Pre-BattleMature

The adventures of a teenage mace-wielding soldier and his superior officer.

 Craig watched on as his Alpha, the highest military leader, rode out in front of the lines with his Beta in tow, meeting two men of presumably similar ranks from the opposite troupe in what he assumed was the middle. The downpour made it hard to see the opposing force from this distance. It was a last attempt for both sides to have the other concede, more for show than anything else. A scholar in Fournaught had once told him that no army, another word for troupe, in recorded history had ever stepped down from a fight. He sheathed his sword for a second, and got a small box out of the grey tunic that covered his leather armor. The teenage soldier on his shield-hand side turned his beady-eyed gaze from the meeting in the muddy field to see what was in the small wooden container. Craig smiled at him as got out a bacca, dried plant rolled in paper, and offered one to his young comrade as well.

“Come on, Garth. Have one.” Craig growled as he put the bacca between his lips, holding the box out to his subordinate. “If we're to die today then you might as well have tried the taste.” The pack leader added, shaking the box at the boy once slightly. Garth looked from his heavily bearded and scarred leader to the box, and put his mace in his shield hand. “Hurry up, man!” Craig roared as he stomped the mud under his feet, causing a light jump from the kid. “Damned things won't light if they're soaked.” He continued as he turned his head to his front once more.

“Yessir.” Garth mustered as he pried one of the paper tubes from the wooden box. “Thank you, sir.” He added and got the small stone out of the box too. This he had done before; hold the stone for his leader to strike the little phosphor-tipped sticks against. They would then catch flame and he could light the baccas.

This time wasn't any different. Craig lit his own bacca and then stuck his fingers in the box to take out another stick. “Bugger, all out of matches.” He groaned and turned to Garth. “C'mere with your head.”

“Why, sir?”

“'Cause I'm going to kiss your bloody mouth is why.” Craig snapped and sighed immediately after, seeing he had startled the kid. “We're going to touch tips.” He revealed. “With the baccas that is.“ He explained quickly after, when Garth's eyes grew wide in mixed disbelief and fear. “By the gods, kid. Just do it. And inhale through it when they touch; mine'll light yours.” The leader sneared and the teenage soldier complied.

“Thank you again, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure to inhale.”

The End

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