Closed [Silkwater Lake] On Your Hands

[Kreig Messer]

21st of Winter, 513 AV, 5th bell


It was a damn cold morning, damn cold indeed. The Brawler was feeling it down to his bloody soul as he popped his neck and cracked his knuckles, only wearing his tattered blue coat over a black shirt and white pants with his wide brimmed hat covering his head. From his waist hanged his studded gauntlets, the dried blood on its knuckles dulling its shine and his longsword snuggled safely in its sheath. Besides him was a sack filled with dried food, containing enough for a whole day. Taken from the Knight's pantry once he explained why he needed the food.

One perhaps might be wondering why the brawler is at the gates of the city this early morning...in this lovely little cold weather and with a sack of food to boot. The reason was quite simple really, Kreig was to spend the entire day training at Silkwater Lake, oh but it wasn't knightly training...well, one of them at least was that....but the majority of them was physical training; as in, he was trying to build up his body and what better venue to do it undisturbed then Silkwater Lake?

To start it off; He was going to run there....yes, he was going to run four hours to Silkwater lake. He stretched his body some more, throwing his fists around to get his body pumping. Begining with the basic boxing punches he had learned seasons past. First he began with a few left jabs, they weren't as quick as they should be but he made sure to not move his shoulders and to loosen his fists as he threw these quick straightforward punches about.

Next came the straight punch, a blow that came quite naturally to him as he threw similar punches all the time. He brought his right fist back and brought his own body back before unleashing a terrifying straightforward punch that was the culmination of all his bare fisted fighting, anyone experiencing this frightening blow would know that Kreig's reputation as a fighter was well deserved.

Third came the hook punch with his left arm, bringing his arm about in a crooked form as he rotated his body to put all his weight into the punch, the sound of ribs cracking being imagined in his head.

Last was the uppercut which was to be performed with his right as he lowered his form slightly, it felt like throwing a hook only that it was flying upward and was aimed for the head. It was certain put any foe into a daze if it connected proper. Yes, any of these four punches could be lethal if Kreig could get their form down right and merge them with his primary style of brawling he just needed 'practice practice practice' if he ever were to reach the destructive he imagine with them.

Next was his legs, now unlike his fists, Kreig had not learned any 'techniques' for them... although they were devastating all the same as he performed a right low kick to the leg, then a left foot stomp into an imaginary knee. He then leaped forward with a left knee strike into an imaginary skull then finally a violent right shove with his right foot into an imaginary someone's chest.

'I think I stretched enough' He thought as he grinned wildly, then began his run. At first he started slowly, more of a walk then a run as he took his time. It was a damn quiet morning as Syna's light wasn't even in the sky yet. His movement's were quick but not quite so, his legs and body still needing to get warmed up some more....he continued with this for half a bell, before deciding now was the time to run.

His running however, was not well paced as he ran franticly as if he were a fugitive from the knights... this came to bite him in the arse a mere 15 chimes later as he began to pant heavily like a dog and his legs gave out on him as he fell to the ground " Well...haaahhaaaa....hhaaaahhhaaa.... that was well thought out" He said to himself as turned his head to free his mouth. His legs already began to ache him...but he had to get used to 'Gotta move again....after...I rest.. yeah'.

After the passing of another 30 chimes, the brawler recollected his breath and perhaps a bit of energy as he began to move once more...at a more a reliable and slower pace as he made his way to the Lake. Indeed it was a long trek, made more difficult as he was making his way up the path of the Cobalt Mountains. The muscles of his legs getting quite the workout as he ran during the long bells, alternating frequently between a slow walk to a reliable run.

In the end, it was perhaps the 11th bell when he finally made it to the lake. He Collapsed near the familar log he camped next to during the early season, dropping his sack next to him and looking at the Syna's sun high in the Sky "I....Bloody...MADE IT!"

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[Alasdair]

Despite the uncharacteristic weather as of late, Alasdair had wanted to spend a night out by Silkwater. It'd been a while since his last outing and no matter how pleasant having company could be, he missed the quiet solitude and quick efficiency that he could get things done by himself. So the previous day he had trekked up the Cobalt Mountains and found a nice spot nestled a few yards off the bank just inside the edge of the trees. A little over a week ago a snowstorm had rolled in and turned the countryside into a white wonderland. The cold kept the blanket of fluff and ice from melting, leaving the land covered. Being so thick-skinned as he was, he didn't really mind the drop in temperature and wetness.

