Word: Bolster

bolster

1. to support with or as with a pillow or cushion.

2. to add to, support, strengthen, or uphold (sometimes followed byup ).

   They bolstered their morale by singing.

   He bolstered up his claim with new evidence.

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                General Arvale’s brow furrowed as he looked over the battle map. Dozens of lines crisscrossed each other. Small wooden figures representing the various troop deployments filled the map along various lines. And there were far too many of them representing enemy troops.

                His eye fell on the only figure that was carved into a rough humanoid blob. It was currently deep in enemy territory. Right where it was doing the least amount of good. The small party the figure represented was supposedly going to defeat the enemy’s leader, which was a noble goal. But they did not seem to be actually trying to get to the enemy’s capitol. From the scrying magic being used on them weekly, they were meandering around and doing irrelevant small tasks. Intelligence told him that they were trying to ‘gain goodwill and understanding’ with the enemy’s population.

                The general sighed. It sounded like a good thing. It certainly made for a good story. But it did nothing to help his men being slaughtered on the battlefield. The so-called “hero party” was not actually helping the war effort like they were supposed to.

                And the worst part? That they were allowed to do whatever they wanted. The hero party was undoubtedly powerful. Absurdly so. And the damn nobles and royals were convinced that this was all it would take to bring down the enemy. Had anyone consulted the general? No. Had anyone asked any of the military officers? No. Even if they had, nothing would change, but at least Arvale would have been able to rub it in the noble’s faces when he was proven right.

                If he had his way, he would use the hero party’s overwhelming power where it would actually do some good. Send them to the front lines and have them mow down monsters so the entire damn army could support and work with them. That way the heroes would have an entire army at their backs when they finally reached the enemy capitol. They could deal with public relations after the war ended.

                Unfortunately, that was not going to happen. Which meant that General Arvale was on his own. What he needed now was not a hero. He needed something, anything to bolster his forces. More troops, better weapons and armor. Even a single mage would turn the tides. He would even take one of the mages with so-called useless magical specialties. He had heard of a mage whose only magical skill was conjuring cheese. That man could save the army a staggering amount of gold and massively improve troop morale. And a cleaning mage? Well, that would practically eliminate the threat of diseases born of poor sanitation.

                He could see dozens of ways of using even the weakest mages. And yet, he was not even getting regular soldiers anymore. An extra platoon of archers would be a godsend. A single squad of cavalry would ease so much pressure. But no. According to the people holding the purse strings, all the world needed was the hero party. Forget the soldiers actually holding the enemy at bay. Forget the reason the kingdom had not been overrun yet. Forget supporting the people doing the work.

                Forget bolstering the troops with outside sources. General Arvale would just have to do the best with what he had. Hopefully they would all survive long enough to see whether or not the idiot noble’s gambit would pay off.

Word: Saccade

saccade

[sa-kahd, suh-] / sæˈkɑd, sə- /

noun

1. the act of checking a horse quickly with a single strong pull of the reins.

2. Ophthalmology. the series of small, jerky movements of the eyes when changing focus from one point to another.

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                Dr. Reynolds watched the teenager sit in the chair. The kid looked weirdly nervous. He was used to young children acting like that, but a teenager? The kind should have gone to an optometrist at least once in his life.

                “Something wrong?” He asked.

                “N-no, not really.”

                “Come on, I know the equipment I use looks nasty, but you should know it’s nothing to be scared of.”

                “I…I know that. It’s just…my vision has been kinda, I don’t know, weird, and I don’t know what you’ll think about it. I don’t want to have big glasses or anything.”

                “Oh, is that all? Well, if there’s a problem with your vision and you don’t want glasses, we can look into contacts. But first, let’s see if there’s anything wrong to begin with.”

                Dr. Reynolds began his examination. And it quickly became clear that the kid had nearly perfect vision. But there was something else. Something he could not quite put his finger on. Had the kid responded to the letter chart a little too fast, or was it just because he was young? Could he see the smallest letters perfectly, or was there something else at play?

                He moved the bulky vision testing equipment out of the way and held up a pen. It was another standard test. He had performed it thousands of times. But for this one, he paid extra attention to what was going on.

                “Okay, focus on the top and follow it.” He said.

                Normally, when doing this, there would be small, quick movements of the eye when doing this. Dr. Reynolds looked for them to determine how well the eyes could focus and shift. For the teen currently in the chair though, these movements were wrong. They were, if anything, too fast. He was focusing on the pen almost before it moved. Like he could see where it was going to be instead of where it was.

                Just to make sure he was not seeing things, Dr. Reynolds moved the pen in different directions. Ways he normally would not. The kid could follow them all perfectly. More than perfectly. He sighed and set the writing implement down.

