1239: The Spoils – Part 8 1239: The Spoils – Part 8 It was a fire bed of hope.
The pride of the soldiers receiving their awards was one thing, but it seed to be far more important an occasion for those aiming upwards, who had not received their due recognition yet.
And then the list finally circled around, and the nas of Patrick n began to be called, one after the other.
“Commander Yorick,” General Blackwell said.
“My list tells that you’ve slain at least five Violet Commandants that we’ve been able to confirm.
A most impressive feat, Ser.
You are to be awarded the sum of ten months’ extra pay.” Sheepishly, Yorick walked up to collect his reward.
For the first half of his march upon, he’d kept his head dipped, and made his way past the crowds of n.
But then he must have heard them cooing, and their whispered excitent.
Five Commandants was tied top with the most that they’d heard announced so far.
They were all studying him, and wondering what was so special about him, what made him a hero like the rest.
By the ti he’d made it up to General Blackwell, he’d managed to puff out his chest by the slightest degree.
General Blackwell extended a giant hand to him, one that imdiately enveloped Yorick’s own once he took it.
“I do not believe that we have had the pleasure of fighting together before, Commander Yorick,” General Blackwell told him quietly.
“I have need of n of your competence.
I am glad that you joined us on this campaign.
Yours must be a strength that they whisper of, back where you are from.” “N-not at all, General,” Yorick said humbly.
“I think disappointing is what they whispered of before today.
I do not believe I have found my place on the battlefield until recently…” He glanced back towards Oliver.
“And that is because of Captain Patrick, I have to say, so I cannot accept your praise wholly.
Fighting alongside him and the others reminds that there’s much improving that I need to do.” General Blackwell said nothing in reply.
The look on his face was ominous enough that Yorick wondered if he had said sothing wrong.
He blanched, and once Blackwell finally released his hand, he practically fled back the way that he had co.
“Sergeant-Major Kaya Hoofless, and Sergeant-Major Karesh Hoofless.
At the rank of Sergeant-Major, you have both managed to achieve a feat worthy of Commanders.
As such, you will both be given six month’s extra pay and a Commander’s salary for the work that you have done on this campaign,” General Blackwell said.
That caused even more stirs amongst the n than talk of Commander Yorick’s achievents did.
For Sergeant-Majors to make such achievents – that was unheard of.
For such a strength, they ought to have been promoted to Commander already.
The fact of General Blackwell’s generosity in recognizing that fact brought more excitent.
To receive a Commander’s pay without yet being promoted to a Commander’s rank, there was more hope to be found in that.
Both Karesh and Kaya went up together, but not without sparing each other a harsh glare.
“I swear I got four,” Karesh muttered.
“If they couldn’t find the body to prove it, then you didn’t,” Kaya whispered back.
“I’m not going to lose to you next ti,” Karesh said.
“You’re getting beat, from here on out.” “I’ve already beat you.
Who was it that smashed through those heavy shield walls?” “Shut up.
You’re always bringing this up.
That’s only because the Captain told you what you needed to do.
You can’t take that for yourself,” Karesh said.
The two were still bickering when they’d made their way right in front of General Blackwell.
Jorah was having to fight the palm that he desperately sought to put against his face.
His embarrassnt was almost palpable.
“Brothers, or cousins?” Blackwell asked, as he shook each of their hands.
“Cousins, General,” Kaya replied, rembering his manners.
“You’ve strong hands to you, Sergeant-Major,” General Blackwell noted.
“For n of the Serving Class, you serve as inspirations.
I look forward to seeing what the two of you can achieve in the future.” “”Yes, General,”” The two of them said together.
They rushed back the sa way they went, muttering to each other in a quiet but heated argunt.
“Next, Commander Jorah Craspus,” General Blackwell said.
“You too have slain three Violet Commandants.
A mighty feat.
For one so young, and as a mber of the Serving Class, to arise to the rank of Commander so soon, with proof of his feats to back up his position – that is a matter worthy of praise.” The n once more had a reason to have their eyes widen.
“A Serving Class man?
As a Commander?
He’s young, ain’t he?” They eyed him for different reasons than the rest.
But they all noted one thing – where he had co from.
The sa group of n that the others before him had co from.
The Patrick Forces.
Sothing undeniable was growing now, and with it, Karstly’s amused smile was growing as well.
General Blackwell shook his hand, just as he did the others, and he studied the boy.
“You do not strike as the warrior type,” General Blackwell said bluntly.
Jorah dipped his head, showing no signs of offence.
“You are quite right, General.
I have had to struggle in order to keep up with my comrades in matters of strength.” What intrigued the General there was what he left unsaid.
“You are a strategist?” He guessed.
“That is what my Lord originally enlisted for,” Jorah said.
“And it is the role that I struggle to perform when he asks of .” “Hm…” The General sent him away with a pondering murmur.
He realized that this was the first ti he had spoken to so many of the Patrick n, but increasingly he found them to be almost as strange as their Captain himself – almost.
Then it was Firyr’s turn.
“Commander Firyr…” Blackwell said, hesitating a mont when he saw that no family na followed the first na.
“You have been attributed with the slaying of nine Violet Commandants…”
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