Outlaw for Hire: Chapter 1.1

(Edited and Updated)

Rays of moonlight beamed down upon the canopy, leaves and branches shrouded the forest floor in darkness. A clearing ahead illuminated by moonlight housed an inn, surrounded by soft green grass and fallen foliage. A thatch roof covered the structure and a sign hung up outside.

Dugra’s Respite

It’s late, the mercenary thought. His hazel eyes flashed as he studied the sturdy building, the moon light casted an eerie glow making the mercenary feel uneasy. Beneath his padded leather overcoat he stowed his dagger, ready for whatever waited inside. His muscles ached after days of walking, the weight of the mace at his hip only adding to his discomfort. The mercenary’s matted hair a dull silvery grey.

Years of living on the road had taken its toll on the man. He appeared to be around thirty years of age but he was only twenty-three, his medium but muscular frame only adding to his middle-aged appearance. His fair skin tanned by exposure to the sun could be compared to his beige clothing. He carried himself with confidence and almost always had a slight smirk on his face, making his threatening grizzled mercenary appearance seem a little more pleasant.

The steps creaked as he crept though the door of the isolated inn. He wondered how such a place could still stay open in the middle of the expansive Eastern woodland, even on the Dugra road this place was a day’s ride or so from any nearby settlement.

The musty smell of dust and soot greeted the mercenary’s nostrils as he stepped inside. The tavern was empty except for a sleeping man behind the bar. Coals glowed hot in the dying hearth. Walls blackened by soot drank in the little light provided by the lanterns scatted around the room. There were empty chairs and tables strewed casually across the room as if waiting for occupants to make use of them. The mercenary ambled over to inspect the sleeping innkeeper further, the man was old, his hair had greyed and his head was speckled with balding patches, his thin wiry body looked as if it could snap at any second.

Nudging the sleeping man, the mercenary shouted “Hey keep!” The tired innkeeper looked up at him, a confused expression crossed his face, “you alright there gramps? You’re not looking to good.” Ignoring the remark, the innkeeper shook his head as if trying to see if he was still asleep.

“Oh, a customer.” His voice was sparse and raspy and his tone was strained, he lifted himself slowly out of his chair trembling from the sudden exertion of energy. “My apologies sir, we don’t get many customers these days, given the increase of monsters about.”

“It’s good keep. Also sorry about coming in so late. Anyhow, is it too much to ask for a drink?” he asked his tone indifferent.

The keep snorted, “Unfortunately all we got is grain alcohol.” Rubbing his temples he continued, sneering as he explained, “Some bandits came through a few weeks ago and took everything, luckily I can still brew some simple stuff.”

“That’s fine.” The mercenary grumbled more or less disappointed. The barkeep nodded and passed over a flask of grey strong smelling liquid. “Do any wagons or caravans pass through here?”

The keep went quiet seemingly checking his own memory. “You’re in luck. A local regularly passes through this neck of the woods. In a few days I think.” nodding as if agreeing to with his own response, confirming the mercenary’s suspicions, this man spent many years alone. The old man refocused his attention on the mercenary. “Do you have a name son?”

“Yeah gramps, but I doubt you would want to hear it.”

The innkeeper chuckled, “It can’t be that bad of a name son.”

Thinking that it should be fine this one time, he dropped the tough act and smiled softly. “Sure why not… the name’s Cynric.”

The innkeeper’s expression went blank and his tone darkened, “I see” a long awkward pause followed, “that names from the far northern peoples ain’t it son.”

Cynric solemnly nodded “yeah. My father was from up there, apparently.”

The innkeeper smiled warmly deciding not to ask any more questions, he watched as Cynric stepped outside with his drink in hand. In the clearing he found a good bit of grass and sat down. Drinking under the stars was something that he did often. A cool summer’s night breeze caressed him making him shiver. He appreciated the moonlit clearing and its barrier like impression. By force of habit he watched the shadows in-between the trees for movement.

After hours of surveying he began to relax, his mind began to wonder as to why there was a sudden increase in monster activity. All over the world of Nackotis monsters were growing in number and appearing closer to major cities. It is the same for every race and civilisation. The Human kingdoms to the east, the Beastkin tribes to south and the Elven territory’s to west, all reported increases in monster sightings. Many religious organizations spoke of the wrath of the gods and madmen everywhere preached of chaos in the wind. Doubt clouded his mind for he was yet to see anything out of the norm.

