To Call The Calvary

### Chapter I: In which our two heroes meet.

> ~~*In the later months of the 7th Year of Thedude. The weather is cold, but snowfall is light where our story takes place. In the land of Morcia, beginning in the camp of the Merry Band. We go now, to find the Merry Band beside a large lake, located in the forest, where they are packing up.~~*
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"Silverstine?"

Stirling turned away from his task of knocking down his 3rd tent to face a man on a black horse.

"Please, call me Strider," he replied, squinting up at him. The sun was right behind the stranger, and it hid his facial features, but Strider noted the mismatched and clearly used armor and gear that horse and rider wore.

"I am Sir Thaddeus Nathanael Thingguy the Second. I was told by the Gateway to meet you here," the man said, dismounting.

Strider's interest was piqued. Finally, he would meet one of the KOTOS. Everywhere he'd gone he'd heard such larger than life stories about these knights. He would be glad to assess them himself, and perhaps knock them down a peg.

The man patted his horse, and turned around to Strider. His most prominent feature was his bright, short, ginger beard that had clearly not seen a barber in months. Once Strider pulled his attention away from that, he noticed Sir Thingguy's glinty green eyes, and the light smirk that hid a bright mind.

"I am told you wished to join the KOTOS?" he asked. The horse nickered.

Strider shook his head. "Not exactly. Did you get my letter?"

Thingguy shook his head and frowned. "No. I only received word from the Gateway to meet you with the Merry Band, in this wood that they frequent. I came as fast as I could, but I do not know how long it took for the Gateway's letter to reach me. I hope you have not been waiting for me o'er long!"

Strider smiled. "Not to worry, I have been redeeming the time." He turned back to the collapsed tent and began gathering it up into a single manageable bundle. "I do appreciate you coming."

"If you did not want to join KOTOS, perhaps you can explain to me your intent." Thingguy asked guardedly.

"Certainly, but do you mind if we walk and talk?" Strider asked, having tied the bundle.

"Not at all."

Strider hefted the bundle onto his right shoulder. "Wonderful."

The two started on down the lane, passing others who were packing their various items and abodes.

"I was seeking out the KOTOS, true," began Strider, "But not to join. I was hoping you could help me find my family. You see-"

Thingguy raised an eyebrow. The black horse stopped dead in it's tracks and whinnied.

"Oh, come on, Deadbeat, it wasn't that far a ride! Besides, you'll get oats, remember?" the knight said, turning to the horse.

'Deadbeat' snorted.

"That, I'm not so sure." Replied the knight.

Stirling stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Are you talking to your horse?"

Both Deadbeat and Thingguy turned on Strider with a near-identical look of look of incredulity.  "Don't you?" Thingguy asked.

"Um. No. I don't really keep any one horse for very long. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I and horses have bad luck."

Both horse and man blinked. Then Thingguy shrugged.  "To each their own." Deadbeat snorted again, and swished his tail contemptuously as he began walking off.

"I hope you get put to work!" yelled Thingguy after him. Deadbeat whinnied back, and Thingguy waved him off.

"You're not worried he'll wander off?" Strider asked.

"Naw, he'll be fine. Maybe a little fatter, if he finds those sugar cubes he was asking about."

"I doubt it; The Merry Band's just about done packing, by the looks of it. We should be moving off in about two to three hours max.

Thingguy looked around. They were nearly the only people on the path now.

"Wow. I've met the Merry Band before but I'd never seen them move."

"They've gotten a lot of practice over the years, what with thedude's forces trying to get rid of such a large force so close to Orlan." agreed Strider solemnly. "Even though it's largely women and children."

Thingguy nodded. "Speaking of family, you were telling me you were trying to find your own?"

"Oh. Yes." Strider refocused. "The Silverstine Family." He turned to Thingguy. "I asked you to call me 'Strider', but my name is Stirling Silverstine."

"Pleased to meet you, Stirling!" Thingguy replied warmly, sticking his right hand out to shake. Stirling was holding the tent bundle in that hand, but he shifted it over to his left shoulder, and shook Thingguy's hand.

"And it is a pleasure to meet you, Thingguy."

"Now, tell me more of your family. Why are you so desperate to find them that you would call on the Gateway?" Thingguy asked as they began walking again.

"Actually, that was the idea of the Merry Band here. They said that then the Gateway could contact the KOTOS. I've been offworld for many years, but Militiregnum is my homeworld." Stirling unstringed his brown coat to reveal his Samurai chestplate beneath. "I'd been fighting in the Nexus Force for many years before I came here 7 years ago. I was on shore leave with a pilot-friend who helped me get through the blockade, but we crash-landed.

Thingguy's eyes lit up. "Was there anyone else on your shuttle?"

"No, just me and Perry. He's a Venture Leaguer, if that means anything to you."

"It does!" Thingguy assured. "The KOTOS are originally from Nimbus Station!"

It was Stirling's turn to be surprised. "Really? They don't tell that in the legends."

Thingguy chuckled. "There's a lot the legends don't tell. I should know, I've instigated a few!" His eyes twinkled slyly.

Stirling raised an eyebrow. "Ah. I see."

"But I'm interrupting. You are supposed to be telling me *your* legend."

"Right. Well, Perry and I crash-landed, and we found out pretty quickly the state of things here on Milteregnum. I set off in search of my family, Perry joining me, and found out later we were being trailed by thedude's forces curious about the crash. We ended up taking shelter at Calibus Tower for awhile where I found one of my two brothers,-"

Here, Thingguy reacted with alarm at the mention of Calibus Tower, but did not interrupt as Stirling continued his summary.

"-but I soon left for my family's estate in the Athelas Mounts. I found it ransacked, empty of the living."  Stirling paused as the memories of his wrecked childhood home sprang back. It had clearly been the scene of more than one battle before he had gotten there. He hadn't recognized anyone, but that was to be expected as he would have had difficulty remembering anyone from his childhood even if they were not marred and desecrated as they were.

Silverstine Keep was little more than a tomb now. A ruined tomb.

"What did you do then?" Thingguy asked, pulling Strider back to the present.

Stirling made a conscious effort to look Thingguy in the eye.  "I went back to Calibus. Found that the enemy had raided it."

Thingguy stared right back, with a sudden solemnity. "The Raid of Calibus, they call it."

"They killed my brother, and took away my best friend." Stirling growled. "And the leader of the assault was-"

"Lord Brocktree."

"-Menaya Kull. Wait, what?"

"Pardon?"

"Brocktree?"

"Maniacal?"

Stirling stopped to enunciate. "No, *Me-nay-a*. Kull."

Thingguy shook his head. "No, it was Brocktree. Lord Brocktree." He clarified.

"Brocktree? Who's that?" Stirling scoffed.

Thingguy waited a moment, and the realization dawned inevitably on the Sentinel Nexus Forcer.

"Wait... THE Brocktree?" Stirling asked. Thingguy nodded. "The Sir Brocktree that disappeared from known space like..." Stirling did some quick math on his fingers. " Almost TEN YEARS AGO?!"

"YES!"

"Second in command to the Faction Leaders?!"

"YES!"

"HOLY-" Stirling bit back whatever he was about to say next, instead opting for, "Lord Brocktree is *here*?" Awe, mixed with a little confusion and (healthy) fear was plain on the Sentinel.

Thingguy nodded. "Lord Brocktree is on Militiregnum, but, Stirling... he's on *thedude's* side." Thingguy whispered. He wasn't sure how this ex-Nexus Forcer would take it.  Stirling appeared to be very surprised, and Thingguy was ready for his next question.

"How?"

"We're not sure. There's all sorts of theories about why he's working for thedude, but alas, nothing concrete." They began walking again.

"Seriously?"

"Well, it's not like anyone's been able to just walk up to him and ask." Thingguy remarked glibly.

"Why not?"

Thingguy glanced at Stirling to make sure the man's serious tone was, well, serious.

Yup, the guy was in earnest.

"Heh, Stirling," Thingguy wavered. "This guy is a cold-blooded killer. What you saw at Calibus, that was *his* handiwork, at least, from what I've learned."

Stirling frowned as he contemplated this new information. "That is grave."

The two men had now reached the center of the packing effort. The sound was surprisingly lower than expected as the Merry Band finished tying everything down to move out. The occasional bray of a Mule attached to a wagon, the chortling engine of a truck. The muted murmuring of children too young to help pack, and so already packed away themselves in a hot air balloon basket.

"I hope you were not looking forward to a rest," Stirling said to Thingguy, who shrugged.

"It's probably for the best, I should be off as soon as I can. But first, you must finish your tale!" Thingguy replied, ending with a note of mock exasperation.

Stirling waved it off. "Yes, yes." He looked out over the crowd and then, having espised what he was looking for, began powerwalking. "Well, after I left Calibus again, there's not much to tell concerning my family."

Stirling's voice turned quiet and dangerous. "All of these years, and I haven't found heads nor tails of any of the others." He spared a quick glance back at Thingguy as they pressed through a group of cows, and Thingguy saw that Stirling's face burned with emotion. "And it's not for lack of trying! I've been *all over* Morcia, but all I hear are rumors. Rumors of you and the KOTOS, rumors of wars, and uprisings. Rumors of hope, Evidence of despair, but nothing of my family. All hints end up pointless, and it's as if they've been spirited away!" Stirling finished this with a frustrated toss of his hand that ended up in the back of someone's head tying down a knot on a wagon.

"Ow!"

This made Stirling's mood disappear as he looked to whom he'd struck.  "Oh, sorry, sir."

The Band member turned around as he rubbed his head and straightened his large round spectacles. "Oh, it's alright, it only smarts. Strider, right?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Oswald"

"Nice to meet you Oswald."

"Good to meet you! Hey, can you pull this? I'm good with knots but not the strength."

Stirling pulled on the cord, and Oswald whipped the knot together almost instantly. "Thanks!"

"Anytime," Stirling replied, walking off.

Thingguy remained quiet for a time, following Stirling. It occurred to him that they were nearing the front of a quickly forming caravan. Some were already beginning to set off. He wondered if he should try to find Deadbeat.

Suddenly, Thingguy caught up to Stirling talking to a bushy-eyed mustachioed man wearing something that looked like cowboy attire from the waist up, and a Marathon runner from the waist down.

"h'I wish you tha' very best ah luck, Strider!" the man said, clapping Stirling's shoulder strongly.

"Thanks for everything, Carlos. Till we meet again!" Stirling replied, shouldering a pack with many hooks on it. Then he turned to Thingguy. "Come on, you should find your horse, and I'll get one myself to match your speed."

Thingguy rolled his eyes and began to follow Stirling again, but this time asked him a question in hopes of slowing him down.

"All this time, you haven't told me what your Clan was known for! I don't think I've ever heard of the Silverstines before today."

It worked, Stirling did slow down his walk as he looked up to the sky in thought. "You haven't? Well, no, I suppose you wouldn't have. Perhaps before thedude you might have. The Silverstines were one of the foremost miners of the Athelas Mountains. I told you about our keep in the Mountains; that was where the network started from. My brother, Austin told me that they were almost going to be recognized by the Kingdom as the official source for the Capitol. He told me that the most purest ore was deep in the Scary Mountains Range. We're Miners and Metalworkers. Beyond that, I and my brothers enjoy..." Stirling paused a moment, briefly lost in some distant memory. "We *enjoyed* learning swordplay, Archery, and all of the various means of battle. My brothers were of course always my betters, but I think that was due to age." Stirling smiled.

"Sounds like you guys were close," Thingguy commented.

"Yes. Yes we were."

"But now you need help finding them." Thingguy finished. "It's a big world, man, and I would love to help, but I've been searching for many more people than- Uh, how many did you say?"

"4. Would have been 5, but not anymore."

"Right. 4 people in this whole planet, but I've been looking for ANY allies of the KOTOS, and up until recently, it's been slim pickings. But now, for alot of reasons, as you probably know, people are getting riled up!" Thingguy paused. "I can't just hold all of that up to help you."

Stirling stopped. They had reached a large herd of animals.

"I understand," he replied, putting his hands on his hips as he looked out over the herd. "And I wouldn't want you to drop everything that you've been working on, just for one man. But if you could point me in *some* direction, maybe even let me travel with you awhile..." He shrugged. "Maybe if I travel with the rumor monger, I'll stop getting just rumors?" he finished with a weak smile that betrayed the tired helplessness he was fighting internally.

Thingguy looked out over the herd. He wondered what made this herd different from any of the other collections of animals, but then he noticed various rugged quadracycles riding in and around with different animal feeds stowed on them. The animals here were being fed, and would be fed as they moved.

"I'm certainly wouldn't mind the company," Thingguy said. "Deadbeat isn't much for conversation when he's hangry. Which is like, most of the time."

Sure enough, Deadbeat was here, munching on carrots hanging from a bunch of fishing poles on the back of a parked bicycle.

Thingguy turned his attention back to Stirling. "If we were to find your family, could I count on you as an ally against thedude?"

Stirling's eyes burned brightly. "Yes. Absolutely."

Thingguy grinned wide. He stuck his leather-gloved hand out to shake on it, and Stirling clasped it in his chain-mail one and shook it vigorously, the grin spreading to his own face.

"And how about these people? The Merry Band? You seem to know them pretty well," Thingguy asked. "Would they join us?"

Stirling's smile contorted curiously. "Not now. These people are not warriors. At best, they're scouts. If you were to take all of the able-bodied men, willing and unwilling, you may get a single worthy company. Maybe two, but they would be greener than northern Britay's hills in springtime."

Thingguy shook his head, and chuckled. "I wouldn't mean as warriors. You already told me they're mostly women and children. I meant as suppliers. An army is nothing without a supply chain, and these people seem to be just the kind of hoarders a resistance could use!"

Stirling raised an eyebrow. "I... I hadn't thought of that."

"That fellow you bumped into earlier, Oswald? I thought I saw electronics poking out of his wagon, was I right?"

"Yes, that's right. He likes to see how they work, even if they're practically useless with the tech-curse. Still, when his stuff does work, it helps so immensely that he's allowed his hobby, and the one wagon to keep it all in."

"And all of these animals! Mounts! All of this good food! Provisions! I'm sure you guys have an armory somewhere too!"

Stirling nodded in affirmation as he rubbed his rough chin. He glanced around, seeming to see things in a whole new light. He had never really focused on army logistics while in the Nexus Force, but as he considered the vast inventory wandering past him in the slowly moving caravan around them, he marveled that he hadn't thought of it himself. There might not be the manpower of an army here, but there was the equipment for one! At least, a small one.

Something caught Thingguy's eye up in the sky, and he gasped as he pointed.  "You've even got eyes in the sky!!! I mean, it's no Helicopter, but-"

Stirling followed his gaze to see a low-flying, camo-colored, miniature blimp. From the ground, the name *'Happy Thoughts'* was visible in the pattern of the camouflage print.

"Oh, that's the Merry Band's Leadership tent," Stirling replied.

"Then that's where I need to go," Thingguy said, as he turned back to Stirling. "Do you think you could introduce me?"

As the blimp became obscured by trees, Stirling focused back on Thingguy and shrugged. "Certainly, but I don't think you'll need one. You're a legend, remember?"

