensive and very rare resources to bring you back from the brink."
Baz's brow furrowed, realization dawning on his scarred face. "No…"
Lieutenant Isomeren splayed his hands out, another grimace in sympathy. "I regret to inform you… you all are now in some heavy debt to the Order of the Golden Warriors. One thousand two hundred and twenty-five gold pieces per person. Or, six thousand one hundred and twenty-five gold pieces in total."
What?