Sir Franc Kermeen stood at the center of his remaining soldiers, his ceremonial plate armor blazing in the lamplight like a second sun. The fox and hammer of Kermeen Village was emblazoned on his surcoat, and his longsword was drawn, held in a two-handed grip with the blade angled forward and low. It was a stance meant for conserving energy while he waited without giving up the ability to defend himself once trouble arrived.
"Damn it all," Franc swore as he squinted his eyes against the pain in his head. The pain came and went, along with the pounding drumbeat in his ears that thumped in time to his pulse. This morning, he'd blamed it on too much wine, but that should have faded away long ago; yet the aches and pains persisted, and the headache didn't just make it harder for him to think, it left him even more on edge than the distant sounds of combat.
