Sitting at the front of the carriage next to the driver, Mark saw water splash and slop all over the road as the pack animals pushed forward.
Trotting through a handful of medium sized towns, and six villages along the North Road, Mark's party had grown from a handful of wagons to a decently sized convoy.
Whether it be peasants walking on foot, or merchants in wagons, their group began to swell from a couple dozen people to a couple hundred.
Mark thought it strange at first, but considering that there was safety in numbers, it wasn't all that implausible of a situation.
If someone wanted to leave a town, but didn't want to risk going alone, following a convoy only made sense.
As long as his wagons led from the front, and didn't have to slow for anyone else, Mark didn't mind.
It was a stormy evening when their convoy eventually came across a roadside inn.
They were approximately a day out from Hergig, and this was to be their last stop before entering the big city.
Unlike a typical country rest stop, the inns within the Drakwald were walled.
When they couldn't make it to a town or village before dark, this was their preferred resting place.
The inn had a ditch turned moat all around it. Additionally, the only entrance and exit was a drawbridge.
It was a three story structure reminiscent in size to an apartment complex. Beyond the gate, Mark could see a decently expansive courtyard. He figured there would be just enough room for all the wagons and animals if they packed themselves tight.
Finally, the inn sat at the junction of three different roads, proving its prime location. In Mark's opinion, this would make for an excellent command post or fallback point in times of war.
Whoever had designed this structure impressed Mark with their foresight. It perfectly fit the number of people traveling in a large convoy, and acted as a mini-keep.
From the incessant babbling of Trader Jerrick, Mark learned that this armored inn was part of the Elector Count's 'State Renovation Project' in an effort to increase commerce.
And Mark would say it was the right step forward.
Unsurprisingly, merchants were adverse to traversing the near perpetually dark death forest. They would rather sail the river Reik or Talabec than chance some goblins and beastmen. As a result, Hochland remained the poorest province.
Mark was impressed with the Count's determination. While these fortified inns may not fix the problem, at least he seemingly wasn't a generically feckless noble.
The goods these merchants transported would improve the peasantries lives, and help the entire region. A ruler that could recognize that earned Mark's respect.
As they approached the drawbridge, a pair of halberd wielding, mail armored guards stepped forth. Mark noted a half dozen crossbowman lazily peering down from the walls.
One guard began to speak in a well practiced, clear cut manner. "Hail traveler's! Welcome to Ludenhof's Rest! A night's stay is 10 shillings for a private room, 5 shillings per wagon, 1 shilling for five in a room, 1 shilling per animal, and 10 copper pennies per communal room. This fee provides food and lodging for both man and beast!"
"Jerrick, sort things out. I'll be going ahead." Mark turned to the half dwarf, and let him take care of the men's accommodations.
Stepping off the front row of the carriage, Mark shielded his face from the pouring rain. Not for the first time did he curse the lack of umbrellas and other modern conveniences.
Knocking on the door of the carriage, Mark took his money/clothes chest in one arm, and held hands with Lilliana in the other.
"Haha, you are not so little anymore!" Mark chuckled at her, and couldn't help but tease.
Lilliana came out of the carriage wearing a puffy set of clothing meant to insulate her. In typical Morr fashion, it was all black. However, instead of the cold gothess princess vibe she normally gave off, she reminded Mark of something cute and fluffy.
"Smelly." Lilliana merely took a quick whiff, and strode forward, ignoring him.
Mark's grin twitched, and he closed his eyes. So he accidentally tracked some mule dung I to the carriage. Just once! And she had been holding it over his head ever since.
…but they were staying at an inn, and that meant some hot water was involved. Mark began to plot to himself.
"Wipe that lewd smirk off your face. Let's go, I was at a good part in my book when you so rudely interrupted me." Lilliana stamped her boots into a shallow puddle and harrumphed.
"But you didn't even turn around." Mark came up behind Lilliana, and embraced her.
"Does the sun shine?" Lilliana asked rhetorically.
"..."
"Then my Big Idiot is up to something." Lilliana swiped Mark's pawing hands away, glanced over her shoulder, and strode forward once more.
'Women.' Mark rolled his eyes, and paid the guard 10 silver shillings so he and Lilliana could pass.
Entering the common room of Ludenhof's Rest, the warmth seemed to blaze around him from all corners.
There were sounds of men toasting and boasting, and of women flirting their fancy.
The wealthy gambled, or smoked. While the poor mostly kept to themselves.
