With yet another grunt Zael, arched his back while pulling on the straps of his new outfit. The general weight of the medium armor he carried didn't bother him quite so much as the way it all seemed to bare down on his shoulders and his waist. Even for a newly trained soldier, his gear and armaments were a bit out of the ordinary. On his back he carried a large claymore, almost five feet in length; its size may have been uncharacteristically large, but he only used it for training and as a keepsake, although it be a rather heavy one. This claymore, he dubbed Dawn Piercer, was the last blade he forged before leaving the smithy he worked in; it reminded him not of the life he left behind, but of the future ahead of him. On his left hip was a more practical short sword, supplied by the royal army, and from the front of his waist to his right hip was a series of pouches containing various herbs and supplies. On his waist in the back were a couple of throwing knives, he hoped he would never use, to his embarrassment his accuracy with them was roughly sub-par.
His clothing and armor consisted, from bottom layer to top, of a padded shirt and breeches, a sparse layer of average chainmail, and finally a series of basic plates that covered his chest from collar to waist, his back from shoulders to waist, his arms from his shoulders to elbows, some plated gloves that were from his wrist to half the length of his fingers, greeves that covered the length from his waist to his ankles, and finally some plate coverings for the leather boots he wore. What would differ from other soldiers armor is the fact that he had taken the time to make some additions to the standard protective gear he wore. He attached coverings on the shoulders, sides of the back and chest plates, and the knees that covered the leather fastening straps. The idea of a stray claw or blade causing his armor to fall off both worried and angered him.
Zael stands at six feet and three inches tall. He is a towering fortress of a man at a lean weight of two hundred and seventy-five pounds. His body is chiseled with muscles which are defined with certain sinews distinguishing themselves among the others, as his muscles flex when he moves. His hair and fur is a dark blonde color that decorates the pointed ears which rise slightly over the top of his head, the center of his chest, and thinly on the back of his forearms. Wavy, short human hair covers his head. He also as a thin mustache accompanied by a short beard of the same dark blonde color that traces the bottom of his square jaw all the way to is chin and goes to his neck.
His eyes are hard, yet beautiful; the iris of his eyes are patterned with hues of green and blue. His eyebrows are thick and slightly arched with a old mark that rests above and between them. There is vertical scar in the epicenter of is forehead that stretches about an inch long, he has had it since birth; the scar is so light and thin that it is almost unnoticeable. Another vertical scar is ornately placed on his lips, this scar is about two inches long, and a sixteenth of an inch wide, and the same color as his skin; it is centered on the point where his lips part and it tapers at the top and bottom.
When not clad in armor or clothes, one can see that his muscle distribution and tone is even from head to toe. In spite of never having had the opportunity for serious injury, there are scars of various sizes and shapes that decorate his body. He as no idea where they come from, only that they have manifested as he has grown. The most notable scar is rather large, starting two inches from the top of is collar bone and running all the way to the bottom of his first abdominal muscles; this scar is about four inches wide and has red tone.
A tail with thick, messy hair protrudes from just above is muscular rear. His tail is about two feet in length and has the same color of darkened gold that is on the rest of is body.
‘When I reach Eversmile I really need to readjust the straps and fastenings.’ He thought, a small grimace pulling at the left corner of his mouth. Already he had readjusted three times on is treck, but with this last time he assured himself he wouldn't be doing it again until he reached his destination. Completely undressing his armor was difficult and dangerous. He wasn't accustomed to it well enough to do it quickly, and with the lands growing more dangerous he couldn't risk a wound that is armor could save him from.
He shifted his attention, trying not to focus on his sore spots. His orders were to rendezvous with a few other recruits in this town. He was approaching from the west, and from the map he had scanned over on his journey he was able to assess that another soldier was to arrive from the south and one from the east. Upon arrival they would be under the supervision of the resident peacekeeping force there. While they were meant to be “fresh blood” for the occupying force, this journey was also a test of their training. With new creatures causing so much trouble training was rushed and there seemed to be an unspoken mentality that if a single soldier could not survive the travel from one town to the next in one of the better parts of the country than the greenhorn wasn't worth keeping around.
Something had been bothering him since he had left his training grounds. Eversmile’s orchards were to the south of the town, and to the south of it was a large, dense forest. If the recruit from the south wasn't either amazingly skilled, or smart enough to go around them both, then he might never meet his new peer. He felt fairly certain that the creatures plaguing the village of Eversmile must be residing there, although he wasn't certain, just a gut feeling combined with a somewhat educated guess. Furthermore, he only knew of himself and the two others going to reinforce this village. It wasn't particularly large to begin with, he hoped that the forces there had grown prior to his assignment at that garrison; otherwise, this would prove to be quite difficult.
From what he had heard these beasts were some rather large rat-like creatures, in groups of one or two they would avoid humans; however, in large numbers he felt certain they would be drawn to a more “meaty” prey than the orchards. He guessed at their size, hearing stories of some like small dogs and some as big as men or even larger. He dismissed some of it as gossip, but he kept his mind open to their size. Needless to say, he avoided any woodlands or tall, grassy meadows in his traveling; especially as he approached the town.
As he climbed yet another hill, he shifted the straps on the backpack he was carrying and pulled his short sword from its hilt. It bothered him what might lurk over the horizon of a tall hill. A highwaymen? A pack of wild dogs? If nothing, then he would pull a whetstone out from the pouch on his hips and sharpen his sword as he walked for a bit, as he descended the hills far side.
“I knew I was getting close, but…” When he reached the top, he didn't expect the village to be in the distance ahead of him. He had an ideal view of the village and the orchard to the south. He came to a halt at the apex and began to scan the area, taking in ideals of what to expect in his new, perhaps temporary home. Without even thinking about it, he pulled the whetstone from its pouch and began sharpening his blade. He stood there for about fifteen minutes, scanning the area ahead and taking frequent glances over his shoulders and turning to look behind him, a useful habit he had developed.
‘They need to post someone on this hill, or at least patrol it frequently.’ He thought, finally stopping his hillside ritual and putting away the whetstone. He pulled a thick cloth from the same pouch the whetstone was in and cleaned any debris from his blade before putting them both away; but not before glancing behind himself once more.
He started down the hill and began to plan is course. He had seen a steady billow of smoke from the far side of the mostly stone town. He planned to go there first, must be the local forge after all. He would “talk turkey” for a bit with the local smith, getting a “lay of the land” and ask where he needed to report in and who the local captain was. At least, that is what is plan was.
A nice breeze blew past him, but he did not close his eyes or tilt his head back to welcome it. It blew through his hair, the fur on his forearms, and even through the armor he lugged around his body before traveling through the fur on his tail. While he did like the breeze, his eyes persistently returned to orchard outside of town, his ears staying alert and pointed above the top of his head.
‘It has seen better days… beasts must be more active at night… Great.’ He rolled his eyes at thought of being swarmed by large vermin in the moonlight. It made him grit his teeth ever so slightly in anger of the picture in his mind.
‘I will not be brought down like that.’ His left hand gripped the pommel of his short sword, he vowed to himself then and there that if he were to die here then he would take at least a dozen of the unwelcome bastards with him.
With a heavy sigh he dismissed the thought, he wasn't in this battle alone. With an experienced leader their injuries and casualties would be minimal, if not non-existent. He scoffed at himself aloud, it was ridiculous of him to assume the worst right from the start.
Once more, he shifted his thoughts, a smile making its way to him as he thought about meeting his new brothers and sisters in arms. The grip on his pommel softened and his shoulders lowered slightly, this would be better than the life he left behind.
