Three men line up in the dusty street, the light breeze causing a combination of sand and dirt to shift below them. Standing opposite them is a middle-aged man, his hair peppered and face stern.
The man eyes all of them in a rigid manner before speaking, “Good morning gentlemen. If you lot are all we can find then it’s no wonder why the gangs have taken over this city”. The man lets out a deep sigh before continuing, “But you’ll have to do. I’m the Lieutenant in charge here, you will address me as such”.
The three of them waste little time responding, “Yes, Lieutenant sir!”
“Good, now each of you, introduce yourselves,” the Lieutenant demands, crossing his arms as he looks to the man on the far left.
“My name is Willy sir,” the man declares, stiffening up his back as he does so.
“Where are you from Willy?” The Lieutenant asks, having noticed his lighter complexion than the usual within this city.
“I am from the Sacrosanct Empire sir,” Willy responds nervously, knowing the people on this side of the ocean hold disdain for those from the Sacrosanct Empire. As he expected, the two in line with him look at him with distrustful glances.
“You two, I know what you are thinking but this is Melusarej, we stay out of whatever is going on between the desert and the Sacrosanct Empire. Still, it must have been nice living over there, instead of this barren side of the sea where everyone’s struggling,” the Lieutenant notes.
“You aren’t one of those Purity fanatics are you?” The Lieutenant questions, he can handle working with a man from the Sacrosanct Empire but not if they follow their most prominent religion.
“No sir. That’s… that’s actually why I left,” Willy explains, lifting his pant leg to show the metal one he has now. “I lost it in an accident, I got a replacement but… I couldn’t stay; they would have hunted me down and killed me,” Willy explains, the Purity being a religion that deems cyborgs, or those who have combined their bodies with metal, impure.
“It’s not just you, they’d hunt us down too, those racist fucks,” one of the other two men blurts out, knowing the Purity also hunts down and removes those from the desert as well.
“Yeah… but they only kill cyborgs,” Willy points out, knowing that there is no way he can return to his home.
“Hey, are the rumors over there true? I heard their king died, but they’ve been telling everyone he’s just ill so they don’t seem weaker in the middle of the war,” the same recruit asks, hoping to confirm any news that might suggest an advantage for the desert in the ongoing war.
“I don’t know…” Willy admits, having only heard about the king falling ill.
“Enough about that. The war isn’t a concern to us,” the Lieutenant stops their conversation. “Since you’re so eager to chat why don’t you introduce yourself,” the Lieutenant addresses the man who had so many questions for Willy.
“Yes sir, my name is Khan. I’m from the desert, grew up in a tribe to the North surviving through sandstorms and fighting off raiders, I’m tough stock so you can count on me, sir!” Khan declares confidently.
“Good to have you onboard Khan,” the Lieutenant tells him before moving on to the last man in line. “Your turn, introduce yourself”.
“Yes, I am Emmet, I was a priest of Gwyn until recently,” Emmet bows as he responds.
“Wait, do you have those fire powers? That’s fucking cool,” Khan has to ask, having only seen priests of Gwyn wield their powers a few times. Emmet responds by raising his hand, Willy and Khan watch in awe as a flame erupts just above his palm, swirling around in his hand as he shapes it into a tight ball.
“Why would someone who has been bestowed with the sun God’s blessings abandon his faith to come to a city like this?” The Lieutenant inquires, suspicious of why he would stoop to this kind of work.
“It is a long story, but to summarize a group of priests including myself undertook a holy mission. We passed through the mountains to the North and came upon the Marshlands. We were to journey there but my entire group went missing. I searched for days but I can only conclude that they died. When I returned to the capital I was exiled for my failure so now I find myself here,” Emmet explains in a grave tone.
“Ha, you should have known. Nobody has ever come back from the Marshlands. You lot were already pushing your luck by even venturing into the mountains, that place is a death trap. Everyone I know who comes back says they were lost for weeks,” Khan chuckles, making light of his situation from the rumors he’s heard about those regions.