Thingguy's excited grin cracked an extra inch wider with an almost impish glee. "Don't tell me that, it might go to my head."

The two began walking off in the direction of the front of the caravan, and the blimp.

"When will the *Happy Thoughts* come back down?" Thingguy asked.

"Not sure," Stirling replied. "But we might find some of the other leadership around here on the ground."

"That would be fantastic!"

### Chapter II: In Which Thingguy and Strider speak with the local authorities.

It took awhile, but the time was not wasted on the two, as Stirling showed Thingguy to various members and services of the Band, even packed up and moving as it all was. Thingguy was fascinated by the wealth of gear, tools, and provisions all around him. He only hoped that they would be willing to share the wealth. As the day went on, they found their way to where the bulk of armaments were. There, they met one of the leadership.

"Sir Thingguy, I'd like you to meet Armsmaster Fiddelton. He's in charge of keeping the weaponry in the right hands."

Thingguy shook hands with the tall, broad-shouldered man. He looked about in his 50's, and was dressed in nearly full armor that had an older emblem of King Matthias's regime. His simple brown hair and clear blue eyes gave him a very congenial and trustworthy look. However, he had a frighteningly large broadsword strapped to his back.

"Thingguy... Strange name." His voice was low and deep, but clear. A voice that could carry commands over the din of battle. "Not *the* Thingguy, of KOTOS fame?" He raised an eyebrow.

In response, Thingguy smiled roguishly. "Why yes, now that you mention it."

Fiddleton's clean-shaven demeanor broke into a grin. "Rumor has it you were a swordsmanship teacher once upon a time. Does that still hold true?"

Thingguy leaned back and studied Fiddleton. "It's been awhile, but thankfully, I've run into trouble enough over the years that I still keep my skills sharp. However," he pointed to the broadsword. "I think you could beat me with that monstrosity. I specialized in the longsword and hand-and-a-half. Also, the sword and shield combo."

"Whatever you could help me teach, would be most valuable, Sir Thingguy." The Armsmaster replied.

Thingguy brightened up. "Ah! I thought you were challenging me to a dual."

Fiddleton laughed. "Perhaps later. Personally, I think you overestimate me."

"Of course you would say that!" Thingguy joined in the laughter. "You just want to get my guard down!"

Fiddelton glanced around, still chuckling. "Eh. Perhaps. But tell me, what brings you to our humble band? Why now?"

Thingguy began to reply, but then paused, and glanced to his side, where Stirling was. He grabbed his shoulder.

"This guy." He replied. "I've heard of the Merry Band, but I never realized you were quite this large before today. I responded to Strider's request to meet here, and now here I am, and I think I've met more people just today than I have in any given month since I went underground!"

Still smiling, Fiddleton pressed a little deeper. "And why did you go into hiding in the first place, Sir Knight?"

Thingguy paused briefly before replying.

"The Battle of the Skyfalls is where it all fell apart. I made the mistake of trying to stand alone. And alone, I was defeated. That's when we first encountered the Barneybots, and we were totally unprepared for it."

Thingguy glanced at Fiddleton, who motioned for him to continue. He cast himself back to what he could remember of that terrible day.

"In the aftermath of it all, both sides had suffered heavy casualties, and if it were not for the Bots, we may have survived as a group to fight another day, but the Barneybots were relentless, and stopped us from regrouping after our leadership fell. Myself included. Talmid was captured, I was defeated by thedude, and I don't even know what happened to Lukas."

***Thingguy vividly remembered...***

...standing with a tight knot of fellow knights. Sir Shaprie and Seton, among others. The way the Skyfalls phenomena drenched the whole embattled northern shoreline in mist. How the lightened gravity had made his sword and shield very wet and slippery feathers in his hands. He remembered Sharpie coming up on his left and saying, "I'm running low on ammo for these flareguns, and I'm a so-so shot with a bow. How are we going to defeat these monstrosities?"

Suddenly, the mist near the shore had parted, and Seton fainted. Thingguy followed the direction of Seton's gaze, and saw something that made his blood run cold.

It was thedude. His back was to them as he bent over a knight.

Without thinking, without knowing who the knight was, Thingguy had rushed forward to end this awful war with one more brilliant stroke. He remembered refraining from doing the typical inane battle-cry he'd seen in so many movies, as he raised his sword...

**10 yards**. thedude stood up as a Barneybot came and grabbed the comatose knight off the ground.

**6 yards.** The Bot saw Thingguy charging, dropped the knight, and began firing. Alerted, thedude turned around himself. Thingguy raised his shield, and charged forward unabated.

**4.**

Thingguy leapt the final few meters, (Wait, were these yards or meters?) and brought his sword down on thedude, who, of course, parried. The clash of steel on steel rang like an bell. Thingguy twisted around and sliced at the Bot with such fervor that there was now a deep gash in it's armor, and sparks flew as the bot staggered on it's hover-jets. Parrying a lightning-quick thrust from thedude, Thingguy blocked a disjointed shot from the Bot, and attempted a thrust of his own at thedude.

By all natural means, he should have run thedude right through his evil gut, but an invisible force caused his sword to veer off to thedude's side and miss by mere centimeters. Even worse, Thingguy's momentum carried him into inches from thedude's awful anchovy-ridden breath. Both men's swords were now in inert positions to harm the other, so close were they, but thedude did not need a sword to harm Thingguy. Before he could pull back, the barbaric megalomaniac gave the valiant knight the mother of all uppercuts with his free left hand. And with the help of the lesser gravity, Sir Thingguy went flying high into the sky.

Thingguy remembered seeing way more stars than he ever thought possible. Then thedude's leering grin blocked out the vast majority of the starry sky and he was slugged back down to earth. Except, earth was cold, dark, wet and it swallowed him whole with a gurgle. Oh, wait, no, that was river.

~~~

His next memory was waking up on an empty shore, frozen to the bone. Later, he discovered he had ended up on the far shore of the Equatorial River in Elepharia. And thus began his many years of wandering, finding allies old and new.

~~~

*"Hello? Thingguy?"*

**Thingguy was brought back to the present...**

by the waving of a mailed gauntlet in his face. It was Stirling. Next to him, Armsmaster Fiddleton looked mildly concerned.

"You faded out there for a minute," Stirling explained.

"I'm sorry if I brought up unpleasant memories, Sir Thingguy," commented Fiddleton.

Thingguy waved them both off, and he disarmed their worries with a smile. "Not at all. Memories, and in this case, memories of failure, are some of life's greatest teachers."

Stirling raised an eyebrow. "And the lesson here is...?"

Thingguy raised a finger and declared, "That thedude has a mean left uppercut!"

The two men were very confused, but Thingguy did not leave them time to consider.  "To answer your question, Fiddleton, the reason I went into hiding after the Skyfalls was because one man cannot stand alone against thedude. He needs allies. Allies he can count on." He raised an eyebrow. "I will be frank, I'm looking for some. Do you think the Merry Band would stand with me?"

Armsmaster Fiddleton's own eyebrows raised at Thingguy's blunt question. He pursed his lips. Took a deep breath and let it out like a horse.

"Bppbpbpbpbp.... That is not a decision I can make. Nor do I think the Leadership would come to a conclusion easily."

Stirling interrupted. "But you would endorse it, wouldn't you, Armsmaster?"

He looked at Strider from the corner of his eye. "Well, Yes. Personally. But as a leader, I-"

"I know, I know. You have a responsibility, and we know you can't let your personal thoughts get in the way, but if Thingguy were to propose an alliance of some type, you would be inclined to endorse it to the others, wouldn't you?" Stirling pressed.

Thingguy looked between the two, his smile slowly turning into a grin as Fiddleton's stare turned from irritation to thoughtfulness to careful condescension. "We cannot hide forever..." he mused aloud. "Recent events have shown that clear enough..."

"Wonderful!" Thingguy exclaimed.

"Very good, we appreciate it," Stirling replied.

"But!" Fiddleton amended. "I must make it clear that such an alliance would be for the future. We are nowhere near being prepared for such a large-scale engagement as fighting the Tyrant would suggest."

Thingguy agreed. "I think you are closer than you might think. You have plenty of resources, but what's missing is something each person must find within themselves."

This elicited the two others to ponder.

"Courage?" Fiddleton asked.

"Hope." Stirling decided.

