Lieutenant Galswynn made a splendid figure upon his pegasus, and he knew it. Being promoted into the Spearcliff Wing had been just the right career move - now the only thing he needed to do was survive this darn war. Being sent to protect the princess' uncle on yet another scientific exploration left mixed feelings with him. This should have been an easy assignment, but tongues twittered that Sir Timotheus Hibbernathy had a knack for getting into trouble.
He was snagged roughly out of his reveries when his winged horse cried out. Some rough-looking bum with an eye patch over his left eye had just jerked at his saddle, almost throwing him to the ground. His attempt to hold on to the saddle thorn left him in a less than elegant position.
Nearly choking from anger he looked into the calm scar-pitted face of a total stranger. "Your cinches weren't fastened properly. Could be fatal, that," the stranger said. "And is that rust I spot on your sword?"
With that the stranger clad in old, cracked leathers turned away to apparently inspect the rest of the troop.
Galswynn nearly choked on his rage, so all he could sputter out was: "Who, what, who... I'll see that man hanged!"
"I would advise against that, sir!" Sergeant Fitz, his wing sergeant who seemingly had appeared out of nowhere, replied. "That is Augustine."
"Augustine? Who in the Kraken's arse is that?"
Fitz quizzically looked up at the young lieutenant, before he responded, "A living legend, sir. In a forlorn battle, he is the man you want to have by your side. He's done it again and again. That axe is carrying? People say he forged it in a Dwarven forge himself, after he killed 'em stunties all. Nearly no survivors to his own side either. We can count ourselves lucky to have him along."
Galswynn darkly looked at the receding figure, "We'll see about that, we'll see."
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