03-21-2017, 07:29 PM
(Caoimaite 13th, 922. Dalhurst, Lagalla, 25 years ago. 2:00 PM.)
After far too much time, the Mercer Brigade marched its way through the gates of Dalhurst, faces grim and dirtied. They had lost one of the five carts they had been escorting, and they had suffered two casualties out of the seventeen men they had dispatched to protect the caravan. But, the Nordstrom's scion and the guards they had sent with them were unscathed, for the most part. The bandits they had encountered on their way from Arcanann took them by surprise, but they had been dealt with. With luck, they and their allies would not trouble the countryside any longer.
Etney looked up at the structures, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. Looking down at the cloth on her armor, she realized it was as much grime and blood as it was sweat. The girl, a hair's breath from escaping her teens, was exhausted. Her axe felt thrice as heavy as it was across her back, and her limbs screamed out for relief. But, they had made it, and she had succeeded in her first real mission: protecting the stuck-up noble from the Lower City on his way for whatever reason the boy had for coming this far from the capitol.
The young mage was about the same age as she, give or take a year. His clothing was well-fitted and well-tailored, and was clearly not ready to face the battles that they had on their way here. There were tears and stains across his dark clothing (which he had not stopped complaining about on the entire trek here) and his black hair, with bright blue streaks dyed through it, was mottled and dirty from the road travel. His face looked disgruntled and upset, and Etney couldn't help but smile as she saw the grumpy noble on his first foray outside of his comfort zone.
"Is this Dunhurst, Commander?" the mage asked impatiently.
"Dalhurst, your Presence," the commander responded. He was a gruff man with a dozen scars and a thousand wrinkles on his aging face, each with its own story to tell. He stood straight and tall, despite his age, and had no intention of allowing himself to be beaten by the unrelenting spectre of death. It was plain to everyone that Desmond Mercer would fight to the last. Etney admired her father, despite his gruff, serious demeanor. He taught her everything he knew about fighting and being a mercenary, and though she would never admit it, she was eagerly looking forward to her father's assessment of her first mission as an official member of the Mercer brigade.
"Thank Aisling," the noble muttered. "I will have stern words with my father after this. He should have sent me with a century of knights; not a handful of sellswords and ungifted rabble."
A flash of anger washed over Etney's face. What did that snot-nosed ass just say!? She turned towards the mage, her mouth opening to say something. A hand on her wrist interrupts her. It was her older brother, Rictor. His hair - the shade as a raging fire, the same shade as her own - was pulled back in a ponytail, though it was loose and messy thanks to the chaos of battle. "Don't try it, Etney," he said as he shook his head.
"Let go, Rick. I know you want to tell that ungrateful twerp what for as much as I do."
"That ungrateful twerp is not only our employer, but a mage, Etney. You do realize he'll have your head if you try anything, right?"
Etney's yanks her arm away from her brother. "I know, I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I would lay his ass out if I could."
Rictor laughed. "Well, keep it to your daydreams. I enjoy having a sister, and I'd much prefer her unincinerated."
"Was our performance not sufficient for your expectations, Your Presence?" Desmond asked the mageling.
He lifted his nose indignantly. "No, no, you performed adequately. I will ensure that you receive whatever pittance my father promised you, and for that I am grateful, Commander Mercer. Your brigade is a cut above most of your station."
The commander nodded his head in response. "Thank you for your kind words, Lord Nordstrom."
"Please," the young mage said, waving his hand dismissively. "'Lord Nordstrom' is my father, and I plan to enjoy my time as his scion for as long as I can. Just call me Alexis."
"As you say, Alexis." Desmond turned to the rest of his men. "You're all dismissed for the moment. Rest up and prepare. We have a few more miles between here and our destination. The Academy that our employer is heading to is close, but the roads could have more trouble. Take an hour and meet back at the southern gate, and be ready for anything."
A chorus of 'Ayes' sounded out amongst the tired men, who disperse to recuperate. Desmond himself stayed to the carts and Alexis, ensuring that their charges are protected during this downtime. That meant that Etney had no intention of sticking around - any opportunity to get away from the twerp she could take, she would take.
"Etney," Rictor said, grinning. "Let's go and grab a bite to eat. You deserve it after your first successful mission as a mercenary."
"Successful?" she added playfully. "But Rictor, didn't you hear father? We aren't quite finished yet."
