Shat’Ar was a fine vessel. A slick two master cargo schooner, made from a single piece of Giant’s Thorn bark. Of course, she was, after all, she was a proud example of dwarven engineering. One could clearly see that her crew took good care of the ship. From the polish of the inner hull to the glistening whiteness of the sails, she looked as new as the day she first sailed from the Zorr’Ef docks.

All of this attested to the skill of her dwarven crew. Everyone from Hester in the far north to Lamia in the far south had acknowledged the dwarves as the masters of the Three Seas. They were half as tall as the average man, with broad shoulders and long arms, which contrasted greatly to their slim and short legs. Those oddities had made them perfectly suited for life at sea.

Every coastal nation feared dwarven warships. A single of those masterfully crafted vessels could match half a dozen of human ones. Watching the unbreakable will and determination of their crew as they fulfilled their tasks was like watching the performance of a most sacred ritual. A dedication that stretched to every merchant boat the dwarves created. They were fast and durable ships, easy to maintain and use even for elves. But hire a proper dwarven crew and any merchant could sleep well, knowing that their cargo would reach port in half the time.

However, all of the advantages the Masters of the Seas had, vanished the moment an adversary boarded their ships. As good as sailors, dwarves were as awful as fighters. It was because of this, that the Slayers could take over the ship, once it reached the shores of Scoria with relative ease. Unlike the dwarves, the mercenaries had no problem turning on the people who had hired them for protection.

“Why sink her?” Big Uhr asked, confusion written on his large and mangled face. “We could sell her? She’s a fine boat, should fetch a good pile of talons…”

“Do you even know where to sell a stolen boat?” Sonya asked while testing the string of her bow, her short red hair moving with the breeze.

With a loud thud, an arrow embedded itself in the eye of the dwarf strung on the far mast. It was followed by a guttural curse from the people gathered behind Big Uhr.

“You missed.” The large man shifted his position and moved a small silver coin from the barrel on his right to the one on his left.

“Tch… My arm’s still numb from that club…” A slender man with clay red skin flexed his left wrist. His face twisted in a grin as he spat on the wooden deck.

“Sure, it is. It has nothing to do with you being a shit of an archer, Mekset.” Sonya spoke softly, her face as emotionless as ever. “Left ear.” She placed two coins in Big Uhr’s meaty hand.

“That’s just not fair… You know I can never hit it. You take all the fun from it.” Inney took the offered bow and pulled on the string.

“Half a talon she’s not even gonna hit the dwarf.” Martell stood from the back of the group and placed a large silver coin on the barrel.

It was rare for him to take part in the Slayer’s betting games. In part because like their commander he tended to win any wager he made. But most believed it to be because Martell did not want to be part of the rank and file.

“I disagree Second.” Dominique placed a similar coin on the opposite barrel as he dropped from the railing.

This evoked heart-warming laughter from all the gathered men and women, all except for Inney, who simply scoffed. The youth looked at the others, he understood that they wouldn’t take him seriously due to him being only sixteen summers old. That however, didn’t prevent his tanned cheeks from darkening even further. Dominique knew he was going to be the butt of every joke for the next few days if he lost this bet. He scratched his naked torso in an attempt to look more sure of himself as he spoke once more.

“I’m just saying the Second is not right. After all, Inney’s a bloody elf…” Once more he was interrupted by laughter and a smack on the back of the head from the elf.

“Shut it, greenhorn.” The woman whispered in passing.

“Let me tell you a story greenhorn,” Thill wrapped his old hand around the youth’s neck as he pulled him away, giving Inney the space she needed to wield the bow.

Even though the breath of the apothecary reaked of wine and his step was unsteady, the youngster could not break away from the vice-like grip of the aged bald man. All Dominique could do was scoff and follow.

“You grew up on stories of how elven archers could put an arrow inside a man’s eye from several hundred meters, right?” Till said in a hushed rasping voice. “Don’t answer, I know you did. You and I hail from the same region near Mardaar, so I know all the stories they tell over there. Fuck it, I might have started a few of them myself, before joining with the Slayers.” At that the old man offered a crooked smile, revealing the few teeth he had left, and finally released the youth.

“Well, you see, Martell over there, used to roam the Mardaar forest. He and our lovely elven lass have a bit of a history you see. “At that Till paused, chewing on his lip, and looking carefully at the mentioned people.

“But that is a very long story and one I am not willing to tell while in earshot of either him or miss bark for brains.” The apothecary turned the youth around so that he could watch the result of his bet.

“Least to say, the Second knows exactly how good Inney is with a bow, in the forest. But tell me, greenhorn, ain’t it strange that our elven lass is the only one covered from head to toe in clothing? You can barely make her face inside that ridiculous hood of hers. While the rest of us have almost nothing at all on our bare bodies.” At that, Till smacked his growing belly, burned almost black by the scorching sun.

