All Float On, Open

[Alberich Anselm]

Alberich was bone tired, and was infinitely grateful that that horrid trip down here was finally over, though the pain in the ass the escort had proven to be did yield some extra money for his trouble, which he would carefully dole out to keep Ironheart in a nice warm stable with only the best grain, and a room to sleep things out for a week. It was ironic, when he was younger he could have escorted a family to Madrid, fought of hoards of bandits, and then set out a mere hour later on another job, but that was another time. Now, the several weeks of hard camping and being on constant alert had aggravated old injuries, and he hurt down to the very bone. It was at this point in his life when he could appreciate a warm soft bed and a night of good sleep, but that was besides the point. He had gotten paid handsomely for his trouble, so he supposed he should stop complaining to himself.

Ironheart was tired too, Alberich could feel it in the gelding's every step. The animal was young and vibrant, but he was also just an animal, and the trip had been hard on him as well. He couldn't even muster the energy to pin his ears and snap at another horse venturing too close to him, instead just plodding on in the direction Alberich asked him to go. Poor fellow, he had had it rough on this trip too. The gelding was splattered with mud all the way up his legs, sweat under his breast collar frothing the iron gray chest and clubbed tail swishing in irritation at the whole situation.

Alberich was not a social person by a long shot, but he knew how to listen to people, and how to find good places to stay. The Cow and Corset was a fine establishment, a tavern and a long term boarding place for the weary traveler, and their prices were reasonable. He guided Ironheart through the streets of Madrid with a light rein, but held no real interest for the beauty of the city, and likely would not have even if his mind was not clouded with exhaustion.

It didn't matter how beautiful a city was, a hoard of siege engines or a properly set fire could ruin it all in an instant. A city that took centuries to build could be destroyed in a single hour. No, Alberich saw no beauty in this place.

The stableboy stared at him as if he was a monster when he walked into the courtyard of the inn, sliding down from his saddle and laying the reins along Ironheart's neck. He walked to where the stable manager was standing, watching them with a wary expression. Ironheart plodded along wearily at his side, nose nearly held down to the knees and not even favoring a half hearted snap at the stableboy, who seemed to know out of instinct that the warhorse would not be safe to approach.

The negotiation for Ironheart's board was fairly fast, and the exchange of money was done without any real problems. The stall that he had leased was large and spacious, several feet away from the other horses in the stable except with another large stall next to it, well padded with straw. An open box stall was expensive, when other horses were simply tied on a hayrack and not allowed to lay down. For once, Alberich figured it was worth the extra price.

He removed the tack from the blocky animal, setting it on a rack nearby and deciding he would come and clean it later, it had been through a lot as well as the animal. The Prussian didn't even bother to tie Ironheart to anything, the gelding standing with one leg cocked and enjoying the attention the brush to his coat gave him. Alberich took his time making sure that Ironheart was just tired, not injured in some way.

It was not only good business sense, but that he genuinely cared about the animal. Ironheart may have been the ugliest thing on four hooves, but he was by far the smartest, fastest, and strongest steed that Alberich had ever had the honor of ever riding into battle, and the Prussian didn't want anything to happen to him.

They needed to see the blacksmith once he was done here, to get his shoes redone, but they'd do for now. Perhaps tomorrow, but no longer than the day after. He cleaned out the horse's feet, careful to make sure that all debris was removed, and lead him into the stall, releasing the animal as the stableboy brought over the bucket of hot mash that Alberich had paid for, mostly bran with a generous dose of sweet feed, cut up apples and carrots.

Ironheart was certainly glad to see the meal, and his short ears perked forward, whickering softly with excitement. Despite his interest in the food, he didn't crowd as Alberich hung the bucket up, and allowed the animal to eat the steaming concoction.

Uncharacteristically, Alberich remained with Ironheart while he ate, leaning forward to rest his forhead against the tall animal's withers. The warmth of him, and the scent of horse comforted his mind. Gradually, all the outside noises of the stable and the surrounding city faded away, Alberich drifting off into a half awake, half asleep state of being.

[Arthur Herodian]

There was a certain charm to travelling, to be on the road accompanied by the nature, with only yourself and your own to be concerned of. There was also the relief of coming back from such a trip and being able to look forward to a soft bed and the lack of roots sticking into ones back. No doubt Castus would enjoy some proper housings as well as well as the chance to indulge in some proper grain. As far as travelling went, this leg of the journey had been fairly uneventful. Little had been going on in the countryside and he had not been accosted by bandits. Perhaps the Spanish were getting better at policing their lands; perhaps the bandits had merely been occupied elsewhere. It mattered little; Arthur hadn’t met them, which was what counted.

