Rove
The Happy Duckling, Handport
Map of the Grasping Isle [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/554030201789743105/1028654515798409237/Grasping_Isle_Final_V1.0.png?width=896&height=676]
It took Rove and Aya some time to set up the contract. Madam Aya made sure to keep the money out of sight, while Rove took out parchment and ink. He wrote the contract with a practised hand, lining out all the details they had discussed in the storeroom. Even though Madam Aya still acted high and mighty, she seemed to have gotten it through her thick skull not to talk about vast amounts of gold inside the barroom. They both signed the contract, Rove’s sharp and crude signature a stark contrast with Madam Aya’s elaborate curly one. Madam Aya paid the ten hands they had agreed upon as a forward payment, and the contract was sealed.
When the deal was done, both went their separate ways. They agreed to meet up the day after so that either of them could finish their business. As it was already late, Rove decided to return to his room in the Happy Duckling and take a good night of rest before leaving. He didn’t have his own house, he was travelling far too often for that. In these regions, having a house would only mean that the thieves could steal all of his savings. Hence, it was safer to have little belongings and take them all with him.
The next morning, refreshed and with renewed determination, Rove set out into town.
His business was done quickly and efficiently. After buying two horses for the journey at his usual spot, he had time left to investigate his client. Something didn’t quite add up. Not only the high pay and the vagueness of the mission were off, but also Madam Aya’s behaviour itself.
After an hour or so of asking around in and around Handport, it became clear nobody had anything substantial to tell about her. She arrived here about three days ago, travelling from the east, from the direction of the small town of Hammerport. Since then, she has been staying at 3 different inns across the city, seemingly at random. That was all the information the rabble of Handport could provide him with. Nothing much to go on, but it was clear she had been careful. At least that was something.
After a rather disappointing morning, he walked the streets, silently muttering to himself and cursing his poor luck of the last couple of weeks. His stomping grounds were getting too crowded and rowdy, filled with too much competition. Even if his reputation got him a certain amount of work from veterans who traded and worked in the area for a long time, lower-priced Herhors were tempting even if their skills were inferior to his. For new folk who weren’t aware of the subtleties needed to be successful on the Grasping Isle, his prices seemed rather high. It didn’t help that there were plenty of those cheap alternatives popping up out of nowhere around these parts. Something pulled mercenaries to this area, and he didn’t like it one bit. Arals damn it...
Deep in thought, Rove decided to roam through town a bit, to drown out his doubts. Difficult times required taking risks to get through. And he was one of the best in the business. If anyone could pull this off, it would be him. He pressed the thoughts to the back of his mind.
Casually walking through Handport, he arrived at the central square. Although it wasn’t market day, a fair number of traders set up shop here, praising their wares with loud voices. He took his time sauntering across the marketplace, amusedly listing the arguments and haggling between customers and traders.
Enjoying a nice cooked herring from a fish stall, Rove saw somebody waving to him down the street. It was a woman, clad in similar gear to his. She wore a leather breastplate over dark red and brown clothes, and a pair of bronze swords were hanging from her hips. She looked very fit, her frame slender but well-muscled. He felt his muscles tense reflexively, old memories flashing through his mind. It took the entirety of the time the woman was approaching to get both his body and mind under control.
Even after all this time, my body shivers at the thought of being approached people clad in that kind of gear. Rove thought bitterly.
“Heh, still the same deal I see. I hoped you’d grow some backbone after this contract.” Crap, she noticed.
“Hello to you too, Mearn. Now scram, if you’re just going spout rude remarks in my face.”
Mearn laughed, her bronze weapons clanging in tandem.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it, you know that. It’s just, you would think such a thing would disappear after years of Herhor work. How many contracts did you complete again? Around thirty-five?”
“Seventy,” Rove growled, getting increasingly annoyed. “And you damn well know that.”
“Seventy, of course. My apologies, Rove.” Was that a smile on her face? That stupid, hellish woman.
“I haven’t got time for your antics. If you’d excuse-….” Rove turned around, determined to spend the time somewhere less irritating.
“Yes, of course.” Mearn interrupted him. “Everybody saunters around the market and eats cooked herring when they’re in a rush.”
Her tone shifted to a be less playful.
“Heh, sorry Rove, that was maybe a bit mean of me. Maybe. I’ll stop teasing you. Walk up with me a bit, don’t you? Have a little chat. It has been a while since I’ve seen our most prized Herhor.”
