Finances
Income
Mission #3
£1
Expenses
Wages
6s 10p
Profit
13s 2p
Total
£1 10s
Lothar was yet to hear the details from his returning mercs, but the Rescue Livestock mission had been a success the second time around. At last, he had some substantial money in the bank.
The wage bill had been high, sending eight mercs out on a two day job. But in this area, too, things were looking up. The ships arriving in Avolo had brought new settlers, and Lothar had hopes he might be about to improve his roster of mercs.
He waited in The Rose for his first meeting. The man who entered the lounge was exactly what he had hoped for. Lothar could tell by his gear—belt, scabbard, coat, boots—that he was a warrior. Not that he was flash, as so many of his type were. The charms and trinkets he wore had a faded glamour to them, that spoke of hard won victories. In that regard, Lothar suspected he saw a kindred spirit.
Indeed, as the warrior glanced around the inn, he seemed to know Lothar was the man he was looking for. ‘You’re Stiff.’
‘Aye. Take a seat.’ Lothar looked at his details.
Manslayer
Name
Edmund Rigge
Nickname
Manslayer
Race/Nationality
Human/Durnish
Age
34
Daily Wage
1 shilling
Action Stats
EXP Level
4
Action Points
6
Hit Points
28
Core Stats
Might
14
Agility
9
Grit
10
Intellect
7
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Skills
Swords (master), Shields (master) Spears (expert), Knives (expert)
Equipment
Weapons
Longsword (Slayer, To Hit +2, Damage +1, damage 10-45), Short Spear (damage 4-24), Knife (damage 4-16), Shield (damage 5-15)
Armour
Chain mail, (+Shield)
Other
‘Your sword?’
Edmund Rigge smiled. He withdrew the weapon from its scabbard. ‘Here. You can hold it.’
‘Thank you.’ Lothar studied the magic runes captured in the blade. When he stared too long they shifted, refusing to give up their secrets. Otherwise the sword was long, perfectly balanced, and an excellent multitasker, capable of inflicting most types of injury one desired. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, handing it back. ‘Slayer?’
‘Aye. The sword was named first. My nickname followed.’
A man named after his sword. Lothar turned his attention to Edmund’s stats. Rigge was exactly what he was after. With an experience level of 4, his value for money was unrivalled. For a measly shilling a day, Manslayer provided excellent fighting capability, far more than any other merc Lothar had. It was when they hit level 5 that mercs’ costs spiralled. He sighed. There had to be a catch.
‘I have to ask. Why not get work with The Golden Blades instead of with me?’
Rigge smiled. ‘My wife’s decision. She didn’t like them. Your outfit suits us better.’
‘Your wife?’
‘The brains of our partnership. She’s getting us lodging in the city. We come as a pair, non-negotiable. She’s Level 4 as well. A good swordswoman. I taught her the blade. And she’s deadly with a bow.’
Lothar was drooling. Literally. Drooling. ‘Let me sign you both up.’
As if Mr and Mrs Slayer weren’t enough, another potential recruit visited The Rose not long after Rigge left. This one was a young woman. Her brunette hair was as long as a madchen’s, albeit tied up behind her. She didn’t quite have the same look of a seasoned warrior; didn’t have the same easy confidence as Manslayer. But she had a sword at her belt, and even if she didn’t know how to use it, she might add something.
‘Ashlyn Sawrey,’ she said, offering a hand.
Her accent was Durnish, Lothar supposed. He hadn’t heard one quite like it before, but Durnost seemed to have nearly as many accents as it did people. When she took a seat, he examined her stats:
Ashlyn
Name
Ashlyn Sawrey
Nickname
None
Race/Nationality
Human/Durnish
Age
21
Daily Wage
8 pence
Action Stats
EXP Level
3
Action Points
4
Hit Points
19
Core Stats
Might
8
Agility
9
Grit
8
Intellect
8
Skills
Swords (proficient), Shields (competent), Knives (competent)
Equipment
Weapons
Shortsword (damage 3-18), Knife (damage 2-8), Shield (damage 2-6)
Armour
Leather
Other
Lothar whistled. ‘How did you get to be so good at such an age?’
‘My father taught me weapons.’
‘He must be proud.’
Ashlyn gave him a dead-eyed look. It told him not to tread in that direction again.
‘Well, anyway. I’d be more than happy to have you on the team.’ Ashlyn wasn’t as good as Manslayer, in any respect. Except, perhaps, potential. ‘Though I do wonder why you chose The Rotten Apples.’
Ashlyn glanced across at the bar, where Mila stood. ‘I heard good things about you, Stiff. About how you treat women.’
‘Right, well,’ he said gruffly, lost for words.
‘I also heard about Stricken. If you use him again, I walk.’
‘I see. An ultimatum from someone who’s not even on my roster yet.’
Ashlyn shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’
‘Aye, well. I wasn’t planning on hiring him again anyway.’ Lothar offered his hand. ‘So we have a deal, on one condition. I need you for a couple of hours tomorrow. Call it pro bono work.’
Ashlyn shook on the offer. When she left, Mila sidled over.
‘You put in a good word for me. I appreciate it.’
Mila shrugged. ‘I’m a useful asset, Stiff. Got more for you. Wilky says Boris has agreed with De Cheney to meet with you. I asked him if it was a trap–you know, if he was planning to ice you. Wilky said no, Boris is on the level. He’s actually a nice guy. Wilky really respects him.’
‘Huh, nice guy my arse. Still, that’s useful information to have.’
Mila presented her palm.
Sighing, Lothar handed over some coin. ‘You realise that if I make up with Boris, you won’t have anything useful to tell me anymore?’
‘I can think of something I can do that you’d pay good money for.’
‘I’ve already told you, Mila.’
She pouted at him. ‘Then find me some other job.’
The girl would be useless out in the wilds. She wasn’t much better in the city. But Lothar had developed a soft spot for her.
‘I’ll think about it.’