He had cleared the snow away from his campsite and built a hearty little fire, also dried fuel beside it for the next day. The flames died early that next morning, but bundled in his tightly closed tent with a bedroll and two thick blankets had been enough to keep him warm until he awoke. Alasdair clambered out of his tent well before daylight, when Syna was just barely peeking over the far off hidden horizon. Up in the mountains it was still considerably dim with the sounds of nocturnal animals preparing to bed down for the approaching day. An owl called somewhere off in the trees as he picked up some short straight sticks that had been more or less dried overnight.

Alasdair sat by the remains of his fire, now a cold pile of charred kindling and ash. The sticks he sat in his lap were to be made into tinder. With careful fingers, the graying man produced his short, strong hunting blade from inside his right boot. A sharp stab propped one piece of wood in the damp winter earth, and he held it steady as he wedged his knife in the top and went about cleaning the bark from its round sides. Much like removing the skin from a potato, he peeled the outer shell off the wood protected inside. Each stick had been carefully selected so it was knot free, then were in turn broken into similarly sized pieces. He wasn't sure how many he would end up using, so he'd collected four. One was normally enough to make good feather shavings, but winter could be tricky.

When the first was ready to go, Alasdair gave the wood a careful test scrape with the honed edge of the blade. A straight thin shave fell away, leaving a smooth scar on its wake. He readjusted his hold on the stick, gripping it tight so it wouldn't move, and repositioned the double edge of his knife closer to a right angle. Another test scrape gave him a thin curl of wood; the desired product. After finding his ideal angle, he went to work scraping a few handfuls of feather shavings from the stick. At odd intervals Alasdair would have to readjust when the wood stopped curling properly and instead came off in flat chunks. He ended up only needing a single foot long branch, so the rest would become regular firewood. What was left of his feather stick - now a shadow of its former size and shape - he tossed back onto the dry fuel pile.

Next he transferred all of the shavings into the remains of the previous pile. With several handfuls, he felt he would have plenty. There wasn't any wind right now, so his only enemy would be the dampness that clung to everything - like his nearly soaked pants. After retrieving his flint and steel from the backpack in his tent, he went about arranging the fuel he'd collected the night before on top of the feathers. Small twigs and sticks were placed on first, and he never used these sparingly. The more there was to catch a flame the better. Alasdair placed most of his supply of small bits onto the fire remains, then arranged just a few thicker branches on top of that. The rest would be saved until he got the fire going.

With careful concentration, Alasdair stooped low to the pile of wood and shavings. He slid his flint and steel under the heavier wood and pressed it against the light, curled feathers. One scrape of the steel summoned a small collection of sparks, but nothing caught. His second and third tries were much the same, though wisps of smoke began to rise from the bundle. On the fourth strike, a small flame caught. Alasdair leaned down on hands and knees, trying to block in his breath as he breathed strength into the infant fire. It took quickly to his kindling, eating away at the fine curls and eagerly licking at the heavier twigs laying on top. The wood popped and cracked as it caught to the wood, and Alasdair began feeding heavier sticks to the growing blaze.

In a few minutes he had a fine fire that didn't have to be nursed continuously or supervised suspiciously. The fuel he'd gathered would last until midday, which was when he prepared to head back to Syliras. Alasdair momentarily ducked inside his tent to retrieve his quiver, bow, axe, and backpack, placing the flint and steel inside a small outer pocket then swinging the bag onto his shoulder. He dropped the handle of his axe into a loop on the hip of his belt where it hung comfortably, then hung his bow and quiver over the opposite shoulder as his backpack. A little rabbit stalking would be a nice way to pass the morning and fill his belly. Their holes could be rather easy to spot with their openings tunneled out of the snow.

Alasdair made sure to throw a few more thick branches onto the fire before he secured the opening of his tent and set off down the shore of Silkwater. It was a silent morning where the snow absorbed many of the forest's sounds. His heavy boots crunched on the fluffy white ground cover, and a screech owl called out somewhere in the trees to his right. He walked for several chimes, scanning the ground for rabbit tracks but finding none. Right before he veered on his course to step into the trees, the loud sound of a man's shout made him freeze. "Made it!" was all he could decipher. Alasdair looked down along the shore, then up at the sun poking above the trees. Shyke. I lost track of time. Perhaps he had set out a little later than he initially thought. Keeping track of time in the mountains was a challenging thing when there was no horizon to check.

The idiot will be scaring everything off if he keeps yammering at the top of his lungs. Alasdair frowned and considered his next move for a moment. He decided to investigate. Quickly, he readjusted his gear so that the quiver and bow hung properly against his chest at a diagonal angle and poked up over one shoulder. Overtop of this he strapped his backpack down tight. With a knife in his boot and an axe hanging off his belt, he was confident he was well enough armed. His longsword had been left at home.