Thingguy shook his head. "Passion. Passion can get you both of those, and more."

~~~~

### Chapter 3: In Which Our Heroes Do Little More Than Wait.

The conversation wore down quickly after that, but it did not end until after the Armsmaster had used a Walkie-Talkie and arranged with the other leaders to have a meeting to listen to what Thingguy had to say. With this finished, all three men excused themselves, as they all had various things that needed doing now.

As soon as Fiddleton had been lost among the Caravan, Thingguy appeared to have a mental breakdown. He began grinning uncontrollably. Rubbing his hands, he leaned conspiratorially to Stirling.

*"I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to tell them!"* he whispered excitedly.

"Don't worry, I'll help you prepare," Stirling assured. They went off to find a whiteboard and a good spot to sit down and rest. This ended up being atop a one of a kind sort of dry sleigh. It vaguely reminded one of something depicted in  ancient carvings of slave labor. Only, this didn't use slaves, of course.

There was the wooden deck, where tables and benches were bolted down to stop them from bumping away. Right underneath that was a cage that housed a large, thin wedge, the length of the deck, with logs rolling underneath it. As the logs rolled to the thick back of the wedge, something akin to a water-wheel would catch the log and lift it to the top of the wedge, where it would roll down to the front, and drop down to go under the wedge and through the cycle again.

Perhaps not the most efficient mode of transportation, but a mode nonetheless.

Stirling and Thingguy sat down at this open-aired sitting area, and it was not long before Thingguy and Stirling had filled and erased the whiteboard a dozen times. Thingguy now knew what he wanted to say, and how he was to frame it to his target audience. He filled the board one more time, with his key points, and the two rehearsed it till Thingguy was confident.

By then, many hours had passed, and the sun had long dipped under the tree canopy, leaving the caravan in twilight.

At some point, the two men had procured a snack, which they were finishing as a middle-aged woman boarded the platform and made her way to them.

Stirling looked up from his honey-roll. "Ah, Mrs. Smith. This is a rare surprise."

"Not quite," the woman said. "I'm here to take you two to the meeting."

Thingguy noted her long blonde hair, tied up in a simple and no-nonsense ponytail. Her face matched it, putting Thingguy in mind of an old-fashioned schoolteacher. She wore a brown dress with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, and a white apron around her waist. Both items were stained and dirty, though her face, neck, and arms, the only skin visible, seemed clean enough.

"Well then, Mrs. Smith! Lead the way, and we shall follow, Madame!" Thingguy declared, getting up. Stirling followed suit.

With a slight nod, Mrs. Smith turned away and scampered away with a speed that initially surprised Thingguy, though the two men quickly adjusted speed and kept up with her as she weaved through the caravan towards the front.

Abruptly, she turned off to the right, and the three left the Caravan behind, as Mrs. Smith headed into the dense forest.

"Ah. She's headed for the glade," Stirling muttered to Thingguy.

"There's a glade up here?"

"Yeah. Come to think of it, it would make a nice landing spot for the dirigible."

"Makes sense."

Sure enough, the three emerged into an average-sized glade. Looking up, the three saw the *'Happy Thoughts'* slowly descending. However, as the carriage of the airship leveled with the treeline, a rope ladder was thrown out over the side, and a thin, wirey silhouette cried out "Climb up! The Caravan won't stop tonight, so neither shall we!"

Stirling and Thingguy looked at each other, then at Mrs. Smith.

"Are you coming as well, Gemma?" Stirling asked. Mrs. Smith shook her head.

"No. The other leaders already know my opinion, and the same goes for the Armsmaster. Our exclusion from your presentation won't change the ruling."

Behind Stirling, Thingguy tilted his head to see Gemma Smith. Her face was unreadable. "You mean to say that the leadership has already made up their minds, or just you and Fiddleton?" he asked.

"I oppose your desire to bring us into your war," she said bluntly. "We've had enough of it recently."

Thingguy smiled, avoiding her verbal jab. "That must mean that with Fiddleton's one vote yea, and your vote nay, I have to convince the majority up there?"

She stared at him. "Yes."

Her brief hesitation bolstered Thingguy's hopes. He took it to mean that she feared his success. Then he realized his grin was growing, and that she might consider him cocky. He smoothed out his features into what he considered a humble smile.

"I appreciate your honest opposition, Mrs. Smith." Not waiting for a response, he grasped the rope ladder and began scrambling up.

Stirling grabbed the rope ladder, then turned back to the ever-stoic Mrs. Smith.

"I do wish you would listen to what Thingguy has to say," Stirling said.

Gemma bobbed her head, watching Thingguy scamper up the ladder like the monkeys of old. "I will. I have a radio. I and the Armsmaster will be listening, but we have duties to perform with the moving caravan." She pointed at Thingguy. "You should hurry, or you will be stuck down here with us."

Stirling looked up to see Thingguy being helped into the carriage by others. "Oh shoot," he muttered, before clambering up with half the speed and grace that Thingguy had.

### Chapter 4: In Which Thingguy makes his Case.

A quick right, short corridor, and a left brought Stirling and Thingguy into a large room, where they stood in front of a long table parallel to them. Behind it sat five individuals with such varying characteristics that Thingguy didn't know where to start.

"h'Ah, good! You mah'e it," said one that sat in the very middle of the table. He had bushy eyebrows and a 'stache, as well as a fez. He was wearing an oversized knitted Yule sweater depicting 2 heart-forming reindeer, and as he put his hi-top sneakers up on the table, he displayed some very flashy sequined disco leggings.  "Now we'h can beg'hin!"

Thingguy grinned. "You must be the legendary Carlos Obfusco, leader of this very Merry Band."

Carlos was clearly pleased at being recognized. "Wh'y y'es I am!" He awkwardly extended a hand to shake, without dropping his feet from the table. As he and Thingguy shook hands, Carlos introduced the others.

"To m'ah right here, I h'ave **Fath'r Henry**, our Rel'gious C'oodinater, an' next tah him is **Mart'n Marin,** our Communica'htions Mastah!" Then he swung his arm around and waved to his left. "An' ovah here, we have our Mastah H'rbelist, **Ju'idith H'cklepatt**; Our P'herimeter Captain, **Mercedes;** an' la'hst but not lea'st, our mastah Scout, **Stabb**!"

Thingguy took them all in.

**Father Henry** looked to be mid-thirties, with a dark brown beard and hair, dressed in a clean black habit, with a white square in the collar. He stared at Thingguy with a kind, but perceptive gaze, his hands folded on the table in front of him attentively.

**Martin Marin** appeared to be the oldest, according to his thin, scraggly hair and very pale blue eyes that lacked the youthful clarity of his fellows at the table. Perhaps 60s or 70s. He too, was smiling, but it came off as an absentminded smile, instead of sincere. Like he was thinking of other things. His hands rested on the pommel of a cane, and he wore a very faded blue shirt with a King's Crown emblazoned on it.

**Mrs. Hucklepatt** wore a simple, unpretentious dress, but her almost regal countenance, with it's fair share of wrinkles, silver-gray crown of hair, and bright turquoise eyes showed she still held considerable wit and wisdom. She gazed at Thingguy with a calculating smile.

The one called **Mercedes** had helped Thingguy into the blimp. Thus, Thingguy knew that despite his wiry frame and stately attire befitting a nobleman, the man was strong. He also wore his weapons openly. A large quiver and bow were slung on his back, and a large dirk was at his hip. He leaned forward, his hands steepled on the table in front of him, as he stared intently at Thingguy.

Behind Mercedes, in the shadowy corner, stood a short figure, who's chest was level with the table. His jet black hair and full-length coat of deepest green blended with the shadows, and it took a moment for Thingguy to identify where the darkness ended, and the Master Scout named **Stabb** began. His face was hidden, whether by shadows or an upturned collar Thingguy wasn't sure, but he saw two dark steel-gray eyes nod in acknowledgement of his attention. Thingguy nodded back.

https://youtu.be/fZ1y\_Z6Bc0M

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Thanks for giving me a chance to speak with you," Thingguy said.

"h'of course!" Carlos replied, as others muttered, or nodded assent. "Now, ge'h't on w'hith it!"

Thingguy smiled, and took a deep breath.

Behind Thingguy, Stirling relaxed against the wall by the doorway. He was confident in the speech that he and Thingguy had formulated for this specific group. A most logical and rousing speech of-

"What ever happened to the Monkeys?" Thingguy began.

Stirling's shoulder slipped and he stumbled backwards into the door, where he embarrassingly reorganized himself and stood, staring blankly at Thingguy's back.

Carlos turned his eyes from his boots to Thingguy. "Pa'hdon?"

"You all remember the Monkeys of Militiregnum, right?"

It took a moment, but everyone made their understanding clear. Yes, they knew of the monkeys of Militiregnum...

"How they would go throughout the forest, swinging with ease, carefree and happy? How they ate bananas and in their wake left more trees to grow?"

Everyone nodded, some looked wistful.

"How they chattered and squealed with their impish glees, bringing innocent mischief just as you all used to do, in the days of peace?" Thingguy was now using his whole body, and walking back and forth along the table. "Heck, I'm sure some of you knew monkeys personally!"

Martin briefly raised a hand, and Thingguy slapped it as he passed, turning it into a High-Five.

"But now, do you know what happened to the monkeys?"

Some nodded, but Thingguy regaled them with it anyway.

"They were tricked into working for thedude. We don't know how, or why. What's important is that once they realized that bananas weren't weapons, and we weren't their enemies, they stopped their attacks against us, and thedude called it *treachery*, and **KILLED THEM ALL**." Thingguy turned away from the table, to wipe away a tear. Briefly, he looked up and saw Stirling wide-eyed and open-mouthed, staring at him.

Hopefully he was getting a better reaction from his target audience. Keeping a baleful countenance, he looked over his shoulder.

They were, to various degrees, emotional. Some looked only perturbed and thoughtful, while others sniffled quietly.

"Now, I ask you, did those monkeys deserve such cruelty?"

There were a few sniffles, as well as a quiet 'no'.

"Did those monkeys even *care* about who ruled? Who won the war?"

More 'no's, shaking heads.

"No! They didn't. But they were exterminated anyway. You know why? Because thedude wanted it done! There's no other reason necessary for him!  He has the mind of a child, but power beyond what any human being should have, and unless we bow down to him and do what he wants; accept him as the tyrant of every detail of our lives, he will never stop. He will never leave you alone, for *as long as he lives*."

Thingguy was now pacing, his few tears having left his face, being chased away by a stern and thoughtful countenance, that kept watch of his marching feet.

"I know that some of you would rather hide from the War for as long as you can. Perhaps even wait out thedude's very life.  But answer me this. What if thedude is immortal?"

This got everyone's attention, including Stirling's.

"What?"

"What if he's going to outlive us all? What if he's immortal?" Thingguy repeated, turning to Stirling. "Is the Merry Band able to hide forever?"

"We can hide a *deuced* long time," Mercedes countered.

Thingguy nodded in assent. "And you have. But *be realistic*, no one can hide forever."

Thingguy's imperative was met with stony silence.

"But this is not enough to come out of hiding now or anytime. Not until you absolutely have to. Or once they find you.  But what will you do then?"

With nearly one voice, the leaders leapt to their feet and roared.

**"WE WILL FIGHT!"** "We won't go peacefully." **"WE'LL GIVE THEM HELL!"** "WE'LL TAKE THEM MAN TO MAN!" "We'll die bravely."

Thingguy couldn't stop his admiration for these men and women from surfacing. His eyes began to brim with tears as he laid his hands on the table in front of a posing Carlos.

"My friends..." Thingguy said.

"You will die. Alone."

The silence returned, but it wasn't stony. It was sharp, *brittle*, **emotionally charged**, and threatened to snap and ruin whatever goodwill Thingguy had left with these people. Hoping he hadn't pushed reality into them too hard, Thingguy explained.

"You don't want to fight this war. *I understand*. I don't want you to fight either. But someday, this war will find you. We've admitted that."

Some of the leaders began to object, but Thingguy forged ahead, raising his voice. "You just declared that IF you were found, IF you were *unable* to hide anymore, YOU WOULD RATHER **FIGHT** AND **DIE** THAN *GIVE UP YOUR FREEDOM* AND STILL **DIE**, **LIKE THE MONKEYS**."

The bizzare recall of the monkeys stopped the various objections just long enough for Thingguy to finish.

"All I am asking is that you be open to preparing for such a worst-case scenario NOW, rather than waiting for it to come to you in the future. MORE than what you are doing now, with your defenses, your perimeter patrols, your scouting, your armaments, your technological experiments, et cetera, et cetera."

Carlos frowned. "How do you k-"

"Strider told me some, and we've been touring the caravan waiting for this meeting."

"...Ah."

"I'm not asking you to be warriors!" Thingguy continued. "*Crux forbid* that it come to the Merry Band becoming frontline soldiers!"

Thingguy turned around and stepped away from the table, taking a deep breath to calm his own nerves, as well as for dramatic effect. Briefly, he looked up at Stirling, who seemed... shocked. Amazed.

Feeling somewhat more confident, he turned around to his audience. The general consensus amongst the table was much more difficult to ascertain, but he definitely had them all thinking.

"I'm asking for allies. Not just because *I* need them. But because *YOU* need them. *All* of Militiregnum's free spirits will need each other." Thingguy smirked. "Though I'd be lying if I said that the Merry Band would be a small part of whatever alliance we would make."

The silence filled the room again, but this time, Thingguy didn't feel any animosity. None of the leaders were looking at him, but instead at themselves, or the floor. They were all looking internally. Thingguy wondered if there was anything else he should say, but no other thoughts came to fall upon his lips.

He felt a mailed glove weigh down his shoulder. It was Stirling.

"Come on. Let's let them think."

Thingguy hesitated only briefly, then nodded.

The two stepped outside the room, leaving the leaders to consider what the Knight had said.

### Chapter 5: In which our heroes wait for a verdict.

As Thingguy slid the door shut behind him, Strider rounded upon him.

"Ok, first of all; that was amazing- good job-"

"Why thank you."

"Second: What the heck?! Where did that all come from?!" Stirling whisper-yelled.

Thingguy shrugged.

"Why??? Why go off-script like that?

"That, I can answer!" Thingguy replied. "I *was* going to do our specially prepared speech, but when I actually got into that room and saw them, I realized that the logical, accurate, lecture-type approach wouldn't reach all of them," explained Thingguy. "So I thought of the first thing that I could bond with all of them over."

"Monkeys?"

"Monkeys."

Stirling sighed, his gaze dropping, and his hands on his hips. He smirked. "Well, I mean... I have to admit, it worked."

"You think so?" Thingguy asked.

"Oh yeah," Stirling said. "You really worked them up. They're going to want to take some sort of action, and hopefully, they'll take your advice, instead of just enacting some new safety protocol or security measure."

Thingguy grinned. "Good. And hey, a new defensive measure isn't bad. I'm *not asking* for an immediate offensive. Just for a future." He punched Stirling's shoulder. "Like you were saying before, hope. A reminder that this isn't the way things are supposed to be."

The two started walking up the corridor, both assuming the other knew where they were going, as they continued talking.

"Just like you," Thingguy continued. "They're got stuff going on; they don't want to join KOTOS right now. And that's fine! To be honest, we're not ready."

Stirling nodded. "Right now, what does KOTOS even consist of? You?"

Thingguy's pace slowed, and Stirling matched it. "I personally know...Perhaps a few hundred lonely, brave souls scattered across Militiregnum who would call themselves KOTOS."

"I expected as much." Stirling said quietly.

"There's more, I know it!" Thingguy assured him. "They just haven't been woken up. Or freed. Or found. Take Sir Talmid for example!" He picked up speed again. "The general word is that he's not dead, but a prisoner in Orlan!"

Stirling scoffed. "Is that really better?"

"Yes!" Thingguy said, grabbing his dour companion by the shoulder and shaking him a bit. "If the 'Legendary' Sir Talmid still lives, then it's all the easier to rally hope!"

Stirling frowned, as he re-oriented his mind around this. "So, he's not available as another soldier, or a physical leader, but what you're saying is that he's still helping, just by living?"

"Exactly! Hope! That's what our battle is focused around! **Hope!"**

"But wern't you saying earlier that we need to focus on *passion?*"

"That was before I saw the Leaders. But yes. Hope is what will fuel passion, and give it a righteous fire, a courage! To do what's right."

Stirling grinned. "You really have a way with words."

"I've had practice."

"That's much more than just practice."

"Well, I've also given it a lot of thought, and it's second nature by now."

Stirling raised an eyebrow, and a beat passed before Thingguy added, "Also, Deadbeat is a very skillful verbal duelist to hone my skills on."

"I'm sure the talking horse is very talented." Stirling said dryly.

The two had reached the end of the hall. A narrow metal door with a porthole barred their way. Thingguy peeked through the glass, and saw the cockpit and a single pilot.

"Hey, this is the front of the ship!" he exclaimed, before reaching down for the handle and twisting it open.

"I'm not sure we're allow-" Stirling began, but Thingguy was already introducing himself to the pilot, who had speedily put away his reading material to look busy, before seeing Thingguy.

They spent the next 10 minutes with the pilot, who went by the name of Joe Bungalow. Joe even gave them a crash-course in how to fly the blimp, having taken an instant liking to Sir Thingguy.

After a particularly fancy bob and weave done by Thingguy to the merriment, and slight worry, of the other two, another person entered the cockpit.

"Joe, what in the King's name are- Ah, I see." It was Martin, holding on to the doorframe with one hand, and stabling himself with his cane on the ground with the other. "Sir Thingguy has hijacked us, I see."

His tone was not immediately discernable, and it required Thingguy to turn around to ascertain his mood.

Martin seemed to have an ironic expression on his face. Thingguy turned to Stirling for any insight. He didn't' have any. He had a poker face on.

The only person with an obvious emotion was Joe, which was that of embarrassment.

"Ah... Uh. Thinggu- Sir Thingguy, I think I'm going to have to take over now."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sounds good, Joe." He remarked casually.

As Thingguy and Stirling got up, and Joe settled back into his rightful place, Martin waved them over with a smile. Both Thingguy and Stirling relaxed.

"We've all made a decision. You'll want to hear it," he said, and turned around to walk down the corridor. Stirling and Thingguy started after him, but then the old man stopped. "Oh!" He turned around and quite literally ran into the two younger men.

"What is it Martin?" Stirling asked, catching the unbalanced Pigeonmaster.

"I need to tell Joe to land at the next available spot. We've gone far enough."

Stirling and Thingguy squished themselves against the walls, and Martin squeezed by.

"Go on without me, they're waiting for you, boys." Martin muttered over his shoulder. So Stirling and Thingguy went.

### Chapter 6: In which a Verdict is reached, and the future is changed.

Having hurried back to the meeting room door, Stirling motioned grandly. "After you, Sir Charisma."

Thingguy let out a jovial "Ha!" and swept the door open.

All eyes turned to him.

Father Henry was sitting in the same spot, talking very diplomatically with Mercedes, who was leaning over the table, and clearly stressed out. Internally, Thingguy winced as both men turned to look at him with a healthy caution in their eyes. It didn't' take much to guess that Thingguy was giving Mercedes, the head of security, a big new headache to deal with. He wasn't sure what a Religious Leader would have against him... But surely there was something.

In the farther corner, Mrs. Hucklepatt and Stabb were having what appeared to be a very quiet, but casual conversation. As Thingguy entered the room, they both stopped, and regarded him carefully. Oh dear.

It seemed the only person that was outright happy to seem him was the person he had nearly bowled over. Carlos, who had been pacing in the middle of the room, had lit up a smile like neon lights, and thrown his arms wide.

"Sir Thingguy! Good to se'h you again!" he exclaimed, as if he hadn't seen him in years instead of minutes.

Thingguy rolled with it, throwing his arms wide, just like Carlos had. "Hey-Heeey!"

The two bear-hugged, and there was lots of excessive backslapping, while everyone else alternatively looked at each other or Stirling uncomfortably.

For his part, Stirling refrained from facepalming by locking his arms together.

However, after a full minute of this, Mercedes couldn't take it anymore.

"AHEM. Carlos, I think we have something to say to this gentleman."

Carlos sighed. "Aha, yes, h'I s'ppose we do. 'hveryone, to yo'r seats!" Carlos finally let go of Thingguy, who seemed quite relieved to step back and stand next to Stirling by the open door.

*"Before you ask, I have learned my lesson,"* he whispered to Stirling. *"Don't attempt to match Carlos's enthusiasm."*

Stirling broke into a huge smile. *"That's my man!"* he whispered back, and slapped his friend's very sore back once, causing Thingguy to wince and hiss.

"Sir Thingguy!" Carlos boomed, from his seat behind the table. "h'It's mah h'xtreme pleasure to tell you that when the time comes, th' Merry Band would be pleased to join your cause t' free Morcia in whatev'ah small way we could at that time."

Thingguy smiled kindly. "Thank you, Carlos."

Carlos held up a hand. "You unda'stand that we would re-evaluate th' situation at that time as well. We're not going to commit to suicide missions."

Thingguy shook his head. "I would never ask that of the Merry Band. Perhaps others, but not these."

This elicited positive notes among everyone behind the table, including Carlos, who continued.

"T' make this official, Martin drafted this doc'hment, an' Stabb has wh'ittled a spec'hfic birdcall wh'stle." Carlos handed Thingguy a rolled scroll, wrapped around a hard small object. Presumably the whistle.

"W'hen th' day comes, r'hide throug'h the for'hest with th'at w'histle. W'hen someone hears it, t'hey will find you with all speed and ab'handon. T'hen you will read t'hem the scroll, and we will h'answer."

Thingguy accepted the scroll graciously. "This... This is perfect. Leaders of the Merry Band, you have no idea what this means."

"It means pain. Suffering."

Thingguy, Stirling, Carlos, and all of the others turned to Father Henry, sitting to the far left of the table. He looked dour. But determined.

"It also means standing for what's right. Hope. Strength. Courage." A confidence shone in his eyes. "This is the path we have chosen. A dangerous path, a thin road, with the only reward far and away, and only attainable if we keep the path all the way." He focused on Thingguy. "That scroll comes with responsibility, Sir Thingguy. Do you accept that as well?"

"Yes. I do."

"You say that so fast. Do you truly understand what I mean?"

"Yes."

The two held each other's eyes, and Father Henry's gaze softened. "Yes. Perhaps you do."

Carlos finally let go of the scroll, and Thingguy tucked it into his chestpiece.

Carlos cleared his throat, attempting to regain the spotlight.

"Ahem. Well. I think we should be landing soon. If people ask... Don't publicize this. We don't need a KOTOS-sized target set on us."

Thingguy frowned, even as he saw the wisdom in it.  "You don't want spies to take this news straight to thedude, and anger him."

