The Ecstasy of Gold: A Mercenary Tale

The story starts in three.... two... one...

Prologue: Awakening

It’s been a two centuries since the Second Great War. Two long centuries since the Skarnors were repulsed from the Southern Kingdoms in a vicious war, the likes of which this world had never seen before. The worshippers of the dark God Skarn have been busy regrouping since their defeat. All these barbarians know is slaughter and chaos... I fear they shall unleash that savage hatred for the Southerners very soon. Their black banners are on the move once more.

Everything I have feared has come to fruition. The Southern Kingdoms have become weak since the last war, recklessly abandoning their defenses against the Great Enemy and have turned their swords against each other. The Minesseans and the Wofenians continue their butchery of each other over petty land disputes and a misplaced sense of honor. The Helensians have become a corrupt and damnable breed of man. The College of Alridge has become obsessed with its gadgets and potions rather than their military prowess. The Watchers in Calidan have become lax in their sacred duty to protect the Northern border for disgruntlement clouds their hearts. The Khelins’ king is a fool and a weakling. I fear he does not have the gumption to lead his people, much less the entire continent, into battle.

I should have come forward and warned them, but I didn’t have the energy. I am still weak from the Second Great War, and my weakness clouded my judgment. I fear I am too late to save this world.
Artimos, the Chosen of Skarn, marches south. Every mile he walks his army grows by the hundreds. Those warlords who refuse to pay him fealty are exterminated; their dead corpses becoming reanimated warriors in his Legion. Many have joined his ranks, many more are soon to follow. He will be at the foothills of Calidan by spring.

I have been sleeping for two centuries. Now I have no time for rest. Every moment is crucial... every moment precious in gaining the initiative against the Skarnors. The wheels of war are in motion and will not be stopped until ultimate victory is achieved… for good or for evil.

Journal entry by Hector Gulliman.

“So what makes you think your cut out for the army?” Casion asked, silently cursing behind his teeth.

“I have lust for adventure and am currently unemployed,” Ferap replied, desperately trying to make his voice deeper than it was in actuality. Casion saw through the adolescent’s attempts, but continued the interview anyway.
“How old are you? You don’t look more than fifteen… maybe sixteen at the most,” Casion pressed.

“Eighteen,” the boy replied, raising his head a little as if challenging Casion’s authority.

“Right, and I fought in the Great War,” Casion chuckled, taking a long gulp of the bitter beer from his goblet. “You’re wasting my time, boy. Go home to your parents and leave the fighting to the men. Your aren’t old enough to join the Count von Clarif’s army.”

Casion rolled his dark blue eyes up to the heavens, silently cursing the Count and Colonel Stikas for assigning him to the irregulars division for what seemed like the fiftieth time that morning. He had been recruiting in the Fox Tail Tavern for three days now and as far as Casion could tell the only people in Dirburg who hadn’t already been conscripted into the Count’s army were those either too old, too young, or female.

“I am…” Ferap started, but Casion raised his hand to silence him.

“Tilbert, another glass,” Casion called to the round-faced tavern owner. The chubby man’s face appeared from behind the counter, his wild, red beard sticking out in all directions.

“You gonna drink me out of house and home!” the short man shouted at Casion from across the crowded tavern, “and your scarin all my frealing customers with your war mongering.”

“This is Minesse, Tilbert. There is always a war to be won.” Casion yelled back, brushing his long, dark hair from his face.

"That don't mean it's good for business!" the wily keeper grumbled, as he walked over to Casion's table, pitcher in hand.

Casion looked around in full room mock astonishment. "You're right Tilbert, there isn't a soul in this place."

"They ain't happy customers, happy customers drink a lot. You ruin their mood." Tilbert growled as he snatched the silver from Casion's hand before hurriedly retreating behind his counter top.

"What a queer little man," Casion said to no one in particular, adjusting the scabbard at his side.

"I'll work for cheap, I'll take whatever orders you give me without question!" the boy interrupted Casion's thoughts.

“If you are good at something, never do it for free," Casion replied curtly, "which is why I am not going to accept you in my coop. If you were good at fighting you would demand good pay. Now Run along boy,” Casion's patience finally wearing thin, “here's two gold pieces for your trouble. Now if you would be so kind as to leave me.” The boy quickly got up and left Captain’s table. Casion looked around the room, silently praying to the Goddess to give him just one qualified soldier in this dump.