Rictor chuckled. "It's a few more miles, Etney. What could possibly go wrong?"
After far too much time, the Mercer Brigade marched its way through the gates of Dalhurst, faces grim and dirtied. They had lost one of the five carts they had been escorting, and they had suffered two casualties out of the seventeen men they had dispatched to protect the caravan. But, the Nordstrom's scion and the guards they had sent with them were unscathed, for the most part. The bandits they had encountered on their way from Arcanann took them by surprise, but they had been dealt with. With luck, they and their allies would not trouble the countryside any longer.
Etney looked up at the structures, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. Looking down at the cloth on her armor, she realized it was as much grime and blood as it was sweat. The girl, a hair's breath from escaping her teens, was exhausted. Her axe felt thrice as heavy as it was across her back, and her limbs screamed out for relief. But, they had made it, and she had succeeded in her first real mission: protecting the stuck-up noble from the Lower City on his way for whatever reason the boy had for coming this far from the capitol.
The young mage was about the same age as she, give or take a year. His clothing was well-fitted and well-tailored, and was clearly not ready to face the battles that they had on their way here. There were tears and stains across his dark clothing (which he had not stopped complaining about on the entire trek here) and his black hair, with bright blue streaks dyed through it, was mottled and dirty from the road travel. His face looked disgruntled and upset, and Etney couldn't help but smile as she saw the grumpy noble on his first foray outside of his comfort zone.
"Is this Dunhurst, Commander?" the mage asked impatiently.
"Dalhurst, your Presence," the commander responded. He was a gruff man with a dozen scars and a thousand wrinkles on his aging face, each with its own story to tell. He stood straight and tall, despite his age, and had no intention of allowing himself to be beaten by the unrelenting spectre of death. It was plain to everyone that Desmond Mercer would fight to the last. Etney admired her father, despite his gruff, serious demeanor. He taught her everything he knew about fighting and being a mercenary, and though she would never admit it, she was eagerly looking forward to her father's assessment of her first mission as an official member of the Mercer brigade.
"Thank Aisling," the noble muttered. "I will have stern words with my father after this. He should have sent me with a century of knights; not a handful of sellswords and ungifted rabble."
A flash of anger washed over Etney's face. What did that snot-nosed ass just say!? She turned towards the mage, her mouth opening to say something. A hand on her wrist interrupts her. It was her older brother, Rictor. His hair - the shade as a raging fire, the same shade as her own - was pulled back in a ponytail, though it was loose and messy thanks to the chaos of battle. "Don't try it, Etney," he said as he shook his head.
"Let go, Rick. I know you want to tell that ungrateful twerp what for as much as I do."
"That ungrateful twerp is not only our employer, but a mage, Etney. You do realize he'll have your head if you try anything, right?"
Etney's yanks her arm away from her brother. "I know, I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I would lay his ass out if I could."
Rictor laughed. "Well, keep it to your daydreams. I enjoy having a sister, and I'd much prefer her unincinerated."
"Was our performance not sufficient for your expectations, Your Presence?" Desmond asked the mageling.
He lifted his nose indignantly. "No, no, you performed adequately. I will ensure that you receive whatever pittance my father promised you, and for that I am grateful, Commander Mercer. Your brigade is a cut above most of your station."
The commander nodded his head in response. "Thank you for your kind words, Lord Nordstrom."
"Please," the young mage said, waving his hand dismissively. "'Lord Nordstrom' is my father, and I plan to enjoy my time as his scion for as long as I can. Just call me Alexis."
"As you say, Alexis." Desmond turned to the rest of his men. "You're all dismissed for the moment. Rest up and prepare. We have a few more miles between here and our destination. The Academy that our employer is heading to is close, but the roads could have more trouble. Take an hour and meet back at the southern gate, and be ready for anything."
A chorus of 'Ayes' sounded out amongst the tired men, who disperse to recuperate. Desmond himself stayed to the carts and Alexis, ensuring that their charges are protected during this downtime. That meant that Etney had no intention of sticking around - any opportunity to get away from the twerp she could take, she would take.
"Etney," Rictor said, grinning. "Let's go and grab a bite to eat. You deserve it after your first successful mission as a mercenary."
"Successful?" she added playfully. "But Rictor, didn't you hear father? We aren't quite finished yet."
Rictor chuckled. "It's a few more miles, Etney. What could possibly go wrong?"