The squire’s heart jumped when he heard the word “tourney”. “We must go there now!!” he said, completely oblivious to the fact that the tourney was not on that same day, or that it was in another location. He was told to calm himself, but all he could think about was duels between knights, swords clashing together, lances exploding on impact, men getting thrown from their horses and himself riding his dearest courser Epona in armor worthy of a true knight. Perhaps winning the favor a beautiful young noble girl or piercing a lance through someone’s eyesocket. His somewhat unhealthy obsession with knighthood often made him think of such things, and a real tourney was something Addam had wanted to see for a long time. He pitied the worthless opponents who now had to face his allies of House Caragore.
Later that night, Addam woke suddenly from his sleep. He was dreaming of fields burning all around him, he was a boy again, standing alone in the middle of a circle of flames. The dream ended when the flames finally closed in and consumed him. A sudden compulsion to go rumaging around the fort fell over him, he had to find something to steal or he would tear this place apart. He took a quick sip of a flask he always carried around in his pouch and left the stables to get some loot. Addam sneaked around for some time growing more and more uncomfortable, feeling the pressure increasing to find anything to hold and take the edge off. Finally he returned with some stags that may or may not have been worth something and two magnificent brass candleholders. He spent the rest of the night polishing his two new possessions, content, his mind still filled with images of farms burning and knights dying horrible deaths on the tourney grounds. He wanted blood.
Next: Halfwit the Horse and The Crag
forever loyal, Addam the Squire