Boro sat in front of the Lord of Helfa, his mind reeling. This minor lord dared to plot rebellion against the King of Galaos. He had even go so far as to ask this young blade master, who's father had died fighting under the banner of the man Jetir was plotting against. He dared to have the audacity to ask him, HIM, the son of Bora The Bold. For a moment rage filled him, but as soon as he felt it, he snuffed it out. "I know this is no easy thing to ask, so I will let you think on it." Lord Jetir said in a solemn tone, and called in for one of the guards outside his door. "Sir Donall, please escort Master Boro back to his rooms" Turning back to Boro, he added, "I shall call on you tomorrow" And with that dismissed Boro. The meeting had not taken long, as such Boro had the entire day free to him. Although Lord Jetir

Hearing Lord Jetir's words struck a huge mental blow to Boro. He had resented his father, but only for his role in the fall of his family. In truth, Boro still loved and idolized his father for his legendary skill and strength. His goal to be the greatest blade master was to restore his family name and honor; a large part of that goal was so that people no longer said Bora the Bold's name with spite. How could he not want to be like the man he so admired, the father that he loved and hated too? Boro's mother spent much of his childhood, after Bora's disgrace, telling Boro that his father was a great man and that if he could have done things differently, then he would have. She was convinced that he did the best he could to protect Galaos and bring about peace. But no amount of well speaking could fill the hole left in her when he had died and they had become destitute. That angered Boro even more, becaus

Boro and Littume left the city in the quiet of early morning. They and a handful of soldiers as an escort, slowly marched down the cobbled streets of Helfa, people were just beginning to fill the streets, preparing merchant stalls and storefronts for another day of business. They barely gave the small procession a second glance as they went about there morning. There were twelve of them total, Littume, Boro, nine of Lord Jetir's strongest household guards, and his most trusted officer. When they arrived at a private gate house, Boro was surprised to see Lord Jetir himself there to see them off. He had an entire procession of guards of his own, one of them held the reins of two horses laden with packs and supplies. Lord Jetir clapped Boro on the shoulder with one hand, the other holding a long folded piece of cloth, and told him that the two pack horses were his, to feed and supply himself while on the road. He also handed Boro a fat sack that clinked heavily when dropped in

Boro pulled his blade from the throat of the woman he had killed. Using her thick woolen cloak to wipe away the blood already beginning to freeze on the gleaming metal. He felt a burning sensation in the left side of his abdomen and saw a wide puncture mark in his steel armour. Dammit all, another wound to tend to Boro thought angrily. He had no time to tend to it now though, as a battle was raging all around him. Boro quickly found his unit and used them to cover him while he hastily ripped off another chunk of his undershirt to staunch the bleeding. As soon as he had it secured to the wound he jumped back into the fighting. All around him was chaos, men and woman meeting with swords, spears or maces, the sounds of metal ringing against metal, and the screams of fear and pain when cold steel parted hot flesh. His own wounds burned and throbbed terribly but over the sounds of agony, his own seemed to pale in comparison. The smell of blood, piss and shit was becoming

The next morning Boro had breakfast with Nila and afterwards sent orders for his army to broke camp and began marching towards Kurten, a fortress city further to the north nestled right in the Gladous Mountains. It was a slow process. Boro's army had around four thousand foot, archers and cavalry and a thousand or more, army followers including woman too big with child, elderly who tended to the cooking, cleaning and washing, and children, so many children, left orphaned or homeless because of the ongoing conflict. Several of his officers had been petitioning him daily to take the orphans on as soldiers and train them for war but Boro refused them every time. He would not raise an army of child soldiers, but he did offer service to any youth of age to be taught the sword and spear. Those too young but insistent on joining he took on as squires, pages and message runners, anything he could think of to keep them busy and out of trouble. The journey itself would normally last two spans o