Calradia: The Misery of a Land (Mount & Blade: Warband) IC

[Cyrisnia]

Calradia. 1259.
A land filled with diversity in all manners of life and soil.
We do not know how this strange land came to be, nor do we know how these people are so different than each other.
However, know that these lands are filled with the lowest scum of the world to the most pompous of nobility.
From common thugs to renowned Sea Terrors. From the most humble farmer to the most devious merchant. From the lowest mercenary to King Harlaus himself. They all must learn to survive in these harsh lands.
For the Old Empire of Calradia no longer protects them. It has long been divided by petty conflicts over land and gold disguised by honor and noble rank.
Nay, the people of Calradia will bleed you dry if you are not careful.
But of course, great opportunity is here as well. Many have started off with the shirt on his back, the sword in her scabbard, a lone lame horse....only to become the greatest warrior, merchant, perhaps even "King" of them all.
After all, King Ragnar's father was once a Sea Terror.
And Harlaus? Ha! His throne is a consequence of thievery.
And if you think the Council rules in Rhodok lands, you will be deemed foolish.
Perhaps the Vaegirs are the most pure? Bah, what are they, anyway? Mere snow thugs with made-up noble titles.
And the Khergits are merely domesticated bandits. Nothing more, nothing less.
The Sarranids? Bah. Mere desert folk thinking they know how to be nobles when their own people suffer every day and night.
Perhaps you will cower with one of these foolish factions.
Or will you join their ranks with your own foolish faction?
I await gleefully for your actions, Hero of Calradia!
After all, you have such...numerous opportunities.

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=323655 See all you need there.

Shariz, Sarranid Sultanate, April 22nd, 1259.

It had been a long tournament. The annual Calradian Tournament, in fact. Set up by Guild Masters and merchants throughout the land, a city was picked every year and the contest was held, along with a grand feast. For the nobles, at least.

The morning sun rose over the desert, and with it the Kalims all called out. "Praise be upon to the one Creator, blessed be those who follow, and blessed be to all." As they did every morning. Wilech, having finished the morning prayer, walked out of the small bought building that the Southern Eagles used as their home of operations. All the mercenary companies that had been involved in the tournament had received a message from the Sultan. A competition. Something special, most of them thought. The Sultan would address this soon, very soon.

[Ontorisa]

Suno, Kingdom of Swadia
Spring 1259
Sergeant Darren Saris

The Raven's Call, a small elite mercenary group of about 30 men, stood around within the mighty walls of Suno, chatting as they stood outside of the local tavern in the poorer district of Suno, the Dancing Troll. Darren, alongside two of his mercenary friends, watched the local women walk by, whistling to them and shouting out catcalls. One of them, a young blonde passed by and Darren felt it was compulsory to shout it to her.

"Hey miss! I'll love to have a bastard with ya." Darren hollered, not one for usually swinging his royal blood around.

The lady turned, spat at him and began angrily walking away while Darren's friends laughed at her reaction. But she returned, with a few armed men as she pointed at Darren and his small group of friends.

"Those bitches right there Rob. Kill 'em! Kill 'em!" The girl screamed to the men towering over her.

She had brought about eight men, armed with hammers, butcher knives, clubs and axes. They were tall and lean, like the stereotypical Swadian. While Darren always felt good about being 5"10, these men made him feel incredibly small, in fact, the Calradians always made the Geroians appear short. One of the men, holding a shiny axe, stepped forward and pointed at Darren and his small group, which had grown to five men including Darren, all of them holding their weapons, ready for the fight.

"You there, mercenary, did you harass my sister?" The man growled menacingly.

"I did not sir," Darren calmly replied before looking back at his comrades before adding with a smirk. "I don't tend to shout at whores that often."

