Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2009
A shield wasn't really necessary, was it? Helpful, but not wholly necessary. You could get by without a shield. Swords could parry easily enough. Or you could dodge. The same went for armor. That heavy iron or steel shell most knights were seen in was so heavy, so cumbersome. So expensive. So... difficult to part with, but in truth it'd been months now since he'd had any real work. Months. Eight months, and this was the lie the knight had to tell himself with chagrin, that he was better without the protective equipment. For the sake of daily food and a nightly bed he'd gone from heavy armor to simply heavy leather, from honor and pride to... selling it piece by piece: the leggings, the boots, the pauldrons, the gauntlets, and eventually even the chestpiece. Most recently he'd sold off his shield while telling himself a longsword would be enough to see him through a battle. Wishful thinking, this all was. What other option did he have? Every word of work was filled ten minutes ago by someone else, and the tavernkeep had quite some time ago cut off his tab, telling the down-on-his-luck unemployed soldier that he had to either start paying up front or sleep under the stars.
And that said nothing of what he'd have to eat under such circumstances, if he'd have anything at all. What kind of world had it become when an able-bodied man could not find a single place of respectable employ? So he'd taken to drinking, a habit which the local acquaintances he'd made in this town were just as guilty of, so none of them called the fallen knight on it. Nathaniel was not a lush by any means, not normally, not when there were things to be done, but when there weren't there wasn't much else to occupy one's time. So by no fault of his own, there he was. Without a copper to his name, without a lick of the armor he'd once felt to be a second skin, and though he still tried to do the right thing, the rain clouds were darker than ever.
Or was that just coincidence? He watched by candlelight as the rain poured down in buckets right outside the window by where he sat, mug in hand. Was it even five in the evening yet? And it was so dark outside. It made him feel a little better, a little less guilty about having spent the afternoon piling up six empty mugs in front of him that a waitress was now stacking on her tray to take away, he halfway through his seventh. Oh, rain... Could you be a godsend? Could you break a gate somewhere, this storm, and there would be loose livestock in need of gathering? Or perhaps some lowlife will use your cover to perform a theft? Or any other situation he could be hired to help with? Or would you persist until it was time for sleep, the much more likely truth that Nathaniel did not have money left beyond another few drinks and maybe a hunk of bread; the stars would indeed be his companion tonight, and whatever soggy grass he laid upon would be his bed.
Again, here was not a man without an able body, but his luck for most of this past year has been as dark as these rain clouds, as rotten as the food he'll probably soon be thankful to have. In his late twenties, the chestnut-haired man sat with a roguish sort of grin as he stared out the window, one hand around his mug, the other at length between his chest and the table, his body slightly leaning. That body was of a medium to strong build, not brutishly but certainly tone from a life of heavy armor and quick swordplay. His grin was painted on at this point, snickering at his own patheticness, the candlelight flickering, serving to well illuminate that lipped curve. He hadn't shaved in about two weeks, a still relatively mild beard coating his face, as that was another luxury of sorts lately. It reflected well in the flickering light, that and the straight chestnut hair that fell as far as his shoulders, uncut since these hard times began. At least he still had this drink though, for as long as it might last. As least the uncomfortably humid temperature had suddenly dropped with this change of weather over the last few minutes, his skin mildly sticky with sweat, but now it felt almost comfortable, if mildly chilly.
"Yes, yes, rain... For all you are good for, heavens, let it rain... on me, on this whole begotten world..." The words came with a calm smile, with something near a snicker. His words were bitter and softly spoken, but Nathaniel couldn't help the amused look he held. He had to laugh at this, at all of it, at his predicament. What other option was there? Wallow in self-pity as he slowly gave up every thing of value he'd worked so hard to earn? He'd done that already; he'd been doing it for months.
