Hélène was met at the drink table by Wilheim, who smiled with warmth and kissed her hand when she laughingly offered it. The contractor handed Hélène a tall cup and poured a mixture from two bottles into it, which she gratefully accepted and from which she drank deeply.
“You know just what I like, Casias: just like old times.” The woman turned back towards the table, seating herself next to Doriyn in one of the last open seats. Doriyn himself had since sat down, and was in the middle of another draft of beer when she asked him “have you ever tried Boulder Fire mixed with Spiced Pom Drink?” Doriyn coughed slightly and set down his tankard before turning and trying to smile.
“Not a mix I’d have thought to make…Helen?” She laughed again, and with her elegant accent corrected his pronunciation:
“Hélène, dear, though most people get it wrong the first few times.”
“I’ll get it right this time, Hélène,” Doriyn replied, placing the correct stress on the correct vowels. She was holding her cup out for his inspection, and he took it, sipping enough to get a full taste, which he found excellent. “Not what I expected, but dangerous. I think it suits you.” She smiled again.
“I do believe you’re right,” she said. Some of the others in the room were observing the exchange, and Doriyn tried to not consider what they were thinking, but he was saved by Wilheim, who rapped the table with his cane. Everyone in the room looked his way, as the Mercenary Contractor stood and spread his arms wide.
“I suppose most all of you know me, but plenty of you here haven’t worked with one another before. Starting on my right, please stand and introduce yourself so we can get started with the meat of the job.” Wilheim gestured to the giant, who obediently stood, towering over the rest of the company.
“Kohol,” he spoke in a rumble, a necklace of teeth and metal charms falling from beneath his rough shirt. “I’ve done a number of jobs for Wilheim before this one, and he asked me…well, us I suppose,” he continued and gestured to Farko “to join this venture specially. Seems he thinks there’ll be heads to break.” The giant laughed aloud before he sat down, bright eyes gleaming with anticipation. Wilheim nodded, and then gestured to Farko. The darkly-clad man rose, and eyed each member as he spoke.
“Farko,” he said simply. “Kohol and I make a team. If there is a problem with one of us, there is a problem with both. There is rarely the same problem again.” He smiled a bit at that, and turned to Wilheim. “There must be a good take for this job if you want us both, Casias. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.” He sat down again, and took a long drink from his cup.
The blonde woman to Doriyn’s left stood for the first time, and he saw with some surprise that she was near enough to his own height.
“Ash,” she said again. “I live here in New Reven and own a shop nearby, but from time to time Wilheim has need of my skillset and I have need of his money.” A smile played at the corners of her otherwise serious mouth. “He asked me to come, and here I am. We’ll doubtless get to know one another better on the road. Until then…” she did not finish her thought, and sat back down. Doriyn wondered if each person here besides himself had been selected, and hoped he was not the only one who was here for the first time. He realized suddenly that it was his turn, and he clumsily stood from his chair.
“Doriyn Brynach, late of the Lord Slairat’s forces past the Gap,” he said, nodding to Wilheim. Unsure what else to say, he admitted “This will be my first job out of the army, so I can’t say I come recommended, but I plan to see to it that changes.” Farko snorted, and Aron smiled, but Hélène reached up and touched his arm.
“Don’t you worry; we’ll make sure you don’t die on the first day on the road,” and she laughed musically. A bit red, Doryin sat down again, and took a comforting drink from the swiftly emptying tankard in front of him. Hélène stood up, and her jingling earrings shone in the lamplight. “I am Hélène, and Wilheim and I go back years,” she said. Wilheim smiled and rolled his eyes at the same time. “We met in…where was it Wil dear? Hearthead City if I recall correctly. He was quite dashing then, I was little more than a maiden, and we hit it off immediately. My first job for him was…” Wilheim cleared his throat and Hélène stopped. “Dear me, I go on. In any case, I’m not a mercenary myself, but Casias asked for my help, and how could I say no?”
“Quite easily,” the Contractor began, but Hélène held up a hand.
“No no, you’ve convinced me that this take is good, and so I am here. And very excited to get to know you all better!” She smiled again at the group, and sat down. Ash leaned over to Doriyn and whispered:
“That’s one to watch out for, make no mistake.” Doriyn replied back:
“I think you’re all one to watch out for.” Ash smiled under her veil. Next to Hélène, Aron rose. He, too, was close to Doriyn’s height, and just as broad under his poncho. He tossed back the hood to reveal a shock of sandy hair that went with his bushy beard, and raised a hand in blessing over the group. He signed the Sword in the air before he spoke in a low voice with a heavy peasant accent.
