He sifted through the maps and papers littering Marlon Grey’s desk, trying to get a feel for the man. He’d given up pursuit of his quarry in favor of greener pastures (or so he said; for honestly, he had simply lost the trail over the rocky mountainous terrain), and had instead made his way to Gor Nathal to “resupply.” He plopped back into Grey’s chair and smiled satisfactorily, picking up a pair of troop reports before kicking his heels up onto the entire pile.
He and Grey had met briefly during the coup of Gor Nathal, in which the latter had led an overt rebellion to usurp power from the corrupt dictator. In the process, they had disrupted Eamon’s own covert operations, to which he could only offer a shrug and a smile. The two had nearly crossed blades during the final confrontation in the dictator’s keep. He smiled at the memory; having filled his pouches with plans, letters, baubles from the Dictator’s personal stash, the operative had been making his way through the keep to avoid Marlon’s assault.
He underestimated the cunning mercenary, though, for he nearly ran headlong into them through a side passage on his way out. He and his protege instantly drew steel, and Eamon could do naught but throw his arms up in surrender, for he knew they would not accept his story, despite its truth. He eventually won the mercenary over, as he often did, and was allowed to work with them. He played a secondary role (as he often did), but by the end he had gained Grey’s respect.
When the dust had settled, Eamon was invited to join Grey for the celebration.
“You know, you're a pretty good fighter. We could use you in the Ghosts. Stick around." the man had said.
Eamon had only smiled and said, "I'd love to, mate, but the new city needs someone that'll keep it together--not tear it apart."
Marlon grimaced. “That’s me, isn’t it?”
“One would hope so, gent.” After everything was said and done, Eamon faded into obscurity, with Grey as the only person to even know his name.
And now, Eamon found himself similarly in the chambers of a leader, albeit a much better one than previously. He sunk into the chair and tossed the paper back onto the desk; there were so many there already that he doubted Grey would notice the difference.
He let his fingers dance across the arm of Marlon's chair, admiring the carved oak.
"Not bad," he mused. "You've surprisingly good taste...and here I thought you were just another dirty mercenary."
"That’s quite a compliment, coming from you." The door to Grey's office swing open and the man himself stepped through, apparently calm despite Eamon's intrusion.
Eamon smiled, bringing a gloved hand up to his forehead in a two-fingered salute. "Nice t’see you again, Commander Grey."
"And yourself, Eamon." Grey was dirty. His fine mail armor was spattered with flecks of crimson, and his hair had obviously been hurriedly slicked back with a grimy hand before he entered the room.
He merely smiled in reply, dropping his feet off the desk and climbing out of Grey’s chair.
“I was wondering when you’d be back.”
“Couldn’t keep away, acourse. Yer charismatic magnetism drew me.” Eamon peered over Grey’s shoulder to see two heavily armed mercenaries standing just outside the doorway, looking primed to kill. Marlon wasn’t as foolish as his casual demeanor would suggest, apparently. Eamon shot a wink to the duo; he was almost positive that the one on the right might even be decently attractive, underneath the many layers of blood, grime and armor.
Marlon smiled politely, as a monarch might for a visiting subject. “I take it you need something from the Ghosts?”
Eamon shook his head slightly, his beret bobbing slightly.
“Nay, you misunderstand my intent. From the look of the army to the South, you’re the one in need, mate.” Eamon’s tone was jovial, his smile genuine, but the words were deadly serious.
“Do you refer to your services, or something more exotic?”
“The Lorokans are as far North as the capital city. A small force has even bypassed it in favor of heading into the mountains. T’would benefit you to find out why, methinks. Mutual respect, of course, demands that I inform you.” Eamon looked down at Grey’s desk and spun his fingers, a small metal jack dropping from his hands and onto the desk, spinning in perfect balance.
“In other words, you lost a small force and you want my troops to find them and kill them, pro-bono.”
“Nothing the Ghosts do is free. Do you work in the currency of revenge?” The jack on the desk wobbled a moment before spinning to a stop, its multiple points coming to rest on the oak.
“Revenge is expensive. My soldiers don’t feed their families with revenge,” Marlon said, looking out the window. His bodyguards didn’t lift their gaze from Eamon. “Which part of the mountains did you say they were heading toward?” Marlon asked, almost conversationally. Eamon knew better, and smirked..
“Gor Kadesh is no more. They rode Northwest from there; my boots started to get rather muddy,” Eamon lifted one boot and showed it to Marlon; spotless, as usual. “So I came t’you, the dirtiest people I know.”
“There is a pass Northwest of Gor Kadesh. It’s a tricky road. Merchants haven’t used it in a long while because of that. You could get a scouting force in there easily enough. I can mark your map, for a small price.”
Eamon grinned and spread his hands out in front of him, palms up. “I have no scouting force. What good is the location of a merchant road to a simple man such as myself? I merely thought a small, guerrilla force deep in allied territory might be...relevant.”
“What makes you think they’re guerrillas?” Marlon asked.
“A hunch.” Eamon smiled. “A feeling.”
Marlon shook his head and opened his mouth to deny him, but Eamon played his first card.
“A battlemage.”
“No one sends a battlemage anywhere unless they’re up to something. And the Lorokans aren’t up to anything good.”
“This particular battlemage likes to level towns in his free time.”
“They’re dead, nothing can change that. Supposing you had some help, do you think you could figure out what those goons are up to?”
“My boots are rather muddy as it is. And my cloak...” Eamon poked a finger through the little gash in his cape and wiggled it at Marlon, his lips curled into their customary pout.
“You can get both from my Quartermaster for a small fee, or you could join the Ghosts and get them for free. My Quartermaster can be quite expensive come to think of it...”
Eamon laughed aloud. Not necessary, mate. You don’t need to bribe me to help you. I’m not a mercenary, after all.” He looked slyly at Grey.
“Something which I hope to rectify presently.”
Eamon shrugged. “I’ll try anything once. I’d be a fool refuse Imperial gold, now wouldn’t I?”
“Fair enough. Ira!” Marlon called.
Ira, Eamon noted mentally, mouthing the word carefully.
“Yes, Commander?” The woman that Eamon had noted before spoke without taking her strong gaze off him.
“I’m ready to talk to the messenger now. Once you get him here, take Eamon to the Officer’s Barracks. I’m sure he’s...tired.”
Eamon winked and saluted Ira, plucking his jack from the desk and setting it a'twirl once more.
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