[Matujo] [Story] The Patriarch Rides Again (Explanation!)
Tavistock, the large red raptor, was fast asleep on the floor of that little apartment in the Drag that day. The living space of one Retired Sergeant Matujo Furiey was small, with two little bedrooms and one large common room that acted as kitchen and dining room - though he usually went next door to visit the butcher in order to obtain a meal. The Horde army was not one to reward retirees very well, and the old hunter only took in enough money to pay his rent and what little food he didn't hunt for.
Tobacco, too. There wasn't a Furiey alive that could go without smoking a pipe.
That morning was no different. Matujo Furiey sat in his chair with his feet propped up on a table, pipe clenched between his teeth and his eyes half-lidded. He no longer wore his face paint.
A knock on the door summoned a snarl from Tavistock; the ex-sergeant raised his head a bit, frowning, and barked, "Come in," and found himself arching a brow when a very nervous-looking young Orc fellow opened the door. The Orc was wearing a Scout's tabard - obviously military - and carrying a clipboard.
"Sergeant Furiey, sir," the Orc sputtered, "I've got news for you from the uh, higher-ups."
"Make it quick," Matujo said as he puffed away on his pipe. "I don't particularly have all day."
That was a lie, of course, he just didn't want to deal with too much official business.
The Orc straightened as he began to read aloud from his clipboard.
"Sergeant Matujo Furiey, as of April the First you are to be re-instated in your position with the Horde Military and are to report directly to your superiors at oh-six-hundred hours on the morning of the First. Bring your uniform."
The ol' hunter nodded. "Fine," he replied. "What's the explanation there?"
The Orc cleared his throat. "It's uh," he fidgeted. "not enough bodies on the home front, is all."
"Fair enough," Matujo said. "You're dismissed."
The Orc couldn't escape nearly quickly enough.
- - -
Mail leggings were pulled on and secured with a belt, then he stepped into his boots, pulled on his chestpiece, shoulder armour, bracers and gloves; the entire outfit was completed with the old Troll's tabard, his bow was slung over his shoulder along with his quiver and he made sure he had his axes holstered on his belt. He had a dagger in each boot, too, as a man of any rank in the military could never be too careful.
Especially when visiting his superiors.
When the old Troll finally stood in the front of the room that made up his superior officers' office, he did so as proudly as he could - repeatedly telling himself that he was happy to be there, to serve the Horde - and he kept his sternest face. It was reflected on the only other Troll in the room as well as the two Orcs (Matujo would always be bothered by the fact that he was often outnumbered by Orcs).
"I hope retirement wasn't too easy on you," the head officer said, though it sounded more like barking with the way the man talked. Matujo did not grin, nor did he move his head. He simply replied,
"Nothing is ever too easy, sir, I make certain of it."
"Good!" The officer exclaimed. "Then B Company will be right up your alley!"
Matujo internally cringed.
"With all due respect, sir, there's a reason they're called The Bad Company," the old hunter pointed out. Tavistock hissed.
"Like I said," the officer replied, grinning. "Right up your alley. You'll report to them at the beginning of next week - dismissed!"
As Matujo strode out of the room, the other Troll gave him a sympathetic look. The Sergeant tried his best to ignore it.