[Saurreg]

Belegron

The standard of the King’s rearguard fluttered proudly in the breeze, winding gracefully like some great emerald serpent gliding through clear waters. It was made of the purest of silks and the intricate regimental insignia and decorative motifs were hand-woven using the finest threads dyed with the color of the precious metals so that it reflected incoming light into brilliant hues of green fused with silver and gold. To Belegorn, the triangular pennon felt not like an inanimate object but a living entity in its own right. Every beautiful serpentine motion and twirl seemed to convey secret expressions and feelings to those who would care to notice. It displayed defiance in crucial moments of danger, unrestrained joy in victory and quiet sorrow in tragedy. He had never seen the flag flutter during services to the fallen of the regiment; the heavy banner seemed to hang limp on its pole as if in silent respect to those which it represented.

Irrational! But nevertheless it was a thought that he felt comforting to have.

The standard of the Rearguard was a sacred symbol of the regiment – its capture was a great disgrace and shame that warranted disbandment. It represented the eternal bond between king and men. It was proof of the regiment’s battle honors, generation to generation. It remained when men came and went. It was the heart and soul of the regiment. It was the regiment itself.

And to Belegorn it was alive.

The Rearguard was no more. It was now more than just the King’s honor guard. It was now the symbol of Anorian defiance and the will to live in adversity. It was now the last line of defense of the people and the keeper of its sacred trust. It was now the people’s regiment.

The sun shone weakly in the winter sky and offered no warmth. But within sight of the fluttering banner, Belegron felt warm and secure, invincible even. Hours have passed since the second column left the North Downs for the ancient Dwarven realm of Ered Luin but nothing had came into sight except for undulating hills covered by thin layers of snow. The column was moving too slowly for Belegorn’s liking but with the old, young and the infirmed in tow and in such weather, it could not be helped.

Captain Hírvegil, the disgruntled Mitharan and the Elven emissaries were at the head of the column leading the way like great maritime explorers charting the unknown. The rest of the hundred strong horse mounted guardsmen were now dispersed into smaller units. The two larger ones at twenty riders each now formed the vanguard and the rearguard while another fourty were sent out in all directions as scouts to alert the column should the enemy be sighted. The rest of the regulars and the replacement militia were kept close to the column itself.

Belegorn had detached himself from the head of the column for his periodic checks along its depth, looking out for refugees in need of special assistance. He had requested that the flag bearer follow so that all who saw the green banner would be encouraged and be glad of heart. It turned out to be a poor judgment call, for civilians being civilians had little interest in sacred military artifacts and the journey was starting to take its toil, very few seemed to notice his presence and none responded positively to his words of encouragement and good wishes (there were unfortunately, several rude replies starting generally with an expletive and followed by an ‘off’).

“Ungrateful wretches!” cursed the flag bearer.

Belegorn was now clad in his less cumbersome chainmail vest and had acquired a long lance as his primary horseback weapon (all the guard men were armed with this new issue). The sallet with its impressive red plume had also made way for a Cardolan styled cavalry helmet, with flared sides all round and a knot of black horsehair fixed to the top. The headwear offered an unobstructed panoramic field of vision at the expense of protection to the side of the head and neck.

Finding their presence amidst the refugees less than welcomed and no special aid required, Belegorn and the grumbling flag bearer turned tail at the end of the column and trotted back leisurely to its head. It was along mid column did he notice an interesting sight;

A youth was engaged in conversation with one of the Elves and in between them was one of the militia fillers drafted in the North Downs. Fearing that a squabble was forming and that it involved the militia (who was under Belegorn’s charge), the first lieutenant signaled to his companion to follow and galloped to the trio. Once within range, he slowed his charger and confronted them,

“Hold people! May I inquire what is going on here! Are there any disturbances? Let’s start with you soldier!”