“Aron Hyland, though most of you already knew that.” He did not smile when he spoke, but there was no unpleasantness about the man. “Per Wilheim’s request, I’ll be in nominal command of this group, should there be no objections.” Doriyn looked subtly at Farko, but the dark man nodded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Aron went on: “I’ve led mercenary companies for several years in the pay of the new…Alliance,” and though the man sounded like he wanted to spit the word he gave no outward sign. “But times change, and I’m throwing in my lot with you independents, so I’ll make one thing clear.” He turned stern. “I know how mercenaries operate, and I will be holding you all to a higher standard than that. I want no serious or legitimate complaints about your conduct while you’re under my command, or by the Titan’s Sword you will be sent home to collect whatever pay Wilheim sees fit to give you.” Aron’s pleasant voice returned. “And with that warning out of the way, I’ll turn it over to the man himself!” Aron gestured to Greywich, and sat down.
Maurice bowed courteously to Aron, and then turned his noble face to the company. His hand rested easily on the hilt of the battered sword.
“I’m not sure about the ‘man himself,’ but I thank you, Aron, for your words. I echo them, and will add myself that I’m grateful to you all for being here. Almost as grateful as I am to my friend Casias for gathering you around this table.” Wilheim raised his cup towards the noble, who returned the gesture with his own goblet. “My name is Maurice Greywich, and while my name may still be spoken in the same breath as other deposed families that make the lists of supposed traitors, I have something that many of them do not. Any surmises as to what that might be?” He cast his intelligent eyes about the room, while no one dared venture a guess. Met with silence, Greywich continued. “Friends. I have friends,” he said, gesturing again to Wilheim, and then to Aron. “What money I had left I’ve given to this venture, and hope that through our collective labor, we will all reap a far greater reward.” Doriyn wondered if he understood the noble correctly, but kept the question to himself. Greywich went on: “The main objective for this job is to re-establish control of my family land and estate, along with taking up the requisite responsibilities. Those lands are not currently held by anyone since my family’s dispossession, and thus fall under the jurisdiction of Alcuin’s Alliance should trouble arise. And from what I am told, trouble has indeed arisen.” His face turned dark and he spoke with a passion that could almost be felt in the air. “Those people are my responsibility, whether the Emperor chooses to recognize it or not, and I will not stand idly by while they suffer so far from civilized lands. A Greywich has been their shield for a centuries, and we shall see to it that one shall be their shield again.” His eyes blazed as he sat, and Wilheim rose again from his chair.
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“Thank you, Maurice, and thank you all. Now, to the job.” The contractor pointed a gloved finger to a map of the Reven Valley, and indicated a tiny dot in the middle of a forest set against the mountains that separated the Empire from the Fringe. “This village,” he began, “is Mt. Oren, the home seat of Greywich’s old family holding. Being on the wrong side of the War to keep the holding, they lost the land. It being too far away and too small for anyone else to want it, no one has laid claim. So it falls to the protection of the Alliance, of which there is a representative that lives there.” Wilheim raised his eyes to the company as if to ensure they were following. “Now, as the Lord Greywich mentioned, there seems to be some kind of trouble growing in the town and surrounding region, doubtless due to the lack of leadership and control.” He grimaced, but before he could continue, Ash spoke up.
“What sort of trouble?” She asked casually enough, but sitting next to her Doriyn could sense a tension in her. Aron replied from his seat:
“Some more organized bandit activity that seems to have bled into the town itself, and…” his face looked pensive. “I suspect that activity may be a cover for something more nefarious.” Willheim looked at the group again.
“But that’s not your concern as yet,” he said. “Or at least not a concern for most of you.” Hélène’s face made a smile that spoke of secrets, and Willheim pointedly did not look at her. The man went on: “The main trouble seems to be coming from a gang calling themselves the Grayblades. They’re not particularly large, maybe 30-some members at most, but lacking anything in the way of leadership or support there's no good way to stand up to them. That’s essentially the job: breaking the back of this gang and running them out of the town. Any questions?” Doriyn had a few questions, but Farko preempted him, stating shrewdly:
“Essentially? Willheim, this team is clearly handpicked: if all you needed was headbreakers you could have saved yourself some money instead of hiring some of the best Independents in the business. I’m surprised Sarad isn't sitting at this table.” Kohol nodded along with his friend’s words as Farko continued: “Even Ash can see that there’s more to this game than you’re telling us,” which elicited a chuckle from Aron and from Ash herself, along with a full throated laugh from Hélène. Farko grinned as Willheim snorted. “Come on, old man: what’s really happening here.” Everyone looked at Willheim and waited for his answer.
“Right,” the man began. "I suppose there’s no reason to not get right to the point. Yes, there’s more going on here than just busting some heads and throwing some ruffians out of town. This situation is…something of a rare opportunity, so I wanted to get the right sort of people to take advantage of it.” He went on, tapping the map with his finger to emphasize his words. “Mt. Oren is in the Fringe, which is why no lord has made a claim as yet to the land. It’d cost more to protect than it would give back in taxes, it’s too far off the main road to be a stop on the way up to Boulder, and there’s a lot of wilderness about. It’s on the map because long ago, probably almost a century before the war, it was a mining town. Everyone seems to have forgotten that the town was once one of the few reliable sources of arcarium ore, long since dried up due to a massive collapse, at least as far as my research shows. With little to offer the region and the Empire, Mt. Oren has been of no interest to anyone. Which brings us to this table.” Willheim looked at Maurice, who stood up again, and addressed the company.