A small handful of peasant pilgrims attended an impromptu sermon by a priest of Sigmar. Mark could tell that was his denomination based on the twin tailed comet pendant around the priest's neck.
All in all, Ludenhof's Rest seemed like a rather generic fantasy inn. Hell, there was even a bounty board. At a glance, Mark saw bounties for goblin teeth, beastman horns, and other exotic animal or plant parts. There were even a few sketches for missing persons or property retrieval.
As Mark understood it, there wasn't anything like an Adventurers Guild, but that didn't stop wealthy locals from posting jobs.
There was a somewhat familiar masked, buff man standing near the board, but Mark quickly lost interest. The appearance of hero units from Warhammer weren't as memorable as other franchises, and that guy could be some random mercenary.
A high pitched voice brought Mark out of his musings.
"Fancy a shine M'Lord!" A malnourished teenage boy full of orange hair approached Mark with a rag.
Mark paused, not to agree, but in slight surprise. This was the first redhead he had seen since coming to this world.
'Huh.'
He shook his head at the oddity.
"No thank-" Mark began before he heard Lilliana mutter "Stinky" from the side.
"Sure boy."
"This way M'Lord!" The boy led Mark to a nice looking mahogany chair.
The area they sat in was near a fireplace. A few men played dice at a table nearby, and only paid Mark a few casual glances before going back to their game.
Lilliana followed, and sat down near Mark. She drew much longer gazes then Mark when she began to unlayer.
"Eyes focused lad." Mark tipped the worker's forehead away from Lillia's ample bosom.
"O-of course! You'll be cleaner than a sharp sword in the Count's armory or my name isn't Werner!" The boy proudly exclaimed before getting to work on removing the mud and grime from Mark's armor.
Mark appreciated the fact that he didn't have to do it himself. Typically, he would let a maid do the cleaning at Esk. But while he was on the road, he didn't have any servants to take care of it.
Glancing at and appreciating his Little One while she was deeply focused on a book, Mark determined It was worth it to keep clean. If he let his base manly tendencies loose, then there was no doubt that this already strange relationship may become strained to say the least.
While the boy was wiping down his boots and greaves, three men approached Lilliana.
They each wore loose baggy clothing. Mark could see what could only be sheathed weapons hidden within their voluminous clothes.
Mark sat back, unworried.
He had seen her work with a bow, and the few times he had seen her blade work in the forest had left him stunned. Her elf blood truly made her something special compared to the common man.
His only concern was that he was about to witness some cliche moment in which he had to prove his machismo, or some feminist girl power scene would arise. Considering how generic this fantasy inn was, Mark wouldn't be surprised by either outcome.
"Oi, you, the lovely lady!" One of the men approached Lilliana from the right.
"Ey, you eard im luv?" A second came to her left.
"I think she's ignoring you, how rude!" The third chided.
"OI, PRETTY LADY!" The first man cupped his mouth an yelled.
Lilliana sighed and closed her book, then turned to the trio of men.
"Do you know what we do with rude, pretty ladies like you's?" The trio of men each reached for concealed objects hidden within their baggy clothing.
Lilliana errantly rested her hand at a sheathed blade.
"No need to get handsy luv, whe just have a question is all!"
"So, do ya know?" The third man took a step closer so that he was practically breathing on her.
Lillina narrowed her eyes, her hand gripped the sheath to her dagger tightly in preparation.
"What."
"We. Play'em a song! Hit it boys!"
The trio took a step back, and whipped out some instruments.
Lilliana flinched, and had to hold herself back from lunging. Her blade was a quarter of the way drawn, and she was half a step out of her seat by the time she recognized the instruments for what they were.
"Ha!" Mark guffawed at her ridiculous half-cocked pose.
She caught him laughing, and glared at him, but he only laughed harder. Her scrunched up angry face was much too cute!
The trio of musicians began to play on a harmonica, a hand drum, and a pair of sticks.
Other inn patrons joined Mark in laughter, and he saw a few coins changing hands. It would seem such an event had become something of a regular occurrence at the Ludenhof.
Lilliana huffed, strode up to Mark for the room key, and stomped away.
Mark slumped his shoulders. Ah. Operation bath would have to wait for another day it seemed.
"All done Mi'Lord!" The boy, Warner saluted, and pointed Mark to his sparkling clean armor.
Mark raised an eyebrow, this was washed faster and better then what the maid's in Esk could do.