Next to Carlos, Mercedes nodded. "There are desperate people here, who will sell that sort of lucrative information to thedude for a decent meal."

Thingguy closed his eyes. "That's very wise; I will admit, I hadn't thought of that."

Carlos smiled crookedly. "T'hat is alright, 'bro'. If we've learned one t'hing from you, h'it's t'hat you are concerned primar'hily with MORALE! **LIKE A TRUE MEMBER OF DA MERRY BAND!!!**" And with this he leapt up onto the table and punched a fist into the unforgiving metal ceiling. "AH!" His valiant grin was blemished by discomfort. "Judith, I thing I broke something."

"Nonsense, dear," said the old lady, Mrs. Hucklepatt. "Get down, and I'll see."

Around him, As Carlos got down and turned to Mrs. Hucklepatt, peoples reactions included sighs, chuckles, and facepalms.

Mercedes, patted Carlos on the shoulder. "Is the meeting dismissed?"

"Oh. Y'hes. I t'hink t'hat was h'all the bus'ness we h'ad," Carlos confirmed.

Right on cue, someone popped their head through the open doorway, and announced that the blimp was about to land.

~ ~ ~

Sure enough, the Happy Thoughts quickly descended upon the new campsite area. A large, beautiful meadow, with a insignificant brook wending it's way through. The passengers disembarked, while others of the crew began packing in the blimp till the metal cabin part of the blimp resembled a mid sized trailer home with a mushrooming bag for a roof.

Thingguy had wanted to watch the transformation, and so while they stood and watched, he and Stirling also said their farewells to the leaders of the Merry Band, who quickly left to take care of other things.

As the crew of the Happy Thoughts finished packing the cloth into the roof as neatly as possible, an unabashedly impressed Thingguy rubbed his hands. "Gosh, that's amazing."

Stirling turned from him to the 'leadership tent' and back. "You are easily amused, arn't you?"

Finally, Thingguy took a deep breath of forest air and ripped his attention away from the transformed Happy Thoughts. "I prefer to look at it as... Able to appreciate the little things! Like a good, long nap."

Stirling looked up into the night sky. "Heh. Yeah, that sounds pretty good right about now."

"Whaddya say we get some rest, and in the morning, we ride out?" Thingguy suggested.

Stirling nodded. "Sunrise is only a few hours away, but I'm on your schedule, Thingguy. Whenever you're ready."

"Then tomorrow, bright and early!"

The two split up, both looking for a place to get some rest before they took to the road.

Stirling ended up finding a decently clear spot and pitched his tent, falling asleep as soon as he crawled into it, in full armor.

Thingguy, on the other hand, didn't get any sleep. Not after he ran into yet another opportunity....

### Chapter 7: In which the ever-scheming Sir Thingguy hits upon an incredulous possibility.

Thingguy didn't' have a tent or bedroll with him. They were on Deadbeat. And Deadbeat was who-knew-where in this Caravan.  Also, he didn't feel like pitching a whole tent and stuff for only a few hours rest.

Better to find an already pitched tent and bum it off of someone for a few hours. Or share. If that wasn't awkward or anything.

As he was thinking about this, something up ahead caught his attention.

A little ways away stood a large cart containing various humming, beeping, whirring, blinking equipment. There was even a radar dish bigger than an XL Pizza spinning around, eternally inspecting the heavens for something.

As Thingguy got closer, he saw the light of a screen reflected off of some round spectacles. Of course, the spectacles belonged to a young man that sat amidst the gizmos. It was rather dark to be certain, but based on the surroundings, Thingguy guessed the bespectacled man was Oswald, the Tech-Expert that Stirling had mentioned.

Thingguy poked his head over the edge of the huge cart. "Hey!"

His sudden appearance startled the studious younger gentleman.

"WAAH!" he cried out, nearly dropping the handheld device in his hands. He looked around, blinking. "Who said that?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. The name's Thingguy. Sir Thingguy. You're Oswald, right? What are you doing with all this stuff?"

The young man still didn't seem to be able to see Thingguy. "Sorry, I've been staring at the bright screen on my controller, so I can't see you in the dark."

"Oh. Sorry. Mind if I climb in?" Thingguy asked, hiking himself up.

"Not at all! Uh, just be careful for the-"

*Beep!* *Ka-chunk.* *"Power on."* *"Disengage."* *Bzzzt.*

"-Stuff."

Thingguy had climbed over various panels and gadgets, but thankfully it sounded much worse than it really was. It only took a minute or so to make sure nothing was going to explode or take off.

"Heh. Sorry about that," Thingguy said.

"That's alright!" said Oswald. Because it was definitely him. Thingguy was sure, because he remembered Stirling accidentally whacking him. "I have a lot of projects lying around. It's my own fault."

Thingguy pointed at the controller Oswald had been using before. "What were you doing just now?"

Oswald turned, and seem surprised to find the controller on the ground where he'd put it to save his other things from Thingguy. "Oh! This. This..." he said, picking it up. "...Is controlling that." He pointed at the satellite dish.

Thingguy watched as Oswald made the dish fidget around. "And what is it that the Dish is looking for?"

"Transmissions. Sounds." Oswald shrugged. "Orders. News. Whatever." Oswald stared up into the sky, then back down at his device, and seemed intent on targeting something.

"What are you doing now?" Thingguy asked, peering over his shoulder to look at the technical readout. It didn't' make much sense to him at first glance, looking like a radar or sonar display.

"Sometimes I can listen to the spaceships. You know, the flying ships up in the sky," said Oswald. "They say some funny stuff."

Thingguy was surprised. "Wait. You can listen to the Blockade?"

"Blockade? Is that what they call the metal ships up there?"

"Yeah, the Blockade. The group of space ships."

"Yeah, I can listen to them. Sometimes."

"REALLY?!"

"It's kinda staticky, and not really useful, but it's fun."

Thingguy waved his arms around, estatic. Then he froze. "Wait. Can you reply to them?"

Oswald had an averse reaction. "Oooooh no. Nononononono. Can't do that. No. That's bad."

Thinggiy raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why not?"

"Well, because then I could be traced. Tracked. They'll *smell* me."

"They'll... smell you?"

"They'll figure out where I'm sending a message from. They follow it back to my dish, and the Merry Band and th-"

"Ah. Oh, I see." Thingguy said. "It's a matter of security."

"Yeah..." Oswald said, clamming up before Thingguy's eyes. "I only made that mistake once."

"So... you have contacted the Blockade?"

"Oh. No, not the blockade. I tried answering some radio call that I heard. It was on Militiregnum though. I don't think I have enough electricity to send a clear message to the blockade. Not that I'd want to try."

"What happened?"

"We talked for awhile," said Oswald, visibly trying hard to remember. "I forgot his name, but he said he was from the Nexus Force. I think he tried to give me some sort of positioning coordinates, and from what I could gather, he had a more northern latitude. Wasn't able to figure out the longitude. But after awhile of us chatting back and forth, there was a gunfight on his end and he got hysterical, telling me I 'had to move', and 'run before they found me'. Thankfully, he scared me bad enough that I was able to convince the Leaders to move, and we avoided getting bombed by Barneybots on the very next day." Oswald shuddered. "Since then, I haven't *dared* send any messages. Only listen." He looked up at the blockade. "But I do wish I could, sometimes."

Thingguy followed his gaze upward. It took him a moment for his eyes to adjust. Then he started to see them. Silhouettes in the stars of space. The ships of the blockade. Help so close, and yet... so far away.

"What would it take to get a message to the blockade?"

### Chapter 8: In which the new mission is laid out, and the Adventure Begins. (Should this be Act 1 and the before be Act 0?)

"Strider! Strider!"

Stirling awoke to find someone knocking on his tentpoles. Groggily, he got up. "Yes, who is it?"

"It's Thingguy!"

"Thin-guy?"

"Thingguy! Sir Thingguy! I met you yesterday!"

'Yesterday' came flooding back to Stirling. "Oh. Oh, yeah." He stumbled out of his tent, in the full armor he'd slept in. "What's going on?" he asked, seeing Thingguy practically hopping up and down with excitement.

"You remember Oswald? The tech guy?"

Stirling rubbed the groggyness from his eyes. "Yeah?"

"I was talking with him till late last night, and he's given me a brilliant idea!"

"Which is?"

"The blockade!"

It took Stirling a moment to understand what Thingguy meant by 'blockade'.

"...The Nexus Force Blockade?"

"Yeah!"

"What about it?"

"We can contact them for help! When we need it most!"

Stirling shook his head to clear away the final cobwebs. "Didn't you guys do that in the last war?"

Thingguy nodded. "Yeah, we did, but they came too late. But that wouldn't be the case this time!"

"But," Stirling said, "Didn't the tech curse bring a few of them down? One ended up way east Orlan, near the Browlands or thereabouts, right?"

"Well, yes, one. But that was because it flew too low and was harried by Barneybot Fighters. The Nexus Force could still send troops and bombard from orbit this time around!"

Stirling thought about it. "I mean, I guess it's helpful..." he slowly agreed, as various strategic possibilities, positive and negative began unfolding in his waking mind.

"There's just one problem."

"Oh?"

"We'd need an NF decoder."

"Decoder?" Stirling echoed.

"Yeah, something with Nexus Force protocols. Otherwise, we could very well just never be found by them, unless they're actively scanning random wavelengths." Thingguy explained.

Stirling thought about it. "What about a comlink off o- No, wait!" Stirling dove back into his tent, as Thingguy rambled on.

"I already suggested getting a comlink off of a Paradox Rogue, but they don't work. They've been all cut off from NF frequencies.

Stirling emerged with his pack, covered in pockets. "This is my old friend Peragrine's backpack. I'm certain he has a spare comlink in here!"

Thingguy's eyebrows raised. "Hey-hey! What faction did you say Peragrine was?"

"Venture League."

"That may work!"

The two dug into the pack, sorting through all sorts of goodies. Thingguy especially enjoyed a 'Banana Gun' he found.

"Seems to me Peragrine is a bit of a hoarder!" Thingguy exclaimed.

Stirling nodded. "And once he hears about how useful this pack's been to me, all of his hoarding will be vindicated." He chuckled. "I dread the day."

"Aha!" Thingguy pulled out what they had been looking for. "A Venture League comlink!"

There it was. A tiny little thing you put in your ear, and using your innate imagination, controlled. Well, that, and the occasional 1 button press.

"Okay. So how do we get the decoder from there?" Stirling asked.

Thingguy squinted at it. "I have no clue. But hopefully Oswald will!"

(\\\}======>

"I have no clue what to do with this."

"But Oswald, you're the resident master techwizard!" Thingguy exclaimed from outside Oswald's cart.

Oswald handed the communicator back down to Thingguy. "I have no idea how to take it apart. I've looked at it with all of my magnifying glasses. Even the microscope thing. I don't understand it. It's a perfect little ball with a string attached, I guess to make it easier to pull out of your ear?" he looked at Stirling, who nodded.

"I can't even take it apart, much less figure out what itty-bitty piece would be the decoder and plug it into my machine." Oswald finished, shrugging. "Sorry, Sir Thingguy. It was a good idea."

Thingguy only let a little of his disappointment show as Oswald turned around to pick up a different project in his cart. Stirling noticed Thingguy's slight deflation, and piped up.

"Hold on," Stirling said. "Didn't you say you already listen to the blockade from time to time?" he asked Oswald.

Oswald turned back around and leaned over the cart's edge.

"Yeah. That's really the only thing I *can* do with my radio equipment."

"So, you *are* already listening to their messages, right?" Stirling asked.

"Only... snippits."

"So, how are you decoding their messages? How are you hearing them?" Stirling asked. "Surely they're not just broadcasting without a security scramble of some type!"

Oswald shook his head. "It's more complicated than that." When the other two just stared at him for an explanation, and Oswald saw that they wouldn't be leaving till they got it, he waved an arm and said, "Come see."

Stirling and Thingguy began to scramble up into the wagon, even as Oswald turned around, saying "Just be careful for the-"

*Bzzzt. Beep! "Error." Sproing! "Power on." "Input incorrect, please try aga-"*

"-Stuff."

"Oops." "Sorry, my bad."

It took a minute to set everything back, and fix a loose panel or two, but eventually, Oswald had found three sturdy objects that would serve as stools, and the three sat down next to Oswald's radio. He put on the bizarre headphones and fiddled around for a minute, before finding what he was looking for. Then he handed the headphones gingerly to Strider.

"We're in luck. There's some activity right now."

Stirling slipped the haywire headphones on, and his ears were assailed by harsh static. As he listened, the occasional interspersed word would peak through the white noise. Stirling grimaced.

"This is 'in luck'?"

Oswald nodded. "That's what I listen to more often than not. The words you hear are what I've been able to decode by listening to it. I then input that into my computer so that it will automatically translate it when that same cipher comes through. There's no guarantee that I've got something wrong though. I haven't got more than two words in succession yet, and I've been at this for years now in my off-time."

Stirling handed the headphones to Thingguy. "I've had my share of rough signals during my campaigning with the Nexus Force, but I don't think I'd be able to make much use of that!" he said. "Still, it's impressive that you've decoded 'coffee,' 'report,' and 'Rogues'

Oswald nodded once again. "I've been practicing and monitoring it as close as I can. Here. I'll show you the list." He turned to the small laptop hooked up to the Radio and pulled up a script with various words next to their supposed wavelengths. Stirling started reading.

Meanwhile, it was Thingguy's turn to grimace. "Ooh. That's rough." He turned to Stirling. "Still, it's a connection."

Stirling turned from Thingguy back to Oswald. "If you can decode, even partially, their less secure communications, why can't we send up an emergency signal of some type, like electronic beeps? Like, have you heard of Morse Code? S.O.S.?"

Oswald shook his head. "You mean something like just... an alarm?"

"Sure, yeah. An alarm. Why can't you use the same partial code to send it back up?"

Oswald thought about it for a minute. "Well, for one thing, like I was telling Thingguy last night, I don't have that kind of power."

"Ok." Stirling waved a hand. "Say we get that; What else?"

Oswald rolled his eyes at the warrior's flippant dismissal of what to him was a clear problem, but he proceeded anyway.

"Secondly... Well, this self-made decoding is..." He struggled to figure out the best way to explain it to the two knights. " It's like knowing a few Spanish words by sound, but not being able to speak it, or even how to regard someone. Him? Her? It?" Oswald shrugged. "I know a few key words, but... I'd need to know *how to address* the Blockade before I could contact them directly." The two knights were nodding their understanding now, but Oswald gave them one more analogy for good measure. "It'd be like sending a flock of messenger pigeons, but not being able to give them a name to deliver the note to."

Stirling frowned. "And a decoder would have that name and address, correct?"

"Yeah." Oswald confirmed as he motioned back to Thingguy. "The little ear comlink you had probably has an old outdated codifier-thingy, but I don't have a way to connect it." Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "But hold on! Can I see it again?"

Thingguy fished the comlink out of his pocket and handed it to Oswald, who immediately put it to his ear.

"How do you turn this thing on?" he asked.

Stirling stood up to see if he had it on correctly. "Well, you'd use your imagination, normally."

Oswald half-turned to Strider. "No, really. Do I press the button twice?" Or hold it down?"

Stirling looked at Thingguy for backup. "I'm not pulling your leg, Oswald. Where I come from, Imagination is a much more powerful and tangible power source, and one can learn to use their own innate imagination to power their gear. Right, Thingguy?"

Thingguy nodded. "The Nexus Force made it a key part of a lot of their gear, which makes it less useful here. Thus why I don't wear a lot of that old stuff. That, and I've kinda destroyed or lost a lot of it..."

Oswald sadly pulled the earpiece out, even as he stared at it with newfound wonder. "In that case, Strider, can you still use it?"

Stirling accepted the comlink from Oswald as he gingerly placed it in his hands. He sighed wearily. "I can try, Oswald, but I must admit that I ran out of any excess imagination to power my gear a long time ago. I might get really dizzy, so don't let me fall on your stuff." With this warning he stuck it in his ear, and with a thought, attempted to turn on the device.

With a slight twinge that he felt within his entire frame, the comlink thrummed to life, and Stirling closed his eyes to better mentally swing through all available frequencies. Nothing within range. Not that he expected anything.

"It still works," Stirling said, a smidgen of surprise in his tone. "But it's range is severely limited. There's nothing within range." He opened his eyes, and saw brief spots, before pulling the comlink out. His mouth felt dry as the spots in his vision quickly faded. "And I'm feeling alright," he said to the two faces of Oswald and Thingguy staring at him. They pulled back a bit, satisfied.

Oswald smiled. "I have a few smashed Paradox comlinks, but only one whole one. Do you mind if I compare the two? I won't try and open either one up. They're too precious to try and learn their secrets."

Stirling had to think about it for a minute. The comlink wasn't going to do him any good just sitting in his backpack. What would he use it for? It would be best used trying to contact the NF, like it was made to do. The best person for that was Oswald. So yes.

"Yeah, you can have it Oswald." Stirling handed the little bead back to him. "Use it to help. That's what Peragrine would have wanted it to be used for."

Oswald's eyebrows raised. "This isn't yours?"

Stilring shook his head. "It belongs to that friend I've been looking for."

"Peragrine?"

"Yeah, Perry."

"Yeah, I remember him."

"This is his comlink. But I give it to you, so you can... do whatever it is tech-wizards do." Stirling said, with as much gravitas as he could muster.

For his part, Oswald accepted it with appropriate reverence. "It's marvelous, and I will do my best not to... Well, I'll do my best."

Thingguy slapped him heartily on the back. "And that's all a man can ask for!"

Nearly dropping the comlink, Oswald fumbled with it, before giving Thingguy a dirty look that was ignored. "But I want to set your expectations low," he said. "I probably can't do anything with this. Like I said, I don't have the right tools, enough power, or a way to hail them securely."

Stirling nodded, rubbing his stubble. "Understood. We should probably write this down."

Thingguy tapped his own head as he stroked his beard. "No need. It's up here. '**Secure**-**Powe**r-**Tools'**."

The other two stared at him for a moment, before Stirling withdrew a writing implement and Oswald handed Strider some sticky notes.

"All the same to you, Thingguy, I like to keep notes," Stirling said.

Thingguy shook his head. "Not when I'm travelling a lot. I tend to lose them and then the wrong people can find them."

Stirling smiled as he showed Thingguy his note.

**'Secure**

**Power**

**Tools'**

"Of course, I don't write things down verbatim either. Just something to jog my memory," Stirling explained, as Thingguy grinned slyly.

Oswald leaned in on the two. "Oh. Well, I don't travel, so..." and he showed them his notes.

*'Problems with reaching blockade via Radio:*

*1. Not enough Power. Need Generator? How much Power?*

*2. Not correct equipment and/or tools to create correct equipment. Find complete equipment or find tools to create correct equipment.*

*3. Not a way to contact directly and securely. Need Decoder'*

Thingguy tilted his head. "Basically, we need a bigger version of this comlink, right?"

Oswald winced. "I mean, yes, that's the most basic idea of the problem. Theoretically, if I had the right tools, and the knowledge to use them to extract the decoder, the only thing we'd still need is power."

"The right tools... "

"Yeah, like-"

"Like a shrink ray. But in reverse."

Stirling and Oswald stared at Thingguy, who was staring intently at the comlink in Oswald's hands. Like if he stared at it enough, his eyes would become laser eyes. Only **Growth** Laser Eyes.

Stirling broke the silence.

"How about something more grounded in reality?"

Thingguy only moved his intense laser eyes at Strider. "Like what?"

Now it was Stirling's turn to stare intently for no apparent reason, while Oswald sighed.  "Honestly, I'm not sure what tools I would need." He looked back at his list, before scratching out *'or find tools to create correct equipment.'* "I may be a fast learner, but I'm no magician. It would take way too much trial and error to learn. I'd invariably break the first 2 or 3 prototypes, and we don't have the extra materials for that." Oswald looked up at the others. "No, the safest and most accurate way to do this would be to find complete equipment. Or mostly complete," he decided.

Stirling restrained a scoff. "That's practically impossible. Unless we're planning to raid one of thedude's holdings directly, we're not just going to find a working surface-to-space radio lying around."

Thingguy's brow knit together as he thought furiously. "Surface to Space Radio..." Suddenly, he turned to Stirling, his eyes bright.

"Remember that ship we were talking about early this morning, Strider?"

It took Stirling a moment. "The old Nexus Force Cruiser?"

"Yeah!" barked Thingguy. "What if we used IT'S communicator?!"

"The old Starship crash?" Oswald said. "I've heard about it, but for obvious reasons, I've never thought about going all the way out there."

Strider raised an eyebrow. "Obvious reasons like, 'it's outside the forest'?"

"Yeah."

Stirling turned to Thingguy. Thingguy turned to Stirling.

"You up for a road trip?" Thingguy asked.

Stirling turned to Oswald. "Would that work?!"

Oswald blinked, surprised by the sudden and earnest expressions on the two warrior's faces. He glanced down at his list.

"Well, it would be the right equipment. It'd have a decoder, probably outdated, but perhaps workable and... Well, the only issue would be power. Really, it would depend on the condition it's all in. But it's so remote... Maybe it's been left well enough alone?" Oswald began tapping his pencil on his nose. "But there's always the chance that thedude's looted it already..."

Thingguy waved his hands to get Oswald's attention. "Yes, yes, there's lots of variables, but *could it work*?"

Oswald stared at his list. Internally, he was screaming, because he was drowning in variables. He attempted to simplify.

"It's your best shot." He looked up at the two. "And the odds increase if I come with."

### Chapter 9: In which our Heroes wait for an Expert and his Wagon.

It was a few more days before Thingguy and Stirling were ready to leave with their new associate.  Technically, Oswald didn't have any responsibilities to the Merry Band... But he *was* the resident tech expert... It took some cajoling for the leadership to be willing to part with him. Oddly, their deliberations and worry about letting him go for a time annoyed Oswald and Stirling more than it did Thingguy.

"I can't be detained! I'm a free member," Oswald would mutter at one point in between deliberations and inquiries as to why the Knight and the Samurai needed him. Where they were taking him, what were the risks involved, when he would be back, IF he would be back, was he leaving his stuff, how would they take care of it, if there was anyone he could train or recommend to replace or fill in for him...

"They're not going to stop me, either. I'd just thought I'd let them know as a courtesy. Now they've turned it into this whole *mess*." Oswald sighed.

"That's government for you, Oswald," Stirling replied. "Glorified bickering."

Thingguy would just smile, fondly remembering some 'glorified bickering' among friends. *'Certainly, some bickering here and there is a good thing',* he thought. *'Keeps the mind sharp. Helps you root your beliefs, pitting them against others. Or learn something new.'*