As the night went on, and Cynric ever so sure of safety from the things that lurk in the dark, began to drift off outside the tavern on the soft grass. In the shadows of the trees, eyes watched closely, shrouded by darkness.

Dust filled Cynric’s nose. The hardwood floor of the tavern was blanketed by dust so thick one might compare it to snow. He was still groggy from multiple restless nights on the hardwood floor, picking himself up he left the inn, tossing a few copper pieces onto the bar counter on his way out. Stepping out into the cool morning air alleviated any of Cynric’s remaining grogginess. A caravan was due to arrive today, happy to finally leave this place behind, He waited eagerly for his ride. A familiar voice came from behind, “Cynric I have a proposition for you.” It was the old innkeeper, “I’ll pay you well.” Hearing this Cynric spun around quicker then was necessary

“Very well gramps, what’s the job?” he said trying his best to be modest.

“A goblin has made the storage hut out back its home, the little beggar pinches food and tampers with my brewing equipment.” The troubled innkeeper scowled at the thought, “Kill the bastard and I’ll pay you a silver.” Cynric glad to make a profit, was lead to a small mudbrick hut out behind the inn. “The little shit is hiding in there somewhere. Oh and watch out son, them goblins got sharp teeth.”

“I got it gramps.” Cynric grunted, knowing better than most the biology of the horrid creatures. Unhooking his mace from his side and held it out in front of him like one would hold a lit torch, equipping his dagger in his other hand he cautiously approached the hut. Cynric could hear scuffles and soft grunts inside, opening the door slowly revealed a series of tools, food scraps and filthy rags strewn about. A wave of rancid air struck Cynric causing him to retch. Cowering in the corner a small green lump, standing at half Cynric’s height the goblin glared at him with crooked teeth, its limbs were skeletal despite it having a pot belly. The goblin hissed and spat at the intruder to its nest.

Revolted Cynric lunged forward to crush it. To his surprise the goblin swiftly dodged the swing jumping out of the mace’s reach, it made for the door only to be stopped by the old man slamming the door shut before the goblin could escape. The goblin snarled at Cynric, “great stuck in a tiny hut with a goblin.” Cynric groaned bitterly. In response, the goblin pounced at him. Annoyed, Cynric ducked out of the way, twisting around to face it Cynric used the momentum of his movement to swing his mace at the creature, He heard a sickening crunch he hit his mark. The goblin collapsed in a crumpled heap, for as agile as some goblins were it didn’t take much to break them. Finishing the job Cynric smashed its head in with a single swing. Disgusted he trudged out muttering curses under his breath. Wiping the blood off his mace he returned to the front of the inn in a foul mood but one silver richer, Cynric observing the road saw something on the horizon. His mood instantly changed.

A small wagon drawn by a haggard mule rumbled down Dugra road. A young man who looked to be around seventeen drove the wagon forwards, he had a tangled blonde mop and a small frame, and his eyes shone bright. Covered by a simple cotton tunic he smiled and waved at Cynric. “Hey there mister!” the boy eagerly cried out, “Perfect timing, I could use a guard and a hand with hauling supplies.” His expression changed to concern, “Forgive me for assuming but you’re a mercenary correct?”

Cynric put on his gruff tone and puffed out his chest, a tactic he used to look threatening when striking up a deal. Nodding solemnly he announced “Hah! Look at me, of course I am. And I just happen to be in the market for work and a ride into town.”

The boy’s face lit up “great!” he exclaimed, “The name’s Pete, nice to meet you.”

Cynric scrambled up beside Pete on the wagon “likewise, Pete.”

As the two travelled down the dirt track the forest around them began to thin out. Not soon after, the wagon rolled out of the forest, a lush valley complete with rolling green hills and crystal-clear streams, greeted the two. As their picturesque journey continued the road slowly transformed to cobble and sound of hooves on stone filled the air.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Cynric smiled and nodded in response, “it’s quite the view.”

Pete proudly gestured around the valley, “I’ve lived out here my entire life, with my Ma and Pa, my sister too.”

Cynric’s interest piqued by the prospect of a sister asked “oh yeah, what’s your sister like.”

“Oh she’s lovely, a real great gal…”

‘is that so…” Cynric responded his mind filling with fantasies.

“Yeah it is mister, she’s real hardworking for a twelve year old.” Pete replied innocently.

