The Mercenaries

Life had been slow and not very rewarding up until yesterday, when you by chance came into contact with a man called Loki One-Eye. You learned from your encounter with Loki that he had just recently been made a contractor of the company, and that he was on the lookout for recruits. One way or another, the conversation ended with you having been recruited into Lokis service and told to show up at his place at dusk today.

You've spent the afternoon asking for Lokis whereabouts, and have finally managed to track him down to a small two-storey row house in the docks. The sun has almost set, filling the streets with a warm, red light. The air is filled with many different scents, ranging from fish and salt to blood and excrements. You can hear someone moving around inside the house, but you can't see anyone even though the windows are open. One of you move forward to knock on the door, but just as that person extends the arm the door is opened by Loki. He looks at you all throuh his remaining eye, blinks once, and says: What're y'all standing about out there for, come on inside!

Well inside, you're invited to sit down at a small round table where you're each handed a cup containing what you suspect is alcohol. Loki sits down with you, grabs a mug for himself and speaks.

So, you finally came! 'Got a little worried I was gonna have to eat supper all by myself now that I've cooked such a motherload of food, but with you here now I guess my effort will've been well spent. Before we get to eating, though, we need to lay down the basics. First of all, you no longer sleep in the swordhall. I've prepared bunks for y'all upstairs. Second, you don't work in the stables anymore. You'll work when contracted and rest in the meantime. Third, I'll take care of the food and logistics while you're here but you'll have to buy and take care of your own gear. I'm no servant, I'm your boss. Now, the pay. The money. It gets divided as follows: the company takes two tenths of the money, I take one, and you get to divide the rest of it as you like. This is company standard and it's non-negotiable. Sounds good? Yes? Good. Now, I'll tell you about th mission as soon as we've eaten, but first let's drink to our fortune shall we? Raise your glasses, soon-to-be friends!

Loki raises his glass, looks you all in the eye, and says, before drinking:
Long live death, long live war, long live the cursed mercenary! A toast to our fellowship and to our succes!

He empties his mug and so do you. After a moment of silence, he moves to what seems to be the cooking quarters of his filthy house and produces a couple of plates with food which he then sets in front of you.

So, tell me, he says, who are you lot anyway? How'd you end up a mercenary?

 

Lawrence hefted his cup, smelled something like warm piss, then pretended to take a drink while hiding a cringe.

After posing his question, Loki first fixed his eye on Lawrence. He stared for a long moment, and Lawrence began to realize that he would continue to stare until he received an answer. Not wanting to drag any skeletons out of the closet, he simply said, "Troubles, friend. I'm sure each of us here could fill a tome with them. A man at peace doesn't become a sell-sword."

His desertion from the Askers militia still weighed heavily on him. He told himself he had done the right thing, but felt guilty nevertheless. Hoping to avoid further inquiries, he took a drink from his cup. This time, he couldn't hide the cringe.

 

Jack "Fatty" Smith, entered the old soldier's home with a general, convivial 'heyyy!' of greeting. He became all business when the food and drink were served and, after joining the toast, set about to do serious damage to the meal.

He is a jolly young man with a red face and quick smile. When he speaks, it is slowly, in a thick, regional Norjunni accent.

"Jack Smith, sir," he says with a mouthful of sausage, when it's his turn to speak. A chorus of "Fatty" from a few others seals his nickname in yet another squad. He washes down the food with more rotgut.

"As to why I'm here, well, food for one, and booze for two, and that share of the pay for three! To our fellowship and success!" He toasts, and empties his flagon.

"Heyyy!" He belches hugely, thus heralding the end of his speech, and goes back to eating and drinking determinedly.

 

Eadgar took a sip before he answered questions from his employer. Yuck. It smelled like horse piss, but it tasted like this as well. To try to remove the taste, he took a bite from some bread. However, it did not help him that much.

He is a large, muscular man with long brown hair and brown eyes. The tragic loss of his parents, brothers and others has made him bitter and cynical.

“My name is Eadgar, one of the five sons of Father Julius from the village Thorton. It's been awhile since I have talked with other people because I've just wandered through the highlands, with hatred and revenge on my mind. Alone. Yes, tragedy has befallen me, but the wounds are too deep to speak of it now.” He spoke with a very thick accent.

PS: Forgot something

 

Che had a puzzled look on his face when Edgar spoke. "Way to kill the mood buddy." He said as he took a sip from his bowl. "I'm Winchester, but you can call me Che, its a little easier on the brain, especially for those mercenary types."