~~~

During the next few days, the three men would prepare while the council deliberated. Oswald would come to the harsh realization he would have to leave as much of his gear as he possibly could with a fellow tech-appreciator, who had a smaller wagon of his own. Stirling and Thingguy had left them to it, as the sheer levels of geekdom quickly became too much for the warriors.

Instead, Thingguy challenged Stirling to a quick sparring match.

“Because,” Thingguy explained. “If I’m going to be travelling with you, I’d like to know how much you can hold in a fight.”

Stirling agreed. “That’s fair.” He looked around casually. “How about we find a clear area then...”

Thingguy followed his gaze. Right now, they were on a small path between tents. Campfires dotted the crooked row every few yards, and people were milling around, watching them with respect and admiration, but not getting in their way.

Suddenly, Thingguy realized his mistake, as he heard Stirling’s Katana *rasp* out of its sheath. He leapt back just in time, dodging Stirling's first slash, nearly toppling a stew pot from its campfire stand. Thingguy drew his own sword just in time to block Stirling’s forward rush.

Thingguy laughed, as Stirling smirked.

“In a real fight, there’s not always going to be a clear space, is there?” Stirling said.

“And it’s more often than not, a surprise!” Thingguy replied, shoving Stirling’s lighter katana back with his heavier hand-and-a-half sword.

A number of people were now reacting. Either scurrying away in consternation, or cheering the fight on. Either way, no one was getting close, and there was no attempt to make a concentric ring or border around the two opponents.

The two swordsmen eyed each other, having now regained the central lane. The space was too crowded with tents, campfires, and other fixtures to circle each other.

“The stories say you’re one of the best swordsmen in the realm, Sir Thingguy.”

“Ah, this is true.”

“I look forward to surprising you, then.” Stirling said, pulling his shield from his back. “Make you work for that title, I will.”

Thingguy’s grin was tempered to a piercing smirk as he analyzed Stirling’s stance. Shield in front, on Strider’s left arm. Katana raised behind him in the right hand to strike. Bent knees. Low center of gravity. Stirling most likely expected him to come at him with heavy blows.

Neither man wanted to make the first strike.

Thingguy looked up from Stirling’s stance to the man himself. Stirling was staring with steely intensity over the lip of his well-used Nexus Force Knight’s Shield. Though the Sentinel Logo could hardly be made out underneath all the scorch marks anymore.

“Looks like that shield’s seen a lot of action!” Thingguy said. He knew he could goad Stirling into making the first attack, which would give him a chance to get past that impenetrable shield defense stance. He had to admire that.

“A lot of explosions, that’s for sure.”

“Well, at least I know you can take a beating. But can you dish out as much as you take on?” Thingguy prompted.

“Can you!?” Stirling yelled, as he rushed forward, shield set to ram Thingguy, who had nowhere to dodge in the narrow lane.

Thingguy squatted low, twisting left to strike at Stirling’s feet from his unshielded arm. which caused Stirling to swing his own Katana low to either parry or strike.

The two blades clashed in strikes turned to parrys, and the crowd around them roared with the clang.

Stirling continued his momentum, and ran past Thingguy, forcing the Katana into Thingguy’s sword, causing Thingguy, low, but off-balance, to roll backwards to deflect the blow. He twisted around, kneeling and facing Stirling, who had just finished sliding and spinning back around.

‘*Gosh, he’s pretty fast for a fully armored individual’* Thingguy noted.

Stirling rushed with his shield again. Thingguy stood up, and feinted a thrust forward over the momentarily low shield. Stirling raised the shield in a decent attempt to disarm Thingguy, but Thingguy pulled the sword back, and spun around to Stirling’s unprotected right side.

Momentarily blinded by his own raised shield, Stirling didn’t see the blade coming around his right side till it was past his katana’s defense.

“Gah!” Stirling yelled in disgust as Thingguy’s sword lightly- expertly- nicked his right shoulder.

He shoved his shield directly at where he knew Thingguy was, and heard the solid whack of metal on skull. Pulling back the shield, he performed an upward slash with his Katana, but was parried by a dazed, but still capable, Thingguy.

Stirling pressed this small advantage, performing a flurry of strikes with his Katana, but Thingguy’s single two-handed sword was far too fast for his single-handed Katana.

Noting this, Stirling shook off the shield, tossing it down on the ground in front of him, before shoving it with his foot at Thingguy to try and trip him.

Thingguy had now recovered from the stunning shield blow, and now hopped lightly over the shield, as it skittered away. He parried yet another attack from Stirling, who was clearly becoming frustrated. Stirling was now using two hands for his Katana, and his blows were now stronger and faster, accordingly. However, Thingguy realized that he had him beat. Stirling might possibly be stronger, but his skill simply did not match his own.

Thingguy let Stirling advance, slashing and striking, and piercing and thrusting. All parried or evaded by him. Casting a cheeky glance back over his shoulder, Thingguy could see that they were re-approaching Stirling’s discarded shield. Looking back at Stirling, he saw realization light up in Stirling’s eyes. Thingguy had a plan for his shield.

In the tight lane, Stirling pressed Thingguy, causing them to turn so that the shield was a few feet to the side of them. Stirling’s right. Thingguy’s left.

Thingguy’s smirk flashed dangerously.

And in a sudden moment, Stirling found himself defending a flurry of combinations he’d never seen before, as Thingguy used his legendary swordsmanship to press the advantage he’d had ever since Stirling had been tricked into going offensive. Suddenly, Stirling was being forced to step back and back, into the space between tents and campfires, desperately trying to avoid the sudden tornado that was made of a single blade in Thingguy’s hands.

So focused was Stirling on this shocking display of skill, that he didn’t even have time to look where he was backing up to.

Now things were getting trashed. Tents, crockery, boxes. But by the roar of the crowd, it seemed like no one cared. Certainly, the two contestants did not. They were locked in a deadly battle, hardly aware of the onlookers.

Suddenly, Stirling’s footing slipped out from underneath him as he stepped on his own shield, which shot out at an alarming rate from underneath him, directly at Thingguy.

The shield rammed edge-first into Thingguy’s midriff, getting caught up in his complex swordsmanship, and knocking the wind out of him, as well as his sword.

Now both men hit the dirt on their backs. Stirling was the first to recover, rolling once for an imagined strike that didn’t come, and then pushing himself off the ground with a backwards roll to gain some clarity and distance on the situation. However, that only put him directly on Thingguy’s left, who, while still on the ground, and momentarily breathless, still had Stirling’s shield in his grasp now.

For a half of a second, the two men stared in awkward surprise at each other. Then Thingguy, gripping Stirling’s shield, shoved off from Stirling, pushing himself away in the process. As Thingguy rolled, he saw his sword a few feet away from him, and Stirling advancing from the other direction, Katana raised.