                “How about you tell me what’s going on.” He said. The kid squirmed in his seat. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t share it if you don’t want me to.”

                “I…I don’t know what’s going on. My vision goes weird sometimes. It’s like I’m seeing two things at once, but only one of them is real. The other is what’s going to happen. At least, I think that’s what it is. Like an afterimage, but forward? I think? I don’t know.”

                Dr. Reynolds stood by, silent. That sounded crazy. To be able to see the future, even just by a second or so, was beyond anything anyone could understand. He needed to confirm whether the kid was telling the truth or just very good at guessing.

                “I’m going to hold up a few fingers. How about you tell me how many.”

                “Three.” The kid said immediately. Right before Dr. Reynolds was indeed going to raise three fingers.

                “That’s…quite the thing.”

                “I don’t know how it happened. It just kind of started one day. I don’t know how to turn it on or off. It just happens.”

                “Well, I’m afraid this is well beyond my expertise. I don’t know who’s expertise it would be under either.” He watched his young patient wring his hands nervously.  “But if it helps, you don’t need glasses.”

                The teenager did not respond to his, admittedly poor, attempt at a joke. “So, uh, what do I do now?”

                “I have no idea. I’m sure someone out there can help you though. I don’t know who, but there’s all kinds of people out there with knowledge on all kinds of strange things. Maybe try and find one that matches your…” He hesitated. Calling it a condition did not seem right. “Talents.”

                “I…guess so?”

                “Great. Now, let’s go. You can tell your parents you have 20/20 vision. They’ll be thrilled they don’t have to get you glasses.”

                Dr. Reynolds showed the boy out of the examination room. He had some time before his next patient, and a lot of things to think about.

Word: Argus-eyed

Argus-eyed

[ahr-guhs-ahyd] / ˈɑr gəsˌaɪd /

adjective

1. having keen eyes; vigilant; watchful.

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                Andy supposed it was normal for the soldiers to be vigilant. He couldn’t even blame them for taking his weapons, even if they were just common rarity and didn’t even have a single enchantment on them. Nor could he blame them for “escorting” him to the meeting. The fact that they all had weapons drawn was a bit insulting, but understandable. Even so, they all knew he was a Merchant, so maybe the security was a little much.

                He eyes the walls. Good stone and metal, lined with guards, all standing and patrolling. Actually doing their jobs. Other towns had wall guards that slacked off as much as they did their job. It was actually quite respectable. It was a bit odd that there was only a single watchtower though. That seemed like a security oversight.

                “Do you mind my asking why there’s only one watchtower?” He asked. “I mean, you guys clearly run a tight ship. I would think having at least one tower on each all would be a must.”

                He thought the soldiers would ignore the question, even as he asked it. These did not seem like the friendly sort of people. To his surprise, one of them did.

                “That’s because we only need one.”

                “Why? Do you have some kind of enchanted item or something?”

                “Better. We have Argus.”

                The rest of the soldiers stood a little straighter at the mention of this Argus fellow. It seemed like they all took a great deal of pride in him.

                “Argus?”

                The talkative soldier nodded. “He’s an Original.”

                Andy let out a small, surprised gasp. An Original? Here? He knew his Merchant’s Instincts skill had brought him to a big potential windfall in this fort, but this was beyond him. If he played his cards right and got into Argus’ good graces, the profits would be huge. And he was not just talking coin.

                “Really? What’s an Original doing out here?”

                “No idea. He just showed up one day, used some weird magic to build the watchtower in one day, and got to work. He never leaves it. Never talks. We bring him his food twice a day and he seems perfectly fine. And he never stops watching. He has some skill that lets him see everything for miles around, even with the fort walls in the way. Even a person using a stealth skill won’t be able to sneak up on him.”

                Andy let out a low whistle. Those were some impressive perception skills. It also meant he was probably not going to conduct business with Argus himself. He knew enough not to bother an Original that did not want to be bothered. He valued his life far too much for that. Still, any place where someone like that was, was bound to be rich enough to be worth trading with. The soldiers watched him for a moment. Then the talker kept going.

                “Not going to try and meet with him, are you Merchant?”

                “No. If you fellows can’t talk with him freely, then there’s no way a stranger like me will get anywhere close to him. I don’t doubt he could put any number of sharp objects through my head from where he is now.”

                The soldiers nodded their agreement.

                “I’ll be content to do business with whoever handles that sort of thing. The quartermaster, I assume?”

                “That’s right. And that’s where we’re going now.”

                Andy took one last look at the watchtower. He did not have the stats to see the person at the top of it, but if the soldiers said Argus was there, then he was there. He turned back around as he walked with the men. If he played his cards right, this was going to be a very lucrative venture. And he could not wait to see how much he could gain out of it.