Four days out from where you died for the first time, you encounter farmland, and in the distance spot the wooden palisade of Chedal.

Early on the next day, you approach the gates and are met by the town guards. One is an old greybeard of a half-orc, the other is a halfling. Greybeard stops you. "Ho there traveler, you seen a band o' soldiers comin' down the road? Supposed to pass through here six, seven days back but haven't seen hide nor hair of 'em."

You sigh. May as well tell them. Next caravan would bring the news anyway. "If you mean the Ironbark band, then you're looking at what's left of it."

Greybeard drops his spear in surprise. "Yer shitting me lad. Ironbark, all the way out to our ass-end of the world? And they only sent you?"

You hand Greybeard back his spear and shake your head. "The the full company was coming. I'm all that's left."

The halfling speaks up. "How does that happen? A bunch of militia like us I can understand, but Ironbark?"

You snort. "Ambush. We got caught marching along, bored out of our skulls by miles of bad road and too damn many trees. Arrows from both sides of the road, followed up by an infantry rush. No time to form up, hit from the front and back like that. It was a massacre."

Greybeard spits on the ground. "Shit. Professional hit. Best get o'er to the Guildhouse. Riben's gonna need to hear that."

You nod. "That's my plan, but which building is it?"

Greybeard shakes his head. "Only the one buildin' with a slate roof in this town lad."

You wince. That means leaky roofs everywhere then... "Alright, thanks." You trudge off, leaving Greybeard and his companion to worry. You spot the Guildhouse easily enough, the black slate marking it out from the thatch and wooden shingles of its neighbors. The top two stories help as well, leaving it towering over the one- and two- story buildings that dominate most of the town. Even before you knock on the door, you can hear a heated argument from inside.

"Dammit Riben, You've known me since I was a girl! Don't you start with the 'not ready for this' horse-droppings!"

"Aflia, Aflia..."

"Don't you 'Aflia, Aflia' me! I'm not leaving until you give me a reasonable answer!"

You open the door, and see a man you presume to be Riben seated behind a desk, a fiery-haired and -tempered Tiefling lady standing before it. Her dress is lightweight, particularly for this far north. Her tail peaks through a special opening, swishing back-and-forth in agitation. "Mr. Riben, miss Aflia, pardon my intrusion. My name is Aris Cretu, and there's some news Mr. Riben needs to hear."

Aflia turns around, and you get a decent look at her. Taller then you by six or seven inches, and heavier than you by a good thirty pounds of well-sculpted flesh. You expected the stereotypical red eyes, and red-tinged skin. You didn't anticipate the horn-edged brow ridges, nor the speckling of tiny red scales at her throat. Scales! You freeze for a brief moment, remembering the half-second of life from right before you died, scale-skinned swordsmen streaming out of the trees...

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Riben is sitting upright, his mouth making words you can't hear. Aflia crosses her arms, her dress shifting to cover her throat. Reality resumes, as does Riben's voice. "...it out man, what news?"

You shake your head. "Sorry sir. Bad memory. The Ironbark Band has been wiped out."

"WHAT!"

You quickly relate the ambush that wiped out the Ironbark band, as best you can recall and reconstruct.

Riben leans back in his chair and stares up at the ceiling. "Aflia dear, this is why I won't send you out alone. You just are not ready for the life of an adventurer. And I think your father would agree with me. Perhaps once the Bad Moon clan is dealt with... Without Ironbark, I don't know how Chedal can survive if they do come raiding."

Aflia looks stunned.

Weren't expecting the real world to be so harsh were you? Welcome to reality miss Aflia. But if Chedal really is screwed over, then I need to keep on moving. Back to the Jeweled Cities? That won’t do, not this soon after Westmarch. That means… "Mr. Riben, is there a Ranger in this branch of the Adventurer's Guild?"

Riben looks thoughtful "Yes there is, why?"

"Just thinking about something my Sargent said once. The Bad Moon clan are Orcs, right? If the Warchief were to die, wouldn't the clan fight it out amongst themselves until a new warchief emerged?"

Riben frowns. "I think Verra can pull that off, probably would enjoy it too. Crazy elf hates orcs something fierce, though she won't talk about it."

Aflia scowls at you. "That would involve a campaign of assassinations, which is hardly fair or legal, if I recall correctly."

You shake your head. "Miss, what is worse, the death of a few dozen Orcs, or the death of the population of Chedal? If Ms. Verra can assassinate the Warchief, and then any likely successors to keep the Bad Moons tied up killing themselves, That will buy more than enough time for another mercenary company to arrive. Or the Bad Moons may decide Chedal isn't worth the cost and go home."

"Hmph! Just what I'd expect out of a brute of a soldier! But your logic is impeccable, if your basic assumption holds true."

Riben grins suddenly. "Verra would probably wade right in anyway, if she hasn't already. She's missed her last check-in, but she usually does that if she's out hunting. I'll get ahold of one of the local druids, see if they can get a message to her. And I may have an answer to your request Alfia. Aris, you said you had 'bad memories', but could you work with a Tiefling in spite of them?"

Work with Aflia, he means. "Hair of the dog, sir. And its not Tieflings, I had some Tiefling squad-mates, good soldiers one and all. It was the scales. Only had about three seconds before something covered in scales almost shot my head off. Working with miss Aflia should help me get past that."

"Then you're hired. Aflia, you too. I've only two contracts available at the moment I'd consider suitable for a pair of new adventurers." He pauses, expecting either you or Aflia to say something. You are content to await orders, while Aflia is too stunned at her turn of fortune to protest. "One, Old Man Berkin has a rat problem down at the brewery. Two, there's a bit of an ooze problem near the old watchtower. Grey one, eating the metal bits down in the cellar."

hmm, the 'rat' problem sounds simple enough, but there's some missing information. Grey oozes are nasty against metal equipment, but Aflia should do just fine...

----------------------------------------

Status Report:

Money: 1 platinum coin

Food and water: 5 days of hardtack rations

Equipment: in good condition

The Ring: obsidian band with three empty gem settings.

Total Deaths: 1