Stirling rushed forward, and struck repeatedly at the rolling Thingguy, but Thingguy used the shield to block the bone-shattering blows repeatedly.

Like a human lint-roller, Thingguy rolled over his own sword, and as Stirling brought his Katana down yet again, Thingguy thrust his sword up to Strider’s throat.

Stirling’s Katana rang with a finality as it struck the shield that covered Thingguy’s throat, who lay on the ground, a single arm outstretched.

Without looking, Stirling could feel the cold tip of Thingguy’s sword on his neck, and he froze.

It was deathly silent.

Then the crowd ***roared*** their approval, and the two warriors finally took note of their surroundings.

“That was a good fight!” Thingguy said, finally dropping the sword from Stirling.

Stirling nodded his agreement, as he sheathed his sword. “I suppose the legends do you justice. That was very impressive swordsmanship.”  He helped Thingguy up and accepted his shield back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen faster.”

Thingguy beamed. “Thanks! It’s all repetition and muscle memory. And then being able to adapt those combinations seamlessly into each other.”

Stirling frowned. “Were you toying with me the entire time, then?”

Thingguy shook his head. “Oh, no. I knew I couldn’t get around your shield. We’d still be fighting if you’d stayed defensive.”

Stirling seemed disheartened. Thingguy chuckled. “Oh, come on. Are you really that disappointed you lost?”

A small smile creased Stirling’s mouth. “Kinda.”

Thingguy laughed, and slapped the Samurai across the back, pulling an arm around him. “Look, you have an amazing defense. I just knew how to goad you into attacking. I used my wit as much as my skill in that fight.”

It took Stirling a moment to understand. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah! Just like what I did with the council and the monkey-talk. I knew what to say to make you do what I wanted.”

Stirling blinked a few times. “You… Used your charisma to change the fight?”

Thingguy nodded. “Exactly!”

“That sounds like something my friend Peragrine would do.”

“Some people call it ‘trash talking’. Some people call it getting into the opponent’s head. I just call it another skill. Another tool I can use in a fight. An invaluable one at that.” he patted Stirling. “Just like cheering your allies on, you can goad your enemies off balance.”

Stirling listened, considering.  “That’s a… I’d never thought of it like that before.”

“That’s why I’m the best!”

Stirling grinned. “That you are, Sir Thingguy.”

“Come on, I’ll get you a drink. Are you thirsty? I’m thirsty. Rolling around in the dirt makes a man thirsty.”

Stirling chuckled. “I can’t believe you won lying down. That’s just the most ridiculous part.”

“If you think that’s ridiculous, let me tell you about the time I won a fight with a slice of pizza.”

~~~~

After nearly a week, things were finally getting wrapped up. Oswald had been officially released from his various duties around the Merry Band, and there was a new Tech Expert that Oswald had entrusted with various projects in his absence.  During this time, Stirling and Thingguy would amuse themselves any way they could, having been ready to leave for days now. This usually consisted of walking around the camp.

Suddenly, Stirling struck up a conversation.

“I know Oswald is good for the technical side of things once we get there,” Stirling said to Thingguy. “But I wonder how tough the guy really is. Do you think we can trust him to hold his own?”

Thingguy turned his attention from his surroundings to Stirling. “Are you worried we can’t protect him?”

Stirling hesitated. “Well, yes.”

The two men walked for a moment, both giving the other a chance to say more, when they both realized they were thinking the same thing.

“We’ve both failed in that respect in the past,” Stirling said.

Thingguy nodded. “I know we can’t protect everyone, but I also think Oswald can hold his own. After all, he’s a part of the Merry Band!”

Stirling still seemed uncertain, so Thingguy continued.

“And it was his choice. One he’s made with careful calculation, it would seem.”

“I suppose.”

“And if you’ve failed in protecting others in the past, have you learned from those failures?”

“...”

When Stirling didn’t respond, Thingguy stopped and turned to Stirling. “It’s only a failure if you don’t learn from your mistakes. Guilt doesn’t get you anywhere.”

Stirling was staring at the ground, and wasn’t responding to Thingguy.

Thingguy thought back to what Stirling had told him about his past. How he’d been unable to protect his brother and best friend. How he hadn’t even been there to protect them.

“How am I supposed to learn from the Raid of Calibus?” Stirling asked, confirming Thingguy’s thoughts. “Beyond that I shouldn’t have left them? But then I’d be dead like everyone else. Dead, or missing. Scattered once again.”

Thingguy wracked his brain for application. Something to give to Stirling to focus on, but alas, he was at a loss.  All he could think of was…

“There was no way you could know what was going to happen. That doesn’t excuse anyone; that’s just facts.”

Stirling nodded, finally looking up at Thingguy, blinking back tears. “And I can’t dwell on it if it stops me from moving forward. Only if it … Uh, moves me forward.”

“Does it?”

Stirling blinked away the last of his tears, and a familiar steely glint re-entered his eyes. “Yes. Yes it does.”

Thingguy smiled, attempting to match Stirling’s dangerous smile. “Good. Glad you’re on my side.”  Another point presented itself to Thingguy, and he raised a finger. “Also, we can learn that we need strength in numbers to fight thedude. That we must remain united. Not scattered.”

“But not too densely united, lest we be singularly wiped out in another terrible Raid.”

“Tis a delicate balance, but one we *must* master!”

“And one we are looking to help resolve, by being able to call for reinforcements at the appropriate time.”

“Verily! Tis so!”

“Right.”

The two resumed walking.

“Do you think the nerds are done geeking out?” Stirling asked.

Thingguy shook his head, grinning. “Definitely not. Give it a few more hours.”

"Right. Then perhaps teach me how to use that Olde Speech of yours. I'm afraid I'm terribly rusty."

~~~~

Eventually, Stirling and Thingguy came back and found Oswald reorganizing a much less cluttered wagon, with horses. A number of the heavier and bulkier items were now missing from his cart, and as Stirling and Thingguy clambered into the wagon, they could both appreciate how large the wagon truly was.

“Gentlemen,” Oswald said in greeting, as he tucked a final bit of scrap into a footlocker. “Please appreciate a full 5 by 7 wagon filled with nothing but entirely legal cargo.”

Thingguy nodded in appreciation. “I couldn’t help but notice as we walked up that you’ve attached the radar dish to the bottom of the wagon. Are you hiding the illegal stuff under there?”

Oswald smiled. “Oh, you like that? Yeah, the dish clicks into place under there. And no. When I say there’s no contraband stuff on my wagon, there’s no contraband stuff on my wagon. That way, if I were to get searched or something, I’m just a ‘suspiciously lucky collector’ instead of an outright criminal.

Stirling observed the inside of the wagon. It did indeed look much more nondescript. Everything was packed neatly away in sealed boxes, footlockers, and chests. In fact, it looked like a cargo wagon. Not at all like the wagon of a technical expert. Stirling attempted to lift the lid of a chest, but found it locked.  Going to a plastic bin, he pulled the lid off of that, and looked in.

“Clothes.” Stirling identified. “Oswald, did you hide all your technological stuff behind lock and key?”

“Oh, absolutely. If anyone were to find my collection, they might be inclined to keep it, even if it’s not contraband.” Oswald adjusted his glasses, and affected a slightly more polished tone “And as an avid collector, I, Oswald Yaccarino, do my best to protect my collection.”

“That’s really smart.”

“Thank you!”

Thingguy looked to the front of the wagon, where two horses were hooked up. “And who are these two fine fellows?”

Hitched up to the wagon were two brown horses of a decent, if ordinary build.

“They’re not mine. Not specifically anyway. I’ve used them before in the past to pull the wagon. I think that left one’s named Bacon, and the other’s named… uh,” Oswald adjusted his glasses and stared at the darker brown horse. “Barkley? Berkeley? Beverly?”

Thingguy leaned back and sized the creature up. “She looks like a Beverly to me.”

“I’d hate to be uncert-”

“Beverly it is!” Stirling said, and the matter was clearly dropped by the two warriors. “When do we leave?”

~~~

### Chapter 10: In Which Stirling Meets Ingrid, and Our Heros Depart.

It would take a few more hours of final goodbyes and last minute details. Details such as getting Stirling a new horse to ride and keep up with Thingguy and Oswald. Stirling had dismissed this more than once over the past few days, stating he had terrible luck with horses, and would simply ride in the wagon with Oswald… But the issue kept coming up, and eventually, Stirling had to admit it was sensible for both warriors to be mobile.

For this, Stirling and Thingguy were told that they could get such a horse from the surplus of the Merry Band.

When they got there, the stablegirl, Sharla, was ready for them with a strawberry roan that she insisted was exactly what Stirling was looking for.

Apparently, the story of Stirling’s poor luck with horses had gotten around, and the rumors of their immediate departure as well.

“Her name is Ingrid.” Sharla said empirically, leading the clearly irritated horse towards the two men.  “Invincibile Ingrid. She’s faced thedude’s forces a lotta times before we got her. Saved Sir Martin’s life more than once, I’ve been told.”

Stirling didn’t bother to hide his doubt as Ingrid clearly pulled back on the lead, snorting with irritance. “She seems a bit unruly.”

Behind Stirling, Thingguy cracked a smile, as he saw the similarities between the horse and the man. Both of them irritated, blind to each other’s deep reserves of strength and resolve.  He was with the stablegirl on this one. The two were clearly a perfect fit.

Meanwhile, the horse snorted, rolling her eyes to Stablegirl Sharla, as if to say, *‘Really? This guy?’*

Sharla didn’t seem to notice. She slapped the lead rope into Stirling’s outstretched hand, even as Stirling continued to question her.

“Is this Sir Martin’s horse then?”

“It was. But he don’t ride anymore. Too hard on him. Bad hips.”

Thingguy slapped Stirling’s shoulder. “I take it that Sir Martin supports our endeavor very much then, to offer his own horse.”

Stirling glanced at Thingguy. Thingguy nodded encouragingly.

Ingrid glanced at Sharla. Sharla nodded firmly.

Both Horse and Samurai glanced back at each other.

And as one, they said “pffffft.” and turned away.

The horse spun around, and began walking back towards the pen gate with the rest of the horses, as Stirling tossed the lead back to the stablegirl and turned away to look at the rest of the horses.

“There has to be a better candidate than *that* old mare!” he declared.

Both Thingguy and Sharla immediately began to protest, but at Stirling’s declaration, stopped as soon as they’d begun, for Ingrid had halted in mid-step.

“Where’s a nice, strong **stallion** war-horse?” he said, leaning on the metal corral fencing. “Do you have any of those, Sharla?”

Ingrid’s head whipped around and locked onto the oblivious Stirling, who was now pulling himself up onto the metal fencing to look out over the small herd of horses.

Sharla began to call out to warn Stirling, but Thingguy calmly put a hand over her mouth.

“*Shhh.”*  He whispered serenely. “This is exactly what they both need.”

Stirling was now pointing off into the herd. “Oh! How about that one there? It looks big and str-”

Ingrid turned full around. She locked onto the stupid human’s stupid rear. Without a single sound, she trotted up to Stirling, and flipped him neatly over the fenceline, to have him land directly on his back.

With the wind knocked out of him, Stirling didn’t finish his sentence, but instead stared in surprise up the muzzle of a furiously whinnying Strawberry roan.

In that moment, Stirling heard Ingrid speak to him.

For the first time, he heard horses talk.

It was the most honest, brutal, and foul-mouthed speech that he had heard in quite some time. And it was entirely about him.

“Right. Yes. Fair. I’m all that and more. Are you in?” he asked, as soon as she’d finished, which was thankfully right around the time he’d recovered his breath.

Ingrid appeared to consider it for a moment, glancing back at Sharla and Thingguy, who stood pensive off to the side.

She snorted once.  ‘*Yes.’*

Clear as day.

“Fantastic,” Stirling said with less enthusiasm than he actually felt. As he found his feet, they both began talking at the same time.

‘*But to be clear, if you remain an ignorant oaf of the previously mentioned proportions, I will not hesitate to kill you myself.’*

“And I assure you, I shall do my best to treat you with the proper respect in the future. Forgive me?”

Ingrid raised her nose up snootily. ‘*Yes. Also, your back is covered in manure.’*

“Ah. Well. Who’s fault is that?”

*‘Yours.’*

Stirling couldn’t come up with a witty retort for that, so he simply grunted and turned to their audience of two.

Thingguy was beaming with barely contained laughter, while the stablegirl was grinning smugly. “See? I told you!”

Stirling attempted to save his dignity. “Your horse attempted to kill me.”

“So y’ know she’s a real tough cookie! A killer! She’s perfect! Just admit it.”

Ingrid turned her long face to stare at Stirling’s ear.  Stirling rolled his eyes. He got down on his knees to be eye-level with the stablegirl. Took a deep breath.

“Sharla…” Stirling said, looking reproachfully at Thingguy, who was now using his hands to physically stifle his laughter. Stirling sighed, accepting his serving of humility and humble pie. “She's perfect. You’re right.”

The young girl smiled delightedly, clapping her hands. “I knew it! I-knew-it, I-knew-it, I-knew-it!” She skipped off, calling back, “I have to go do som’more chores, but your horse is here as well, Sir Thingguy! Just call ‘im!”

“Will do!” Thingguy called back, and then he turned to the corral.

“DEAAAAAAAADBEAAAAAAT!”

A distant whinny went up, and Thingguy laughed. Then he turned to Stirling, who seemed a little deflated. Perhaps stunned.

“Sooooo…” Thingguy began, smiling. “Were you talking with your horse there?”

Stirling looked up, looked at Ingrid, and then the two of them looked back at Thingguy.

“ ‘*Don’t you?’ “* They both said.

~~~~

Late that evening, the group finally rode east, away from the Merry Band, who once again were packing up and moving to their own next destination.

There were no more goodbyes, no waving. The only looking back was done by Oswald, and then again, not to any particular person, but to the whole moving Caravan as a whole. Much later, he would look back at the forest-line. A forest he hadn’t left in…

Oswald thought hard. “Gosh. Years.” He racked his brain for a specific number. “Let’s see. I went into hiding 1 year into thedude’s reign, because I wanted to learn more about technology instead of cobblering. So, 5, almost 6 years.”  He glanced back at the treeline. At its safety. Turning to look forward at the world he’d left years ago, he felt *terribly* exposed out here on the open plains of Far Eastern Morcia.

‘*This must be what a field mouse feels like before a hawk gets it’* he realized.

Then his eyes anchored themselves onto his two travelling companions, who seemed perfectly at home up ahead on their two horses. Sir Stirling, and Sir Thingguy.

‘*I guess in this analogy though, I’m no field mouse. I’m… Well, I’m a man in a cart.’* Oswald nodded to himself. ‘*No need to confuse myself. No need for analogies. I’m the weakest of the group, for sure, but they’re both strong enough to make up for that. And, of course, I’m smart enough to make up for the both of them. Hopefully. If we get that far.’*  He glanced up at the huuuuge sky, expecting Barneybots and Fighters to come out of the clouds and bomb them to oblivion…

But they didn’t. Just the occasional bird, soaring high in the big blue sky.

