The city of Norxauk is the city of Maldent Trading, managing the monopoly of the towns around it while letting the settlements govern themselves. The company leaders occupy the city hall and their City Council of competent working men and women. When Maldent Trading issues a proclamation, which is rare, they will follow it. Most of the time, Maldent Trading manages the monopoly and provides security for the settlements with their hired forces. Meanwhile, the council does the actual governing over the city.
A brilliant blue gem on a wire stand glowed, etching words on the parchment with magic. The [Merchant Leader] of Maldent Trading read the letter, sent via a [Message] Spell by an informant from Dotterm. An Elf that looked like on his thirties with ashen hair bore the weight of his age of hundred-and-fifty wiped his brow and lightly bit his lips. He sat in his office within Norxauk's City Hall, staring at his personal Letteretch Gem, setting aside the letter in one of his neatly-organized cabinets.
"That brat?" He sighed as he read the report of Numisley's resurrection of Gildin Trading. He thought his subsidiary company was sacked along with Belias blatant takeover in Renimburg. This issue gave him a headache since trade in the area suffers. The loss of the Adymine Mine, the newly discovered dungeon, and the valued Jascias Gildin stung.
He crumpled the report and threw it on the fireplace. Numisley's revival of Gildin Trading is a net loss. The boy was already past his territory, near the domain of one of the Corporations. He tsked, a habit of his when he was stressed. He wrote to his contacts in the region, including the one who informed him, Ali Iwrif, an acquaintance of his, seeking to hire people to keep tabs on that upstart young [Trader].
Someone knocked on his door, startling him.
"Open." The owner of Maldent Trading straightened his posture.
A two-foot-tall man appeared before him. He resembled a Human at first if you ignore the insectile eyes, long pointy setae for hair, and plates protruding under his rubbery skin. One of the Tinyfolk, a people local to the continent as much as Satyrs before the ancient Yhrilian empires came.
"The Daoweyndion Deathseekers had successfully reclaimed Renimburg. Their casualties are…forty-five dead out of sixty." The Tinyfolk at his door reported.
Dravemn imagined his fellow older Elves charging towards volleys of arrows and [Fireballs] without hesitation, throwing themselves towards the walls of Renimburg, seeking death to end their suffering. Deathseekers were simultaneously the perfect [Mercenaries] and the worst ones because one can hire them with little pay since they are searching for death. However, objectives beyond killing the enemy elude them. The fear of another second of their lives forgetting themselves, devolving into madness each year, prevails over their fear of death.
"That reminds me…I need to poison myself soon."
"Sir?" The Tinyfolk mouthed, worried.
"Nothing. Inform that I might have a mission for the fifteen remaining Deathseekers in Joltstown. Also, please send these letters to me via Messenger's Guild, not via [Message]." He ordered.
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Fâché, who sent you?"
A leader of a gang startingly stood up from lying down on the soft sofa elevated on a platform above the rest of the gambling tables as a Satyr with oil-black skin under his sleek doublet. His gang, once skulkers in the streets, is now one of the competing factions in Tucken. They faced each other within one of the more prominent areas of the gambling house, where the local high-rollers play.
"Whose all roads of Liberan lead to." The Satyr spoke of a vague statement that subtly tells him his affiliation, and the [Gamblers] within the gambling house went silent. They knew what organization he is part of with the phrase alone.
Raynios Joda slammed the door, activating the anti-eavesdropping enchantments in his office away from the gambling house's main hall. He didn't want [Spies] to hear about this, but he already knew that a few regularly came to his business. He landed violently on the chair, facing the [Negociator] of one of the Libertalian Corporations.
"What do you want?" The [Gang Leader] demanded answers.
Usually, he would try to intimidate those who demanded an audience with him, making them pay sudden fees. However, the weight of the Satyr's presence prevented him from untoward actions in this negotiation. He saw the organization behind him, feeling a thousand eyes judging him.
"I come here on behalf of those who all roads lead to for a simple deal."
His voice was silky and deep, with the sharpness of a knife threatening to slash anyone who offends him. His ringed gaze was like what some people call their species: "demon spawn".
"A young [Trader] named Numisley Gildin of Gildin Trading will come to you in a few days. He will attempt to hire you."
A glittering red gem, a ruby the size of his hand-rolled on his wooden table. The [Gang Leader]'s eyes stared at the ruby-like he was trying to grab it with his gaze alone.
"This ruby is worth five hundred gold. This shall be your payment for refusing the man called Numisley Gildin."