The man roared with rage and flung his hand forward, motioning to his mates. Without any verbal communication, the Swadians stepped forward. Immediately, Darren straightened up and un-clipped his shortened voulge from his back. Swing it forward, the Raven's Call soldiers began exiting the porch of the Dancing Troll and stepped onto the streets. Quickly the mercenaries prepared their weapons before the Swadian men charged. Darren went straight for the leader with his voulge. Swinging the giant axe-like weapon in a downwards motion over the top of the head, the axe hilt gave no resistance as the power of the weapon sliced through it, piercing the man's skull. The weapon's blade kept going until it was at the base of the man's neck. The other mercenaries quickly dealt with the Swadian men, one of the mercenaries wielding his arming sword professionally by cutting open a man's stomach before kicking him in the groin and pushing the sword down into the top of his spine. The Swadian men quickly fled as the local militia showed up.

About six Swadian militiamen with two Vougiers, two Pages and three Peasant Archers showed up in full force with their weapons at the ready. The mercenaries just stood and watched. The party's commander, a well dressed Page brandishing his arming sword in light of the mercenaries, called out to them.

"Bloody fuckers! You've just killed men belonging to the crown!" The page screamed in rage at the mercenaries. "You're fucking coming with us or dying where you stand."

As if on command, the peasant archers readied their arrows in the bows.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Shariz, Sarranid Sultunate
Spring 1259
King Graveth of the Rhodok Republic

It was with a heavy heart that King Graveth sipped of the date wine Sultan Hakim had been so kind to provide; a sickly cloying vintage, these locals were obsessed with it, but he couldn't understand the delight. To a more refined pallet such as his, accustomed to some of the better grapes of Veluca, it really was a sorry state of affairs to have his taste buds plied with such a... robust beverage. At least it was only being served now, after the tournament. Next to him Count Mattheas' chair was still empty; he had actually seen fit to participate in the tourney, and won quite a few of the affairs before being tossed unceremoniously to the dirt by one of the Nord lords. Graveth could look up the man's name on the lists if he wished, but it really wasn't worth it. Such men would never be seen south of Swadia, and he would bet his right scepter that Mattheas would be complaining with great detail about the villain's lack of honor all the way back to Jelkala.

Having finally finished off the sweet dregs of his wine, Graveth rose, nodding politely to those Emirs and ladies who still occupied the reviewing stand, chatting about politics and the affairs of the Sultanate. While such matters certainly interested the next door neighbor of the Sultan, he was far more inclined to trust the word of his spies than that which the notables of the land would speak about before a visiting monarch. Relations with the Sultanate were good enough for now, minus a minor border war which saw no land change hands two years ago, but with the Sultan's forces suffering badly against the Khergits around Bariyye the Sultan might be looking to score some political capital with a quick victory against Jaminche Castle or the villages in that region. The aging monarch made a mental decision to send some more crossbowmen to Almerra; it would be just like Hakim to try and move around the flank like that, with his ranks of heavy cavalry apparently depleted.

Perhaps it was time to get his hands on some mercenaries, to clean up the area before any pretext for war could be devised by the Sarranids. Count Gutlans had spoken of a clandestine call for the free bands to assemble here in Shariz, and work for such men would not be hard to find. With his men at peace the nobles had kept their lands clean enough of brigandry and rapine, but the disorder of the Khergit-Sarranid border had left the land less than organized in that region.

[Paketo]

Shariz, Sarranid Sultanate, April 22nd, 1259
Stephan Camp of the Yellow Eagles

Stephan yawned and stretched out as he walked down the stairs of the Inn his company was staying at in Shariz. "why are we here again?" thought Stephan to himself "the tournament oh yeah and now this message from the Sultan. Wonder what he wants?". The letter to watch Stephan was referring to was of course tightly held in his hand still unopened. As he sat down at one of the tables and the bar he called for one of the barmaids to bring him a ale. Maybe it was to early for ale but Stephan didn't really care about that. He took out a bit of bread and cheese from his bag and began to munch on it for breakfast. His ale came soon after and he enjoyed the cold beverage taking his time downing as he waited for the rest of his company woke up. Several had woken up already and were down at the bar but most were still asleep. They stood out amongst the citizens of the city, their white skin made them easily picked out versus the dark tanned skin of the Sarranids.