The tavern itself was ancient. The wooden walls and floors were in need of repair; the floorboards smelled like stale mead that slowly ate away at the rotting wood. The food was no better; always served cold and hardly filling. Casion absently rolled his shoulders, his stiff muscles a testament to the uncomfortable bedding that was offered to guests.

Casion had decided against wearing his plate armor that morning, even though it was better for recruiting purposes. Instead, he dressed in his traveling clothes: a long, crimson tunic beneath brown leather waistcoat that had his family crest branded into the right side of the vest. His dark brown duster coat covered the leather braces on his forearms. He had brown traveling pants on along with his steel plated boots.

Three days in this dump and not a single sword to show for it, Casion thought to himself bitterly. Had he not slept with the Colonel’s daughter he probably would be in the comfort of his officer’s tent, enjoying fine wine supplied by Count von Clarif. Oh how he missed those little luxuries. Casion grudgingly admitted he even missed training the professional soldiers.

Instead, he was stuck recruiting and training the volunteer militia and the unsavory mercenaries; a slap in the face for any trained officer. His hand played with the pummel of the saber at his side, as if the sword was trying to sooth it’s master.

Casion looked around the room once more, hoping to find a prospect though he already knew what he would find: prostitutes, gamblers, boys, and old men. These were not people of valor and honor.

A sudden movement broke Casion’s brooding as a dark figure gracefully slid into the seat across from him. The dark brown eyes that stared Casion down seemed surprisingly familiar. Casion almost knocked over his goblet when the weathered face confirmed his suspicions. It was the face of a Watcher, one he had not seen in three years.

“Hello, Captain Romin.” Brunn Mavalian said.

"Mavalian!" Casion's face split into a grin. "For once I'm actually happy to see you."

Brunn's mouth twitched in a grim smile. "It's been a while, eh? Three years, I think it was. I still can't believe you beat us." He looked around the bar and his brows raised. "What did you do to get a grunt job like this?"

Casion grimaced. "Long story."

"Something disgraceful, eh? You Minesse folk always did hold honor and stuff in high priority. Never really understood it myself." He pushed the dented helmet on his head back slightly. "But anyways, I'm here because I heard you was recruiting mercenaries for some campaign or other. I heard somethin' about an attack from the North."

"Is there any stock in it?" Casion leaned over the table slightly. "Are the Skarnors mustering their forces?"

"Yeah." Brunn's voice fell flat. "I've seen it with my own eye."

It was then that the recruiting captain noticed that Brunn's right eye had a film over it, almost as though he had cataracts. There was a slash running from his temple to his jaw over the eye.

"You've seen some action since we parted ways."

Brunn's smile faded. "I guess you could say that. But anyways, I heard you was recruitin' mercenaries."

Cassion nodded. "And you're interested?"

"I fell on hard times. Yeah, I'm interested." His eye glinted as though he were going to tell a joke. "Do I need to give you some references?"

Mikael

I knelt quietly in the temple of Oso the bear, praying for his protection in the war to come. Men and women walked silently passed, all turning to stare at the single lone warrior, kneeling fully armoured in the centre of the church. Without a word i rose, lifted my hammer from the floor and strode out into the courtyard.
"Mighty men of men of the seas, Red Corsairs, wolfen gaurd. Take up your arms for soon the Notherners will upon us. Oso has for told it. Now men. To WAR!" I roared into the sky. It was replied with hoarse cry and howls from the wolfen guard. I pulled my dented helmet onto my head, mounted the great white wolf stood silently in the courtyard and set off toward Dirburg. It was time to get involved in this war.

Tristin~~

The caravan rumbled into town around mid-day, the sun beating down upon the white canvas of the wagons and making all of the guards sweat. There were ten of us, men for Calidan, helping the nobles, or anyone who had money, get away from what was to come. Like this would save them.

"Thank you all for your service, now come get your money and be gone." Some gratitude.

I was last in line to receive payment, not necessarily a bad thing, because I took the box they were keeping it in too.

It had been years since I had stepped foot in this city. The first time, it hadn't been to pleasant, and I doubted it would be any better round two.

I wandered, looking for the inn I had stayed at those years ago- fox's something or other. by the time I found it the sun was setting over the buildings, bringing a welcome shade to what had proven to be a hot day. Beggers lined the streets, proving an honest testament to what I would find inside, cheats, liars, and whores, to be polite.

Something however was off. There were two obvious military men sitting in the corner discussing something. both looked experienced, and one seemed to bear the air of an officer. Maybe I would be leaving much sooner than I thought.