“We had a guide through the mountains, but even he turned away and left us when he heard we wanted to venture into the swamps,” Emmet notes dejectedly, knowing first hand the rumors about that place are true.
Once the conversation dies down the Lieutenant speaks up again, wanting to move on with things, “Willy, Khan, and Emmet welcome to the city guard of the great free city of Melusarej. Now follow me. We have some unsavory types to recruit and I need you to stand next to me and look tough to keep them in line”.
The group follows the Lieutenant through the busy streets, eyeing the lines of stands where all different kinds of merchants are trying to sell different goods they picked up from far off lands. These merchants have come in recently from one of the two ports along the city, one to the North that lies within the long peninsula Melusarej is at the base of and to the one to the West that leads to the open ocean.
The Lieutenant stops in front of what seems like a run-down shack, the three of them noticing a small sign that reads: bounty office, as they make their way inside. They follow the Lieutenant to the front of the room, dimly illuminated by candles.
Everyone within it falls silent, carefully watching the four men walk to the head of the room. All the men, within the dusty old building, are down on their luck, low on gold, and desperate to find any type of work to keep them afloat.
As they reach the front, the Lieutenant’s stern face intensifies as he begins, “Listen up maggots. I’m the Lieutenant of the city guard and unfortunately, we have to turn to you lot to help with this little gang problem I’m sure you’ve all heard about. These pests have proven to be quite the headache, one you wouldn’t be able to hand on your own. That’s why I’m going to split you up into a bunch of smaller squads and so you aren’t running around causing more trouble for us, each squad will be assigned to a Sergeant of the city guard. You will listen to your Sergeant’s orders, don’t let me hear that you stepped out of line or you won’t have a chance to earn that gold you are all so desperate for. The bounty is ten thousand gold pieces per gang leader, but we encourage you all to eliminate the small fries as well”. The Lieutenant begins to call out names in groups of four; once they have been called they gather and head to meet their Sergeant.
The Lieutenant has called out the first six squads and begins the seventh, “Alcaeus”. A man stands up from his stool along the bar. He downs the rest of his drink. Some of the liquid misses his mouth and spills onto his unkempt facial hair but the beer is hardly noticeable on his bronze skin.
As Alcaeus walks towards the front, his stool falls, the whip attached to his waist tangling around its legs. He wiggles it free and stumbles towards the front leaving the stool on the ground. The Lieutenant gives Alcaeus a disapproving glance before moving on.
“Drakthar burrow vagna,” the Lieutenant calls out.
“It’s Borro’vaga,” a deep voice from the back of the room corrects the Lieutenant in a firm tone. The young man stands, others in the room look up at the large figure, slightly intimidated by the man now towering above them. One man flinches as Drakthar walks by, having caught a view of the many scars on Drakthar’s muscular arm.
Two men near the front are blocking Drakthar’s path.
“Excuse me,” he tries to get them to let him by. The two men turn around and see his hulking stature for the first time. They quickly make room for Drakthar, avoiding eye contact to not provoke a fight with such an imposing man. When he gets to the front Alcaeus smiles at him, welcoming his new comrade from the desert to the squad.
“Xander,” the Lieutenant reads the next name off the list. The figure that was leaning up against the far, dimly lit corner of the bounty office exits the shadows. Others are unimpressed by the boyish face of the mousy-haired young man.
Side conversations break out in the office, people eyeing each other and feeling lucky they are not in a squad with a mere boy. Xander hears their whispers, but ignores them, well aware that despite his tall stature his face makes him seem much younger than he is. He continues forwards, unfazed, silently walking up to Alcaeus and Drakthar.
The Lieutenant finishes the group, “Kayde”.
“Oh, finally it’s my turn,” someone comments from the center of the room. A couple of people take a second to process Kayde’s appearance, baffled by the amount of metal parts. They had never seen a cyborg that had their face made from machinery, let alone what must be the other seventy percent of his body. The only part of his face that is still human is his eyes and the edge of his mouth.
“Oh excuse me guys, thanks, coming through,” Kayde continues to make his way to the front. “Hey new friends, you three look interesting,” he greets the rest of his squad that he has joined up at the front.