Reaching for his pouch, Mark handed out a silver shilling. "Take it lad, you've earned it."
"Thank you M'Lord!" The boy enthusiastically thanked Mark, quickly looked left and right, then pocketed the coin into a small slip in his shirt before scurrying off.
As soon as the boy left, a decently attractive woman sashayed to Mark's table.
But before she had anything to say, Mark handed her a dozen pennies.
"Go get me a meal and something to drink." Mark said curtly.
She opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it, bowed, and accepted Mark's orders. The benefit of wearing armor everywhere, Mark mused. Some people whispered snidely because of it, but no one had the balls, or the social standing to criticize him to the face.
It was a good thing the lady had kept her flirtations to herself too.
If there was anything he had learned from being in a relationship back on Earth, even being looked at by another woman was grounds for his girlfriend's ire.
And if there was anything he had learned about Lilliana, it was that she hated it when he spoke with other women. Oh sure, she didn't say anything, but a man didn't need to hear a woman's voice to notice her silent condemnation!
Besides, why would he settle for a common flower when the prize only required a little more tilling?
For the thousandth time, Mark reminded himself to become one with patience.
While he waited for his meal to arrive Mark decided to pass the time by eavesdropping for some rumors.
"How about that weather."
"I once caught a goblin peaking at my daughter! It left her flowers!"
"Praise Sigmar!"
"So, I heard you caught your wife cheating!"
"Hans you lost! That's twelve shillings, hahaha!"
….Okay, maybe listening to rumors was a mistake.
Just people yelling about winning a game, relationships, money, the weather. Frankly, the people were boring.
However, one conversation seemed to tickle Mark's fancy.
The barkeep was engaged in conversation with a group of ten, somewhat well equipped people. They each had a weapon, and while most were armored in cloth gambesons, there were a couple sets of chainmail. Surprisingly, three of the armed travelers were women.
"We are adventurers seeking the wyvern Migush Rainbow Scale, have you seen it?" The leader of the group slapped down a crude drawing of a wyvern.
"Bah, adventurers! Call yerselves what ya are, mercenaries! And to involve women in uer trade!? Foolishness! Ya've let those stories about Gortrek and Felix get to yer heads!" The barkeep was a balding middle aged man, yet he didn't care one bit for the armed men and women before him.
"We are no mercenaries barkeep! Us merry men and women are but humble bringers of good fortune!"
"Adventurers?" Mark raised an eyebrow in curiosity. To his knowledge, there was no such thing as an adventurers guild, or any organized group.
The barkeep must've heard Mark, and he went off on the group.
"Aye, ever since that boy, Felix whatever his name started publishing those sappy poems, epics and tall tales, young men and a few women have gone out ta 'see the world.' Just how many villages have you rescued from marauding bandits, goblins and beastmen, boy? Bringing a few woman along fer yer joy ride out inta the countryside? Life ain't no game. Renault doesn't only support winners. Go home, yer mum must miss you." The barkeep rolled his eyes and kept rubbing down the table while he explained.
The young man and his rowdy gang quieted down and adopted a somber, almost violent attitude. "We're all that's left of our village."
"Then go farm somewhere and start a family. No need ta get a woman killed!" The barkeep spat.
"Only one doing the killing is us my dear." A lady roughly slammed a bag down, and inside were more than two dozen goblin teeth.
The barkeep pulled back, stunned. The other occupants paying attention to the conversation broke out into whispered mutters.
"Thank you Sienna. Yes, we may be shorter than a Norscan, and equipped with but the bare basics. But we're adventurers to see that this befalls no other. And those stories of Gortrek and Felix were no tall tales. We saw them in the flesh, if not for them, we would be goblin soup!"
"Bah, it's yer lives on tha line. I see ah can't dissuade you lot any further! Lemme see yer map. We're just east of tha Korver Hills, travel north inta the forest, and tha beast has been sighted there. Now are ya gonna stand there or buy something ta drink?!"
Mark made a note of the location. He had been craving a flying mount for some time. A dragon or phoenix would be his preference.
But given his current strength, those mythical creatures may be out of his league for the moment.
A wyvern however, would be quite the interesting challenge. Mark decided he would have to take a look during his return trip to Esk.
The barmaid came back with a couple slices of buttered bread, and some beer.
Mark ignored her flirtatious gaze, and took a step outside to get some fresh air.
Standing underneath the inn's awning, Mark took a sip of the beer before spitting it out. He made a face, and dumping the rest into the rainy mud.