He sat up in the bench at the table, drawing his hands back. He slumped down then, followed by his hands reaching up, white heavy cotton gloves long dirtied, long with the fingers worn through, reaching up to run his hands through his lengthy strands of hair, bringing it back behind his ears on either side. A moment later he was leaning forward again, the once-knight's eyes, a soft brown, never once leaving the sight of people hastily passing by the window in the storm, as if some rich old woman might twist her ankle in the mud and require aid. ...Was he a villain of sorts to hope for that? Regardless, he stared as he sat, one hand reaching back again to idly wrap his fingers around the mug, the other raising up, elbow on the table, palm now supporting a listless chin.
And that said nothing of what he'd have to eat under such circumstances, if he'd have anything at all. What kind of world had it become when an able-bodied man could not find a single place of respectable employ? So he'd taken to drinking, a habit which the local acquaintances he'd made in this town were just as guilty of, so none of them called the fallen knight on it. Nathaniel was not a lush by any means, not normally, not when there were things to be done, but when there weren't there wasn't much else to occupy one's time. So by no fault of his own, there he was. Without a copper to his name, without a lick of the armor he'd once felt to be a second skin, and though he still tried to do the right thing, the rain clouds were darker than ever.
Or was that just coincidence? He watched by candlelight as the rain poured down in buckets right outside the window by where he sat, mug in hand. Was it even five in the evening yet? And it was so dark outside. It made him feel a little better, a little less guilty about having spent the afternoon piling up six empty mugs in front of him that a waitress was now stacking on her tray to take away, he halfway through his seventh. Oh, rain... Could you be a godsend? Could you break a gate somewhere, this storm, and there would be loose livestock in need of gathering? Or perhaps some lowlife will use your cover to perform a theft? Or any other situation he could be hired to help with? Or would you persist until it was time for sleep, the much more likely truth that Nathaniel did not have money left beyond another few drinks and maybe a hunk of bread; the stars would indeed be his companion tonight, and whatever soggy grass he laid upon would be his bed.
Again, here was not a man without an able body, but his luck for most of this past year has been as dark as these rain clouds, as rotten as the food he'll probably soon be thankful to have. In his late twenties, the chestnut-haired man sat with a roguish sort of grin as he stared out the window, one hand around his mug, the other at length between his chest and the table, his body slightly leaning. That body was of a medium to strong build, not brutishly but certainly tone from a life of heavy armor and quick swordplay. His grin was painted on at this point, snickering at his own patheticness, the candlelight flickering, serving to well illuminate that lipped curve. He hadn't shaved in about two weeks, a still relatively mild beard coating his face, as that was another luxury of sorts lately. It reflected well in the flickering light, that and the straight chestnut hair that fell as far as his shoulders, uncut since these hard times began. At least he still had this drink though, for as long as it might last. As least the uncomfortably humid temperature had suddenly dropped with this change of weather over the last few minutes, his skin mildly sticky with sweat, but now it felt almost comfortable, if mildly chilly.
"Yes, yes, rain... For all you are good for, heavens, let it rain... on me, on this whole begotten world..." The words came with a calm smile, with something near a snicker. His words were bitter and softly spoken, but Nathaniel couldn't help the amused look he held. He had to laugh at this, at all of it, at his predicament. What other option was there? Wallow in self-pity as he slowly gave up every thing of value he'd worked so hard to earn? He'd done that already; he'd been doing it for months.
He sat up in the bench at the table, drawing his hands back. He slumped down then, followed by his hands reaching up, white heavy cotton gloves long dirtied, long with the fingers worn through, reaching up to run his hands through his lengthy strands of hair, bringing it back behind his ears on either side. A moment later he was leaning forward again, the once-knight's eyes, a soft brown, never once leaving the sight of people hastily passing by the window in the storm, as if some rich old woman might twist her ankle in the mud and require aid. ...Was he a villain of sorts to hope for that? Regardless, he stared as he sat, one hand reaching back again to idly wrap his fingers around the mug, the other raising up, elbow on the table, palm now supporting a listless chin.