It was Soily’s job to clean the maces.

Sure, everybody talked about the glorious battles, the bravery, the challenges, the feats of strength and endurance, but few…agh…nobody ever talked about what happens after.

Yes, they tend to long after, politically, such as the great Battle of Aldendire changed the fate of the Grommlins for years to follow, but never right after. Like, they never say, “As soon as the surviving warriors of the great Battle of Aldendire left the grounds, intrepid bands of Whartlings moved in to clean, clear, save, repair and otherwise set back to right that which was altered at the hands of war.”

Soily was one of them. He was maces. He started in bodies – which was just bloody awful – pardon the pun. Then he moved to headgear, which wasn’t much better. One day he hoped to move up to swords, or better still, the ultimate – personal effects.

Maces was a true and fortunate step up the ranks, but it carried with it it’s own set of challenges. Maces were heavy and depending on the construction, spike length and such, they could be just gruesome things to work with.

He traced the grounds carefully placing any mace he could find in his wagon. Then he travelled back to Yartling Bins to unload and begin the process of cleaning and repairing. It wasn’t a bad life. Whartlings weren’t suited for battle, which he considered lucky.  Still and all, he felt good about what he could do on the home front to support the war effort.