It took about another 5 minutes for Stephan to fully wake up and that was when he opened the letter from the Sultan. "another competition?" said Stephan quietly to himself "what kind of Competition could he possibly have planned after the tournament?". More questions whirled in Stephan's mind but he was cut short in his questionings as a ruckus started at the Inn's bar counter. "You will pay the fee of our .... protection services for this Inn" said a man with deeply tanned skin and trimmed black beard near him were another two dressed similarly to the man causing the ruckus but their turbans didn't allow any features to be shown. The Innkeeper was shaking in his boot obviously intimidated by this man. Stephan calmly walked over behind the man and placed a hand on his soldier "you got a problem here friend" said Stephan with a smile. The man quickly turned shaking Stephan's hand off "this does not concern you Swadian" spat the man moving a hand towards his belt where a sword was in a scabbard while the two men just a little bit away made the same move expecting trouble. "oh but i believe it does concern as you seem to be extorting money from this kind Innkeeper who has given me and my company lodging while we stay in this city. Now I suggest you leave before me and my men are forced to forcefully escort you out" threatened Stephan as the men finally began to notice the 7 men sitting at tables behind Stephan glaring at them. All tall and lean Swadians, something that would intimidate most men. The man took a step back with a fearful look on his face before having it return to the angry expression it had before. "fine, but this isn't over old man. He won't be here to protect you forever" said the man taking the other two with you. The comment was obviously towards the Innkeeper who was still shaking while Stephan simply went back to his beer.

[Sasutary Island]

A field Outside Suno
The Adventures of the last d'Groote
Roger stood upon the field, patting his fine Hunter. It had accompanied him from Geroia, and it was felt as if an eternal bond had formed between the two. As he peered upon the field, he saw at the other side, a band of ogre-like Outlaws, numbering roughly 20. They had already taken notice of Roger's presence, and charged him without second thought. It was high time that he spilt some blood on Calradian Land.

With the blowing of a horn, the Horses of Geroia charged with their lances couched. The swift Hunters ans Coursers made easy work of the distance, and melee begun. After the first pass, Roger's lance broke in two. An outlaw began to poke at his horse with a crude spear. Quick thinking was needed. He threw the spear out of his hand, grabbed his mace with the other, and hit the man over the head, knocking him out instantly. The Horsemen had perfected their tactics over the years, charging through the enemy lines, turning around and repeat. The heat of the situation, the desperateness of the Outlaws and his men could be felt through the air. The swinging and blocking of weapons, the breaking of skulls, all seemed all too real for a nobleman such as Roger. He felt his pace highten, his blood coursing through his veins like wind through gaps. Roger's men came back for him, cleaning out any last resisting forces. The total death toll was 9 Outlaws dead, while the rest were captured. Tied together with a single piece of Rope, they were towed behind the party.

Roger had the customary toast with his men. 'To our good health.' He would simply put.

They made their way to Suno, a mear 6 minute march from the battlegrounds, where they would sell these worthless maggots to the highest bidder.

Inside the tavern of Suno
Rogee entered with 3 of his fellow horsemen and prisoners in tail. There was a mustached man, wearing a fur coat, who seemed to be gesturing to Roger. As they engaged in Conversation, Roger found out that he was a ransom broker, and was willing to pay 80 thaler for each of those scum. With this extra income, Roger managed to buy his Horsemen 2 weeks-worth of food. He went back to the main plaza of Suno, where he was looking to obtain more souls skilled at horsemenship to join his Horses. He set up shop; a small stool, a barrel for a table with his men nearby to advertise and 'help' if need be.

[Liecthenbourg]

The Dancing Goat, Veluca, Rhodok Republic
Little stirred in the tavern, it was early morning and outside only occasional footsteps, the sound of smithies and the odd rickety carts breaking the silence of the city outside. Reginald slowly stepped down the stairs, each one creaking more loudly than the last. He approached the inn keeper, a burly fellow, red haired and jolly in his personality. He smiled broadly and automatically took queue, ordering the cooks in the tavern's kitchen to begin preparing breakfast alongside three cups of mead - a regular menu on the table at the Dancing Goat.

