“Some people are like chili peppers. They get more spicy the older they grow.” - Old folk saying.
Mischka Bænfinn was no spring chicken by any recognition at her age of seventy-four, though her kind was fortunately blessed with strength that remained with them through their entire lives, unlike those who often wilted with age. Even at her late age – her kind typically only lived to their eighties or nineties – she remained as fit as when she was a young woman of twenty.
She had been a warrior practically all her life. Her father had gone to the northern continent along with some of his friends and siblings in search of fortune as sellswords, and she was born in the mercenary band, growing up alongside other children like her. It was only natural for such children to look up to the mercenaries as their role models as they grew older, and she herself joined the band once she was old enough to do so.
At the start, Mischka marched to battle alongside her father, uncles, and aunts. As time passed and injuries or death took the elders, her compatriots were mostly down to her peers, other young fellows who grew up in the band like she did and decided to take up arms. She had never thought that she would actually live long enough to march into battle alongside her own children and grandchildren like she did presently.
While she was not the only child of her parents, she was the only one who took up arms and sought a living through martial means like they did. Her elder brother was not cut out for violence and started a small inn in Knallgant, while her younger sister was more interested in music. Last Mischka saw her was when her troupe – her sister had retired as performer and now managed the troupe – happened to visit Levain while the Free Lances were still there.
As for her own children, her sons Niko and Ivan as well as her youngest daughter Varilya had joined her in the band she used to lead after her father passed on. Her eldest daughter Tamara and second daughter Olga had similarly chosen a different path. The two worked together and pooled their money to start a rather successful eatery in Bærengant instead, which they managed with the help of their spouses and children.
It was not that working as mercenaries had no risks. Mischka knew that all too well, having lost her father and several people she used to call “Uncle” or “Aunt” to death or injury. Her own younger son Ivan passed on two decades ago in Theodinaz, and that same battle had her thinking that it might have been the end of the band as it was, at least until the Silver Maiden brought about miracles.
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What remained of the band had joined the Free Lances since, and they grew to well over double their number in the years since, with many of their own descendants joining the fray as they grew up. Even presently Mischka sometimes looked fondly backwards where several of her grandchildren – including Ivan’s only son – were marching alongside them.
As the old matriarch of the family, she felt it was her obligation to give them a good example to follow, which was one reason why she always refused to retire despite her age. The battlefield still called out to her, and she was not one to ignore its call. Step by step, she rushed after those leading the way, her own children and in-laws at the tip of the formation, similarly leading by example for the rest.
Mischka’s experienced eyes noticed right away when the tip started to slow down and gestured to the rest of her platoon to prepare to do their part. The formation slowed down bit by bit, until finally the shieldbearers at the tip of their formation made a push towards the sides, leaving the enemies in front to those behind them.
Just as her son-in-law Yuri took a second step to the side, and well before any of the surprised enemy soldiers before them managed to react, Mischka took a powerful stride forward and brought down her massive blade on a diagonal swing that covered the open gap in the formation. The heavy blade simply shattered the shafts of the enemy spears it ran across and brutally cleaved through three enemy soldiers, shield, armor, and all.
Rather than cut through the soldiers in question, Mischka’s blade left marks that showed that she crushed them instead. It was just that her blade was narrow enough that the crushing resulted in a crude cut through the poor soldiers’ bodies as well. The metal of their lamellar armor held on well enough for the most part, but the strings used to tie the pieces together simply snapped when subjected to such forces. As for the shields made out of light wood, they never stood a chance at all.
As she took another step forward, the therian matron heaved as she swung her blade out to the other side, once again slaying a couple enemy soldiers on the spot and forcing another four to back away desperately to avoid her swing. Her two swing basically ensured that the enemy soldiers had no chance to make use of the opportunity to attack the shieldbearers from the sides, and as the rest of her platoon rushed forward along with her, they continued to press their advantage as they carved a bloody path through the enemy formation.
Their job was to carve a path for their allies to reach the enemy sniper who was suspected to be their general, whose location they had an inkling of as Salicia fought them arrow to arrow. The occasional explosions of arrows that clashed against one another as they shattered to fragments over their head was audible even in the chaotic battlefield.
Through it all, Mischka only looked forward. She trusted her compatriots to do their part in the battle, while and hers would in turn, do their own part as planned.