"That's not enough-"
"It is enough, Raudaeiz Jaucles. [Gang Leader] and [Evasive Thief]. "
The [Gang Leader] tried to pull out his dagger, but it was stuck in place, harder than pulling out a sword from a stone. The Satyr seemed to stop any hostility with a glare; another Feat of his. He settled down and adjusted his posture on his cushioned seat. His attempt to wring out more coins from this [Negociator] failed.
"How did you know my real name? Or my Roles?" Raudaeiz asked. He was sure that his anti-scrying ring and the ring that protected him from [Appraisal] Feats and Spells, which can even fool a [Watch Captain].
"We are a Corporation, after all." The Satyr boasted. "We know everything that passes through our roads."
The Satyr left the gambling house within the Mugged Mug Tavern after he concluded his deal splendidly. He headed towards his secondary objective, making a deal with the [Mayor], setting many traps when his client's target comes.
-
Atasaney's Prowlers had roamed in another battlefield within the Yokelaine Plains, near the Alimentaire Salt Flats, after spending much of their money with their reward from their strange and dangerous contract to buy more gear for his [Mercenaries]. However, the contract had given them too much money. Most of the [Mercenaries] had spent the hefty rewards for themselves in taverns, brothels, and even fairs. One day, they had mutinied, declaring their retirement from being [Mercenaries]. They formed a traveling band to return to their families with three-fourths of the money.
Atasaney could've killed them, but it is cruel and unjust. The remaining [Mercenaries] might resent him as well. Glumly, he used his Scroll of Messages to contact Tucken's [General], which promptly responded. They were now allowed to ride to her camp and discuss further terms.
"I wonder what's the reason for the contract?"Ridi uttered, remembering the last contract and also his first contract under a new company.
"To survive long in this continent, you don't answer questions like that unless you want your room to explode in the middle of the night while you sleep like a baby." Atasaney handed out a bit of advice.
"I see…"
"But I knew the reason why. And we failed the contract, but we get paid in full regardless. Because the client paid us to keep silent about it."Ridi raised his eyebrows. He wondered what kind of intrigue they were involved in.
"There's another reason why we're here. Because I heard that our target in the past is coming here to sell." Atasaney explained. "Captain Baraqeuz, news about Gildin Trading?"
A tall and bulky Lizardfolk rode up to him. Unlike the child-like, small Lizardfolk Skinks: most of the Lizardfolk population, he is a Tegu, an evolution of Lizardfolk as they "age"; one of the remaining members of the company.
"I heard from a [War Merchant] that he already sold his wares in the Thunderous March's camp." The Lizardman answered. "Most likely he'll lead his caravan here."
"Unlucky bastard. Many [Mercenaries] here already bought weapons and supplies from the [Merchants] who already sold their goods in the Tucken's camp." Atasaney replied. "Besides, he is what..? A [Shopkeeper]?"
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Ridi, Baraquez, and the others laughed at that joke. The cavalry of now twenty men and women; career [Mercenaries] who have no families nor homes remained in Atasaney's command.
They arrived in the camp, surrounded by temporarily conjured [Earth Walls] that resembled five-foot mounds of earth. They also serve as makeshift battlements that [Soldiers] can take cover in and step up to let loose arrows and spells on. Strategic locations on the perimeter also had mantlets erected, fortifying the camp. It was a temporary base, a step below a more permanent fort, like those used by attackers in extended sieges before the official war between the borders of the two city-states.
Atasaney's company entered one of the openings within the camp's defenses, guarded by [Soldiers] behind mantlets. They are among the tents of the combined army: the city's standing army that was depleted in the last war with Joltstown five years ago, a dozen mercenary groups supplementing their numbers, and the Gahkee Tribe, their nomadic Satyr allies that trade cotton, leather, and their famous war beasts: Steelwool Bison, and many magical animals that they bred and herded, in exchange for their protection from the other armed groups harassing them in the Yokelaines and half of their salt and many other commodities.
Atasaney's eyes turned to the left side of the camp, separate from the much larger army camps. The Gahkee Tribe is small, no less formidable than their allies. Their part of the camp has a circle of a hundred teepees surrounded by erected totems on wagons. The many bison, dogs, and other beasts patrolled the base's borders, even hunting for them. Aside from the teepees, there are large wagons, even some the size of houses or with two levels pulled by six-legged hulking bison. Many of these wagons were connected to the teepees as a part of a building. [Shamans] were beating drums, chanting wildly. Atasaney's [Riders] swore that the grass seemed to dance under their horses' hooves. He and the other Satyrs in the party felt drawn to the ritual and somehow refreshed despite the long journey. Tall Satyrs with longer horns and glistening muscles; Fauntyrs guarded the giant wagon attached to multiple teepees. They are the best of the tribe, having the privilege to access some of their demonic heritage to become physically better in every way.