Reginald sat down and raised an eyebrow, last he heard from his companions was the previous night - Jeremus had commented he was going to do some jobs around the town, particularly volunteer work at the local hospital and Rolf, well, Rolf was doing what he did best; being Rolf. After a few moments, a stumbling was heard coming from the upstairs rooms and soon Rolf charged down the stairs, his chain-mail not slowing him down at all as he took a seat opposite his companion.

"Good morrow, Rolf" Reginald stated as the swarthy fellow took the mead from the approaching waitress, gulping down the fine beverage of barley and wiping away at his mouth with his left sleeve once satisfied.

"Good morning, Sir" he responded, sniffing the air like a wild dog at the smell of food, having become keenly interested in the large plates of roasted pork and beef, as well as vegetables being set on the table.

Here both compatriots ate for a few minutes, savouring the warm food with much gusto as they would soon be on the road again. Reginald, after having eaten his fair share dropped off the required payment by the inkeep, earning many "Thank Yous" and "May God Bless You" from the burly man behind the counter. A nod of appreciation was given and both he and Rolf walked out of the door towards their horses.

"Do you know where Jer-" before Reginald could finish his sentence, they heard the sound of running as their friendly monk companion ran down the road, waving a parchment over excitedly in his hands.

"Sir, sir!" Jeremus began, panting as he came to a stop.

"Yes?"

"The Sultun of the Sarrinids is hosting a grand tourney, all are invited."

Reginald's face turned to that of an idea, he nodded in thanks for the message and put on his great helm once he had mounted his steed. The other two looked at eachother, unsure of what to do before their Captain made the remark.

"Mount up lads, we head for Shariz."

[Ontorisa]

Suno, Kingdom of Swadia
Spring 1259
Sergeant Darren Saris

The Raven's Call commander, a veteran captain who had served in the Swadian Armies as a mounted man-at-arms, stepped outside. He was about 5"11, medium build and held himself as an elite horseman who has never lost a duel before. He stood in his chainmail, with a leather coat over top to act as added armour along with his longsword sheathed at his side. He was Sir Gregory Denaris, knighted by his commander before he left to form the Raven's Call.

"What's this huh?" Denaris spoke in Swalik perfectly, to the Swadian Page. "My men were defending themselves against your so-called King's Men, who are nothing more than a small group of thugs trying to make some extra coins off of my soldiers."

"Not according to this la-" The page started before turning to present his witness, who had disappeared. "Gods damn it, who's the fucker who was responsible for looking after her?"

The Swadian group shuffled nervously before Denaris smirked at this.

"Calling yourself a commander, boy?" Denaris stepped forward in front of the Raven's Call before continuing in Swalik. "This is how you command soldiers! Men of the Raven's Call! What is your duty?!"

"Hayamas coli demai tros cazasan!" The men shouted back in Izriana, without missing a beat.

"See?" Denaris turned and grinned at the Swadian page. "Now before we have to clean up more bodies, I suggest you leave."

The page, clearly shaken, waved his hand and the Swadian began to back-off and started to redo their patrols.

"Good bullshitting boys, I didn't realize Hayamas sucked ass's cock." Denaris laughed in Izriana before the group laughed histarically, except for one of the archers, who looked around in a mixture of humour and rage, looking for the man who came up with the saying.

[Glasgia]

"Sveže, možda samo nekoliko minuta. Tarifni severo-istok, u vetar - Ne u previše tempom, mogli bismo ga uhvatimo na prepad." Fresh, maybe just a few minutes. Heading north-east, into the wind - Not at too much of a pace, we might catch it by surprise. Jaroslav's companion just nodded as the taller man knelt by the tracks. The two held bows in their hands, curved delicately yet strong, with quivers upon their backs and eyes scanning ahead. Rising, Jaroslav edged forward through the undergrowth with care for silence. A small copse lay ahead, concealing the river that had passed earlier, and it was upon there that the tracks led. Both hunters drew an arrow, awaiting the opportunity to strike.