Observing the gaze from the room Che thought to himself it may be a little too soon to be making jokes about his soon to be comrades. He stood up, placed his arm in the traditional Askers salute position and proceeded to tell his story.

"Winchester Wright SIR! I prefer Che SIR! My family is of humble beginnings and i decided to make a name for myself SIR! If you can't tell I don't have the personality for the army SIR!" Che sat back down knowing that he would probably have to sleep with one eye open during the mission, unless of course his partners had a sense a humour.

 

"That makes two of us." said Lawrence, cracking a smile for the first time since entering the wretched dwelling. He studied the men who had spoken, the corpulent fellow laying waste to his victuals with reckless abandon, the meat-headed barbarian angrily skewering each sausage as if it were the very goblin that had ruined his life, and the funny-man who was now merrily humming the anthem 'Shine on Askers' as he gulped his swill. Lawrence had a feeling that if this ragtag band ever saw combat, it would end quickly and quite badly. Still, he thought, it should be one hell of an adventure.

Soon, he found himself humming along with Che...

 

Well, that's all very interesting, Loki says and produces a rolled up paper from a chest beneath the staircase. I figured that, since you've all had dinner, we can move on to the mission.

He puts the paper on the table and continues to speak.

We've been hired to escort a small mercheant caravan to the town of Millstone in the kingdom of Askers. It's just a week or so to the south, should be a breeze. You just have to be a little careful when moving through the Granwald. It's not unheard of that outlaws goes there to hide. The pay's not fantastic, but good. This is a good first job, and I expect you'll be able to see it through without problems. You'll head to the office of the Granwalder Trade Federation tomorrow and ask for Jorunn. She's the coordinator. Give her this paper to prove you're from the company, then follow her instructions. Now, I'd advice you to get some sleep once you're done feasting. There's more food on the stove if you're hungry. Tomorrow'll be a long day. Now, any questions before I go to bed?

 

Fatty joins the general laughter but when Loki mentions the contract he is all business in an instant.

"Where, when and who, sir?" He asks. "And, can I take the leftovers, sir?"

"By which I mean, sir, if you follow me, where do we muster tomorrow, what time, and, beggin' your pardon, sir, who will we present ourselves to?"

During this rural ramble, Fatty sidesteps to the stove and quickly empties the pan of sausages into a sack he produced from under his jacket. Potatoes, onions, gravy... all into the sack.

How could these kids turn down food? Rookies.

Not only did he consider the hoarding of food to be the sign of a veteran soldier but, by the logic of his particular upbringing, Fatty concluded that as the most corpulent recruit, he was automatically acting sergeant.

"Don't you worry about the lads, sir. I'll keep 'em on target."

 

Eadgar joins with the laugher with the group as well, because even though he was in a dark mood, he loves a good joke.

"What is known of Jorunn, and how large could we expect the resistance of the outlaws at Granwald?" He asks all business-like. "Can we fully trust any of the merchants that goes with the the caravan?"

He took a bit of a sausage, and then continued

"Also, If I may ask, do we still have time before we go to escort the small merchants caravan to buy rations, water, and other stuff?"

 

Look, Loki says, it's all very simple. Tomorrow morning, you head over to the federations office and find Jorunn. You give her this paper and follow her instructions. You are to escort the caravan to Millstone in the kingdom of Askers. The merchants are all members of the federation, so you can trust them. The federation will supply you with food as well. As for the outlaws in Granwald, I know very little. There might be some on your route, but I haven't heard of any recent attacks. You'll have to use common sense. Good luck tomorrow, fellas. I'm gonna go get me some sleep.

Loki gives you a slight nod and leaves you to yourselves.

 

"Right you are, sir. 'Night," Fatty calls up the stairs, then turns to his fellow recruits.

"Well, lads? This is a sweet pie, ain't it?

"So, any of you guys hunters? Archers? Got yer own bows? We should have two guys scouting ahead in turns.

"If any of ye need gear, or anything, let me know tonight and I'll find it. I'm a finder, I am.

Checking that Loki is gone, he produces a small flask which he carefully pours out to his fellows. It smells like a million apples died of ecstacy to create it.

He sniffs his mug in delectation and raises it in salute before taking a tiny sip. Anyone who has knocked back the liquor in one shot is immediately lost in a vortex wherein apples make violent love to their brain.

"So, what do you guys reckon? Should I be in charge for this one?"

 

Che accepts the drink from Fatty and takes a generous gulp. The taste was sensational, it also made him sleepy.
"I brought my sword and shield so I'll be alright thanks but be sure to bring more of this amazing apple drink."