Some men were busy tying up the animals, others passed him by as they went to their accommodation.
"Watch over this." Mark handed his chest over to a pair of familiar guards from his caravan.
After receiving a few reluctant affirmations, Mark went back to staring at the rain eater form streams, and flow out of grates built into the side of the wall.
He took a bite of bread, and was pleasantly surprised by its freshness.
However, his smile was quickly wiped off his face as he watched the boy he had paid not to long ago wrestling with three other teens.
Mark wasn't one to jump in between conflicts at the jump of a hat. Who knows, maybe the redhead owed them money?
"Son of a Norscan whore!" One boy said cruelly as he pummeled Werner to the ground.
Rain and mud stained Werner's clothes.
"Where's the silver!" Another boy started fumbling through Werner's shirt.
For Werner's part, he didn't stay idle. His right hand poked the third boy in the eye, and his knee lifted up from the ground, and crunched the first boy in the balls.
He rolled around like a worm, escaping tje second boy's grasp. He lunged forward, only to be caught at the last moment.
"That's it Norscan scum!" The first boy clutched his balls in pain, and lashed out with a backhand, bloodying Werner's lips.
The boy went for another backhand, but Warner ducked his head, and the boy slapped his friend instead.
Werner stomped on his toes, and finally escaped his captors. He ran toward the wagons, and disappeared into the darkness.
If it were happier times, Mark would assume it was a group of friends playing tag, the way they ran around the wagons.
Werner surprised one boy by dropping down from the top of a wagon, and shoving his head into the mud.
The boy looked vicious with his blood dripping down his chin. White teeth snarled in anger as he bashed the other boy in the back of the skull, rendering him unconscious.
"Coward Norscan!" The first boy saw Warner over his friend, and ran forward in a fury.
They met each other in an exchange of fists.
Despite being a whole head smaller than the others, Werner gave better than he got.
Mark began to admire the redhead. Sometimes, it wasn't about the size of the dog in the fight, but the fight in the dog.
"I've seen enough." Mark said as he stepped forward to stop the third boy from ambushing Werner from behind.
"My Lord, this vile Norscan has stolen from-"
"Get lost." Mark stared the boy dead in the eyes.
"Y-yes my lord!" The boy's legs quivered before he turned tail and ran.
Warner turned around, but Mark stopped him with a shoulder on the hand.
"Not you."
Mark felt Werner stiffen, and shake his hand off before he ran away.
"Ha!" Mark laughed once.
He wanted to recruit that kid to be his squire. The teen could clean armor, and wasn't lacking in courage, and knew when to retreat.
However, who knew he would be so wilful!
"Hahaha!" Mark laughed once more, and shook his head.
Actually, this only intrigued Mark even more.
This was the first person to ignore him since his transmigration. It was a boy no less!
During his moment of introspection, the bell near the drawbridge began to furiously ring.
"Beastmen! Hundreds of'em!" A man screamed in fear.
Mark grinned. This journey had been much too peaceful. It was about time he had something to wetten his blade on.
(LINE BREAK)
Hans was groaning into his hands at the amount of money he had lost.
Where did he go wrong? All he wanted to do was save up enough so he could move away. If he won at dice just now, he would have a pretty little nest egg. But now…
It was in this moment of depression that the bell outside began to ring, and a man ran in, screaming about beastmen.
"C'mon Hans, time to earn our pay." A fellow guard patted Hans on the shoulder.
Taking a step outside, Hans began to seriously regret losing that bet. As a bald man, losing his hat was more detrimental than losing some silver. The cold rain only served to punctuate his luck. Truly, Renault was not on his side this evening.
Letting out a sigh, Hans led the rest of the men to the wagons. He didn't want to have any kind of official role, but because of his muscles, the men had elected him to represent them.
Oh well, no use griping. Hans cracked his neck, and grinned at the men. Looking at them, it was as if he was looking in a mirror. Each of them bore a grin of their own.
While everyone was running around in a panic, the men from Esk calmly made their way outside, and to their wagons.
They began to methodically take out bolts, powder and shot for their muskets and bows. Some men slipped on mail, others tough leathers.
In less than ten minutes, they were fully armed and armored.
The howls of beasts resounded over the walls, and the steady beat of a drum beat in time with a man's pulse.
The steady twang of crossbows released as the guards from the inn fired.
Return fire saw a few arrows land around Hans's feet.
Double checking his barrel, and gunpowder horn, Hans secured his weaponry.