“I want to be very clear with all of you about my intentions: I do not wish to be lord over Mt. Oren, and I harbor no illusions that I would not be denied immediately due to my name and lineage even if I laid claim. However, that does not mean that I cannot do the job of a lord for people I happen to consider under my protection, nor does that mean that I cannot get rich while doing so. My intention is to make Mt. Oren safe and grow influence in it. My intention is to find the mine and re-open it. My intention is, eventually, to run the town in all but name.” Maurice’s eyes flashed again with passion and certainty as he continued. “Now, you see the problem. Headbreakers and others with similar levels of vision would not see the opportunity of this venture. I need people like yourselves who can see past the immediacy of “the job” and into the possibility of “the future.” I do not know what will happen in Mt. Oren, and I do not know how long it all might take, but I can say that if you agree to help me, you will be well rewarded, and the opportunities afforded you while on this job will be your own to pursue. Look beyond the sellswords we are now, and see the land, horses, and homes we could have in the years to come.” Doriyn thought he had misheard the noble. Did he say “we?” “Yes,” Maurice continued. “I will be joining you. Not as a leader, but as a fellow Independent. Setting up this venture has spent my last reserves: I succeed or fail along with you.”
Impressed with Maurice’s final words, Doriyn once again opened his mouth to speak, but was again cut off by another voice. Hélène spoke:
“I am intrigued at all that you present, and appreciate that you believe in it enough to throw your own self into the fight, but I am no sellsword. Willheim asked me to come for other purposes: am I to understand that I, too, would share in the rewards gained from your efforts?” Ash looked in her direction and nodded agreement, and turned to Willheim to hear what he had to say.
“As it happens,” he began, “your more specialized skills were considered when we realized that the ideal roster for this job had some…gaps in it. Not every possibility can be foreseen, and if you needed, say, a…” Hélène interrupted him.
“A thief and a liar,” she said, smiling. “Yes, I understand.” Farko’s eyes suddenly lit up as he, too, understood.
“You want opportunists. That’s the common thread here between us all, and that’s why Sarad isn’t here. People who can think outside the box and see possibilities where others don’t.” Aron broke in:
“Honorable opportunists. You were all considered for various reasons, Farko, including you and me. As Willheim said, we can’t anticipate everything that this job will throw at us, so a flexible, well-rounded crew is imperative. But that doesn't give anyone the flexibility to break the law without…due consideration.” Aron grimaced behind his beard at that, and Farko nodded his understanding.
Opportunists? Flexible? Everyone considered for various reasons? Doriyn’s mind flew and he tuned out the discussion. Everyone else here clearly brought something to the table, but Doriyn could not have said what his own contribution would be. As far as he knew, the letter of introduction from his uncle to Willheim was supposed to help him get his feet wet: this felt like being thrown into the sea.
“...time to consider. I plan to leave for Mt. Oren the morning after tomorrow.” Maurice was speaking and Doriyn hushed his thoughts so he could attend. Willheim broke in:
“Out of respect, I would ask that any one of you who turns down this job to not share the details discussed with anyone else. Part of the reason you all were asked was for your discretion.” Every head nodded assent, and Doriyn did the same. Willheim looked pleased as he stepped over to the drink table, and refilled his wine goblet, then turned back to the gathering. “Enjoy the fare and the hospitality of the house for now, whether you join the company or not, and your rooms are paid for the next two nights. I will be available for any specific questions tomorrow, but for now, goodnight.” The old man walked from the room, and called for the doorward to follow him. As they disappeared, Kohol stood and walked to the drink table. He filled several flagons and brought them to the table, spreading them around to people as needed. The giant spoke first in the silence following Willheim’s departure.
“Well I will certainly be joining this venture, but I’ve only worked with Farko before. I won’t go into danger without first drinking with those who will share it with me.” He glared at the company as if daring them to disagree, and it was Hélène of all people who voiced a full-throated agreement.
“We have the same custom in the South. I, too, want to know everyone at this table better before we begin.” She rose, and drained the flagon that Kohol had set before her. “I say we get settled in our rooms, and meet back here for some proper introductions!” Her eyes danced with excitement, and Doriyn caught his breath for the second time. He found himself nodding agreement with the rest, and rising with them.
“Then until we meet again,” Kohol rumbled, and strode from the room, hefting his giant pack, followed by Farko silently at his side. Aron nodded in amusement, and left with Ash, shaking her hand in greeting. Maurice nodded at Doriyn, then bowed to Hélène and offered his arm, which she took with a smile. She turned the last of that smile to Doriyn, and said:
“See you back here?” Doriyn nodded.
“Yes, I think so,” he said. Hélène’s eyes sparkled, and she left with Maurice, patting his arm with her other hand and chatting with him amicably. Doriyn was alone in the room for a moment, and then he, too, seized his pack and left.
