Another day, another contract. The mercenary could only sigh as the sun finally found its peak. Cato had been riding since the early morn and it had put him in a rather foul mood. Well, fouler than usual. Word of the job had only come to him the night before and by that point, he was well into his fourth ale. He figured it better to sleep off the drink instead of falling off his horse and breaking his damned neck. The mercenary had seen it happen before and he'd be arsed if he went out like that. Cato had survived too much shit for that to be his last act in this godforsaken world.
He had passed through the village of Krasfen not long ago. The village was in the north of the Reach, not too far from the Sayve. Word had come down that the inhabitants and travelers both had been attacked by bandits. They had been at it for a spell keeping the killing down to a minimum, until the last week or so. Seems they decided that no one was going to bother them anyways and just said to hell with it. Bandits would get their piece and then move on somewhere else before Alliria made a move. Cato didn't blame them, city-folk didn't often care for people's problems out here.
Blood had been spilled and there were those who wanted to see that favor repaid.
Better for me, he mused.
There was one other who had taken on the contract. Cato was on his way to meet the other sellsword at a local landmark not far from the village. Cato wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with a stranger but begrudgingly admitted that the extra hand was likely needed. It seemed that there was more than a few of these assholes, deserters if he had to guess.
Cato spotted the large oak that represented the meeting place and then what looked like another smaller tree next to it. The mercenary swore to himself as he closed the distanced and realized that the other tree was actually a man, or something akin to one. He now knew why the villagers had been evasive when they mentioned that the other mercenary had already passed through.
"You're a big bastard, aren't you?" the mercenary said in a way of introduction as he dismounted. "Don't suppose you've got a name?"
Rusty
He had passed through the village of Krasfen not long ago. The village was in the north of the Reach, not too far from the Sayve. Word had come down that the inhabitants and travelers both had been attacked by bandits. They had been at it for a spell keeping the killing down to a minimum, until the last week or so. Seems they decided that no one was going to bother them anyways and just said to hell with it. Bandits would get their piece and then move on somewhere else before Alliria made a move. Cato didn't blame them, city-folk didn't often care for people's problems out here.
Blood had been spilled and there were those who wanted to see that favor repaid.
Better for me, he mused.
There was one other who had taken on the contract. Cato was on his way to meet the other sellsword at a local landmark not far from the village. Cato wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with a stranger but begrudgingly admitted that the extra hand was likely needed. It seemed that there was more than a few of these assholes, deserters if he had to guess.
Cato spotted the large oak that represented the meeting place and then what looked like another smaller tree next to it. The mercenary swore to himself as he closed the distanced and realized that the other tree was actually a man, or something akin to one. He now knew why the villagers had been evasive when they mentioned that the other mercenary had already passed through.
"You're a big bastard, aren't you?" the mercenary said in a way of introduction as he dismounted. "Don't suppose you've got a name?"
Rusty