A doe bend its head by the stream, sipping at the water's edge. She was healthy and strong, with sinewy muscles beneath her hide. Even as the hunter emerged at the copse's head, she remained unaware. With the wind downstream she was oblivious and Jaroslav knew as such, gently drawing back on his bowstring. The action was reflex after so many years and his strong shoulders adjusted to meet the target's direction. His hand wavered for a second, stilled and released.

Through skull and brain the arrow crashed, piercing into its victim. Jaroslav leapt forward, followed by his companion, and they grabbed the doe's it frantically kicked unable to process what had happened. In terror and agony it lashed out, yet Jaroslav calmly pressed his sabre to its throat and met it with silence. Blood trickled from both wounds now, but this was ignored as the hunters set to workk trussing the doe's legs and slinging her upon their backs.

Suno, Kingdom of Swadia

Jaroslav marched through the crowds, many of its members parting at the sight of the foreign warriors. His blood soaked hands only added to the effect as he towered above most, arrows and sabre a clear warning to those who might've otherwise crossed his path. A small following of men followed his path, each one dragging with them a collection of meat and corpses.

As they reached the market, Jaroslav turned to greet his man.

"Good to see you friend, you're still buying?" The merchant nodded, peering past Jaroslav's giant shoulders to see the captured game. The company had been in Swadia for a far while now, learning its environment as they set their traps and hunted in the forests beyond Suno's walls. Though some remained empty, most yielded a range from rabbits to deer and the occasional fox or wolf who became ensnared - Something never greeted with pleasure by Jaroslav, the animal not of worth to him and therefore a loss of life in his eyes.

"If you are selling." Jaroslav turned to his men and grasped a number of bags, placing them before the merchant. His hand wavered over the doe, one of two caught that day, before leaving it and leaving his wares as they were. The company retained a number of bodies, which they would skin and smoke themselves in the house that they rented.

"Five hundred denars for the lot?"

"Four hundred."

"You starve my men at that price. Four-eighty and no less?"

"If I must." The merchant shelled out the coins, placing them in a fabric pouch and passing them to Jaroslav who inspected them. Satisfied, he left without another word and his men began to march back to their lodgings with a lighter tow.

[Cyrisnia]

A Few Hours Later....

Wilech, and most of the general populace had just finished the noon prayer. By now it was somewhat hot outside, thankfully the coastal breeze negated that. By now most of the mercenaries had all gathered in one general area, and Sultan Hakim himself, royal guard in tow, stood upon a stage. Hakim gave a salute and a smile before promptly addressing the mercenaries:
"Men, as you know, we are at war with the Khergits to the North. Our spies in the Khanate have reason to believe that they are planning an attack on Weyyah Castle to the North, while the majority of the Khergit force remains around Bariyye. We will send all willing men, along with Emir Biliya and Emir Lakhem to investigate this, and, if possible, attempt to aquire Unuzdaq Castle from the Khergits. All the loot that you find will be yours, along with an initial payment of 60 Denars per soldier. Thank you, and may the Creator Bless you all in your journeys. Salemni makaleakum, dezi dohabah."

Hakim stepped down from the stage and walked back to the Palace, talking with Emir Biliya along the way. "My lord," he said "Why take Unuzdaq?' Hakim and Biliya stopped, Hakim putting his arm on Biliya's shoulder. "Because, I'm concerned that the Rhodoks might try to attack our borders at the time. They recently left, and they could easily exploit that sense of ease along the borders. They take Weyyah while your forces are at Unuzdaq, and you can easily turn around and take it back. Simple, really. I do not know how you wouldn't. Haven't you paid attention with your tutors?" Biliya said nothing for a few moments, before replying. "No, my lord. My tutor was a Swadian. All I have learned is how to arrange my plate properly." Both of them chuckled and headed back to the palace. The party would leave within a weeks time.