The wonder of travelling noted, Arthur could still feel the appeal with a proper inn, which was where he was headed on this day. Madrid was a stopover until he could continue on to Aquitaine and to the fortress city of Perigueux. The promise of paid work was what lured him out of the Spanish heartland where he’d been conducting his previous work; it would be nice with a change of scenery, anyway.

As the horse and rider entered the city, Arthur eased back on the reins, slowing the horses pace even more as they proceeded forward through the crowd. Castus accepted the change of pace easily, the destrier being weary from the travelling they had done. It hadn’t been far however, so the horse was not in bad shape. He still had a fight in him if necessary, but that was unlikely to happen, not when they were within the city borders with no reason to be concerned for such.

His eyes scanned the crowd and buildings as he went further into the city, spotting a suitable place to stay the night. It looked like a nice establishment, going by the name of the Cow and Corset. A peculiar combination, but not one Arthur was likely to argue with, he’d seen odder names of inns and taverns. They liked being creative when it came to this, perhaps to attract the wanted attention of patrons.

Directing Castus towards the entrance of the courtyard, a few more steps went by until they were out of the crowds and in the spacious courtyard. Arthur smoothly dismounted, holding his reins as he gave the horse a reassuring pat. Castus turned his head slightly towards his owner, rubbing the side of his head against Arthur’s chest. With a small chuckle at the display of affection, he led the horse towards a man who seemed to be watching the courtyard closely. A few questions and Arthur confirmed that the man had free rooms as well as stable space. He paid the coins for what he wanted and then led the horse away from the innkeeper.

Leading Castus down the line of stalls, Arthur barely noticed the large horse and its owner as he passed their stall and entered the one next to it. With care, he removed the simple tack the horse wore, placing it somewhere out of the way on a nearby rack. With a simple headcollar and rope, he secured the horse in the stall. He ran his hands over the warm coat of the horse, along the arched neck, across the short back and then finally over the powerful hindquarters. Arthur had ridden many horses in his life, all that had been fine examples, but Castus was particularly precious. The fact that Arthur had owned him since he’d been a newborn foal had a lot to do with it.

He ran a hand down one of the chargers front legs, leaning down with the motion, and Castus complied to the quiet signal, raising his leg to allow Arthur to clear the dirt and unwanted material from under the horse’s hooves. He repeated this process with the three other legs as well, going over the state of the horse at the same time. The travelling had not affected Castus more than tiring him out.

[Alberich Anselm]

Alberich was allowing himself a moment to relax, but that didn't mean that he wasn't aware when another man with a horse approached and went into the stall next to his, and he looked over with just a little bit of curiosity, but nothing overly concerned. He had a habit of looking over horseflesh when he got the chance, and he could already tell that the charger opposite of he and Ironheart was a fine animal, of fine bloodlines. Sleek and well bred, and well taken care of, coat shining with good health and good nutrition. The animal in the opposite stall was worlds apart from his faithful gray gelding.

Ironheart had no bloodlines to speak of, really. When Alberich had found and bought him, he was making a right terror of himself in a peasant's pasture, and no one had the sense to give the young horse what he had really needed, discipline and structure, and someone who wouldn't run fleeing from him when he charged.

Still, the horse and his owner wasn't any of his business, as Alberich ran his thick, calloused fingers through braided mane of the animal, using them to remove the braid and return the mane to its normal state. He would have to redo the braids once he left again, but that wouldn't be for quite some time. However, it seemed like Ironheart had taken an immediate dislike to the charger, or thought that the other horse was a threat to his food, or maybe he could smell the scent of a stud on the air. Though Ironheart was two years gelded now, he did not know that, and still thought he was a stud himself.

Either way, the 16 hand gelding had taken insult to something that the other horse had done, and pinned his ears back, squealed a trumpet of rage, and turned so fast that Alberich almost did not see it, snaking his head over the divider with large yellow teeth and snapping at the other horse's neck, ears laid flat against his head and a front foot kicking out at the stall wall.

Alberich barked an order in german to the gelding, irritated that he'd probably have to shove out more money if Ironheart had done damage. The last thing he needed out of this crappy few weeks, it was either horse getting injured.

