Private Tales Good Morning, Alliria

[Telemachus]

ALLIR REACH, MIDDLE OF NOWHERE
SOMETIME AGO

It was dark in the hovel, and neither man was keen on going inside, so Hebryn held up the lantern a little more. They could see the inside, all ransacked and tossed apart. Bed flipped over. "Lookit that."

There was, of course, the man of the house. Must have been the man of the house, given that he was the only corpse in the room. And his head was pulped. Dry blood was coated thick on the dirt floor. The low, smoldering glow of the lantern somehow made it even less appealing.

Hebryn's companion, Sadoc, shuddered and held his crossbow a little closer. "Gross."

"I'll bet you fifty gold that's the Iron Bull doing his thing."

"Even if I had that kind of coin," Sadoc replied, "I'm not taking that bet."

Hebryn slung the lantern back around with him and started heading back to the horses. Sadoc followed, shouldering the crossbow as he went. "At least we know we're on his trail."

---
​

ALLIR REACH, ZASTAVA'S CAMPGROUND
NOW

They were still mounted - knew better than to dismount when this close - and they were pretty sure it was the legs of the Iron Bull that were sticking out from under that tent. Pretty sure. It was still dark out. Small hours of the morning. Maybe another hour or so and the sun would start to rise. Hopefully they were gone and their business concluded by then.

"I'm not waking him up," Sadoc announced.

"Nancy," Hebryn decried, and undid the flaps on a small war horn he carried on his person. "You're on a horse. Just gallop away if he acts up."

Sadoc shook his head, "Maybe he's got a javelin. Or a thrown-axe. Some knights do that now."

"Yeah, well, he's not a knight," Hebryn replied, examined his war horn, and gave it a gentle blow.

Wake-up call.

 

[Ghoul boy bird]

The horn was a rude awakening from his peaceful sleep. Zastava grumbled at the sound, slowly coming to. He'd sit up and throw the fur blanket that covered his chest to the side. He had figured that his guests weren't here to kill him, or else they would have slit his throat while he was sleeping.

Zastava exits his tent, wearing nothing but his pants. He stands straight, his green eyes having trouble focusing on the two men on horses. He scratched his bare chest. He didn't have bodybuilder esq figure. No large, grotesque, bulging muscles. He was just big. Not fat, husky rather.

Zastava stifles a yawn, before speaking to the pair of horsemen. “Might I ask yer reasonin’ fer waking me up at this ungodly hour? Man needs his rest…” He didn't seem hostile, probably because he knew better. They had weapons and he was half naked.

He heads over to the smoldering fire pit and pokes about it with a stick, before feeding it with a few more logs, the hot embers starting to make a new fire.

 

[Telemachus]

Sadoc forgot himself and scoffed at Zastava as he crawled out of his tent, graceless and shirtless all. "Definitely not a knight."

"Quiet, you," Hebryn hissed. He made a bowing motion on his horse. It looked awkward, but was definitely insincere. "You must be the Iron Bull. Someone said you'd made it out of that ambush. Dreadful business. Our, uh, boss is something of an admirer."

"He needs some folks killed, is what he's saying," Sardoc clarified.

Hebryn nodded. "Allirian folks. Allirian Rangers, to be precise - the likes I heard were the ones who tipped off those mercenaries who wiped out your last band. That a job you're interested in taking?"

"Seein' as you're, you know, sort of doing that anyway."

 

[Ghoul boy bird]

He'd take a moment, scratching his chin, which was covered now with black stubble. Zastava nods a few times, before motioning to the now freshly burning fire. “Come. Warm yourselves up while I get dressed proper. I'll fetch some tobacco for us to enjoy while we chat. Ain't gonna take me too long.”

With that, he'd slink back into his tent.

Zastava took about four, five minutes getting ready. When he came out it was obvious why. He had adorned that heavy steel carcass. It was more obvious now as to why he was called “The Iron Bull”. The armor seemed heavier than any normal set, and near doubled his mass.

In his hand was that cheap wooden box that he took from the farm hut. Zastava would open it up, placing one of the hand rolled cigarettes in between his lips.

“First things first. You said something about a boss. Who may that be?”

 

[Telemachus]

When Zastava exited the tent, he found both men still mounted, although Hebryn had considerately put away his war horn. The one with the crossbow, Sadoc, was the one who looked the most worried, and stared at the Iron Bull with an alert, tense expression.

Hebryn didn't look much of anything, except maybe dirty.

"Yeah, you'll excuse us if we don't," Sadoc said.

"Don't mind him. Reckon you're the most famous person he'll ever meet," said Hebryn. He untied a rather healthy coin pouch from his belt. "Boss prefers aliases. We know him as The Caller. Haven't met him myself, but the money's good."

Sadoc echoed, "Very good."

Hebryn tossed the coin pouch with a gentle, underhanded throw. It was fairly heavy for a pouch and made a satisfying thud as it hit the ground at Zastava's feet. Weighed with gold. Well, silver, technically. Minted in Alliria. Not enough to break anyone's bank, but a generous down payment to be sure.

"He wants Allirian Rangers dead," Hebyrn repeated, "And he's willing to pay to see it done. Flat fee for the grunts, bigger rewards for bigger names. I hear he's set up a special retirement fund for whoever manages to gut the Commander. But there's more than that pouch waiting for you if you want in."