Rove stopped mid-step. He looked around at her. Though she was still smiling, a hand casually on her hip, she sounded sincere. Besides, if he’d run away in such a crowded place, he’d be putting his reputation through the wringer.
“Fine, do as you wish. Don’t think I’m going to buy you a herring though.”
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The two Herhors walked through the marketplace together for a while, Mearn chatting about some contracts she had landed a while back.
“So, have you landed a new contract after Old Bren hired you?”
“After Brenstead? I might have. What’s it to you?”
Mearn sigh and shrugged melodramatically, punching him in the shoulder.
“Oh, come on Rove. It’s not that I can steal that contract away from you when you already signed it. I’ve heard rumours of the ruckus your client made in the Happy Duckling. Knowing you, you made her sign the contract right after.”
She had a point. In addition, Mearn was an experienced Herhor, with a strong sense of collegiality. And he could use a different perspective on his newest contract.
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“Fine, fine. I could use your advice anyway.”
Her grin widened at that.
“If it makes you feel any better. I won’t even charge you for it. As a way of apology.”
Rove made a sound in between a grunt and a bark of laughter.
“Well then, I’ll give you a short rundown. Elder female client, fancy clothing, lots of money on her.”
“Name?”
“Madam Aya.”
“Occupation?”
“Unknown.”
“What? How much is she paying you for you not to demand that kind of information?”
Rove leaned towards her for a whisper.
“Twenty hands.”
Mearn’s eyes widened.
“By Legria’s Bosom, that’s a lot of money.” She swore to the Aral of Chaos and Change.
“Getting religious all of a sudden, Mearn?”
“That amount of money would make anyone religious in an instant.”
“Hence my suspicions.”
The female Herhor shrugged.
“Fair enough. If you don’t mind me asking, what is she asking you to do?”
“Bodyguard job, six weeks. Journeying north across the Isle.” That was close enough to the truth for her.
Mearn whistled. “For that amount of coin? You hit the bullseye this time, you lucky son of a bastard.”
“I am concerned about her age though. Why is such an old woman in a place like this?”
Mearn handwaved his concerns almost immediately.
“Even here, there are people that reach the good old grey age. It just shows you’re lucky enough to have an insightful and shrewd client. If I were you, I’d be praising all the Arals by now and drinking in their honour.”
Rove shrugged, still a tad doubtful. Mearn patted him on the back with a chuckle.
“You’ll be fine! Just enjoy the trip, reap the benefits, and then treat me to a good drink when you return.”
Slowly, they approached the harbour. A sailor on one of the ships beckoned their way, and Mearn waved back. It was a medium-sized vessel, sporting ochre sails and flying a simple red and brown flag. The colours signified a Jiyt ship, the giant people on the eastern sides of the continent. So far away from home, it wasn’t strange for them to hire a local for guidance. They choose very well. Couldn’t go wrong with Mearn.
“If you’ll excuse me, the sea is calling me,” Mearn said. “Not for as much coin as your trip, but still a worthwhile amount. And if you find yourself in Fool’s Point in a week or so, hit me up!” And like that, with a cheerful wink and a wave, she ran off towards the ship.
A smile on his lips, Rove turned around and strode into town, his confidence regained a fair amount. Whatever this job was about, he’d be able to handle it. Under the accompaniment of his own cheerful whistling, the Iron Herhor strode into town, the people in the streets staying clear of the cheerfully whistling heavily armed man.
The Herhor walked through Handport with a brisk pace. While he was in town, he bribed a few acquaintances into covering for him and his client, including having a decoy pair exit the city from the southern gate to throw off potential gold-hungry fools. Also, to make extra sure that the two of them would seem even less suspicious to the eyes of those foolish enough to seek them out for all the wrong reasons, he bought a cart to create the illusion that they were merchants heading for Herhor’s End.
They were good to go.
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Stocked up and ready to start his new contract, Rove followed the Fool’s Road out of town and threw up his hood, hiding his face in its shadow.
Let's hope the name doesn’t rub off on me, like a lovely piece of foreshadowing, the Herhor thought to himself as he glanced at the road’s nameplate. Arals, please let my day be filled with gold, beer and peace, and not with arrows, screams and blood.
There weren’t many people using the Fool’s Road, and today was no different. A few solitary traders went by, with old sturdy carts and horses bred for endurance. The traders edged themselves along with grim expressions on their weathered faces. The escorts accompanying the traders weren’t any different, as they were rough, tough and enduring. Herhors. His people. Mercs, messengers and everything in between. A much-needed occupation on the verge of civilisation.