Mindful of the cold winter air that could give him an ache in the lungs, he set off in the direction of the voice at a steady clip. Since the man - whoever he was - had been in earshot, it wasn't long until Alasdair found him by a large fallen lock masked in snow. He looked surprisingly young, and was dressed a little carelessly for this kind of weather. Didn't seem to have any thick layers on. Alasdair personally had on his thick leather coat over a long sleeved shirt, then his pants tucked into heavy year-round boots with the lacing straps wrapped tight around his muscular calves and knotted securely. The young man had on threadbare coat and a floppy hat. At least he was wearing long pants. Gods, what is wrong with kids these days? The ever-present scowl was etched into his features as he marched out of the cover of the trees.

His heavy boots crunched the snow, making his approach obvious. He wasn't hiding himself whatsoever. The youngster didn't look all that dangerous sitting in the snow dressed like a goof. Alasdair did note the gauntlets hanging at his waist, but paid no mind to them. He didn't suspect every stranger of being a murderous brigand. "You," he called to get the young man's attention. "You lost?" The aging man stopped a few yards short of the stranger, observing him curiously with furrowed brows drawn together over a hawkish nose and a slight frown twisting the corner of his mouth.

[Kreig Messer]

'Gods, I'm so tired...' He thought as he panted with that silly grin on his face, indeed he didn't feel like moving. But he was not that much of a twit, if he slept in this cold weather he'd likely get a cold or worse. It was then he heard the heavy sounding footsteps that stomped in the snow. From the sound of it the person or whatever was coming from behind him, so he tilted his head back and from his upside down view looked to be an older gent perhaps 14 to 20 years older than Kreig himself standing a bit away from Kreig's location. He had this stern look on his heavily bearded face, like one of those cranky old neighbors who never seem to be happy.

"You....You lost?"

Kreig couldn't help but grin at the way he said it, responding with "No, I'm Kreig Messer....haha, sorry. Poor humor on my part" He admitted as he pushed himself up in a sitting position, popped the joints in his neck and stood up all hunky dory "I've no doubt you heard me shout, yeah? Sorry about that, just finished the longest run in me life and now I'm glad...though no doubt I'll be sore about it tomorrow'

He looked at the lake to his left, looking as sereneful as ever especially in this frozen weather "Though I needed to build my legs up and what better way to take a long run here? Been a bit since I was here anyway....thought I owed it a visit" He then looked at the old man appoligeticly, holding up his sack of foode.

"ER....I didn't bother you or anything Sir? If I did I've got some morsels to share. if you don't mind jerky that is"

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[Alasdair]

The young man twisted his head and shoulders at a peculiar angle, looking back at Alasdair almost upside down. What in the... Perhaps the boy was unstable or had a few screws loose. The youngsters strange joke solidified. Poor soul. "You took a run all the way up here in the snow?" He must be in excellent condition if he could handle that sort of exertion in the cold. The winter air wasn't the best for one's lungs. "I'm sure you'll be smarting," he agreed. If it were Alasdair, he'd be sore halfway through. Not that he was getting old or anything. His eyes narrowed at the thought and he pushed it away.

"Silkwater appears to have an enticing way of drawing people back, it seems. I'm camped not too far from here by the shore." He felt comfortable telling the boy this. The last of his uncertain tension had drained away watching how Kreig carried himself. He seemed pleasant enough. Alasdair eyed the sack of food swinging in the young man's hand and considered for a moment. "I was only looking for some rabbit to bring back to the fire. No such luck it seems. Have to admit your shouting would scare off game for a mile around." Alasdair's frown turned up into a thin smile. "But no harm done."

He half turned, motioning for Kreig to follow. "Come. You can warm up at my camp. If you really don't mind sharing, I'll fill myself with some of that meat. Who doesn't like jerky?" His smile turned more genuine now, giving a small flash of teeth and a humored light in his eyes. He turned and trudged back the way he'd come, easily following his own tracks that meandered in and out of the trees along the shore. After a short silence, he spoke over his shoulder. "What possessed you to go for a jog in this weather? We don't usually have harsh winters, but this seems as close as we've gotten in a long time. I don't usually see many people wandering about in the cold season, except for the patrols."

[Kreig Messer]

Hah, Ser Titus would be delighted to hear my yelling could do that Kreig chuckled as he followed behind the man, his stomach rumbling for the strips Jerky in his own sack. It seems the man has quickly warmed up to him and Kreig was glad for that, he'd dread at the thought that he possibly caused this old coot trouble. Quickly they arrived to the man's camping spot and Kreig took his place near the fire, tossing the Jerky bag gently to gent.