[Arthur Herodian]

Castus being the stallion he was meant that he was occasionally subject to aggressive behaviour if placed in the right situation. As Arthur tended to keep a firm hand on the stallion, the behaviour became somewhat curbed, but one could never completely remove such instinctive behaviour from a stallion no matter how it was raised or how well it was trained. Arthur dealt with these events with the proper calm that it was warranted. Reacting in anger was not the proper process if Arthur wished to uphold any authority when it came to controlling the horse. Castus, like any stallion, required a firm and steady hand.

Due to this stallion mentality, Castus reacted none too well to the other horse’s action. At the sound of the angry squeal, his ears flattened along his skull and nostrils flared as he had every intention of returning the favour as the vicious horse in the other stall attempted to take a bite out of his neck. Arthur barely managed to react in time to restrain the horse, snapping a harsh command as he used both the headcollar and his own weight to prevent the stallion from making the situation worse. Thankfully he’d had the sense of mind to restrain his own horse, something the other rider had apparently forgotten.

That being said, the other horse looked like a terror. The creatures were usually quite efficient at conveying their emotions through the subtle language of their motions, but the granite coloured horse that had just made an attempt at attacking Castus was more proficient at showing his obvious hate for the other horse. Arthur noted that as a war steed, the other horse would strike quite an intimidating figure. He knew nothing of the horse or its owner however, so what use the horse was for was something he was unaware of. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the pair to think to take a look at the tack of the other horse.

Placing himself between Castus and the other horse, he shot the rider a slight exasperated look, conveying the fact that no harm had been done in the other horses action and that Arthur wasn’t too annoyed at the other riders lack of foresight. “You might want to restrain your steed,” he suggested briefly, his tone lacking any scorn that others might’ve used. One could hardly blame natural instinct on the owner of a horse.

[Alberich Anselm]

This was not going to work, and that was clear. Even if the two men did get the horses settled down, they'd likely start fighting over the partition again as soon as anyone left the room. Alberich was nearly annoyed to the point of being furious, because he had specifically paid extra for the stall next to him not to be taken up by a horse, or had the option to stable Ironheart out of biting range. As loyal and stalwart as the gelding was, it was offset by a vicious temper and a furious dislike of other horses near his personal space. He would have learned to survive in a herd given time, Alberich supposed, but right now his temperament served in his benefit as a warhorse.

Alberich did not have to resort to trying to physically hold Ironheart back, it was more than sufficient that he stand infront of the animal and back him down by sheer presence of will and a steely one eyed gaze. The gray tossed his head and pinned his ears at his rider, but backed up obediently away from the approaching man, just as he had been taught. Grabbing the rope halter and lead rope from the hook against the stall, he looped it around the ugly gelding's head, and though Ironheart fidgeted, he did not fight Alberich's hold.

“You might want to restrain your steed,”

"Done." He saw that the two box stalls opposite of them were empty, and did not feel any guilt for moving Ironheart over, especially since he had paid extra. As soon as he was moved and the rope halter slid off of his head, Ironheart tossed his head into the air at the stallion across the way, in obvious agitation. The Prussion frowned, looking over at the other man and shaking his head.

For a moment, he appraised Arthur. Alberich was not the kind of man that entered a conversation without having some idea what he was up against, and what kind of person he was going to speak with. He hated chances, after all. The Prussian did not seem the friendly sort, but yet, the man deserved some apology for Ironheart's behavior.

"He's touchy. We have had a very long road, and he has seen combat these last few weeks." The mercenary answered brusquely, though for Alberich this was practically inviting the other knight out for a night of ale and whores, or the equivalent. That was, if Alberich ever wanted to waste such time and money on such juvenile ventures.

"Alberich. Your horse is not injured?"

If anyone wanted to somehow get Alberich to speak in a vaguely friendly way, all they had to do was bring up the subject of horseflesh. The stallion was a fine animal, though Alberich in general disapproved of stallions as war mounts. Yes, they were aggressive and could be very capable of battle, but they were too unpredictable for his tastes. Besides, in the middle of his fight, he didn't want his war mount smelling the scent of a mare on the wind and taking off with him, which he had seen happen quite often.

[Arthur Herodian]

"Done."

