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The Day Before the Next- Part VII, A Sense of Purpose PDF Print
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
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The Day Before the Next- Part VII, A Sense of Purpose
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The walk down the very staircase seemed slow, the walk out of the inn also slow. It was like time was starting to slow down in the heat of these moments. As we walked out onto the streets we were viewed by the public, turning heads. We mounted our steeds and kicked off... heading quickly to the Marches of Couronne- we could only hope to make it in time.

 

The ride was long through the grasslands of Couronne, and stressful as well. How could we find him? He could be anywhere! I didn't even want to view the Marches of Couronne. As far as I knew it was a muddy and bloody battlefield fought over by the Empire and Bretonnia for centuries. My mind wandered further on some thoughts. How could Dante not find me? Did he know I wasn't dead? Maybe something happened... whatever the matter I would find him eventually and I would get to the bottom of it all.

 

Dominique road beside me at full speed; there could be a thousand things rushing through his head but I hadn't a clue what it was. He was in a serious mood and thus you could see the determination coming from his poise. Alexander was always impressed by Dominique ever since he was little. He would always tell me of his exploits as he grew up. I knew he and my brother were closer due to their ages being much closer than him and I... and that is what probably drove him to help me in the first place. It was a respectable feature I could always look to- he was always family first.

 

We passed by Fort Dréfaux, the border fort to the Marches of Couronne, in only a matter of an hour or two. I knew it would not be long now as I looked down at the ground, turning into the desecrated fields of war. The Bretonnian encampments and supply routes began to appear in front of us. We would soon be able to find him.

 

***

 

Beregond dashed across the mountain's slope, Max following closely behind. The sounds of war could be heard and dust kicked up in the far, far distance by the sea. They were nearing the battle lines between the Empire and the Bretonnian forces. Excellent! They would be nearing the main Bretonnian encampment and there was no doubt that they had beaten the convoy of knights from Couronne there through the mountain holds.

 

Max stopped for a breather finally as they saw the flags of Bretonnia flying above the nearby camp. Beregond sat down on the slope and looked over at Max. It was the first time he had analyzed the man. He had looked to be in his mid to late 20s, probably 27 or 28 years of age with long brown hair and a full lip-to-chin goatee. His eyes were slightly dark, but green when you looked into him. What he wore was pretty light in clothing too: Some of the fluffier, noble Empire clothing in Red and White; Talabheim colours. His rifle was a bit longer and more expensive looking than the usual imperial handgun. It was no Hochland Long Rifle, but it certain had a greater range and better design than the standardized weapons of the Empire state troops.

 

"Are you from Talabheim?" Beregond asked, showing some interest. "Aye, born and raised." Max replied. "I was originally trained as a swordsman like my father, but was introduced to the ways of handgun weaponry by my master and I went to school in Nuln after my interest was caught. I learned how to make them, how to design, everything... and this gun you see before you is one of my own creations." Max said with pride, a grin taking to his face.

 

Being a ‘former' Bretonnian, Beregond had no real interest in the ranged weapons of the Empire... a part of him still believed in the lack of honour they portrayed- only a true warrior would face him toe to toe. None the less the rifle was indefinitely a useful tool for him to observe and have around him... in fact the more he thought of it the more intriguing it became- there could be a few uses for the weapon.

 

As Beregond looked to the right, an Imperial army was marching across the field. It was then that he noticed there was a bit of dust kicking up behind the Bretonnian encampment. The convoy of knights! Yes! Finally! Beregond jumped to his feet. The Encampment was only 1 and a half miles off, but you could surely see it from the slope. He had to get down there and find Dante to cut his throat himself.

 

"Look through your scope, Sigmarite." He demanded as Maximillian pulled his rifle looking in the direction Beregond's pointing figure. "Do you see the one with an aura; he is wearing green and purple more than likely." He asked as Max nodded, "He is the one; Dante Marcel... a cultist of Chaos." Beregond stated. Max nodded again. "We shall get him then! If you can't take him, I will get within 300 paces and cover you." Max said as the two of them began to head down the mountain slope.

 

***

 

 


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