It wasn’t easy to be an inland trader on the Grasping Isle. Bandits were plentiful, and travelling through the forests and hills was a menacing task. However, some thought the profits were worth it and dedicated their lives to hustling, fighting off bandits and selling their wares to the highest bidder, wherever that bidder might be.
Looking through the area around the city gates, Rove scanned his surroundings for Madam Aya’s distinctive red cloak, but it did not catch his eye. Slightly irritated, he led the horses and cart to the grassy fields outside the city to let the animals graze. With his hood covering his face, he waited on the side of the road for his client to show up, sitting leisurely beside the road.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“All ready, are we?” a voice suddenly said behind him. Startled, the Herhor jumped up, right hand on the pommel of his blade, ready to slash out. Madam Aya was sitting behind him on the cart, an apple in her slim bony hands. The old woman was dressed differently, now dressed in drab dark brown travelling clothes. Much the same as any random trader on the road. Her face was obscured by her hood, but he could still make out a cocky smile on the old woman’s face.
“I hope I did not startle you, Herhor Rove.” Amusement was practically dripping from her voice, the woman be damned. If she weren’t his client and he was a bandit, he’d be very tempted to rob her of her money right about now. Straining to keep himself in check and not say anything too snarky, Rove forced a smile on his face.
“Of course, not, Madam Aya. Someone as harmless as you can’t startle me in the slightest.” He made sure to put a nice amount of confidence and threatening sounds in his voice. “Guess you are ready to go?”
“That is affirmative, my dearest Herhor. Did you manage to put all your precautions into place?”
Rove waved the question away. “Yes, yes, it’s all settled. We’re good.”
“Good good, I guess even you can have a way with people.”
A hot flash of annoyance shot through his stomach once again, but it wasn’t as bad as before. He was getting used to it.
“Yes, even me.” He said with a flat tone. “Let’s get a move on, we are wasting daylight.”
He hoped this turned out to be a good day, at the very least gold-wise.
The morning and afternoon were uneventful, with both Rove and Madam Aya staying silent. They travelled a good distance, with Madam Aya sitting in the back of the cart, writing in a small, leather-bound book. Rove didn’t mind the quiet, it was far better than having a sarcastic and arrogant client annoying you for a good part of the trip. With him steering the horses, they rode through the farmlands north of Handport, towards the edge of the Shieldhead Woods, an immense forest that stretched from the eastern coast of the Grasping Isle to the western delta, where it was swallowed up into the swamp known as Dalen’s Demise.
It was late spring, with green colours having taken back the ground they lost when autumn set in. There was no sign of storms yet, and the air blew pleasantly warm against the skin of his face. Yet, Rove’s gaze continuously scanned the landscape, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. To set your mind at ease was one thing, but to let your guard down was an entirely different story. Always vigilant, always aware. Words to live by, as there were many others. And you had to live by those words if you wanted to make a good bit of gold here. The Grasping Isle was vast and lawless, save for the city of Handport, which was held in the iron grip of the council and the city guard, both of which were mostly comprised of Lon. However, their influence didn’t reach very far from the coastal city, as the fields and woods to its north were overflowing with all kinds of lawless scum. Whether it was the lack of available men on the city guard’s part or just a total lack of concern for the safety of merchants and other travellers he couldn’t say. Not that he minded that lack of concern, of course. It was his primary source of gold.
The problem was though, that as of late, there was less bandit activity in the area, but the bandits that were still active were growing more vicious by the day. Rumour had it that something was hunting them down, forcing the bandits to strike fast and hard before retreating into the safety of the woods. Rove thought that it had more to do with the general lack of traders in the area. The more bandits there were, the fewer traders would be willing to take the risk to go to the central parts of the Isle, where they could sell their wares for high prices due to the remoteness of the area. And fewer traders meant more desperate, bottom-of-the-barrel bandits. Which meant fewer contracts, less money and of course, fewer chances to polish up his reputation.
At that thought, Rove began grumbling a bit, muttering profanities to himself. Madam Aya looked up from her writing, glowering at him.
“Something the matter, Herhor Rove? You seem rather… irked.”
“It’s nothing, just some thoughts,” Rove said flatly, looking back at his client. He wasn’t willing to put up with Madam Aya’s kind of conversation at this point.
“Well, could you please cease your grumbling, it disrupts my –“
Madam Aya froze up, staring out of the cart at the road ahead of them.
“Herhor, it appears we have company.” She said, her voice startled.
To Be Continued...
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