Although the camps were separate, the people still mingled. Two Satyrs playing magical cards with three Humans and a Lizardfolk; the cards swapped within themselves with each turn with a command word. [Mercenaries] traded simple charms with Satyr [Traders], and the Satyrs shared meals with the rest of the army. This is also one of the reasons why Atasaney chose to side with Tucken over Joltstown, even if he isn't a Satyr that lived in the tribes of the valleys, forests, and deserts.
Atasaney left his company in the stables, heading towards the main building, a temporary square headquarters raised with geomancy. He handed his weapons to the [Soldiers] guarding the wooden doors. The Satyr walked into the building, eying curiously the Human woman with bandages wrapped around her chest, her dark skin bearing the scars of countless battles. Her serrated glaive was made from green-yellow metal encrusted with yellow, red, and blue gems embedded on the blade. Her faint blue metal helmet and dimly glowing cuirass hung on her armor stand.
"Atasaney, right?" The [General] looked up from her battle map absently. The Satyr knew from her Aura or how she carried herself that he would likely lose if they fought, even mounted.
"Yes, General Karaiste." He knew her name even before then because she was a famous adventurer in the region and a leader of her mercenary company before settling down in Tucken's army. "My company specializes in mid-range skirmishing in battles other than bounty hunting. We had served in the Paryhst-Onoroix War, fought for the town of Wyald against the Sime'noos Tribe-"
"I know how experienced you are." Karaiste cut him off. "What I want to know is how much I can pay you. You only have twenty men and women, so I can assume something has happened to the other half?"
"They quit my company willingly. Few were injured from my last contract."
"Huh. What can I do with twenty [Riders]? How much?"
"Thirty gold for every mission you assign for us. We can be good skirmishers or officer-hunters."
"Hmm…" The [General] had expected more people in his company. She might consider the offer if that's the case. "I can't afford to feed twenty other mouths. I have [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] to give wages to. Twenty more isn't going to help me, even if you're elite. Not worth the cost. If you had arrived earlier, then I might consider the offer. So, I won't be hiring you. However, feel free to rest within the camp until tomorrow, and only tomorrow, or employ yourself to the few [Traders] remaining in the camp."
Atasaney glumly delivered the news to the others.
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Before Numisley arrived in the camp of the Tucken army, he had sold his wares to the Lightning March's troops, miles away from the city of Joltstown.
Numisley managed to secure a meeting with the [Mercenary General] of the Thunderous March after waiting for a day after they sold some of their goods.
As expected, many [Merchants] had passed by, and some remained in their camp, giving Numisley stiff competition. It was not wholly unprofitable, as they had sold some of their grain, kegs of beer, spears, and gambesons because there's no shortage of the demand for them in armies.
"-So, I would like to offer my service to you, General Thuntelch. I can give you the information about the enemy's camp when I come to sell my wares to them, and in exchange, you will give me a hundred gold..."
The tall Dwarf, his other right half partially petrified because he had lost his hand in a battle long ago, raised his remaining left hand. The black book had an entry about the [Mercenary General] of the Thunderous March, Sanzelc Thuntelch.
"I can already do that with my [Scouts]." The [General] cut Numisley off.
"But I'm not finished yet." Numisley countered."I know you have [Army: Lightning Bolt] as a unit-wide Bound Spell from your Role as [Thundermarch General]... I know of other things that can be useful to your enemies."
The Dwarven [General] smashed the wooden table in outrage because he knew private information. His fist had fallen like thunder, scorching both halves of the table.
"How did you know that?" Sanzelc rumbled thunderously.
"I'm simply a seller of information. If I were to go to Tucken's camp, I might tell you where they store their supplies, so you can burn them in a raid. Or any information that can help. How about it?" Numisley offered.
"How can I be sure that you won't betray me? You won't leave this place alive if you do."
"I have a Feat. [Bloodbound Contract]. Either of us will die if one of us breaks the contract write with this."
After the table was replaced with a pot of ink, quill, and papers, Numisley wrote the contract. The ink reddened into actual blood as it dried on the beige paper, binding both of them in blood. The deal was done.
A day and a half of travel later, he had found Tucken's main camp. Numisley's caravan was outside the main camp with the other merchant caravans. Of course, they took precautions against [Spies] and the like, so they do not let any outsiders in except for the [Mercenaries] they hire. Numisley took the opportunity to activate a signal stone keyed to General Thuntelch to let him know of his location. Numisley tried sending one of the Severed Swords with a scouting Feat. She reported that the totems around the camp seemed to be watching, so that attempt was delayed.
