Paul
Frey Atrixson
Avin

Frey frowned as he walked up and down the line of men, disappointed in the efforts he saw. A few of the men had grown lazy in the past few years, as Frey had come to take a less direct approach. He was getting older, the joys of battle no longer excited him like they once did. His eyes had gained a hard look to them, and his face lacked emotion. There was only reactions there, and rarely were they good. 

"That's enough." He said, unable to stand what was going on. The group of ten smiled, before Frey slammed his elbow into the helmet of one and drew his blade, challenging him loudly. 

"Oi, wha' tha fuck?" The man yelled, a trickle of blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth, and Frey sneered. 

"Weakness. I expect all of my men to be ready for anything, and no doubt you are not. Jaem would be sick to his stomach." Frey's nostrils flared as he looked at the Mire standing in front of him. The being drew his blade, and Frey batted his feeble attempt at an attack aside, before shaking his head.

"Oh would he? I really don't think 'e'll think anything.. Seeing as he's.." The man said, before the butt of Frey's sword came crashing onto his head, knocking him out. 

"I expect all of you to start working, 'lest you end up like him." Frey stretched his shoulders as he turned, sheathing his blade. A small crowd had formed in the town square, and Frey stood, looking down from atop the hill he stood on. 

*What.. The hell? The fuck is going on down there?* He thought, before taking a step in that direction. The dirt road he walked on kicked up easy, as it hadn't rained in quite a few days. Frey thought about that as he walked, the symbol of Avin flapping in the wind as the embroidered cape he wore as a symbol of his status rested on his shoulder, drooping down to his waist. Frey frowned as he grew close, and a woman came running up to him. He took her in his embrace, before looking down at her. 

"What's going on?" He asked, before looking up and around at everyone gathered. A young scout had run down the path, and was now out of breath as he stood in front of the small group of people. He noticed Frey and quickly stood at attention, before Frey uttered at ease. 

"Sir! Whistling.. The old guard... The..." The man couldn't speak for his attempts at regaining his breath. Frey looked at him, before speaking. 

"Slow down, son. Calm yourself. Explain, slowly." He said, before putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder and looking at him. 

"Sir. The forward scouts reported hearing whistling, sounds of marching, sounds of war. Boots hitting the ground in unison, spears, all striking at the same time. But as we got closer, we could hear them clearly. They were whistling the tune of Avin!" The man said, before pointing. As Frey looked up, a tune reached his ears before he saw it. 

The tattered banner of Avin.
Thomas
Jaem Marwick
Avin

As the column emerged from the treeline, Jaem could see it. The walls and towers of his home. Of Avin. Not a hundred and fifty yards away from them, over open ground he had once cleared with his father's axe. 


Jaem bellowed the command, "Armsmen to the fore, Triple column in counterpoint to, Step! Step!"


Seamlessly the groups of men within and behind the wagons flowed forwards to form one column, of three by twenty with the banner and Jaem at its head. Their feet landed in perfect time to jeam's call, and the beat of the tune they whistled. Jaem drew his saber, holding it at his side low, pointed upward, and resting it on his shoulder with the edge facing away from him. The scouts and bannerman did the same, and the rest of the pike had theirs pointed skyward. 


Their whistling and singing continued, as they neared the city. 


"Column March, forward face,

Present, aim, and fire,

Steps that sound like thunder

In the rank and files of Mire.


Back, Back, Back

Through the trees and the woods

Back, Back, Back we go."


The walls grew larger before them, as did the number of people gawking through the gates, and from the walls. Jaem gave his bannerman a half-grin. They were home, but each man knew there was a discipline to be observed before they would be dismissed. 


As they neared the open gate, the keeper stood slack-jawed and staring, his eyes bulging and his mouth moving but making no words.


As they neared and passed into the  dirt street of the town, Jeem called to him

          "Pride to Avin, Gatekeeper! Glory to Avin! The Guard Returns!" 


