Overwhelming Firepower

Milos Brenwick opened his eyes, and when he saw the ceiling, he felt that it was different, but then he remembered where he was.

It had been several weeks since he joined Thornefang. In the beginning, just waking up was a battle. His muscles used to scream just from standing. Every breath reminded him how untrained he was.

But now, it was different. He swung his legs off the bed and rose without hesitation. The stiffness was still there, but it no longer ruled him. He stretched, slow and steady, feeling the tension loosen in his shoulders, his back, his legs.

The Thornefang Regiment, led by Lucen Thornehart, had been granted private quarters, spacious and far grander than any inn Milos had ever seen.

Due to the small number of the current Thornefang, they had many empty rooms. It had clean beds, proper ventilation, and a training yard right outside.

The room Milos was in was one of the smallest, but even then, it was bigger than the room he had back home.

He walked to the corner of the room, where a simple basin of clean water stood waiting. Next to it, a bar of scented soap that was provided by Lucen, and a neatly folded dry rag.

He cupped the water, splashing his face with the cold clarity of morning. Then, he rubbed the soap between his hands until it foamed lightly, the subtle scent of pine and citrus rising with the steam. He wiped down his arms and neck, relishing the simple luxury of being clean.

Once he was done, he belted on his sword and slung his arquebus into place at his side. He stepped into the hallway, where morning light spilled through the open windows.

There, leaning against the wall with a mug in hand, was Mark. A veteran with a crooked grin and a voice like gravel soaked in ale.

"Oh, lad," Mark called with a grin. "You headin’ out for yer run?"