As Arthur watched the other steed being moved away, he relaxed and returned to tending to the duties of grooming his own horse. Castus tossed his head and gave the other horse a reproachful glare, Arthur ignored it in favour of picking up the bucket of grain the stable boy had dropped off for him. The charger was quickly calming down from the meeting, but he could see that Castus would be carrying a bit of a grudge towards the other horse. Hopefully Arthur would have little need to compensate for that, as it was unlikely he’d meet the other man again.

Minding his own business, Arthur did manage to feel the weight of the other man’s gaze upon him. It felt like he was being evaluated for a fight, but he paid the nagging feeling no mind as he gave Castus his grain and moved to inspect the horse for any marks or nicks. He didn’t think the other horse had managed to reach the charger, but he couldn’t know until he checked properly. Castus didn’t seem to be outwardly bothered by anything, only the annoyance of having had such a rude interruption when the horse had been weary from the road.

“... combat these last few weeks."

It was confirmed then, the other horse was a war horse, a fitting task for such an ugly beast, but no doubt there was a noble creature hidden behind all those vicious layers. As it was, the circumstances could hardly have been taken into account when Arthur had been following the stable owner’s instructions and accidentally placed his horse next to one with a nasty disposition. Arthur would accept the other’s words easily, it wasn’t exactly easy to predict what a creature that had its own mind would react to or in which manner.

Giving the man a nod, he gave the man a half smile, indicating that no ill will had been done by the other horse’s actions. He had to admit, he enjoyed the to the point nature of the man, had it been someone else, no doubt Arthur would be enduring a whole different conversation. He liked this outcome far better.

“Your horse is not injured?"

“Arthur,” he said in response to the other man’s curt manner of sharing his own name. He saw no other option than to return the motion in kind, refreshing way of introducing oneself, instead of dealing with all that courtly red tape. “He’s fine. Chafed ego is all.” It was as simple as that, Castus was a bit sore, but eventually he’d get over it, as long as the other horse didn’t bother him anymore.

Like most other chargers, Castus was a stallion and that suited Arthur fine. He’d learnt to deal with the occasional difficulty of coming across a mare, but the training tended to curb such behaviour. Geldings tended to be rare among the European forces. He’d heard tales that the steppe warriors had favoured them because of their behaviour, but he’d never confirmed or disproven the fact, mere tales from those who had travelled into the East. Arthur himself was interested in investigating the lands further that way, but had so far not found the opportunity.

[Alberich Anselm]

Alberich did not like talking to people, and he especially didn't like to start conversation when the other person did not do so themselves, but there was little he could do about it in the situation. If Alberich had a passion for something besides gold and killing, it would probably have to be horses, and war horses were not very common really. Most knights were in service to their Lord or their Master, and very rarely did the Prussian come across another traveling knight with a trained steed.

The fellow was clearly of some birth, mostly because his type of armor and horses of that caliber were extremely expensive to maintain. One advantage Alberich had to the destrier in the other stall was that if it was required of him, Ironheart could go far longer living on twigs and tree bark than the high bred stallion.

Still, Alberich was... curious. Damn it all, he must have been tired if he was voluntarily speaking to someone.

For once, Alberich was not radiating aggression or wariness, but did seem to be quite weary. He had a nasty gash along one cheekbone, though it did look like it had been taken care of, at least to the point where it wasn't going to turn into an infection and engulf half his face in rot.

“He’s fine. Chafed ego is all.”

"Ah. That seems to be the case with most stallions. I prefer geldings, far more reliable."

Alberich, for once, did not speak with a sneer or any sort of nasty tone, but more a neutral one of a man simply stating his opinion, and moving on with things. Not that gelding Ironheart had sweetened his temper at all, by any stretch of the imagination. But he wasn't distracted by mares anymore, and was far easier to keep in a stable without having to worry about him getting loose and getting to some high bred mare somewhere. He walked over to where his tack still was, well, perhaps limped was a better way to phrase it. His knee was aching from a chance blow a bandit had gotten in with the flat of his sword blade, and it was protesting every step.

The Prussian hauled the war saddle onto his shoulder, after sliding the bridle over his arm and letting it rest on his shoulder. Surprisingly, the bit on the bridle was a simple ring snaffle, quite unusual for a war horse. As he turned and took his equipment to the other side of the barn isle, the pommel of his sword could be seen, bearing the seal of a rampant lion, not the kind of thing that a commoner, even a mercenary carried.