[Alcase]

Praven, Kingdom of Swadia
Spring 1259
Guildhouse, Pure Order of Swadia Capitol Post

"Your Eminence," Sir Aleksander said respectfully as he kneeled before his Grand Master, his armored knee pads clanking loudly on the stone floor of the guildhouse.

"Knight. What have you come to me for?" Grand Master Smith replied, hastingly in a manner that would seem rude to most, but expected from liege to a bothersome page. Grand Master Smith was the leader of the Pure Order of Swadia. It is claimed by most that he attained the position quite suspiciously. Ostensibly, he rose to the position after a bloody battle with the Vaegirs in which he and the previous Grand Master fought together. Whether it was he who killed or simply witnessed, it was no important matter; Aleksander needed him to fulfill his dream of attaining the mantle of King over Swadia.

"I have collected your land's dues, eminence" Aleksander replied, his head still bowed.

"Give that here," Smith snatched the purses from Aleksander's sides, "now leave! I am busy!"

"As you wish, eminence" Aleksander spoke respectfully; he dared not anger the Grand Master.

Alek rose before his master and, without facing his back to Smith, proceeded out the master's room and into the hallway, closing the door slowly as he left.

"Fucking pig, I should have him killed, too." Alek spoke under his breath as he walked down the hall. The capitol post's guild-house was, surprisingly, not very large. It is usually expected for all buildings in the Kingdom's capital to be large and magnificent, but the only extravagance held by the Pure Order was a ramshackle castle located in the middle of Calradia; not unknown to the harshness of wars.

Nonetheless, it was Swadia's only Holy Order, and its state-sponsorship seemed to dwindle throughout the years. Only during wars did the Kings of Swadia call upon the Holy Knights, funding whatever project we needed, kissing our asses so that more and more of our men-at-arms would be the ones slaughtered while the Counts attended the Fat King's thousands of feasts. I was beginning to believe that even our Grand Master wanted the pig dead, but who knows what he truly desired. Yet, the Pure Order will not be able to act without allies. Potentially the Rhodoks, seen as natural allies, there will have to be some type of sponsorship from foreigners with whom the Holy Order may align itself.

For now, I will only be able to kiss ass, 'till Smith summons us to war.

Pure Swadian Order Barracks, Sir Aleksander's House

The barracks was an even worse place to be. There were hostels right next to the bunks, and it was a wonder why we even called ourselves the "Pure" Order of Swadia. The Rhodoks, whom we see as heretics, are far better than us at our own religion! In Aleksander's barrack-house was his low-tiered army, befeofed on him when he initially joined. He used to have more men-at-arms, in fact, if he remembered correctly his men-at-arms outnumbered his own company of archers, but 'twas no longer the case. When the other knights needed men-at-arms, it was Alek's party they took from. Now, Aleksander only had a veteran group of 17 men, with 3 new recruits (from the local fief village) and a beautiful young maiden that Aleksander had fell in love with during his travels in the land of the Vaegirs.

Most Western Swadians saw the Vaegirs as low-life, good-for-nothing, Khergits-in-training, but Aleksander mind was not so narrow. Alek fancied the Slavic women and, luckily, one once caught his eye. Although it was completely voluntary, Aleksander "abducted" the woman from her village. It was well known among his party members that their love was mutual, but it was not allowed; for she followed the Eastern religion and he was a knight of a Pure Order. It was forbidden love. Although unmarried, they still pleasure each other whenever they feel; and Aleksander has been known to retreat to their bedroom when he feels saddened or low. When he rises to power, it will be she who will hold the title of Empress.

OOC: I may jump from third person to first person randomly, and I am sorry for that.

[Glasgia]

The bandit camp lay no more than a mile or so to the north-west, yet Jaroslav walked forward calmly through the woods. Beneath them, the road carved its way within a glen, following besides a trickling stream. Two hundred yards across, another band of his archers walked with him flanking the small ravine.