The apothecary was an odd man. Some of his behaviour could be waved as being the result of his advanced age, and honestly, Dominique was surprised that Till was coherent at all. And that was just it, the apothecary wasn’t supposed to be sane, strong or walking at all. By the Gods, the old fool was entering his seventh decade on this earth. Yet, Dominique knew that there were iron-hard muscles hidden beneath the sagging flesh and a sharp mind in that bald head.

“Well, the captain did say to leave all the armour with Nadene and Sarjak for washing…” The youth scratched the shaggy nest of hair atop his head.

“That’s why everyone calls you greenhorn, young Dominique. You have a lot to learn. Most of all, you have to learn to keep your eyes and mind sharp. And I say you learn that fast or you are not going to last with the Slayers.” Till shook his head and slapped the youth on the back.

“I’ll make this shorter than I wanted as I fear my wisdom is going to be wasted on you. Elves are notorious archers – in the woods. In the deep dark woods. It’s almost like they can see in the dark and from what I’ve seen, they most likely do. But out here, under the blistering sun, with all the light reflecting off the sea, poor little miss Inney is as blind as a bat.” As the words left the old apothecary’s mouth, laughter came from the gathered group near them.

The arrow had completely missed the target and by a small miracle had embedded itself in the railing at the far end of the ship, instead of going to the bottom of the sea. A few witty remarks and curses could be heard as money changed hands and Os the Faceless took the bow from Inney’s hands.

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The man was a monster. There was more scar than skin on his naked body, but even that paled in comparison to the horror that was his skinned face. Dominique could clearly see the shiver running through Till and even Big Uhr did not lift his eyes while taking Os’ bet. It wasn’t because of his looks, that much the youth had realised in his short time with the mercenaries. It was to do with the man’s past, but learning anything about it was next to impossible. None of the Slayers talked about the Faceless, not even when drunk out of their minds.

“Where?” The man asked in a voice as tortured as his flesh.

“Left knee,” Inney said, the mirth gone from her voice, flinging a coin at Big Uhr.

“I’m with Big Uhr. We should have forced the crew to sail this tub to Scoria-Erst and sell her to the smugglers there.” Os said and released the arrow, which hit the gruesome target just a couple of fingers below the hip.

“That would have taken us four, five weeks off of our destination.” The captain of the group of killers finally joined the conversation.

Regis stretched his strong arms as he stood up from the shade of the command deck. Unlike the others, his appearance was that of an average man in all accounts. True, he was not an ugly man, with his short black hair and well-kept short beard, he could almost pass for a nobleman’s son. Like most of them, he was in his early thirties and had a body at the peak of its strength. But as was the norm among the Slayers, looks could be deceiving. A lesson Dominique had learned on his very first when he witnessed the charming Kurt disembowel one of the boys that wished to join the mercenaries. The man had kept on smiling while he removed the intestines of the poor boy and fed them to the dogs.

What set Regis apart from the others, however, was not his brutality, it was his intellect and ability to command respect. He was the only one who dared to look Os directly in the eyes, judge him and admonish him.

“And for what? A few thousand talons.” The captain winced as he placed some weight on his left foot.

“You really need to let me have a look at that wound, Regis my boy,” Till said as he observed their leader walking.

“I will, once you are sober enough to hold a needle.” The man turned to look at Os again. “Besides, what would you do with so much coin? No whore is going to take you to her bed.”

“It would still be extra coin in everyone’s purses. Isn’t that the point of doing all those jobs?” The Faceless countered, his skinned face providing no clues what he was feeling.

“What?!” Regis let out a merry laugh and placed a hand on his subordinate’s shoulder. “Fuck no! The whole point is the killing and making sure this world remembers us till the Twenty Gods come down from their hunting grounds and bow their heads to us!”

This remark was met with approval from all present. Some, like Mekset and Big Uhr, had wicked grins, while others like Till and Sonya showed no emotion at all as they nodded. Dominique was surprised by that, he believed that being a mercenary was all about getting rich beyond your wildest dreams while living a life free of consequences. Although he had to admit, he had a few of his disillusions shattered in the first few days after joining the Slayers a few months ago.

The band was nothing like the stories he had heard in his home village. There was no sign of nobility or honour to those men and women. Not just the ones playing this twisted game of theirs, but even the ones who were occupied with other tasks as well. Back home, the Slayers were these mythical figures who had brought peace between the warring tribes, who put an end to the constant raids from the Mardaar elves. It was the reason the youth had crossed the continent at the opportunity to join their ranks. But now, Dominique knew the truth. They were nothing more than butchers and bandits and at times it scared him how quickly he was becoming one of them.