Germine

She was walking into town. She watched as the sun started setting slowly. She was looking at the sun setting, and casting light upon the buildings. Despite the fact that this town was lovely, she was here for a reason. She was here to find a partner.

The orb that she held in her hand was glowing white. Thought it was hard to see, the one light, was made by several smaller lights. These smaller lights were her collections of souls. They swirled inside the orb, desperately seeking a way out.

She found someone walking past a line of venders, towards an inn. He seemed—well he seemed like something was bothering him. She felt a stiff feeling in the air. She walked up to him. She knew him from somewhere.

She couldn’t place him, perhaps it was just a face. She couldn’t tie him to a place, nor a name. She approached him slowly. Silently. She touched his shoulder gently. He jumped and spun around.

He didn’t look any more familiar from the front. She smiled at him. “Hello, I’m Germine.” He raised an eyebrow. He smiled lightly. It was more of a tense smile. She could tell by this smile that he was going somewhere.

“I’m Tristin…” She kept her smile and locked eye contact with him. “So Tristin, I think you have somewhere to be, so I’m asking quickly.” She paused for a second. She was speaking rather fast, in one breath she had uttered those words. “So, I’m looking for a partner, would you…”


Tristin thought it over. She happily awaited an answer.

Not sure what you mean...

Tristin~~

I looked at the girl, trying to keep an absurd look from my face. A 'partner'? What's that supposed to mean? Travelling guard?

I smiled, "You mean a guard?"

Desmond

Minesse was a long way from home for Desmond, there was no questioning that. But, in many ways, that was actually a very good thing. At home, after all, he'd slept in a tent on good nights, and he'd had to be ever watchful for a knife in the back from one of his 'compatriots'. Helasian bandits never were the best people to work alongside. And, of course, at home, there'd been the constant threat of the death sentence the guards had put on people like him in general. Minesse was a much friendlier place.

That said, there wasn't much work for a pseudo-reformed highwayman in a land that was nothing but plains and scrub. That was the reason why Desmond was searching the vendors' stalls for someone - anyone - who might want to hire a guard. But merchants seemed to have a sense, albeit a subconscious one, for people they would certainly not want to have escorting them.

He tipped his hat to a man and woman standing outside the inn, seeing that they were outsiders like him. As soon as he was inside, though, he saw a fair few people who couldn't be from the town, most of these eager adolescents gathered around an exasperated looking man. Desmond touched one towards the back of the crowd on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

The boy turned around, "Didn't anyone tell you? We're signing up for the war! That's the captain who's going to lead the irregulars division."

Desmond nodded, moving away from the boy now to seat himself at the bar, asking the barman for whatever was popular. The irregulars division sounded like something he'd fit right into, given his former occupation. However, a war was not something he was entirely keen on putting himself in to, especially if he'd be fighting alongside all these gloryseekers who didn't know the first thing about a sword.

Never mind... I got this.

Summary of post: Casion and Brunn are going to chase out the young boys and old men, making room for Triston and Germine to join their table. Casion will be a little creeped out by Germine and will object to her joining the army, but Triston and Brunn will make a case for her.

A couple more things that will fit perfectly in with the post below.

*Sorry about late posting, got busy yesterday*

Rosaline

Rosaline watched the ground as her feet solemnly moved forward, one in front of the other. It was the only way she had made it this far, watching her feet to ensure they still moved, that they still carried her forward. She ignored her death grip on the hilt of her sheathed sword, or the fact her fingers ached.

It was warm outside; warmer than she was used to. From the mountains she had traveled, away from everything she knew and loved. Away from the snow that never seemed to leave, and most importantly, away from the endless stream of enemies that always sought to kill her and her comrades. It was odd, to feel the sun from below the clouds.

Her trek had been long from the mountains of Calidan to this lowly city in Minesse, but she had finally made it. Her feet ached from the constant movement, her body weary from lack of rest. Rosaline, being from the mountains, would never sleep unless well covered. She wouldn't give herself away so freely to the hands of those who slaughtered everything she knew.

Rosaline stopped in the middle of the cobble path. She had to find some place to sleep with her meager coins, but as it seemed, no place here would take three silver for a fortnight stay. She sighed, and let her eyes glide from the signs on every building near her. Finally she spotted a tavern, a good place to stop. Food would do her weary body well, as well as a swig from some sort of ale.