Now that the squad is assembled, the Lieutenant gives them the place to meet their Sergeant. The four of them head to the meeting place outside of a noisy tavern in the center of the city. They push through the rabble in the sandy street and approach an odd group of people that must be the ones waiting for them.
A portly man greets them with a smile, “Hello lads, looks like ya are the lucky ones that’ll be with me going forward,” he lets out an inviting chuckle before continuing, “Ya can just call me Sarge, I’ll be in charge of ya while we try to take down some of these rascals. Let me introduce ya to my team. First, this young lady’s name is Lydia”. The squad looks at the raven-haired girl Sarge gestures towards and she smiles back at them, giving them a brief hello before Sarge moves on.
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“That good for nothing excuse for a guard over there is Gorl”. Gorl, a regular looking man with dark brown hair waves back also with a smile.
“Come on now Sarge, you wouldn’t want them getting the wrong impression of me already,” Gorl retorts, not letting Sarge’s harsh words go unchallenged.
“Sure sure, I only kid, Gorl is alright when things get down to it. Anyway, this young man over here is Eric, he has a talent for music this one does”. A boy with a lute nods at them; he looks Drakthar up and down very impressed by his physique.
Sarge goes over to the largest man of the group, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder as he introduces him, “And this here is my strongest guard, Sharn. He can't talk but he is more able than the rest of them, maybe even more than myself”. Drakthar stares at the older man with a scar across his neck. Sharn stands silent and confident, doing little to note his introduction.
While Alcaeus and Kayde introduce themselves, Drakthar stares at Sharn’s sword. It has an odd jagged shape and weird holes along the blade, making it unlike any sort of weapon Drakthar has seen before.
“What about you two?” Sarge asks Drakthar and Xander who have yet to introduce themselves.
“Xander,” Xander obliges, not intending to give them any more than just his name for now.
“I am Drakthar Borro’vaga,” Drakthar proudly declares, thinking that no further details were needed based on Xander’s response.
“Alright, now that the introductions are out of the way, let me give y'all a quick idea of the gangs within Meluseraj. The first is the Snakes, what we know about them is they seem to only be made up of those from the desert, and they don’t let in any cyborgs. So if you were trying to infiltrate them only Drakthar and Alcaeus would be able to join. The second is the Bears, they are a rowdy bunch starting a bunch of fights around the city to blow off steam. Only thing they value is how big ya muscles are, I even hear they admit anyone who can pass their test of strength. Last is the Wolves, this group is the most mysterious. They’re new but they’ve been growing rapidly, reportedly due to some fancy tech they picked up. Before the four of ya showed up we got a report of a sighting of some of the Wolves were making trouble not too far from here, so there’s no more time to waste, let's get moving lads,” Sarge explains to the newbies what they will be doing.
After Sarge finishes his explanation he leads everyone to the northern part of the city. As they move further North the others note that the streets are empty, an odd contrast to the bustling ones they passed through just moments ago.
Sarge and the rest of the city guard stay near the front while the ones from the bounty office follow at the back of the formation. As they walk, Drakthar continues to stare at Sharn like one would if they were sizing up an enemy before a battle.
As the front of the group rounds a corner, they hear a screech. They immediately halt and Sarge jumps defensively in front of Lydia, anticipating an attack of some sort. They wait until the source of the sound, a black cat, emerges from behind a crate.
“Yeah, Sarge you need to protect her from everything... even cats,” Gorl laughs at Sarge’s overreaction. Sarge mumbles, not having an appropriately quick response to Gorl’s japes.
They walk for another three blocks through gang territory before they see them, a group of Wolves set up across a bridge over a small gully. They notice a pair of Gatling guns set up on the end of the bridge with a couple of Wolves manning them, an outpost to defend the territory of the city they were able to gain control of.
“Pull out your weapons lads, this is where you prove yourselves,” Sarge leads the charge towards the bridge; Gorl, Eric, Sharn, Drakthar, and Alcaeus follow behind while Lydia, Kayde and Xander wait.
