Fiontann sat at the ledge outside the Scholar's Stair and started sharpening his greatsword. The meeting had just ended and everyone was getting ready. He had ordered some provisions, water, whiskey and pipeweed from Barliman and just had to wait for the days to pass. "Three more days in this accursed town and we leave." he thought to himself. "Battles and hardships await, but everything will go well."
The sun was starting to set and Fiontann looked ahead, this particular alley was beautiful and he smiled. He was almost done, he sharpened the blade in particular spots so that the use will be easy and practical, the only sound heard was that of the whetstone as it was rubbed against the blade. As he looked at it he imagined the battle once again, his brain brought images of steel clashing with steel, he even heard the sound of it and smiled. He grew restless and longed for fights, fights that were worthy of his time, not a simple fight with someone witless.
As he entered the library he reached the bottle of whiskey he always brings there with him and filled his glass. He sat in front of the fireplace and wrote some things that wil be needed for the trip. "We must march fast but prepared." he said at the meeting. Their destination the North, nothing more is known. And one must be prepare for everything, from food and drink to a warm shirt at least. He checked his pouch to see how many pipeweed was left and calculated how much he asked from Barliman. Some blank parchments were lying on the desk and he turned to look at them, along with the charcoal, they have to fit somewhere too...
He turned his gaze to the fire again and thought about what is coming, the time to march all together for the first time has come. They are going after the enemy, an enemy they don't know, except that it's dangerous. It will be a test of the strength of their will, of their companionship, of their skills. Destination unknown, enemy unknown. What lies in the North Fiontann cannot say, and he won't dare imagine, it can be death, it can be a trap, but it can also be victory. He thought of the members of the Order, Each one with his own talents and skills, others to rush into battle, much like himself, and others to wait in the shadows for the strike. he trusts them all.
Fiontann took one last sip of the glass and left it empty on the desk, he put the bottle on the fireplace, on the left side as always and looked out of the window, the has faded away...
