Speaking of Childhood...

[Rilkar Olden & Sindyr]

 18:00, December, the year after Rilkar's first arrival
Light snow, cold, dark, and wet
No threads

 He leaned back in his chair.  Hours passed since he first began writing in his newest journal and the sun was low.  He needed to eat dinner but would probably snack on the usual assortment of various spare cuts he had stored and maybe a fish or two.  Sindyr was outside, making her usual path around the hut and surrounding woods.  Rilkar furrowed his brow with his gloved hand and looked at the quill he'd just dipped in fresh ink.  Ulrika was missing though, more than likely out hunting or gallivanting about with someone, somewhere.  It made him think of his own childhood.  It wasn't that many years ago, but those days seemed so far away.
~~
  He woke up one morning, his father was tending the fields, trying his hardest to earn a living wage in a city where being a merchant was how you made money.  His mother however, was cooking up a breakfast of stale bread and cabbage soup.  How much he had hated it, to eat so poorly day in and day out.  It was what they had though, and they made it work.  Maybe once a week they'd get meat, or fish, from the market stalls in town and they'd eat well for a night, but that was only when the markets were well stocked, most months would net them nothing and food became a scarcity.  Rilkar was afraid of his father not eating, and offer his portion, only to be denied.

  "A growing boy needs to eat, not so much myself."  He would always say.  His face was a blur to the long years of haunting memories and alcoholism.  No matter how hard he tried to forget, their voices never faded though.  But, Rilkar honestly thought it was a blessing in disguise.
 
  Mid-day came around and when he was out and about with one of the boys from a neighboring field, his father fetched him and brought him aside.  Tears were in his eyes, they weren't new by any means but still showed enough for him to see the pain.  His father explained to him what they were going to do.  They couldn't keep themselves alive, let alone a child, so they had auctioned him off to the best place they could.  A brotherhood of knights, based in Heirah's merchant district, known well for their caravans and cavalry skills.  They had posted flyers asking for young children of good physical health to join the next generation of knights, though only few would pass the trials.  Those that failed, were excommunicated and forced back to their families. 

  He was a burden, so they were getting rid of him.  Or at least so they thought.  Needless to say, the next few days were spent in preparation, basic manners were relearned, he was brushed up on basic city etiquette and then, finally, there he stood.  A small knapsack in hand holding his only two belongings, A small notebook and quill without ink, and a stitched up corn husk doll his mother made when he was younger still.  A boy, now age 9, with no experience in the upper echelons of life now stood at a large guild hall's doors, scared out of his wits and so uncertain of his future, he couldn't help but cry.  The rather dry tears stung as he knocked on the door.

  From inside, a strong, tall man, wearing the fanciest clothing he'd ever seen in his life had answered.

  "You must be the Olden boy, you're the last to show up you know."  He said, his voice sang with a strange mix of compassion and lofty ambition.
 
  Rilkar was lead inside to come face to face with a large group of around twenty some other children, all from various walks of life ranging from the upper, to the lower classes.  Slowly but surely they had segregated themselves by class.

  "Right then, now that our last recruit has finally arrived, we may begin.  A great deal will be expected of you, and even more will be gained beyond, should you make it through the final test."  The man began, and began to usher them through the guild hall.

~~

  Childhood was a funny thing.  He didn't remember much leading up to his years in the hall, but he certainly remembered his training.  They drilled him for hours each day in various types of sword play, he was taught to read and write, and then practice doing both at the same time.  As more time passed, they were introduced to tactics, moving in formations, further styles of fighting including lances, hand to hand, spears, bows, and any other weapon they could imagine.  The other scribes had all taken to a style they enjoyed, and sparred with each other relentlessly each day in a struggle to improve and gain the Grand Master's approval.  Rilkar, though he trained hard, and practiced hard, he thoroughly stuck to his books and writing, learning far more and far faster than the rest, various pieces of literature and poetry, and how to write in two styles of calligraphy.  Of course, he only barely remembered one in his current age.

~~
 
  Rilkar thought back to Ulrika, their lessons together, her training, not too different compared to what he had to go through.  In fact, it was what he went through.  Save the punishments for doing thins wrong, everything was the same.  He'd turned into the Grand Master himself and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd be proud or concerned.  She'd learn more as the years go by.  She was enjoying more of what he never did.  He envied her and her friends and he knew he didn't really get along with many other people, only simply used them as a means to an end goal, and kept them entirely at arms length afterwards.  A very unhealthy practice in hindsight.  Though he shouldn't let his train of thought, he had to write this down.  Perhaps she would read it some day?