Men all around him made sure their bows were oiled, or that their shit was dry in this pouring rain.
Everyone jolted up an inch in shock as they felt a powerful thump against the wall.
"What do you think Hans, magic?" A man asked.
"Nah, it doesn't taste like it. Beastman magic has a weird, grassy yet mushy aftertaste. The impact sorta reminds me of a cannon." Hans speculated, talking while he loaded his rifle, and stashed a pistol in his waistband.
"How can you men be so calm! Hurry to the walls!" A guard from the inn shouted in panic at the group of 30 men from Esk.
Hans looked at the top of the wall, and saw him up there. "We're in good hands."
"What? What is a single knight of Morr going to do?! We're all going to die if you don't hurry up the walls! There's less than 20 men garrisoned here, and there's only 8 of them on the wall right now! The enemy have ladders! Hurry. Hurry!" The man yelled in desperation.
A man came running down from the walls carrying a key. "Hans! Orders from the boss, We're using the special munitions!"
Hans raised an eyebrow. Maybe this was serious!
"You heard'em, let's get the special ammunition!" Hans took the key, and opened up a chest.
Inside there were less than 200 pieces of ammo. However, whether it be musket shot or an arrow, they had a slick, sickly red glazey glow to them.
"Remember lads, don't prick your finger on them. We don't want to end up like Wilkins." Hans said while lacking his lips.
The men nodded, and began to carefully unpack the goods.
Hans had seen and tested the effects of this special ammunition. It was truly terrifying what the God of Death had bestowed upon his champion.
Another thump hit the wall, this time the noise was followed by some bricks coming loose and falling to the mud.
An unlucky man lost his footing, and fell down the 13 ft drop onto his back. He fell at an odd angle, and white bones protruded out of his chest.
"That's our cue lads, double time." Hans collected five special bullets, and hauled ass up the wall.
When he got there, he sucked in a breath. Down below, the mass of beastmen was like a human wave. There were easily three or four hundred below. Not only that, but some of them were big.
Case in point, Hans finally saw what was causing all the thumping.
Standing almost as tall as the wall a few dozen feet away was a Cygor. The giant one eyed beastman had a pile of boulders next to it.
Grunting with great effort, the creature picked up another boulder, and tossed it over the wall. When it collided with the inn, it tore away a huge section of the building.
"Open fire." Sir Mark quietly commanded.
"Of course! You heard him lads! Open fire!" Hans repeated Sir Mark's orders at a shout.
Thunder boomed as 16 guns sang into the rainy evening. 14 bows swiftly followed suit.
Although there was a sea of opponents, each man equipped with a bow or gun from Hochland was a true marksman. Their attacks were all aimed at the biggest, and most threatening of beastmen.
Needless to say, this close, and from a raised elevation, they had 100% accuracy. A good 65% of their targets fell down, instantly dead. Their hearts, throats, brains and lungs were turned to mush.
Those who caught a glancing blow, or a hit to the arm/leg, well, they weren't faring too well.
Hans whistled in both surprise and horror at the grim result of the enchanted ammo.
He didn't potty these beastmen one bit, but damn if this wasn't a cruel way to go!
The arrows and shot caused the monsters to twist in on themselves and wither. Their vigor all but sapped out of them.
Although it was only 30 deaths, the surrounding beastmen showed that they could show fear. The astounding cruelty of this type of death had many beastmen pull back, and squeak in fear.
However, the vast majority paid no heed, or had not noticed the significant dip in numbers. They continued to press forward. Crude ladders made of bone and wood slapped onto the wall.
Sir Mark was quick to step forward, and kick these ladders down.
However the fortified inn was surrounded on all sides, and he couldn't kick down every ladder. As a result, some beastmen began to gain a foothold.
Hans's mouth formed a thin line as he rammed home another musket ball. However, he didn't have time to worry about other sections of the wall.
He had noticed the priest of Sigmar, and some mercenaries inside the inn, it would be their responsibility.
This mass in front of him, this was his responsibility.
He filled the musket with gunpowder, took a wad, then rammed it home. Hans took a breath and aimed, he then pulled the trigger, and released his breath.
Muscle memory kicked in, and his hands became a blaze of movement.
Powder. Wad. Breath. Pull. Release.
A beastman with a cat's face fell dead.
Powder. Wad. Breath. Pull. Release.
Another beastman down.