"Ah, well I really needed to get out of the city... been tired of being cramped inside the walls, ye see?" Kreig said as he scratched the back of his head, his body slowly taking in the warmth of the fire "And I thought why not take a walk to Stillwater? Spent a few days here last season and it was remarkably pleasant" Kreig then turned back to the fire, rubbing has hands together before extending his palms to further take in the warmth "So I thought what best to build up me legs along the way and enjoy some nice scenery at the end?" Kreig chuckled at himself "Hah.....its stupid but I feel that its worth it"

He then turned to look at the gent "Ah didn't quite get yer name Sir? You some kind of hunter?" Kreig asked the older man, then extended his palm out in order to get the sack back and eat some jerky himself, his stomach wishing to be sated from its hunger.

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[Alasdair]

When the two of them arrived back at Alasdair's camp, he first added more wood to the fire. It had died slightly in his absence, so he fed it an armful of fuel. The thick, dry branches snapped and popped as the heat cracked bark and body, tongues of fire growing until once more the fire was strong and heating the immediate air around them. He settled heavily by the side of the crackling blaze, relishing the warmth that seeped through his chilled clothing and into the flesh underneath. Kreig's movement caught his attention in time for Alasdair to catch the bag of dried meat that was thrown across the welcoming heat of the fire. Feeling a little famished, he opened the sack and pulled out a big fistful of its contents then twisted it closed once more and threw it back. "Thanks," he offered gruffly before biting a mouthful off one long strip.

The meat snapped as he yanked it with his teeth, then filled his mouth with delicious preserved juice as he chewed the tough food. It was both filling and hearty, sitting nicely in the gut. Alasdair listened to Kreig while he chewed, slowly devouring piece by piece of the meat. Sometimes he paused to take a drink from one of his waterskins before taking another bite. Absently, after a moment of realization, he passed Kreig one of the bloated reservoirs. "Helps it go down," he said absently before the young man continued. When the Squire was through, Alasdair leaned forward; elbows on the knees of his folded legs. "Doesn't sound all that stupid to me," he assured, raising a heavy eyebrow. There wasn't anything unusual or silly about wanting to stay in shape. It was a hard life, made even harder by being out of shape.

He respected the young man for taking the time to do so, especially in winter. The cold could be very hard on one's lungs. Alasdair regarded him closer than he had before, noting the defined muscle underneath humble clothing. "Silkwater has a way of enchanting those who visit its banks. I like to come every so often for some peace and quiet. It feels like time stands still here, by the silence of the water." Of course it wasn't actually silent. There were the sounds of the forest all around, but it was refreshing compared to the bustle of Syliras. He took another bite of tough meat. "The name's Alasdair Gallows," he mumbled past the mouthful of half-chewed sustenance. "Tell me, Kreig, what do you do back at the city?"

The boy seemed pleasant enough. Maybe he was a laborer of some kind, as fit as he was. Perhaps a mason or carpenter. A fisherman was a possibility. The men who worked the waters of the Suvan to bring seafood into the city were a sight, but then he wasn't sure as he looked at Kreig again. Too pale, and not as bulky. Alasdair ran a hand across his bearded chin and jaw.

[Kreig Messer]

Ah thanks mate" Kreig fought the water bag, nodding to Alasdair before taking a hard bite of his jerky, its rough exterior melting in his mouth as its juices seeped into his mouth. He let a loud gulp as he swallowed the meat after chewing it thoroughly, then took a swig from the water bag. It was nice to have a companion in this weather, the old gent was amicable if a bit sore face ' Alasdair, eh?' He confirmed the name in his he'd between bites. He agreed that Silkwater had a charm all of its own, there was a magnetism hrethat few places had ...though for Kreig, often enough his own magnetism often brought trouble to this comforting place.

"I'm a squire" Kdeig let out a small grin before taking another bite of Jerky, chewing it thoroughly and saboring the taste " Joined nearly a year ago officially, though my relationship with them began in Fall of the previous year." Memories of meeting that zealous Akalak knight from year ago flashed before him, that bloke was his gateway to the Order....a rather large and annoying one, but not so terrible.


"Nice enough folks, though they do get on the nerves a bit at times. Learning a lot too, but I could be doing better" Kreig said before gently tossing the jerky sack back to Alasdair " Can't really complain, honored to be a part of the order, free food and board too"
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