“And you, greenhorn,” Regis turned to face Dominique. “I’m cutting your share of the loot in half because you are simply wasting good coin on stupid bets. Smarten up and I will consider giving you back the rights to a larger share.”

If the youth was being honest, it wasn’t the end of the world. As Regis had pointed it out, there was preciously little they could spend their money on. However, it also didn’t sit well that he would be getting less than the others.

The captain took the offered wineskin from Sonya and took a long swing from it. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand producing a loud belch, he fished a large gold coin and flipped it at Big Uhr.

“Don’t worry Big Uhr. I’m not mad at you. I knew from the very start you were stupid. But, man, are you big!” Regis flashed the large man a charming smile. “What did your troll mamma feed you, man? No, wait, wrong question. How did she feed you at all?”

This got another round of laughter from the group and even though he had been insulted, Big Uhr slapped his meaty fist on his trunk-like thigh and went into a giggling feat.

“That’s a good one captain.” The large man said in between sucking breaths. “Can’t wait for the next one you come up with tomorrow…” He returned the coin and continued to giggle like a small child.

“I’m sure you do.” With that said, Regis turned to Martell. “Where is Vor?”

“Still below deck fucking the servant girls and what’s left of the deckhands.” The band’s Second answered and took a bite from a bright green apple.

“I really can’t understand why he does that?” Mekset shrugged and spat once more. “I prefer my women a bit taller and with some meat on them. And you know, without a penis dangling between their legs.”

“It’s because he wants his small dick to look bigger,” Inney remarked.

“No. He wants to see if the dwarves’ one god is really going to smite him as they say while he rapes them,” Sonya said as she finished adjusting her bow.

“That’s stupid. Of course, their one god is not going to do shit. How can one god control everything and still have time to look out for them?” Big Uhr scratched his face before turning pleadingly to Till. “I really don’t get it.”

“That’s why there’re many gods. And the more you worship, the more time they’ll have lend you a hand.” Till nodded in agreement. “But I’d suggest you talk with Sarduk if you want a proper answer. As a shaman, he’ll be able to explain it better, Big Uhr.”

“Fuck the gods,” Os rasped. “I am more interested to know why you brought us to this forsaken place, Regis?”

“I was wondering when someone was going to bring that up.” The captain smiled and stretched once more, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“He has a point, captain,” Inney added as she adjusted her hood. “Scoria is not a welcoming place. It’s all just scorching deserts, orcs and worse.”

“True. There’s not a lot those brutes have that is of any worth. And the only human towns there are, are around the coastline.” Sonya nodded in agreement.

“That’s enough. We all know what Scoria is and is not. Now let the captain talk.” Martell boomed assuming the role of Second.

Dominique scoffed at that. Sure, he would follow every order that came out of Martell’s mouth since authority bled out of him. However, the man was a bleak fellow.

“Thank you.” Regis lowered his head slightly. “I was planning of telling this to everyone tonight. Once you were done resting after today’s fight.”

This got everyone’s attention and the small group gathered around their leader. Outside of Martell and Till, it was rare for information to be given to someone prior to a group gathering. It was seen as a boon among the Slayers, something to be earned by those who had distinguished themselves in the previous battle.

“You all remember that little favour we did for that one noble in Hester City, right? Well, turns out he was someone close to King Kathral Hester. As it turns out, the king has a very loose lip when sharing a barrel of good wine and let it slip, he has tasked his newly established mage-knights to retrieve a relic from Scoria.” Regis said it all as if it were some mere brothel gossip.

“What, no one is going to interrupt?” The captain smiled before continuing. “Very well. This relic supposedly belongs to the so-called Hollow Gods of Scoria. It’s some sort of nectar or fruit or something like that, hidden in a mountain somewhere far into the deserts. And if what that noble bastard said is true, consuming it grants you immortality.”

A moment of stunned silence followed only to end in an explosion of questions. There were so many and they were said so fast, it was impossible to distinguish a single word.

“Shut it!” Martell shouted once more.

“This went as expected,” Regis continued after the men and women under his command finally settled down.

“You are not seriously considering looking for that thing, are you?” Sonya managed to ask before the captain could continue.

“I am. At least for a while. The noble gave me a really good sum for our time. We are covered for the next year at least. And ten times that amount if we actually do find the relic.”

“That’s a joke, right?” Os shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s assume we do find it. You are saying, you are going to hand such a powerful item for a few coins?”

“Have you lost your mind as you have your face Os?” Regis smiled.

“If we do find it, we are keeping it and killing the noble bastard as well as anyone who is searching for it. Now enjoy your free time and I will see you all tonight.” We that he turned to leave.

“On second thought…” He stopped after a few paces. “Inney come with me. Someone should really have a look at this wound and you are the closest thing we have to healer when this old prune is drunk."