Coincidentally, the caravan encountered the Atasaney's Prowlers riding out from the camp. Both sides drew their weapons; swords were drawn, spears and wands were pointed warily to the opposing side, and crossbows pulled taut as soon as they recognized each other. The other [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] under the command of the [General] were also alerted.
"Lower your weapons!" Numisley stomped Palvt's staff on the ground. So far, he hadn't managed to learn how to use the bound spells in it or cast magic in general, so he had used it in place of his missing walking cane. Aside from the Severed Swords, even the camp's [Soldiers] faltered.
Atasaney gestured his men and women to lower his weapons and appraised Numisley with his Feat, and he was honestly impressed. Even without seeing his Feats and Roles, he can see how he carried himself like one of the nobility.
"What are you doing here?" Atasaney asked. Numisley recognized him as one of the [Riders] who ambushed them in the Overthere Hills, and he had a sudden idea.
"To make a deal. I want to hire you for the duration of my travel to the continent. forty gold per moon." Numisley announced. His brother jerked his shoulder back.
"They are the people who attacked us back in the hills!" Cultrost whispered. Graten stared at Numisley, tightening his grip on his mace as the rest of the Severed Swords protested, grumbling loudly.
"I know." Numisley swatted Cultrost's hand, straightening himself with the staff.
"Then why?" Culttrost asked, raising his voice slightly.
"A snake that you have on a leash is better than a snake in the bush," Numisley answered, citing a local idiom. "Besides, they are [Mercenaries]. Yesterday's enemies will become tomorrow's allies if you have enough money. I can use them."
"But what about Graten and his men? They killed them."
"They will deal with it. At least for a moon before we arrive at the safer cities of the Exiled Coasts."
"You're making a mistake, brother." Cultrost walked away towards the caravan. Numisley turned back to Atasaney.
"I understand. " Atasaney quipped. "We'll try not to kill each other. Assuming that your boys and girls won't do the same."
Graten and the Severed Swords glared daggers at him, but both sides knew that [Mercenaries] will become allies if the battlefield is old enough and vice versa.
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as they say. We should make a deal now instead of the chance that you might chase me down again. You might spread the word that we have the thing. I'll give you what you want from the book, and you will protect us."
"It's a deal then."
"I'll put it on paper. A contract I mean."
Cultrost handed Numisley writing materials. The ink on the paper turned into red blood as he wrote, but Numisley felt a bit dizzy. If the name of his Feat was true, then he will make sure that he will not bind more people with [Bloodbound Contract] unless necessary. He straightened, trying not to show his weakness.
"Here are the terms of your employment."
Atasaney read the contract written in blood. He knew this was either a magical or a Feated contract because of his experience under those. He was desperate for money, so he accepted regardless of the terms.
"Atasaney. If you worked under me even after this contract, I promise that I'll make you stronger. The book holds the knowledge of Roles and Feats, and I will use them to the best of my ability."
Atasaney doubted him. Still, he had signed the contract, binding them with the Feat that bound both of their blood. The Severed Swords reluctantly gave Atasaney's Prowlers one of the wagons. The wagon was the most worn down and cramped among the surviving ones. There was a certain distance between their camps, and both were wary of each other, only approaching the other if they need something from the wagons.
Numisley's request to meet the [General] for permission to trade within her military camp was accepted hours later. His eyes darted around the camp as they let him in, and him alone, searching for clues about anything useful for Joltstown's army.
He had been permitted to enter her headquarters, and they sat together across a table. He stared at a battle map on a table beside her bed, which Numisley needed.
"So, you have come here to trade?" The [General] asked Numisley. She hungrily stared at Numisley, oblivious to her intentions.
"Yes, General. I will supply you with my remaining spare armor and weapons, as well as beer and grain from my inventory. I come from Dotterm, and my company and identity are verified by the Cemoorstead Merchant's Guild if you wish to confirm my identity."
"How much are your wares?"
"If you're going to buy what's left, that would be...[Recall Value]...forty gold coins."
"I see..."
The older woman wrapped her arm around the young [Trader], an opportunity for the [General]. Her face was close enough for her to sniff his hair. Numisley was visibly uncomfortable, yet he saw an opportunity to grab the map as he was being helplessly dragged.
"So, tell me more. Convince me why I should pay forty gold. Let's talk more about the terms." She whispered in a more friendly tone.
On that night, the [General] fell asleep, and Numisley grabbed the map after much effort. Fifteen Elves had set their sights on the camp of the Tucken forces.