~~

  Compared to his home, the meals were spectacular!  Every night it was a host of vegetables, fruits, and a roast of some sort that was shared among the children first, then the knights.  He loved it, he simply loved it.  Everything he was doing, every licking he took, every beating he faced for failure was worth it, just for the meals each night.  He would smile to himself each night, proud of everything he'd accomplished, the rivals he'd best, the new books he'd explore and the new things he would write in his small notebook, since lost to the ages.
 
  He wrote notes home that he'd never send, thank you's and criticisms, hate and love, all directed at his family.  He'd always mean to send it, but never got around to it, he was simply too busy.  Each night by the time a note was finished, the bell would ring and everyone would rush to sleep, eager to gain what rest was to be had in preparation for the next day's training.

  It was nine hard years of constant struggle to best his friends both in book smarts, and in the ring.  The day finally came when he would be knighted, having bested even his best friend of the time, and completed the test.  There were about seven others that were to be knighted, out of a group of twenty three.  They, like him were eager to accept their weapon and armour and join the brotherhood proper, serving the people and protecting the weak like so many before them.  Nathaniel, his best friend was also at his side, at attention as the Grand Master knighted each one of them with a congratulation and honorably handing each knight their new gear.  Their roles within the brotherhood decided by their highest academic and combat scores.  Rilkar received his gear, a knight-scribe in the brotherhood.  The red cloth waist fauld and shoulder cape were specific to just him, the rest who had served in primary combat roles were blue, and cavalry were green.  Lastly, defenders wore plate faulds and heavier pauldrons so they may protect the weak.  Rilkar would serve combat roles first and foremost, but mostly document the guild's actions over the coming years as their scribe. 

  It was a magnificent day, those that had not made it, returned home to their families to live whichever life their family was known for.  For the knights themselves, it was the beginning of a new life of adventure, luxury, and further rigorous training.  Little did the brotherhood know, a political monster was rising from within the neighboring kingdoms.  The new life he had just come to know would be over in a matter of two short years.

~~ 

  He paused and dipped his quill in the ink, prepared to write the final few pages of the night.  The large window above his desk popped open with a clatter, and with it, Sindyr's head popped in.  Against the back drop of the fireplace and the wood of the shack he called home, she looked hilariously like a large frilled lizard, mounted as a trophy won in some grand hunt.

  "I can't find your peasant girl anywhere."  Her features dipped and bobbed along with a bunch clicks, growls and whatever other noises dragons made.  Dragonese was still so weird for him to understand, and her choice of words made it even harder for him to understand.

  "I never realized you were looking for her." 

  "She left hours ago and hasn't returned, isn't it time for her final lesson?"

  "She will come home, and if she's late, she will do her lesson, and suffer from an hour or so of lost sleep is all."  With that she carefully pulled her head from the window, not soon before ripping a chunk out of the window frame with her horns.

  "Gods!!  Be careful!"  He shouted, she only let out what could only be described as a snicker before he closed the window.

~~

  This new monster, a cult of Red Rock inspired dragon riding revolutionaries, unknown to anybody at the time and more than likely still unknown to most outside of the events, had gathered their strength through the manipulation of Heirah's neighbors in trade.  Those that did not bow were destroyed.  Word finally reached their kingdom and everybody was in a panic.  The king, who had by this point recently sent his daughter off to one of said kingdoms for an arranged marriage with some noble nobody cared about, gathered all his guard to calm the people down.  The spread of propaganda and lies was like a wildfire, throwing the whole kingdom into a political mess of fearful people all scrambling for answers in any way they could.

  All this happened in his second year of knighthood.  As far as Rilkar was concerned, it felt like it was just the other day he was gaining his new title, and now he was policing caravans, protecting nobles and crowd controlling the populace.  He hadn't so much as gotten a chance to sit and write the events for prosperity for weeks, the Grand Master was on his back about it every night.  Each time the same thing was said in response, "My duties as a knight, come before my duties as a scribe, with all respect Grand Master.".

  Finally, the face of the enemy had made itself known two whole years after he had gained his knighthood.  The terrible face of the dragon riding cult swept in from the trade routes almost overnight.  Three days it took, fires from their camps had marked their positions but they covered too much ground to properly prepare for.  Nobody was prepared for what happened next.

~~

  Rilkar dipped his pen in the ink bottle where it stayed.  He yawned and turned to the boiling stew in the pot within the fireplace and closed the journal, marking his page with a red bookmark stripe of ribbon.  The old battered piece of cloth dangled from the final page.  From this point on, he would simply wait.