Lydia and Kayde pull out rifles and begin to fire upon the group of Wolves. Lydia notices a lot of them begin to fall, but not because of her bullets. She realizes Kayde has connected with a wolf’s head with every bullet he has fired.
Near the front, Drakthar is the first to make it to the bridge. He shields his head with his arms and runs forward, the bullets from the gun ricochet off his armor, flying off into the gully or lodging in the wooden bridge below. He grabs his battle-axe attached to his back and easily cleaves off the head of the man behind one of the guns. The man’s blood now adorns the edge of Drakthar’s axe as his head falls to the ground. It bounces a couple of times and rolls off the edge of the bridge into the gully below.
Sharn is not far behind Drakthar as he executes something quite similar to the other man operating a gun. The others follow Drakthar and Sharn’s lead, beginning to cut down the unprepared Wolves, who were waiting on the other side of the bridge.
As the fighting continues, Alcaeus stops to take a look at the corpses of the gunners. He finds some pouches of gold and sneakily pockets them. He goes from wolf to wolf and takes all their valuable possessions. The only one that notices is Xander, who has just been observing the battle from behind.
After all of the Wolves are slain, Sarge tells the others, “Looks like ya lads know how to fight. Why don’t the four of ya join us for a round of drinks tonight on me?”. After dispersing, the group meets back up at the noisy tavern with a worn-out sign about it reading: O’Malley’s. They notice the pungent mixture of smells: Alcohol, dried blood, body odor, and the like. They find Sarge and the other members of the city guard around a table in the corner of the tavern just below one of the few lanterns hanging in the bar.
“Glad you four decided to show up, let me get you all a drink,” Sarge gets up and goes up to O’Malley the barkeep and orders drinks for Alcaeus, Drakthar, Xander, and Kayde. “So, interesting lads like yourselves must have some sort of story. Let’s hear em,” Sarge asks as he returns with their drinks.
Alcaeus is the first to respond, “Okay, Sarge. I don’t have some grand story you're hoping for but if you want to understand me better than understand this, I only value three things in life in this exact order, gold, drink, and women”.
As Alcaeus blathers on, telling Sarge of some of his escapades in his last interest, Kayde starts to chat with Lydia; after a few words are exchanged about their rifles they move to another table to be able to hear each other, instead of being drowned out by the bigger group’s conversation.
“What about ya Drakthar? Man, as scarred up as ya, must have a hell of a past,” Sarge asks as he takes another drink.
Drakthar debates answering before deciding to reveal, “I used to be a part of the famous Iron Legion. I joined because my goal is to become the strongest warrior by seeking out worthy adversaries and challenging them in single combat. Things changed, now I’m no longer in the Legion and decided to make some easy gold while I seek out worthy opponents”. He stares at Sharn specifically when he finishes that last part.
The Iron Legion is a group of mercenaries who are famous within the desert. They are known for their unconventionally heavy armor which they call power armor, which they bestow upon their members when they join.
Eric, who was already impressed with Drakthar, cannot help but tell him, “If you really wish to become the strongest warrior then I hope to write a song about you one day”.
“I do not care for songs,” Drakthar responds bluntly, annoyed by such frivolous things.
This saddens the young man, loosening his grip on his lute when hit with such harsh rejection. But he does not stay down for long, determined to write a song tonight, he propositions Alcaeus, “What about you? You seem like a man who could appreciate a song”.
“No I’m not, now get away from me,” Alcaeus rebuffs him as well, not interested in whatever this unnerving young man wants with him.
"Assholes," Eric comments under his breath, finding them both very rude to his very generous offer.
Sarge is tired of this awkward exchange, so he tries to get someone else talking. As he is about to ask Kayde of his tale, he notices Kayde is no longer at the table, “Where is Kayde?”
“He left about ten minutes ago with Lydia,” Gorl reports back to his Sergeant, smiling as he knows this will likely get a rise out of him.