"Arthur, that's not a Spanish name. And since you have not tried to charm me into giving you half my savings yet, I assume you are not Spanish. And seeing as you haven't run screaming from the stable yet, you must not be French either. Englishman, hm?"

Now what would an English knight be doing all the way out here?

[Arthur Herodian]

“I prefer geldings, far more reliable.”

Arthur looked up from where he was brushing off the dust from the road from Castus’ coat, eyes bright with curiosity and finally resting his arms on the partition wall between the two stalls, facing Alberich where he stood with his own steed. It was a rarity to come across a gelding used as a war horse, most nobles put them to work on more ‘fitting’ pursuits, much like how mares were also preferred for the more menial tasks a horse could do.

“There aren’t many of those around, not being put to use to fight,” Arthur said, neck stretching a bit to get a closer look at the rough horse a couple of stall away. The horse was fit enough to be used for a war horse, that could be seen. “I’ve heard they’ve use them a lot in the East, successfully, but the European nobles seem to view them with disdain as far as using them as war mounts go.”

He slid his arms off the partition and gave Castus another pat on the rump, before approaching his simple tack. He picked it up and rested it on his lap as he sat down on an upturned bucket. The saddle was not advanced tack, Arthur had met some rough fights and his saddle had been broken beyond repair, he’d managed to haggle this simple thing off of a peasant for a small price. It wasn’t useful for anything but making the trip a bit more endurable. He would’ve continued on without a saddle, but he’d been considering his own travel comfort.

“Englishman, hm?"

Arthur let a laugh escape him at the other’s words. He threw a glance at the man, eyebrow raised with a faint smile on his lips as he regarded the other man. It was clear enough that Alberich was not of the southern kingdoms, his accent and manner was also familiar. Having served several Prussian lords, he was familiar with the type of mercenary Prussia could offer the world. It was easily said that the man was not unfamiliar with the thought of combat, considering his eye was missing. That must’ve been an interesting fight, but Arthur wouldn’t ask.

“Englishman is correct,” he confirmed, looking back to his tack as he brushed off the dust from the road and frowned at the frayed state of it. The peasant hadn’t treated the saddle with the respect saddles needed, but it wasn’t as if Arthur would put it to much use. He’d pick up a new one as soon as he could. “And you’re Prussian, I’ve worked with a few of your countrymen. Good fighters.”

[Alberich Anselm]

Ironheart had been utterly intractable as a stud. Stubborn and powerful, and utterly convinced that every other horse that came near him was an enemy or a mate. But hell, Alberich had to admit that he was still like that with stallions around. But since the animal had been gelded, he hadn't taken Alberich on a unsanctioned trip to a nearby pasture where a herd of mares were grazing while he was trying to get from one town to the other since he had been castrated. Alberich hadn't missed the occasional looks he got for having a gelded war horse, especially from stupid nobles that apparently couldn't find their asses with both hands and their entire retinues.

But honestly, he hadn't really cared what the stupid nobles thought about what a proper role for a horse was. Before he had left, Alberich's own sister rode a mare that had her win every horseback match she had ever been in. For a moment, he felt a pang of homesickness, not for the castle or his other family, but for her. She had been the closest thing he had had to a friend, when he was younger, when all everyone around him was trying to do was kill him. He wondered what she was doing now, and if that nasty mare who, despite being a terror on the battlefield, would stand protectively over his sister as if she was her own foal was still around, making stallion's lives living hells in the stables.

“There aren’t many of those around, not being put to use to fight,”

"No, there never seems to be. I've gotten enough snide comments about the fact once I crossed the Rhine. You'd think that people would have better things to do than looking at horse genitalia." Alberich growled ungenerously, turning his head to look at the beast himself. Most warhorses were born and bred for it, beautiful beasts like the other knight's stallion. Ironheart was a mutt, and an ugly mutt at that, and the Prussian half expected Arthur to say something of the sort.

Funny, the Englishman was looking at the horse like he was an alien, and not just a castrated animal.

“I’ve heard they’ve use them a lot in the East, successfully, but the European nobles seem to view them with disdain as far as using them as war mounts go.”

"European nobles aren't exactly known for being smart." Alberich said quite ungenerously, wiping off his war saddle with a rag with a little neatsfoot oil on it. It was a well made saddle, dark brown and with a smudge of beautiful detailed stitching on the fenders. It was one of the few items he still had from his time in Prussia, that and his sword. If Arthur was a noble, he didn't really care if he got upset over that. "The best warhorse I've ever met was a mare."