Even with the late start they’d had leaving the Merry Band, they made decent time, riding over the relatively flat plains. Oswald with his head on a swivel, getting used to the wide openness of everything, and the two fighters, outwardly relaxed, as if on a weekend jaunt, talking with each other, and their horses.

Late into the evening, they came across a main road that ran North and South.

As Oswald came closer to the road, Thingguy called out to him, pointing North.

“This road runs north to the town of Leer!”

Oswald simply nodded, but didn’t reply until he was within casual conversation distance. As he turned north onto the road, he asked, “Do you think we can make it there tonight?”

Thingguy shook his head. “No. Well, not unless we went through the night. Which we *could…”* Thingguy considered.

Deadbeat chuffed, causing Thingguy to respond. “Oh come on, it would do you good. You’ve gotten all fat and soft during our time at the Merry Band. Honestly, can you count how many oats they gave you there?”

Deadbeat nickered, his eyes shifting in embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought.” Thingguy said, reproachfully. Deadbeat whinnied defensively, but Thingguy ignored him, having clearly won the argument this time. He leaned over and addressed Stirling, who was flanking the other side of the cart now. “What do you think, Strider? Should we go through the night and arrive at Leer perhaps around… midnight?”

Stirling shook his head. “Arriving at the town late at night will raise questions. But riding through the night isn’t irregular this far east. Lots of robbers and scavengers on this road on the edge of Morcia. Desert-based bandits too, if the pickings are slim on the East Way. Which they have been.”

Ingrid snorted in agreement.

Oswald turned back to Thingguy. “I’m willing to ride through the night, but perhaps we just camp outside the city if we arrive there too early?”

“My thoughts exactly, Oss!” Thingguy said.

Oswald twitched at the attempt at a nickname. “Oss?”

Thingguy flashed a grin at the young man before spurring Deatbeat forward, and out of the conversation.

“That won’t stick!” Oswald yelled after him.

Stirling failed to stifle a chuckle, causing Oswald to turn on him. “You got that? It won’t stick. I won-”

“Sure thing, Oss.” Stirling said, hiding his smile behind a gauntlet.

‘Oss’ stared at Stirling, who didn’t rush away.

“Think of it this way,” Stirling said. “It could have been ‘Wald’.”

“That actually makes more sense.”

Stirling thought about it, rolling his eyes up into his head. “‘Oss’, or ‘Wold’?”

“No, ‘Wald’.”

“That’s what I said. ‘Wold’.”

“No, you said ‘Wold’. That’s *completely* different from ‘Wald’!

Now both of them were staring at each other, completely baffled by the other.

“Say it again,” Stirling said, straining his ears.

Oswald took a deep breath and enunciated. “ ‘Wald’...”

“Uh-huh…?”

“versus ‘Wold’.”

Slowly, Stirling nodded. “Yup. Sound exactly the same.”

Oswald blinked furiously. “No! You-” he paused. “You must be pulling my leg.” he concluded. “They’re completely different. One’s an old word for a forested area, and the other’s an old word used for an open, sorta hilly, grassy plain. Similar to what we’re in now, actually.” he finished, looking around. “Which is actually pretty enjoyable, now that I’m getting over the fear of getting spotted from above by bombing barneybots.”

Ingrid snorted.

Stirling patted her comfortingly as he followed Oswald’s gaze into the dimming evening sky. “I mean, there’s no reason for barneybots to patrol this stretch of road. We’d have to be pretty unlucky to have to deal with that. And even if we did, Oswald,” he looked back down at the man. “You’re just an avid tech collector, remember?”

Oswald took a moment to remember, but then he smiled, and adopted his posh demeanor. “Ah yes. Very rightly so.” He straightened his coat, and then pulled out a brown bowler hat from below his seat. “I do say, I know how to spiffy up if and when the need might arise!”

Stirling grinned. “You’re certainly the brains and face of our party. Thingguy and I just look like your hired mercenaries, although he’s certainly got a lot of charisma for a guy in used and dirty chainmail.”

Oswald refocused his attention on guiding the horses for a moment as he looked directly ahead to Thingguy, who looked like he was out for a sunday jaunt, taking in the fresh wide-open air.

“Sir Thingguy is certainly very moving. And regal, when he wants to be. Never met him personally before last week, but I do recall hearing about him before thedude won.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Stories of him, Sir Talmid, and Sir Luke leading King Matthias’s troops into battle. I always thought they were a bit over-the-top. Until I met him. Now I don’t doubt those tales at all.”

Stirling nodded. “I’ve heard some of the stories. But I’m not surprised by all that. Tell you what I *am* surprised by.”

“What?”

“His perpetual good mood.”

“What do you mean?”

Stirling threw an arm out towards Thingguy, who appeared to be talking to his horse again. “I mean, this guy’s lost all his friends, lost a war, is stranded on a foreign planet, has only his horse, and the items on his back, no direction…”

Thingguy took that moment to laugh at something his horse had apparently said.

Stirling shook his outstretched hand, looking at Oswald. “Yet, see? This guy can laugh at anything.” Now he shook his head. “I don’t really get it.”

Oswald considered this, chewing his lip. “That’s a good point. Kinda figured it’s just the power of positive thinking, but… Well, that doesn’t work for me when things won’t go my way.”

Stirling grunted. “Same. And things haven’t been my way for… going on 3 years now.”

“Since you arrived, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey…” Oswald leaned towards Stirling. “Maybe it’s just this whole blasted planet.”

Stirling chuckled. This somehow tickled him in a dark humor kind of way. “Yeah. Maybe.” At least that way, his failures these past 3 years weren't just on him being a complete loser. “Yeah. I like that.”

Oswald straightened up. “I mean, actually, no. Technically speaking, to curse an entire planet would-”

“Tech curse. The Old Sorcerer did it, didn’t he?” Stirling said, now minorly invested in the ‘cursed planet’ theory.

Oswald paused, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. “Well, yes. He did. Some say he zombified himself doing that though. Like, he used up his entire life-force, but his body was still healthy, so they entombed him in such a way that if he ever woke up, he could get up and get out. Or that the tech curse required him to still be ‘alive’ to remain active, I think? So his body was preserved…?”

Stirling raised his eyebrows. “I just heard that it took a lot out of him, so he was like, super weak. Nothing specific like that.”

Oswald shrugged. “I mean, specifics from a story of a legend of a theory of word of mouth. Plenty of potential inaccuracies. Don’t quote me.”

“Fair.”

“But to curse a whole planet with… negative events? Negative force?”

“Bad luck?”

“Sure. Bad luck.” Oswald readjusted his glasses. “I don’t study magic, obviously, but the energy needed for that would be even more immense than the equivalent energy we need for this radio signal to work properly!”

Stirling raised an eyebrow. “You say that like magical energy and imagination energy can be equated.”

Oswald physically stopped himself from doing the mental math of trying to figure out how much energy he was talking about. There were too many variables in that problem to make it worthwhile. “Well, depending on the magic user and the way their magic works, sure. Magical energy is still energy. At some point, it doesn’t fluctuate anymore. Or it shouldn’t. If it does, it has a certain amount that it fluctuates, so you can measure it within that much of a margin.”

Stirling blinked a few times, re-running that last bit in his head a few more times. “But, I thought ‘magic is simply science we don’t understand’. If you’re understanding it, is it science and not magic anymore?”

Oswald shook his head. “Magic is still science we don’t understand. But different people understand different amounts of science. What’s magic to you isn’t magic to me. Magic and science are the same thing, just labeled differently for different people. Magic is subjective. What’s magic and what’s science is in the eye of the beholder.” Oswald grinned. “And I came up with that by myself.”

Stirling frowned, looking down at his gauntlets blankly for a moment.

“For example,” Oswald said, seeing Stirling still thinking. “Your using Imagination the other day on your Nexus Force earpiece. To me, that was magic.”

Stirling glanced up at Oswald. “But, that’s just tech.”

“But I didn’t know how it works. I mean, it’s been explained to me, but I still haven’t been able to open it up and observe it piece by piece, so I still don’t completely get it. Therefore, I call it magic.”

“So, would you call yourself a wizard?”

“A Tech-Wizard, sure! I’m no sorcerer; don’t have magic coming out of my fingers. I’m no warlock; I don’t have powers from some other source or curse. Some might call me an alchemist, since I combine various items together, but that would be disrespectful of actual alchemists who use raw elements.” Oswald sighed wistfully. “I’d give a lot to be able to learn alchemy, actually. That sounds really awesome.”

Ingrid snorted at the mention of alchemy, and Stirling’s attention was diverted for a moment.

“I’ve heard that term before, but I don’t really know what it means.” he said, as much to Ingrid as Oswald.

“What, alchemy?” Oswald asked.

“Yeah.”

Oswald bolted wide awake. “Oh gosh! Let me tell you all about it!”

Belatedly, Stirling realized he’d made a terrible mistake, as Oswald proceeded to geek out about what little he knew about the frowned-upon practice of Alchemy.

~~~~~~

Quite a few hours later, Stirling was still listening to Oswald when Thingguy called a halt.

“We should make camp here for the night,” Thingguy explained. “If my understanding is correct, we’ll be able to see Leer by going over that next little rise there in the morning.”

“Sounds good!” Stirling said, dismounting suddenly in an attempt to escape Oswald.

Oswald nodded. “Alright, Sir Thingguy.”

The three made camp quickly and easily. The four horses were unsaddled, and staked together to graze and rest. The two warriors pitched tents, while Oswald simply covered himself up in his wagon.

Within minutes of lying down, the two warriors were sound asleep, leaving Oswald to stare at a completely open night sky alone.

~~~~~~

### Chapter 11: In which our heroes beat around the bush called Leer, and observe various vehicles going to and fro.

Early the next morning, the threesome quickly got saddled up and back on the road, none the worse for wear.

Cresting the next hill, the town of Leer came into view, proving that Thingguy knew his stuff.

The three men sized the place up.

Leer was often called the ‘Last Western Town’, but really, it was more of a large city. The last large city before the largely empty and wild Brownlands. Leer had no walls, but plenty of Towers built in irregular circles radiating out from the center of the old town. As the city had grown and grown with trade, more and more towers had been built on what had been the outskirts of the city at the time, causing it to now have towers of varying quality and strength throughout the city now. It was a main trading port, situated as it was at the western end of the Great East Way. A hub of commerce, where one could get just about anything for the right price. Nowhere else in the Land of Morcia did money speak as loudly as it did here.

However, since thedude had declared war on the Eastern Empires of Cheinir and Jepuni, the city of Leer, and indeed all of the Great East Way was filled with a different form of commerce.

The commerce of war.

Stirling, Thingguy, and Oswald noted with varying degrees of wariness the heavy presence of Paradox Rogues, flying Barneybots, and even Barney Fighters.  As they watched, they saw a heavily armored military column making its own way out of town, East. Motorized transports, horses, covered caravans, and even camels all made their way into the dusty Brownlands. Off to war with the Empires.  Above them, Barneybots hovered thickly, inadvertently providing shade for some below them.

Suddenly, Oswald gasped, and the two others followed his gaze.

Above even the Barneybots, a few red dots flew high above, in the bright blue sky.

“Oh hey, look at that,” Thingguy said. “They have some red mythrans.”

Stirling glared up at them. “And we’re standing here like freaking idiots.”

“Tourists.” Thingguy peeked sideways at Oswald. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Yaccarino?”

Oswald attempted a posh ‘Yep’ but all that his terrified, dry mouth could offer was a pitiful croak.

Then it was Stirling’s turn to gasp. “Tanks!” He pointed back at the ground, where a number of tanks were now rolling out from the city of Leer. “Honest to goodness, bona-fide tanks!”

Thingguy raised his eyebrows. “Wonder where he’s manufacturing those?”

Stirling’s gawking turned back to his customary frown. “Well, I know where they’re getting the raw ore, that’s for sure. Still… I’d really like to get my hands on one of those tanks.”

Now it was Thingguy’s turn to gasp and point  “Look! A Helicopter!”

Stirling and Oswald followed Thingguy’s leather-bound pointer finger, and there, rising out from the buildings and towers of Leer was a small black helicopter, flanked by a squad of Barneybots. As it rose, quickly gaining altitude, the words ‘PARCEL DELIVERY’ could be seen painted on the helicopter. Then the copter quickly pulled away, guarded by four Barneybots who kept pace with it as it puttered into the east, outpacing the caravan below it.

“Wonder if they transport people too?” Thingguy said. “Then we could get a helicopter ride!”

Stirling frowned. “I’m more worried about where he’s manufacturing all this.”

Oswald nodded, clearly terrified. “...Power.” he croaked. The two older men glanced back at him, and Oswald spoke up, looking away from the Caravan.

“Ahem. Meant to say, ‘that’s a lot of power’.”

Stirling nodded gravely. Thingguy pursed his lips.

“True!” Thinnguy said. He turned back to the Caravan. “But it’s not focused on us. It’s focused on the east.” Thingguy followed the road east with his eyes. “First Builders save them.”

“‘Cause we sure can’t.” Stirling grumbled negatively.

“Not *yet*.” Thingguy finished positively.

The three men all watched the Caravan for a long time, morbidly counting the strength of the forces. Thinking their own personal thoughts. Eventually, the end of the Caravan exited the city. From their vantage point, they could barely see the front of the caravan as a distant point in the horizon.

“Come on,” Stirling said. “We should get a move on.”

“Too true!” Thingguy replied. He turned to Oswald. “Which way, Mr. Yaccarino? Into town, or around and Northward?”

Oswald was surprised. He looked at Thingguy, and then at Strider, who both returned his look with expectancy.  “It’s up to me?”

“You’re the fancy collector, Mr. Yaccarino,” Stirling said, adopting a bored and stupid expression. “We’re just the hired muscle.”

“If I might make a suggestion,” Thingguy offered. Oswald quickly nodded, so Thingguy continued. “If we go into town, you’re going to have to take point, so as to avoid suspicions. But if we don’t need to go into town, we can just circumnavigate the town, and head to our destination directly. Shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

Oswald thought about it briefly. “We definitely don’t have a need to go into town, except to keep up pretenses. But if we’re not stopped by anyone or anything, we don’t need those pretenses anyway. So let’s just focus on our main objective, until something stops us. Then we focus on keeping that objective under pretenses.” He glanced down at Thingguy. “Makes sense?”

Thingguy gave a thumbs up. “Perfect.” He looked out over the city of Leer. “Circumnavigating, it is!” He pointed Northeast. “That’s our direction.”

The crew made their way down from their vantage point, and began making their way in that direction, every once in a while casting a cautionary glance at the ever-closer looming towers of Leer.

As they did, Oswald fished around for a set of binoculars, which he then used to take a look at the men atop one of the towers.

It appeared that the City was at peace with thedude. A number of Paradox Rogues were on each tower, but there was also a presence of local militia and guardsmen atop each one as well.

As they got as close as they were going to get to Leer on their current trajectory, they heard the sounds of another helicopter.

They all searched the sky for one, but Thingguy saw it first.

“There! It’s coming from the east!”

The others turned to see it. A small helicopter puttered it’s way into Leer, with a single heavily damaged Barneybot as it’s vanguard. This copter had ‘MAIL DELIVERY’ painted in white on it’s dull grey metal exterior.