Cynric internally cringing replied “Ooh… that’s nice.”

“Say, I haven’t gotten your name mister, is it too much trouble to tell me?” Pete questioned.

Cynric softly sighed “Sorry kid, it is too much trouble.”

“Why?”

“Reasons Pete, reasons”

Knowing when to stop asking questions, Pete returned to view the scenery. A warm breeze blew lifting away the day’s fatigue and the pair began to relax.

Several hours more of travel along Dugra road revealed the towers of the coastal city of Bazinet, piercing the clouds on the distant horizon.

Cynric admiring the distant goliaths, asked “Is it alright if I get some sleep to pass the time boss?” knowing that the city’s limits should be safe he waited for a response.

“Fine with me.”

Cynric leaning back to look at the sky, wondering if maybe the countryside isn’t as dangerous as its worked up to be. Drifted into a slumber.

Cynric was awoken from his rest by a cry, the sky was a soft orange and the wind had come to a stop, Bazinet’s walls loomed just up ahead. Pete was pointing towards some figures ahead. Two men had stepped out onto the road in front of the wagon. Cynric saw the flash of metal in the afternoon sunlight. “Bandits.” He informed Pete. Climbing down he approached them mace and dagger at the ready. Getting a closer look Cynric noted one of them had a cloth mask covering their face and a crossbow in hand, the other had the rough face of a thug with a short sword resting cruelly in his right hand.

“Well look would you look at this, a mercenary.” The bandit with the sword mocked. “So what will it be Merc are you gonna risk life and limb for a few coppers?”

“I could ask the same of you friend.” Cynric replied cautiously. “I considered robbing my boss over there, it’s not worth the effort.” His comment received a glare from the wagon driver.

“I appreciate the advice, however we aren’t here for the wagon or the boy” the bandits face twisted into a sickening grin. The archer aimed his crossbow at Cynric’s chest. “Cynric the Cruel, outlawed by king Ogmund himself.” Cynric’s eye’s widened in realization “you’ve done some bad stuff haven’t you, ‘friend’, the bounty on your head is worth a king’s ransom.”

Cynric was panicking, he should’ve known better, even out here bounty hunters always sniffed him out. Knowing he had to act fast before the bounty hunter finished his little monologue. Pete’s alarmed voice grabbed the bounty hunter’s attention. “What do you mean Cynric the cruel, that can’t be true this man, isn’t anything like that monster.”

The hunter sighed irritably, “listen kiddo, you went and hired one of the most wanted men in the kingdom, hell even in the free cities he’s a wanted man.”

Pete went quiet and he stared at his feet, “Listen I don’t have anything to do with that man, just leave me out of this.”

Cynric feeling slightly betrayed, sighing wearily he said “Listen Pete, just go home. These guys got me so just go home and forget you ever saw me.” Pete nodded and started back towards Dugra valley.

The bounty hunter chortled “Smart move Cynric, and correct me if I’m wrong, but you said we got you, so how about you come peacefully. Man, I can’t wait to buy me a castle!” snickering he turned to face his companion, “what about yo-” seeing his chance the outlaw bludgeoned him in the face, his blunt iron mace crushing the man’s face. The hunter flailed backwards, his sword grazing Cynric’s right side. Wincing from the sudden sharp pain he wasted no time, he flung his mace at the surprised archer before he could let off a shot. Dodging the flying mace the archer looked on as Cynric swiftly rushed the archer tackling him to the ground. As they scrambled on the ground he managed to stab the archer in the gut. He yelped in pain, in retaliation he pummelled Cynric’s face with the blunt crossbow stock. The two combatant’s desperate struggle continued, with the outlaw finally managing to slice the man’s throat. Turning back to the first hunter, he saw him standing upright, his hands covering his mutilated face, “F…Fuck… You! You bastard!” the bounty hunter choked out his last words, before a bolt pierced his chest killing him. Dropping the crossbow, Cynric tended to his newfound bruises and cuts. He dragged the two corpses off the road and lit a small fire preparing to dispose of the hunters before anyone saw what had transpired.

Flames licked the starlight sky, and the smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. The bounty hunters equipment and bodies set ablaze by Cynric the cruel, getting up from where he was kneeling over the corpses he skulked onwards towards the city of Bazinet hoping against all odds that he could find some form of relief from his life on the road.

To what does a man of crime owe to thy lord, and how may thy soul find peace amongst the chaos of this world?