A noise ahead failed to startle any of the company, the Devil's Bowmen getting to work immediately at their signal. Ahead, just on the horizon, a group of bandits walked towards them unaware of their fate ahead. They made a slow pace forward, guiding with them supplies and presumably loot laden upon mules.

Already, the company had found their positions. This knowledge of their environment, the silence with which they moved - That was what had earned them their name, though another factor in their naming remained to show. Patiently now, Jaroslav knelt behind a fallen trunk, the notch of his arrow resting upon his bowstring. About ten more did the same around him, whilst a similar number waited in the other band of his men.

The bandits stopped. Just fifty yards away now, suddenly the man at point of their convoy turned to the others. In a harsh Swadian accent, he began to berate on of the others. His companion responded in kind, then attempted to grab the perpetrator. The two were pulled apart as other men rushed in to either contribute their shouts or place themselves between the arguers. Jaroslav barely stifled a laugh. He nodded to the lad next to him, no more than perhaps fifteen yet waiting amongst a war party of grown men. The lad raised both hands to his mouth and produced a cooing sound, as if of a wood pigeon.

Tri. Jaroslav pulled gently back on the bowstring, relaxing his muscles in anticipation of the release. Dva. Silently, twenty five other bowmen readied their arrows and prepared to fire. Jaroslav had drawn the bowstring completely now, though his arrow still pointed towards the ground behind the cover of the trunk. Jedan. The Devil's Bowmen rose in unison, appearing from their cover. The bandits froze in their conflict, now aware of the threat. For them, it was too late. A volley of arrows pierced the stunned silence, crashing into muscle and bone. Skin was torn aside as the barbs of the arrows dived deep into their targets. Cries of agony were quickly silenced with another volley, now more scattered as the archers fired at their own rate. Every shaft ripped into its target with perfect accuracy and already, few were left to resist.

"Držite vatru!" Hold fire. The arrows ceased at the command and Jaroslav stepped forward, into the carnage. The ground was scattered with shafts, but for the most part their steel tips had penetrated the bandits - Though some still croaked, the accuracy found within that chaos meant that most remained silent. Drawing his sabre, he mercifully knelt down and sliced through any who moved. A hand wave brought forward his men, who began to search amongst the bodies and baggage train. They'd take what was of use to them, then sell anything valuable back in Suno. If they could identify the leader, his head could be presented to the city's guard and perhaps some reward might come of that - Otherwise, the reward was in trade.

[Cyrisnia]

A few hours later...

Wilech walked down the steps of the Shariz goods merchant shop, carrying a small loaf of bread, quarter wheel of cheese, and a few apples. Wilech stopped at the bottom to put them in a small sack that hung on his waist before continuing on back towards the small section of tents and building by the norther part of the wall. Wilech approached the camp and sat down next to a group of fellow soldiers. "Hello, did I miss anything important whilst I was away?" said Wilech. "Uhh...hm. Oh, yes!" said one, "There was this shopkeep, a brewer, I think, who was looking for you. He's from Mit Nun, I believe. He said something about Bandits trying to raid the village. He has kept asking where you were, Wilech. Seems we've already made ourselves some sort of local reputation." Wilech lit up with excitement, "We have? This is great! Where is he?" The mercenary turned his head and leaned back, "I think by the palm tree. Saros was speaking to him." Wilech thanked the mercenary and jogged over towards the tree. They greeted each other and sat down with the Brewer. "Thank you for coming," said the brewer, "for the last two weeks our village has had a problem with bandits attempting to raid it. You see, we had a caravan pass by about the time it all started, and I believe they accidentally lead them there. We would like your help, but we need it fast. I don't believe we have much longer to hold out against them." "What of the payment?" asked Wilech. The Brewer replied "We will see what we can scavenge up afterwards, but we will pay you." Wilech accepted the offer, and began to ready some of the company.