Jaem led the column, up the road past confused and surprised residents, stopped dead in their tracks and they too staring from rhe side of rhe road, from shop fronts and upper windows. They were finally home.
Paul
Frey Atrixson
Avin

Frey's cold demeanor melted as he saw the tattered flag. His face, marred by disbelief, had an expression that many would try to replicate in the coming weeks as he took a step towards the oncoming men. His eyes told him something his brain knew to be false, that the men who had left 15 years ago had returned. 

"Sir... Do we let them in?" The young scout began looking at the men, cautiously reaching for his weapon. Frey held an arm out before approaching the large group, sending the scout to gather more men. 

"Halt!" Frey barked as he reached the men. As he scanned over them, a familiar face caught his eye. Emotions flooded his body, but he stood tall, clenching his jaw. 

"State your business here!" He barked, looking around. The men all wore Avon's uniforms, but the pieces were ragged, outdated. Even the officers wore pieces with obvious signs of use. The tattered banners all pointed to the conclusion that these men were who they presented to be, but Frey still could not convince himself to believe it. Frey met eyes with the mire with Jaem's face, and fury rose through his body as he drew his blade, holding it at arm's length. 

"That's far enough." He said as the man approached him.
Thomas
Jaem Marwick
Avin 

Jaem stopped short and held his free fist up, the column behind him coming to a dead halt and the whistling and singing stopping. He sheathed his sword, taking a step forward from the formation and planting himself firmly inches from the tip of the other man's blade. He silently scanned the man's face for a moment. Frey. Slowly and deliberately, he removed his pipe from his breast pocket, packing it with a thumb as he spoke.


"The 64 Men remaining of the 300 Avin Vanguard Compliment return home, Under my Command. 15 years has been much too long, Frey"


He frowned, studying his former seconds wavering blade and confused angry expression. In front of the man's blade, he stood immovable, as the stone that the city was built on. He looked past the man, to the gathering soldiers and civilians mulling about the gate. He raised the pipe to his mouth and lit it, puffing it absently. 


His men stood behind him, in perfect formation and discipline, awaiting their orders. Some gripped pikes nervously, confused as to why they were being barred entrance.


"We only wish to return to our homes. The forest floor makes a poor bed."
Paul
Frey Atrixson
Avin

Frey stood there for a moment, holding his blade out as he looked at the person standing before him. The usual stone demeanor of his was now replaced by one of rage and sadness, both combining into a strange emotion that Frey was trying to maintain. 

"You look like him, you sound like him, hell you even have his fucking pipe. But Jaem Marwick is dead. I led the search for him. For three years we looked. Every. Single. Day. So you need to tell me right now who the fuck you are." Frey said, spitting out each word as he looked at him. 

"I'm not asking nicely." He said, his men walking up behind him. Cries of joy rang out as brother recognized brother, as father recognized son, and as widows recognized husbands. As Frey stood in front of Jaem, he held his hand out, holding the crowd forming behind him back. 

There was a nervous energy building as Frey held his sword out. His eyes narrowed, and his sword slowly lowered, before looking at Jaem again. 

"What happened to you?"
Thomas
Jaem Marwick
Avin 

Jaem smiled slightly at the crowd behind frey, nodding. He expected this confusion after them having been gone for so long. Much too long. 


"I am Jaem Marwick, Son of Harel Marwick, Founder and First Field Governor of Avin" He stated solidly. A gasp rushed over the crowd. They recognized him, but just as frey was in disbelief, they were too. 


"We were hunting down the last of those... Creatures. Our bout was fairly successful until we stopped to rest and drink at the river. Then..." Jaem stopped, frowning and looking down. He looked back up and met Frey's eyes, his own emerald eyes cast in sadness for a moment. "Many Died. Monsters and kings-men chased us into the forest. You see before you those who remain of the 300. We have spent every day, for the last 15 years, marching and trying to find our way home"


He looked up at their tattered banner, around at his men's uniforms, and his own. He saw the expressions of longing on his men's faces, to join their brothers and families behind frey. He looked back to the other man, waiting for his response. 


His men, in unison, brought forth the final verse of the Avin March.


"On and On and On we'll March

Through oceans and plains and hills again

From defeated foe and on back home

To Mireholm Again"