Gorl does not get what he desires, Sarge bottles in any emotions he might have had, and moves on to Xander. “Xander, you’re a quiet one I can tell. I don’t think you’ve spoken all day lad. Ya have a reason for it?”
Sarge’s question is interrupted by the sound of Eric performing the song he had written about the battle they had just fought earlier in the day. As he vividly describes the setting, he is silenced when a cloth finds itself wrapped around his mouth. He struggles to breathe for a few seconds until he manages to pull the cloth down.
The others laugh at his misfortune not even thinking to question how the cloth appeared. Except for Drakthar, who is now looking from side to side for any sign of where the cloth could have come from. As he does Xander smirks at him insinuating it was he who had covered Eric’s mouth.
Before now none of the people who he met at the bounty office intrigued Drakthar as a potential worthy opponent. Only given this random feat did Xander catch his interest, but Xander wasn’t the one at the table he is most interested in. Drakthar’s gaze returns to Sharn where it has stayed for most of the night.
After the commotion from Eric’s mishap calms down, Alcaeus sees fit to ask Sarge a personal question, “What is going on between yourself and Lydia? Are you trying to hit that?”
“Lydia is like a daughter to me. I would never see her like that,” Sarge recoils in disgust from such a query.
“Alright, I can make a pass at her,” Alcaeus notes, not able to read the room nor knowing what she was currently doing with Kayde. Alcaeus is a very confident man when it comes to women for better or worse.
“You dare think you can come on to Lydia with me present. The gall! I won’t stand for this blatant disrespect, I challenge you to a duel right now!” Sarge, who is clearly drunk, stands up and wobbles around while standing over Alcaeus.
“Two hundred gold,” Sarge slurs, slamming his hand onto the table as he suggests that be the reward for the winner.
“I accept this duel. But I don’t have that much gold. Won’t matter though cause I’ll duel you all the same. There is no way I will lose,” Alcaeus confidently declares, standing up to meet Sarge. They angrily storm outside with the others following behind.
“Okay, you drunk idiots, we’ll go till one of you is knocked out, the winner is the one standing,” Gorl explains the stakes to the combatants.
“Any duel that does not end in death is not a real duel,” Drakthar notes from the sidelines, not approving of such a duel, only when warriors are fighting for their lives do they show what they are worth.
“Well, maybe we can’t be as reckless with life as you are, especially because both of these men are stupid drunk,” Gorl doesn’t take kindly to Drakthar’s statement, looking at him as if he was a barbarian that hasn’t seen civilization for the last few months. Maybe that is how they did things in the Iron Legion, but here in Melusarej, Gorl knew people didn’t just kill each other over drunken disagreements.
Sarge and Alcaeus start in the middle of the dirty street outside the tavern, their backs to each other. A small number of onlookers gather, eager to watch the nightly fight that surely came from a drunken disagreement.
The two combatants take three paces forward and wait for Gorl’s call, signaling them to turn and fire. Once they hear it they both turn around and with the blurry vision brought on by the alcohol they both miss horribly, those watching having to duck down and take cover to avoid being caught in the crossfire.
Alcaeus doesn’t let his inaccuracy with his pistol end the duel. He grabs the whip off his waist and cracks it upon Sarge’s shoulder. Sarge takes a second to wipe away the blood seeping out of his cut, staining his shirt.
Sarge angrily charges at Alcaeus with his head lowered, making contact with Alcaeus’s stomach. Alcaeus falls to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Alcaeus can push the inebriated man off of him and get back to his feet. He raises his whip once again to strike, but Sharn stops him.
Drakthar is not amused that Sharn interrupted the duel, he puts his hand on his axe, relishing the opportunity to have an excuse to trade blows with Sharn.
“Alright, this has gone far enough. Both of them are clearly out of it and now badly injured let’s just leave it as a tie right here,” Gorl tries to diffuse the situation. He doesn’t want there to be any more bruises inflicted or bloodshed tonight, especially not amongst comrades.
Drakthar relaxes and takes his hand off his axe, irritated this didn’t escalate into more. They help Sarge and Alcaeus back to where they are staying so they can clean themselves up for the night.