- Messages
- 29
Dim, gray light mixed with the damp mist to form a bleak, miserable morning. For most, the cold and wet meant spending the morning indoors next to a warm fire. For Mannelig and his men, it was just another day, though perhaps a bit more dreary than usual. Personally, the tall mercenary preferred the wet and cold ever since yet another ill-fated campaign into the Amol-Kalit. Half a year in blazing heat and brutal sun made him cherish the chill and rain. You could bundle up for warmth, but you could only strip down so much in the heat before you began seriously thinking if removing one's skin was an actual option.
Besides, fog worked wonders for surprise attacks. The brigands had made camp in a thicket of woods along a small stream. It was too wooded for a proper charge, but that wasn't too much of an issue for Mannelig's band of sellswords. Especially when a solid bounty was on the heads of these particular outlaws. The predawn mist hid the mercenaries as they snuck up on the bandits and surrounded their makeshift camp, their bonfires burning low from inattention. Muffled screams as the half-drunk pickets died were the only warning the brigands had before Mannelig and his men charged in on foot. The fighting had been brief, brutal, and almost entirely one-sided as well trained and heavily armed sellswords clashed with the rag-tag band of desperate men wielding spears, axes, and repurposed farm tools.
That wasn't to say the fight wasn't without problems. Two men were injured, one badly, while Mannelig himself hadn't come out entirely unscathed. He sat beneath a tree with his sword across his lap, a wad of cloth in his hands. He tucked the makeshift bandage under the gambeson he wore beneath his armor and shoved it into the small wound on the right of his chest. It was a small flesh wound, courtesy of a wild and lucky spear thrust from a scared bandit, but it bled freely enough. As he began tying up the laces on his chest, one of his men approached.
"Got Legget and Rigam collecting heads for the bounty and Vagim took some men to get our horses," the man rumbled without preamble as he crossed his arms over his steel breastplate. "Iwan says he's gonna die, but he won't, though he ain't gonna be on his feet for a good week or so after a spear through the leg like that."
"He always did complain over his wounds," Mannelig said with a small shrug. "How's Targhed?"
"Says he's fine. Thought he'd lose that hand, but its pretty clean once you wash it off. Spear went right through. He'll be fine in a week, but he says it'll just be a few days. Says orcs heal fast."
"Good to know," he said before climbing to his feet and readjusting his own armor. "Once the heads are collected and the camp's been cleaned out, we'll head back to town. Collect our pay before anyone else shows up."
Besides, fog worked wonders for surprise attacks. The brigands had made camp in a thicket of woods along a small stream. It was too wooded for a proper charge, but that wasn't too much of an issue for Mannelig's band of sellswords. Especially when a solid bounty was on the heads of these particular outlaws. The predawn mist hid the mercenaries as they snuck up on the bandits and surrounded their makeshift camp, their bonfires burning low from inattention. Muffled screams as the half-drunk pickets died were the only warning the brigands had before Mannelig and his men charged in on foot. The fighting had been brief, brutal, and almost entirely one-sided as well trained and heavily armed sellswords clashed with the rag-tag band of desperate men wielding spears, axes, and repurposed farm tools.
That wasn't to say the fight wasn't without problems. Two men were injured, one badly, while Mannelig himself hadn't come out entirely unscathed. He sat beneath a tree with his sword across his lap, a wad of cloth in his hands. He tucked the makeshift bandage under the gambeson he wore beneath his armor and shoved it into the small wound on the right of his chest. It was a small flesh wound, courtesy of a wild and lucky spear thrust from a scared bandit, but it bled freely enough. As he began tying up the laces on his chest, one of his men approached.
"Got Legget and Rigam collecting heads for the bounty and Vagim took some men to get our horses," the man rumbled without preamble as he crossed his arms over his steel breastplate. "Iwan says he's gonna die, but he won't, though he ain't gonna be on his feet for a good week or so after a spear through the leg like that."
"He always did complain over his wounds," Mannelig said with a small shrug. "How's Targhed?"
"Says he's fine. Thought he'd lose that hand, but its pretty clean once you wash it off. Spear went right through. He'll be fine in a week, but he says it'll just be a few days. Says orcs heal fast."
"Good to know," he said before climbing to his feet and readjusting his own armor. "Once the heads are collected and the camp's been cleaned out, we'll head back to town. Collect our pay before anyone else shows up."