Alberich did something rather foreign, his thin, chapped lips twerked into what might have been called a smile, in some fashion. Arthur seemed ok, for a noble. If Arthur had asked about the eye, Alberich wouldn't have minded telling him the story of how he got it. Not that it was so much a glorious fight, as much as it was sheer youthful stupidity that had gotten him. He had gotten complacent, stupid, and paid the price for it, nothing more.

“And you’re Prussian, I’ve worked with a few of your countrymen. Good fighters.”

"You mean good mercenaries. You'd be right. The knights of Prussia do not venture far from the homeland, too busy serving the whim of whoevers in charge of whatever little patch of land their castles happen to be placed on."

Alberich wasn't much of a talker, but this conversation didnt' seem to be going half bad. He looked over and glanced at Arthur's saddle, raising an eyebrow intersected by a heavy scar at the shoddy piece of equipment. Uncharacteristically, Ironheart put his head across the divider and relaxed so his nose touched Alberich's shoulder, the Prussian reaching up to scratch under the animal's chin absent mindedly.

"Did you have much trouble with bandits on the road, or did they all seem to be attracted to me?" He asked with slight curiosity, deciding not to comment on the state of Arthur's equipment.

[Arthur Herodian]

“... looking at horse genitalia."

Arthur had to laugh at the Prussian’s words, for they were as true as the fact that tomorrow the sun would rise. The royalty and nobles seemed to have skewered ideas on what was right as far as such things went. In Arthur’s opinion, it didn’t matter what a horse was, mare, gelding or stallion, as long as it served its purpose in an efficient manner. All horses could more or less do the same work, despite what state their genitalia happened to be in. Peasants didn’t seem to have the thoughts nobles had, but most of the times they couldn’t afford to make a choice either way.

”… for being smart."

Letting out a snort, he found little fault in Alberich’s statement. He liked to think that the Herodian’s were smarter than the average noble family, but sadly he knew such was not the case. He was seen as something of a renegade because he had not continued to serve the king instead of running for Europe to attend tournaments and serve the various Lords out there. They were as prejudiced as any noble family out there, it was no surprise he was something of a disappointment.

At the Prussian’s next words, Arthur raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, finding the information interesting to say the least. He’d only observed stallions and some geldings in battle, he’d heard of the Eastern tribes using mares, but had never really had it confirmed by a professional when it came to what sort of skill they held in the work. It made sense when he gave the thought more consideration. Anyone who knew horses knew that in the herds it was the mares that were the dominant part, translating that to the battlefield wouldn’t be much different. Even among humans the women were vicious; perhaps it was a trait in all female creatures.

Also, the smile the mercenary decided to tag to the end of it seemed to Arthur fairly ominous, but he was sure this was his mind playing tricks on him. The way Alberich’s face was built up told Arthur that a smile was a rare and uncommon thing, perhaps unheard of, and the fact that the mercenary seemed to find it suitable enough to use with Arthur came across as somewhat honouring but at the same time disconcerting.

“You'd be right.”

There was no bravado in the Prussian’s tone; pure solid fact was the words he spoke. Arthur didn’t need to be reassured when it came to that fact. He’d worked with Prussian’s in their homeland, he’d worked with fewer mercenaries, but the common thing was that they all were good at what they chose to do. He considered it something of a racial trait, like the English being often skilled at seafaring matters and the French being cowards.

Arthur noted the glance the man threw at his saddle, but didn’t comment on it. It would be worthless to discuss it; he’d be getting a new saddle the next day anyway, once he found someone in Madrid who would do it for him. He’d used it purely for the efficient purpose of being prepared if he was preyed upon by the bandits he’d preyed on himself. Fighting bareback was something he knew how to do, but stirrups aided in the fight.

“... be attracted to me?"

Arthur gave a light chuckle. “They seemed fairly scarce on my trip, now I know why. I was surprised when there was no attempt to accost me for revenge.” He shrugged. “Bandit killing seems to be a common practice.” Considering bandits crawled across the land almost, it wasn’t a surprise.

“What brings you to Spain?”