Che takes a look around at his soon to be team mates. Would Fatty be a good leader or maybe even that morbid Eadgar. Lawrence looked like he could definitely fill the position with ease, he did after all have military training.

 

He took a sip of the 'mostly apples' drink from his cup. Oh yeah. This is a lot better than the horse piss that was served by the meal.

"Yeah, I am a hunter. Started doing this when I was young. So there should not be a problem for me to track and follow a trail without losing my prey."

Another sip.

"Nay, I got my bow, sword, (the soldier taught him to fight with a sword.) arrows, bible (I am not sure if this a right name for the book of this religion.) and enough herbs to attend the sick and wounded.

 

"Don't trouble yourself Jack, my ol' walking stick there has brought me through plenty of scrapes." said Lawrence, gesturing to the quarter staff he had deposited in the corner upon entering the One-Eye residence. "You just call the shots for now, we've all got your back. Right fellas?" He started shaking each of their hands as he worked his way over to Loki. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get my things in order and get some sleep. And I suspect you gentlemen should be doing the same." Lawrence took the document from Loki and stashed it in a jacket pocket, then shook his hand and thanked him for the meal. With that, he headed for the door. "Goodnight gents. See you at the Federations Office. 7 AM."

 

Che decided it was time for him to go to bed as well, after bidding everybody a pleasant sleep he went upstairs and climbed out of the window onto the roof. The stars were especially bright tonight, Che took this as a sign of good things to come. As he lay on the roof wondering where his new employment would take him he thought about his family back in Askers. His eyelids were beginning to become heavier and heavier until eventually he could not stay awake, drifting off for the night.

 

Eadgar and ’Fatty’ are now the only ones in the living quarters of the old soldiers’ home. The others have left to go to sleep or to do something else. He takes another sip. Empty. Crap. He puts the mug back on the table. Oh well, you cannot always get what you want. “Sweet pie.” he says to himself. It is too early to say if the mission will be an easy one. He remembered that his father told him a couple of times that sometimes things are more complicated than it first looks.

“So. Tell me. What are your specialties? You arms are telling me that you are doing some blacksmithing, right? Moreover, what kind of weapon do you use? Besides, you come from the same land as I do. From which village do you came from. “ Eadgar asks in their native tongue.

 

Fatty pours just a wee dram of the good stuff for his countryman

"Norjunni scrumpy, oo ah," he says. This sort of thing passes as high conversation in the mountain villages.


"Ooh ah, blacksmith aye, from Grindelvald. As for weapons, I use any tool of the trade, but I keep a hammer and whetstone handy. Hah! And me cooking knives! Somewhere between smithing and butchery I got the tools for this mission, I reckon!

What's your story, cousin?"

 

“I have an affinity with the bow, but I learned to fight with the sword from the surviving soldier as well. Hunting, tracking trails and mending the wounded and sick are my specialties. “

After another sip from this delightful drink, he continued to tell his tale.

“My story? Well, as I said, I was one of the five sons of Father Julius. He was a priest of Edun, so a follower of the Temple of the Sun in the village of Thorton. On the fatal day, I just returned from another successful hunting, when my father asks me to help with the sermons again.

It was a beautiful day, so everyone was outside to listen to him. Even some of the soldiers were there. Then suddenly we heard a cry as a soldier died with an arrow in his throat. Everyone was taken by surprise. Goblins. It was a terrible day. They murdered everyone mercilessly who came in sight.

Before we could organize a counterattack, they were already gone. Everywhere there were bodies. Men, women and even children were slain. There were survivors, but very little. The soldier and I had the option to find the perpetrators, but we stayed to care for the wounded and dying.

The next day I learned from the soldier to fight with the sword, while the survivors buried the dead. My head was filled with hate and revenge, so I took my things and left. While I killed some of those goblins, it brought me no food to eat, water to drink and a lot more experience to get even. So I became a mercenary.”

Another sip.

"After a long journey I came to this city, where I heard that someone called Loki needed some mercenaries. That's why I came here."

Another sip.

"What's your story? How did you end up in this city?

 

The mood in the room was becoming tense, a chill surrounding the two Norjunnis talking then suddenly a loud CRASH was heard outside. Fatty and Eadgar stood up and looked out the window to see Che on top of a broken wagon outside.

"Owwwwwwww......." Che murmured as he fell back asleep.

 

The following morning...

Lawrence arrived at the Federations Office at 6:45. It was foggy and cool. He was sitting atop his nearly worthless steed, Mope, the shabbiest, orneriest horse in Middenheim. He waited, occasionally giving the reigns a tug to remind Mope who was in charge. Minutes later, a figure emerged from the fog...

"Hello there!"