Inside, Rosaline paused. In a far table sat two men, well garbed, and two others; one female, one male. They all seemed to be conversing something; something about war and recruiting. Maybe I have come to the right place, she thought to herself as she studied the group. After all, she had been so used to fighting for survival that now it seemed her only way to go.

Rosaline remembered her thirst and forgot the group for a moment. She started towards the bar, with naught but a single man sitting there. She mustered her courage and sat beside him. He must have been here for the man at the table, also, so maybe he could give her some information. After ordering whatever drink she could for a single silver piece, she turned to him and offered her hand.

"I am Rosaline," she said in an exaggerated tone. "Do you happen to know what is going on here?"

Mikael

He rode steadily for many days, sleeping in the saddle and stopping only to allow his mount to rest. Finally he reached the insignificant city. Leaving his great beastly mount to roam until it was needed, he hefted his mighty hammer onto his shoulder and marched stoically through the city. His armour creaked as he wandered and he stopped to alter a strap before ducking beneath a doorframe into an aging tavern. Instantly he spotted the recruitment but instead of approaching them, he took a seat in the corner and ordered a flagon.
He was going to enjoy his last evening of freedom before the coming war.

A shake, a throw, the tapping of the wooden cubes on the table. Aaron watched as the dice spun and twirled around the table. All she had left was on the way the fell, and by everything holy, they would land the way she wanted them to, or else.

“Dog throw!” shouted the owner of the Gluckshaus board when the pair both landed on one. Everyone at the table groaned as the high-voiced man collected his coins off the squares.

“What’d you say your name was, lad?” asked one of the older men. His beard was a tanglement of gray and black, hiding a disappointed smile.

“Aaron, of Altridge,” Aaron replied, a smile beaming off her pale lips. She placed her newly won coins in her leather pouch. “And I believe I’m done here, unless one of you has another penny.”

“It’s tradition around here that the winner buys a round,” said one with bright red hair that curled in ways unnatural.

Aaron replied with heavy sarcasm. “Funny, I haven’t heard that one. How exactly does it go?”

“The further they are from sober, the further they are from leaving that table and robbing you,” replied a serving wench, probably the innkeeper’s daughter, who had brought mugs of ale. “They’re here every night, and it’s always the same when a traveler wins. I might suggest paying.”

She chuckled again and ran one hand through her dark hair, the other into her pouch. Ara pulled out a gold coin and set it in the server’s hand before leaving. The night was crisp and cool, without the slightest breeze to awaken one from the dream. A perfect time to continue a journey.

Tomorrow I should be passing through Minesse, and then maybe Raelheim, she thought silently. ’Zounds! That was the best luck I’ve had in weeks at dice. It should do me for a while.

Germine

She frowned at Tristins reply. She shook her head, her smile gone. Now the expression on her face, said of course, without words--‘Are you stupid?!’

She eyed him carefully. Then finally she sighed, and spoke. “No, I mean a partner. Go around. Harder jobs, get paid more… these one person jobs just don’t do it any more. I mean partners, friends… splitting income fifty, fifty.”

She stared at him. It took him a minute for him to understand what she was saying. She looked down at the ground, shaking her head once again. What was wrong with him… that or she was thinking one thing—and saying another.

Triston~~

Tristin shook his head silently holding in a laugh. It had deffinately been too long since he'd had real human company.

"Yeah, I'm in." He laughed, "But what kind of jobs are you talking about?"

*Tanith, when should we head into the pub?*

Desmond

Over at the recruiting table, the captain had risen, standing with his friend and shooing away the many, many foolish people who thought they were made of the right material to join up with the army. Desmond allowed himself a small smile, taking another swig from his mug. It was good to see that the Minesseans could work out who was capable of fighting and who was not.

A woman sat down alongside him. Then, to his surprise, she turned to look at him and said, “I am Rosaline. Do you happen to know what’s going on here?”

Her tone was a little strange, but Desmond reached out to shake her hand anyway, smiling. “Desmond. Pleased to meet you, Rosaline.” He glanced over his shoulder at the recruiting table, then back to her. “As to what’s going on here, I’ve been told that the newly founded Minessean irregulars have taken over this place for recruiting. They seem to have had, ah, limited success.”

Rosaline nodded, watching the captain and his division-of-one chasing the last of the adolescents and elderly men out of the door. “I suppose you intend to join?”

Still nursing his mug, Desmond thought about it for a few moments. “Well, the hopefuls were putting me off up till now. But given that they’re out, and I’m out of work, I might just sign up. ‘Course, still depends on the pay. You?”