[Alberich Anselm]

Alberich kicked over a large wooden bucket and turned it upside down, sitting ontop of it and pulling the saddle and its straps into his lap, grabbing a cloth from nearby and wiping the saddle clean of dust and dirt and grime from the road, paying particular attention to the rear strap and the breast strap, since leather ill maintained would irritate his horse, and cause problems. The Prussian couldn't blame Arthur if he hadn't bothered to do so with that sorry excuse for a saddle, and Alberich personally would have ridden bareback before he sat on that monstrosity, but beggers couldn't afford to be chosers.

It was odd, this meeting, especially considering that Alberich so rarely found someone that he actually could speak to for longer than one minute without wanting to kill them. Arthur, as of yet, hadn't done anything in particular to say something that irritated the Prussian, yet, though he knew that the other knight inevitably would.

“They seemed fairly scarce on my trip, now I know why. I was surprised when there was no attempt to accost me for revenge.”

Alberich snorted, somewhat rudely, but it was more out of remembering how he had to deal with the morons plaguing his own road, while apparently other travelers went unmolested. Still, Alberich didn't tend to get into trouble with bandits traveling alone, mostly on account that the few stupid ones that had tried to accost him on the road for cash usually ended up lying in the middle of the road and mutilated, with the rough symbol of a lion head carved onto their bare chests.

"That figures. They wouldn't leave me alone the last few weeks. At least the arrangement benefited someone." He paused, and shrugged, figuring at this point a question wouldn't be so unusual. "What would bandits have against you that they want revenge that badly? Usually they're a cowardly bunch at best."

“What brings you to Spain?”

"Better than France. Besides, I had a job to escort some nobles to their summer home. Of course, they hired only the bare minimum of guards required for the trip, and me. For people with so much money, it never fails to amaze me how far they will go to save some money." Alberich paused, standing and setting the saddle on the rack near Ironheart's stall.

"And you?"

Arthur should be very, very proud of himself. For Alberich, this was downright talkative as a babbling goose.

[Arthur Herodian]

Arthur let out a low disgusted sigh as he saw that the saddle had more or less reached the end of his use. Even if he’d wanted to, it wouldn’t be worth keeping it around. He put it to the side, fully indenting to get rid of it as soon as convenience allowed it, at the moment, he noted that he was fairly tired, content to sit on his upturned bucket, stretching his legs as he merely endured the bruises and scratches he’d received the past few week. He enjoyed being on the move, but he had to admit it was always wonderful to have a small pause now and again to simply enjoy the view.

”… bunch at best."

“Let’s just say I’ve been ending a lot of their lives lately,” Arthur said with a shrug. It was difficult to completely judge what bandits would do, the variation of the men who decided to be bandits varied in all manners, but the common factors tended to be brutality or desperation. Most of the bandit frame of mind tended to dumb them down. They thought about keeping themselves going and robbing those they came across, they didn’t react kindly to anyone who tried to cease their little operations.

“... save some money."

Unable to keep it in, Arthur let out a brief, mocking laugh at the news of the nobles. It was typical, some man far too attached to his coin purse unwilling to sacrifice some to protect his goods, his family and himself. Most of the tales of such things ended in tragedy. Suits them, he thought, either you want to live or you don’t. “They think they’re keeping it for later, but unless they use the coin on protection, there’s a chance the only thing they’re spending money on is their funeral and their little home six feet under.” It was a morbid thought, but nothing but the truth as far as Arthur was concerned. Lately, your ability to hire help judged whether you’d be successful or not when you went into bandit country.

"And you?"

Arthur gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, thinking over what he’d been doing in Spain for the last few weeks. “I’ve been serving a Spanish lord, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.” The apparently disinterested manner in which Arthur presented the information told anyone listening that the event had been far from exciting. “Fending off bandits was a large part of that work, they don’t know when to quit.” He gently flicked a fly off his trouser leg, giving the small beasties buzzing around a scowl. Bad thing about warm countries, they tended to have a large population of critters ready to annoy you.

“Seems like the worlds going to the dogs. More peasants seem to take a fancy towards brigandage lately.” Arthur shrugged. “More work for us, I figure.” Work was what mercenaries needed if they wanted to get by. Bandit killing was a nice steady source of income.

[Alberich Anselm]

Let’s just say I’ve been ending a lot of their lives lately,”

"Pfft, who doesn't? They're bandits. I've met farmboys with hoes that're better fighters than most of those lots." Alberich snorted with derision, leaning back with the straps and looking them over thoughtfully. He wasn't sure he liked where this was going, not really because the conversation was bad, but that he was even having this conversation in the first place. Alberich was not the kind of man that enjoyed the company of others, but after some thought, he figured it couldn't be all bad. Just because he was a self named antisocial dickwad, didn't mean he couldn't chat to a handsome fellow in the stables on occasion.

