1/18 Artaghh's Oath

Artagh would heft the large sack of of stone bricks over his shoulder as he entered the room where his bed had been rented in the Sunlight Hall Inn, sliding it over into the corner as he puffed the last ashes of his corn cob pipe before blowing it out, tucking his trusty smoking appendice away inside his nearby pillow.

Slowly, steadily, Artagh would remove his armor sabaton by sabaton, greave by greave, before finally upon removing his cuirass, he exhaled in relief and roughly shoved the gathering of arms and armor under his bed. Sweat matted his back and chest, his neck and arms were sunburnt from the long day of physical labor, and the patterns of dark, purple bruising where the vampire had broken three of his ribs ran all the way up the left side of his body. Grabbing a cold cloth, the soldier would grimace as he moved to slowly apply it on his wounds, before grabbing some linen sheets from his bed to wrap around his chest in a makeshift bandaid.

The lowest edge of the sheet, dwelling right around his kidneys, had begun to soak red and yellow with blood and sweat from the applied pressure, a reminder of how close Artagh had come to being disemboweled by the viciously powerful strikes of the vampire. Grimacing, he would limp steadily across the room to the bucket of clean water he had filled at the nearby lake, slowly kneeling before it as he began to splash some fresh water on his face. Grime, mud, blood, and caked rock dust would steadily taint the container of water a sickly dark brown, but Artagh felt at least a bit refreshed.

Grunting as he splashed a bit more water under his loin cloth for good luck and cleanliness, the large peasant turned soldier would achingly pace back towards his rented bed at the other side of the room, teeth clacking in pain as each step felt his broken ribs sparking the screaming nerves of his lower torso's muscle, making the soldier a bit whoozy even with all of his determination and stubborn durability. Artagh put up a good show for everyone else, laughed off his wounds like they were nothing, but truth be told? They hurt, all of them hurt. Ignoring it in the moment to finish a battle didn't make him immune from damage, only postpoine their effects on him. He was feeling the full brunt of his shattered ribs with his armor no longer acting as an improvised brace.

Leaning back slowly on the bed, he would grit his teeth as he moved to carefully turn on to his side, gritting his remaining teeth as he finally achieved a position of comfort that would allow him to move the least possible amount. Slowly, the sharp pain would die down to a dull ache, ever present and yet tolerable enough to allow the big man some rest. Slowly closing his eyes, Artagh would think of Dawn as he tried to sleep, distracting himself from the pain by thinking of things that made him happy.

There was being a soldier of course. He'd hated being a farmer, being a nobody, being someone that would never amount to anything more than all his ancestors before him. Just another commoner that would die young, hungry, and without any point. Joining the legion had changed all that, put him on the right path, allowed him to finally become good at something that he could claim to be his own. It had only been two years since he'd enlisted, but the man that had first picked up a wobbly short sword and could barely grip it right had been washed away by determined training, constant diligence. Even his body, once simply large but undefined in musculature, had been hardened into a great mass of muscle capable of wielding his great sword in two hands like it was an extension of his being, of his very stubborn tenacity to be known.

There were the people too, of course. Friends he had made, true companions like Bill and Larry Longbrow, Siegmeyer and Siro, people he could trust to watch his back. Even Amelie, young though she was, seemed to care for him in her own strange, Oscuri way. He'd grown quite fond of the girl, she shared his taciturn way of speaking and blunt humor, and beneath all the harshness and violent amounts of power for a young girl, there was a confused young woman burdened with a greater destiny than any child deserved to have forced on them. Wherever she went, Artagh had her back, he had made that promise to her, and he would keep it. His oath to dawn was his word, and a man's word was all he had.

Finally, Artagh slept.