“Looks like bandits or something nearly got that mail delivery,” Stirling noted, his hand on his bow.

The others agreed, and they continued walking. Thingguy sighed wistfully. “Imagine if we had a helicopter to our destination, though.”

Stirling shook his head, about to argue why that was a bad idea… but then Oswald did that for him.

“Well, if we took a helicopter, it would be fairly easy to track us to our destination,” he said. “And that’s even if we could get through the city without raising suspicions. No, the less we risk interaction with members of thedude’s society, the better.”

Stirling nodded. “The kid’s right.”

Thingguy sighed wistfully.

Deadbeat whinnied, bringing Thingguy out of his reverie.

“What?! How could you not like a nice, relaxing helicopter ride?!”

Stirling failed to hold back a laugh, even as Ingrid snorted, getting in on the conversation. A conversation that only the horses could hear in full. Still, Stirling enjoyed listening to what he could.

*‘Quite easily, Sir Thingguy. As horses, we are more capable on the ground, with all four hooves on the ground!’* Ingrid.

Deadbeat whinnied in agreement.

“What’d she say?” Thingguy asked.

Stirling reiterated. “She says that horses are horses, and they belong on the ground, not up in the sky.”

Ingrid stomped a hoof and tossed her mane. *‘That is most certainly not what I said!’*

“Oh, sorry, was what I said inaccurate?” Stirling asked Ingrid, smiling.

*‘Only in that it implies horses are physically incapable of leaving the ground. I could go on a helicopter… If it were absolutely necessary.’* Ingrid neighed defensively.

“I mean… I suppose getting all of us and the cart onto a helicopter would be really expensive…” Thingguy relented, patting his pockets. “Seems to me they’re in thedude’s back pocket anyway, and wouldn’t give a couple of freedom fighters a lift.”

Oswald spoke up. “Indeed. I was just looking at the towers there, and there’s a mix of local guardsmen and Paradox Rogues on each tower. Seems to me that Leer is One Hundred Percent thedude.”

Stirling scoffed. “That makes a lot of sense, the money-grubbers.”

The crew continued northeast, crossing the road that ran out of Leer and off into the east, going up and over a rise. As they did so, Thingguy pointed to a large mountain in the distance.

“There’s our target. Or thereabouts.”

“That lone mountain have a name?” Stirling asked.

Thingguy nodded. “Mount Servus. Rumors are that the cruiser crashed right at the foot of it.”

Oswald piped up. “Which side?”

Thingguy faltered in his reply. “I… have no idea.”

Stirling stifled a chuckle, as Oswald stared at the Knight. “You just know it’s ‘at the foot of Mount Servus’?”

Thingguy shrugged. “Yeah! I figure the cruiser’ll be easy to spot once we get closer.”

Stirling nodded. “Certainly.”

Oswald stared into space for a moment, containing his frustration over the inexactness of his fellow travellers. “O-kay,” he squeaked.

They traveled all day at a steady pace, stopping to rest whenever they needed, which was usually whenever Deadbeat found a patch of passably green turf to nibble on, or when the cart caught a snag on the rough terrain.

Stirling gauged the distance. “At our current pace, we might reach it tomorrow, late morning, I think.”

Ingrid snorted, glancing at Deadbeat with slight disdain. *‘Sooner, if he stopped getting distracted by every morsel of greenery.’*

“This is true,” Stirling said.

Deadbeat whinnied a response that only Thingguy and Ingrid understood. *‘It’s not my fault! If Thingguy had packed more oats, I wouldn’t be starving to death in this dreary place!’*

“Hey!” Thingguy exclaimed. “I did too pack those oats! It’s not my fault you cleverly snuck into your own saddlebags on our first night out! Honestly, I’m still amazed at how you did that…”

Deadbeat turned his long face to look at his rider. *‘I told you, I didn’t eat them. Which means you must have forgotten to pack them.’*

“Liar.”

*‘No, you.’*

One of the cart horses, Bacon, snorted.

The other cart horse, Beverly turned and nickered quietly to Bacon.

Oswald leaned forward. “Bacon…?”

Staring into the ground, Bacon nickered quietly back to Beverly. This caused Beverly to look from Bacon to Deadbeat in apparent surprise. She neighed something to Deadbeat. Deadbeat’s ears shot straight up.

*‘Oh.’*

“What? What is it, old boy?”

*‘I guess you did pack them.’*

“Of course I packed them, doofus!” Thingguy said, slapping his horse affectionately to soften his name-calling. And the fact that he was right.

*‘Cause Bacon admits to eating them all.’* Deadbeat glared at Bacon, who seemed to physically wilt under the accusing gaze.

Stirling and Oswald were flitting their gazes between all of this, entirely lost now.

“I’m sorry, does someone want to explain why we’re not moving?” Stirling asked.

Ingrid tossed her mane. *‘It appears we have TWO gluttons in our group. And it’s the two stallions, of course.’*

Stirling looked from the angry Deadbeat to the forlorn Bacon. “Ah. I see. Well.”

Oswald followed Stirling’s gaze. “Does your horse have a problem with Bacon, Sir Thingguy?”

Thingguy took a nervous breath through his teeth. “ ‘parrently Bacon ate Deadbeat’s oats last night?”

Bacon nickered mournfully. Or maybe that was his stomach.

“Oh. Well.” Oswald glanced back into the wagon. “Then I suppose Deadbeat can eat Bacon’s oats here.”

The ears of all four equines perked up, but none more than Deadbeat’s. *‘How much?’*

Thingguy echoed his horse’s question. In response, Oswald reached behind him and wrestled a heavy bag of oats out from the cart and into his lap. “This much?”

Deadbeat snorted distainfully. *‘I suppose that will have to do.’* He rolled his eyes back to facing front, and started walking again, justice having been served.

Thingguy smiled. “Deadbeat appreciates it.” He paused a moment before adding, “And so do I.” He also now turned to face front, and leaned forward to whisper what was clearly apologies for ever doubting his horse.

Ingrid watched the two veterans for a moment before following and nickering softly to Stirling. *'They have a strong bond.'*

Stirling nodded, then remembered that his horse couldn’t necessarily see his nodding. So he patted her once. “Yeah. They’ve been pretty lucky.”  Behind him, Oswald followed with the cart.

*'I and Sir Martin were very close, but not like that.'* She turned her neck to look back at Stirling. *'He was very kind and intuitive, but we didn't talk. Not like this. Not like Sir Thingguy and Deadbeat.'*

Stirling stared back at the large, steady, equine eye. “As you well know, I’ve never talked with a horse like this before, either.”

*“In actuality, I did not.”*

“Oh. Well, now you do.”

*“I want you to promise me something.”*

An eyebrow raised in instinctual suspicion on Stirling’s face. ‘What sort of promise?’

Ingrid looked back at Thingguy and Deadbeat.  *“Trust. Can we trust each other? Can you trust me?”*

Stirling didn’t answer right away. He wanted to give such a serious question some serious thought.

Ingrid glanced back once, surprised to see Stirling thinking about it. *“Why are you hesitating?”* she asked.

“Do you know about my previous steeds? How they usually end up dead, lost, or otherwise unfit for continued service?” Stilring asked quietly, not looking at Ingrid.

*“Somewhat.  The Stablegirl told me some of it, but to be honest, I did not pay much heed to it.”*

“Well, suffice to say that most of it is not embellishment. I have had terrible luck with horses. I live an uncertain and vagabond lifestyle nowadays, and I haven’t found a horse who can take a hit like I can.”

*“Have you armored your horses?”* Ingrid asked, pointedly. *“Like how you armor yourself?”*

Stirling stared at Ingrid’s neck. “Hmm. No, I guess I haven’t. It would be expensive, or perhaps cost me a bit of a favor… But I’d never thought of it.”

Ingrid snorted. *“That would be a good start.”*

Stirling nodded. “It’s a very good idea. And unlike other horses, I don’t think it would slow you down.”

*“A slow horse is better than no horse, Sir Silverstine.”*

“Very true.”

*“But you still have not answered my question.”*

Now he replied quickly. “I want to trust you, Ingrid,” Stirling said. “But trust is not something given. It’s something earned, through actions and deeds.” Ingrid tensed underneath him, but Stirling continued. “And beyond me trusting you, I don’t think you should trust me. Not based on my track record with your kind.”

Ingrid nickered softly, but firmly. *“Let me stop you there. I intend to break your so-called ‘bad luck’. Your ‘track record’, your whatever else you want to call it. Leave that to me.”* Now it was Stirling’s turn to listen, as Ingrid continued, her hooves stomping to accentuate her words in Stirling's mind. *“What I want to know is, do you trust and believe me when I say so? When I say something, will you believe me, or will you doubt my strength? My words?”*

Stirling frowned, and he didn’t need to see Ingrid’s long face or eyes to see that she was doing the equine equivalent as well. He rubbed her as he responded. “It’s not that I don’t *want* to trust you, Ingrid. I *want* to trust you, or Oswald, or Thingguy, or heck, anyone!  But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these past few years, it’s that you *can’t trust anyone*. Anything. Everyone will let you down. One way or another. At one point or another.” He sneered ruefully. “It’s something my father once told me. And now he’s dead.”

*“That is a fatalistic attitude,”* the horse replied.

“It’s based on experience.” the samurai retorted.

*“I intend to break that experience,”* Ingrid snapped. Again, she swung her head to look back at her rider. Again, she asked, *“Do you trust me?”*

“Do you?” Stirling growled.

A tense moment followed, and the unanswered questions were left to hang in the air, as Ingrid turned her eye away from Stirling and back towards their destination.

Mount Servus.

~~~

The group traveled up and over a few dozen gentle hills, with a warm easterly wind continually hugging their right. Behind them, Leer’s towers rose and fell, watching them from behind. Ahead, Mount Servus did the same. Underneath the two points watchful gaze, conversation ceased. Everyone focused their attentions and energy on cresting the next hill in front of them. And the next one. And the next.

As evening arrived, Thingguy and Deadbeat led the group over yet another scraggly hill. As he reached the top, he turned back to the others.

“Gentlemen,” he said, sweeping a hand out grandly. “There she is, the crashed cruiser.”

Stirling and Ingrid crested the hill next, and the two looked down at the cruiser.

There were still some more hills to go between this taller point and the cruiser that sat at the bottom of Mount Servus, but the massive metal structure was indeed still visible from this position, a dark blue shape in the shadows of the land around it. It seemed mostly intact and upright from this position, if perhaps somewhat lodged into the ground. The unnatural gouge in the land behind it that trailed off west was also a sign of it’s crash-landing from all those years ago.

“Majestic, even in it’s fallen state.” Thingguy said. Stirling nodded, as Oswald came up behind them.

“Goodness, it’s huge!” Oswald exclaimed. The two cart horses huffed, glad for the chance to catch their breaths after pulling the cart up this particular hill.

Stirling stared at the ship, stunned. A flurry of emotions that he’d been ignoring found a chance to renew their assault against his conscious mind with this physical reminder of his other commitments.  It occurred to him that he hadn’t reported for duty in almost three years. That the Nexus Force had abandoned Militiregnum. That he missed the Nexus Force. That he hadn’t seen any of his friends or allies in the Nexus Force for nearly 3 years. That even if they wondered what had happened to him, it was extremely likely that they didn't’ even know he was alive. That technically, somewhere, there was an official list in Paradox Rogue records with his name listed as ‘dead’, thanks to his dead brother. That he missed his brother. And his friends. And his Family. His home. His job.

His purpose. What the Crux was his purpose anym-

Thingguy’s rough hand gripping his shoulder shook Stirling out of his reverie. “Majestic…” Thingguy repeated reverently, visibly emotional. “Now imagine a whole fleet of these beautiful birds coming down at just the right time to save us all!”

Stirling nodded, unable to trust his voice at the moment. He attempted to swallow his own emotions down. Now was not the time.

Oswald on the other hand, let his singular emotion of awe flow out. “A whole \_\_fleet\_\_ of these? You mean the Nexus Force has more of these monolithic wonders of metal and technology?!”

Thingguy shook Stirling’s shoulder once more, giving a piercing smile to Stirling, before Deadbeat trotted over to the wagon. “That’s right, Oswald! Why are you so surprised? Those dots in the sky are ships and mobile stations similar to what you see down there. You know that, don’t you?”

Oswald stammered, his slackjawed mouth trying to grin and talk at the same time. “W-well, y-y-yes! But, I-I- I suppose I just never quite r-re-realized the immensity of such distant objects! How does one even find this much raw ore for such a ship?!”

“Asteroids.” Stirling said, clearing his throat, and doing his best to focus on the immediate situation. “Space has lots of asteroids with good ore, for one, and the ability to visit uncountable worlds also helps.” Stirling turned to Thingguy. “Isn’t that right?”

Thingguy nodded. “That, and having the Imagination Nexus’s help, when possible, is an immense advantage. But enough standing around! How about we head closer to this monolith, and the end of our journey?”

Deadbeat nickered in disapproval.

“Tired?” Thingguy replied. He turned and looked at the other horses, who immediately put on their most tired-looking guises. “Well, I suppose that is true. We’ve made great progress today.”

The three men looked back at the distant tips of the towers of Leer.

“The horses *have* done a *lot* today,” Oswald said. “I think camping a few hours before sundown would be good today. I have a barrel of water they can drink out of in the wagon. They deserve it too, after lugging it around."

Stirling and Thingguy both turned from looking at the towers to each other.

“It would be less suspicious to camp up here in sight,” Stirling said. “No doubt we’re being watched, it’s just a matter of how closely.”

“I agree,” Thingguy said, his usual smile replaced by a thoughtful smirk. “We should keep a watch, but not an obvious one.”

“I’ll go first.”

“I’ll go second then.”

“Oswald, would you take third watch?” Stirling asked.

“Uuuh, sure!”

“Great. Then let’s set up camp for the night.”

As all three of the men dismounted, Ingrid nuzzled Stirling. *‘Just for the record, I could have continued.’*

Stirling smiled and rubbed her neck. An unspoken *‘I know.’* He followed up by whispering, “You and I would already be there if it were up to just you and I. You don’t have to convince me.” He turned and looked at the others. Thingguy was having a similar hushed conversation with his horse, and Oswald was busy blocking the wheels of his cart so it wouldn’t roll away once he unhitched Bacon and Beverly. “But we’re not in a rush anyway. At least, I’m not. And what’s slowing us down is valuable. Useful.” He turned back to Ingrid’s big equine face. “So, enjoy the rest.”

Ingrid blinked once. *‘Very well.’*

With an early end to their day, the group casually set up camp, even making a campfire to heat up various rations for a warm and scrumptious dinner meal. As the sun finally set, Thingguy and Oswald went to sleep, while Stirling took first watch.

~~~~~

Chapter 12: In which our heroes reach their first goal, only to find complications.

The story isn't finished. Tune in next time to see an Author struggle to avoid oversaturating the story with Halo, Star Trek, Star Wars, and LEGO Universe Creation Lab canons, while combinging them into a cohesive and believable theoretical Nexus Force Cruiser, since he can't seem to find a completed one anywhere on the internet.