"Still, it doesn't take much to kill a man. Who knows, one day I may be so decrepid I can't even defend myself against that, either way, what the hell does it matter. Death is pretty damned inevitable."

“I’ve been serving a Spanish lord, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.”

"Better than the damned French. But French gold spends as well as any other, so I don't mind taking their jobs too. Still, bandits never end. You kill one, two more pop up. Either way it works, it means we'll never have no work." Alberich stretched, arms above his head and winced when his spine cracked alarmingly loud, his muscles protesting the action. He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"I'm getting too old for this, gallivanting across the countryside. Sometimes I wonder if I need a purpose. Or some shit like that."

“Seems like the worlds going to the dogs. More peasants seem to take a fancy towards brigandage lately.”

"Not just peasants, minor nobility have been going the way of the bandit as well, especially on the high seas. Not that it matters much to ground pounders like us but..."

Alberich frowned, and looked up, like a stag scenting the wind for danger, and his hand found his sword hilt out of instinct and seeking comfort from the steel in his hands. He shook his head and stood with a groan, his back protesting the action and that they weren't tucked into a fluffy, warm bed at this very moment.

The Prussian paused for a moment, glancing at Arthur and then at the common room. Maybe someone dipped some drugs into the trough he had dunked his head in at the gate of the city, if he was actually craving company for the night.

"Well, Ironheart has had his dinner, so I suppose it's time to seek mine." He straightened his sword and started to walk towards the entrance of the stables to the inn, before pausing and looking back over his shoulder, and issuing an invitation... of sorts.

"You coming, or you going to stay out here with the flies?"

[Arthur Herodian]

Arthur listened to the man, coming with brief words where they fitted and nodding where he agreed. The man, while seemingly looking quite fierce, came across to Arthur as quite a talkative man, if a bit brusque in his manner. He decided that the Prussian was a likable man, if something of a curiosity as far as behaviour went. He hadn’t met anyone quite like the man before, but recognised the fact that having him as an enemy wouldn’t be an option to be desired. Arthur was no expert in knowing people, but from what words they had exchanged and what he had initially picked up from the man, he knew that he was a force to be reckoned with.

When the Prussian reacted to something, Arthur straightened, eyes warily looking around for whatever had caused the peculiar reaction. The man rose and seemed to shake the momentary feeling of watchfulness off. Arthur heard a groan and looked to the Prussian briefly, before returning to the act of picking horse hair out of his tunic. Looking up for a second time, he saw the Prussian glance at him and then towards the common room. Not being a significant motion on the Prussian’s part, Arthur thought little of it other than the ordinary act of eyes looking around. He returned his attention to himself, rising to his feet as he for a last time investigated Castus.

“... time to seek mine."

A slight satisfied hum escaped Arthur at the thought. A dinner that consisted of something other than the provisions he ate on his travels. A proper heated meal with ale next to it, perhaps even a fresh loaf of bread if they had it, and gravy. As this was Spain, he doubted he’d get anything he considered ‘ordinary’, but a warm meal was a warm meal and he wouldn’t argue with that. Occasionally, he found himself missing the traditional meals of England, often he could find similar things in France or Aquitaine, but it wasn’t the same thing. English produce was far better than French produce, in his humble and biased opinion.

He heard the steps of the Prussian leaving the stables just as he concluded his investigation of his horse, turning towards his pack, he hefted it up on his back, turning towards the Prussian and seeing the man had paused and looked back over his shoulder at Arthur. Arthur recognised it as the silent invitation it was, and the following words confirmed it, in Alberich’s gruff manner.

“... here with the flies?"

Arthur grinned, a genuine grin that was rarely shown off to anyone, shook his head slightly as he angled it down, an action bred out of amusement at the Prussian’s manner of acting. Looking up again, a slight crooked smile still present, he gave a small nod and followed the Prussian into the inn. They were quick to be accosted by the waitress, telling them the meal for the day and the beverages they had to offer. Arthur was quick to place is order for food and find a table to take a seat. The table he chose was in a corner, out of the way of the crowd and the traffic coming in and out of the door.