Like that, Hans focused solely on his tempo, and on firing his musket as quickly and accurately as possible. His first five targets were big, easily 7 or 8ft in height. Yet due to Sir Mark's blessed rounds, they died all the same.
His next fifteen bullets killed eight, and wounded four. Three had been unlucky misses.
Hans took a deep breath as he took in the battlefield. The section of wall in front of him was littered with corpses. Only a scant few hesitant beastmen remained. They shifted left and right at a loss of what to do.
Only the Cygor seemed unphased. It kept lobbing boulders like it was nobody's business.
To punctuate this, a rock the size of a cow came crashing down next to Hans, turning one of his comrades into paste.
"Sigmar's balls!" Hans swore as he held his heart at the close encounter.
Some men, Hans noticed, had shot at it, but it seemed to do zero damage. Even the special munitions barely phased the beast.
Hans was about to say something when he noticed Sir Mark jump down from the 13ft. walls.
The black armored knight was up to his arms in gore. Clearly, the other sides of the walled inn weren't as defensible as Hans's.
Sir Mark charged toward the loose line of beastman, and ran straight toward the Cygor.
He moved so fast, he reminded Hans of a galloping horse.
The beastmen noticed this fact, and began to back up. Their already loose line began to fragment as Sir Mark approached.
Then, when his armored form impacted with the beastmen, he sent them sprawling. They flew every which way into the air.
Uncaring of collateral damage, the Cygor threw a boulder at Sir Mark.
However, much to the inn guards' shock, one shouted "By Sigmar!" as Sir Mark jumped over the boulder and hurled himself toward the Cygor's neck.
A mighty pump of the knight's arms saw the giant beastman short one head. The beast's humongous body collapsed into the mud. Its blackened fluids were greedily sucked up by the welcoming roots of the Drakwald.
This swift action had all occurred over the course of a minute.
Hans felt like slapping himself silly when he saw the still somewhat decent sized warhead around Sir Mark.
Not to mention…all those horns were going to be a pretty payout!
"Don't just stand there lads, after him! Any man who stays behind shall forever be labeled craven" Hans shouted at the stunned men on the wall.
"For Sir Mark!" A man dropped his bow, and drew a sword.
"For Sir Mark!" The men of Esk echoed, and ran to chase after Hans.
The other guards tiredly looked at one another, then followed behind.
Werner pocketed some loose silver laying around on a table when he felt a palm on his shoulder.
He very carefully made sure not to flinch.
"Can I help you?" Werner slowly turned around.
"The knight wants ta see you." The barkeep barked. His tone of voice brokered no room for refusal.
Weren't considered refusing, but the old man had done right by him. Who was he to say no?
Stepping into the cold rain of early night, Werner could just barely make out the gore slicked man.
His black armor, from the knees to the helm had droplets of red-black brackish blood. Somehow, his white tabard, which had a black rose in the middle, was spotlessly clean.
Werner wanted to turn around on instinct, but was met with the old man's belly.
I brought him Sir Mark." The barkeep shallowly bowed, and pushed Werner forward.
Werner looked back, a betrayed look on his face.
The barkeep scowled back.
They held their staring game until the knight coughed.
When the barkeep left, Werner thought he could see a tear in the corner of the old man's eye. 'Hah! Not likely!' Werner rolled his eyes at the thought.
"So, how about it boy."
"Sir?" Werner cocked his head to the side in confusion.
"I'm in need of a squire. I saw the fight in you when you and those boys were in a tussle. I must say, I'm impressed. Do you accept?"
"I. I'm honored!" He bowed. Werner wondered what kind of sick joke this nobleman was getting at. He had heard rumors of noble misdeeds. Why would anyone want a bastard son of a whore like him as thier squire?
"Good, then as your first official duty as my squire, you shall clean up this mess."
'!' Werner's eyes widened in surprise. When did he say yes?! Did he ever agree to be this man's squire?!
Warner could hear the smirk in the knight's tone at Werner's reaction. He almost bolted right then and there if not for the heavy, gore covered paw holding him in place.
"You're not trying to run from responsibility, are you boy?"
"No sir! I'll clean your filthy stinking armor right away sir!" Werner saluted with a well practiced smile.
The knight looked at him for a long moment. Werner began to get creeped out, hoping the knight wasn't that sort.
"Under my tutelage, I promise you a roof over your head, food, and good arms. If you prove yourself loyal beyond a shadow of a doubt, you may even attain some of my prowess. Welcome aboard young Werner, welcome to the Order of the Black Rose."