Authors Notes: I wrote this little story over a year ago and never released it. A Story Told in Bits and Pieces in the form of a personal journal. Raw and unpolished.
Prologue
"I am not one to ramble on unimportant stories of my early life, for they are of little interest in this tale, and nothing of those days will be spoken of within these pages. So, I will instead tell you the story of how I came to be in my current predicament, a deserter. It began one summer morning, as i arrived by boat to the port of Sargoth, having finished a simple protection job that yielded a few denars to pay my keep. Of all ports to seek employment at, you may ask, why Sargoth? While the docks here in the capital were not as vast as those in Tihr's Fish Markets or grand as with the Wercheg salt guilds, there were always nobles in need of protection from the occasional sea raider longboat. A steady way to keep myself drowned in ale and fed. In any case, unfortunately, as I was on my way to retire to the inn where I had been staying, I had been followed.
It was far too early in the day for even shopkeeps to awaken and tend to their stalls, so the man was indiscreet, making no attempt to stay hidden. I stopped to face him, a thin man holding an aged woodcutter's axe he probably 'inherited' from the local dump. A Laughable attempt, maybe it would scare some ordinary peasants, but how he struggled to even carry the tool almost made me laugh in his face. Before he could finish uttering the words to give up my purse, I drew my sword and held it to his neck, causing him to tense up and drop his armament and flee. Sheathing my short sword and adjusting my belt, I bend down to examine the axe, it wouldn't even fetch a single denar from any respectable merchant, so I leave it to rot in the streets. A call took my attention though, and I turned to my left, not the same voice as the would-be robber had. This would be interesting.."
Chapter 1: The Merchant and the Warband
"As I turned around I was beheld with one of the more common sights, a rather plain looking man, identifiably a merchant judging by his garbs and by the smell of herbs used to ward away the general stench of the city. The one noticeable feature of the man is the lack of accent in his voice, him speaking rather plainly. Not a noble by blood then, so he must be one of the few who came across 'new wealth' so to speak, stealing an inheritance or pure luck. It doesn't matter ultimately. He beckons me to follow him, saying no more until we end up safely in the walls of his home. "
…
"As the merchant finishes his tales of woe, all I recall by the time I exit is the promise of silver for rescuing his brother who is being held ransom by some local bandits who had been plaguing the roads for the past months. Raiding by day and disappearing into the darkness of night losing any would be pursuers. Unfortunately, the main problem arises in that Im alone without a horse or men with only a paltry amount given by the merchant to cover my expenses. Of course, not that many around in this part of Calradia had a horse, those were reserved for the nobles or for transport goods, the latter unfit to ride in any fight. I could hire some mercenaries at the tavern near the town limits, but they would drain whatever funds I had, what I needed were some foolish peasants in the countryside, men who would jump at the chance for coins they know not the true value of. I could pay 10 of them the price it would cost to hire one mercenary axeman. Only then would I get the opportunity to get the fullest use of my silver, and so I walk out of the town, ensuring I have purchased enough food for 3 days for 10 men. This weight burdens my shoulders, but it will not be long until it's passed on to my future 'comrades' in arms. Gods, this pack is heavy.."
…
"After half a day's travel, by dusk I reach the nearest village, the village of Kwynn. Some of the nearby farmers watch me warily as I enter, eying the sword at my hip. No doubt thinking that I was some fleeing bandit with the great load of supplies on my back. I ultimately find myself before the village elder, whom I inform of my desire to hire some men to follow me as mercenaries. He refuses, stating that he knew ultimately none of the lads who left would return again, either the lure of coin or death keeping them away. He was about to go on and say that he couldn't let them go to this fate, as harvesting season was near and the crops needed to be gathered. By some stroke of luck, one of the younger men in the village having walked by and overhead a part of our conversation, jumps at the thought of actual denari in his hands and drops the load he was carrying immediately, excitedly saying he would follow me for coin.
Soon this exclamation draws attention, and before the elder could act, 9 others followed him in action and word. Funny how the number ended up to be an even 10. I hand over to each of the men 10 denari, one for themselves, the other 9 to pay for farming equipment of which to arm themselves since none of them owned the tools themselves, all belonged to the lord of the village. By nighttime I have a assortment of axe and club bearers, however some of the men were still regardless ill-equipped, one of their axes had the head fall in front of me. And so they made do with what else they could buy, we would need proper armaments after finishing this job. At least some of them had shields that their forefathers likely crafted in times of need while in the levies if they hadn't rotten away first. For now, I rest outside the village blanketed in darkness under the shadow of an oak tree and wait for the next dawn."
…
"The next dawn arrives, somehow I ended up far from where I slept in the bottom of a ditch near the village road. Returning to my original resting spot, I collect my pack and return to the main town, seeing to the left of the Elders home the men that had volunteered already assembled, hunched over a fire speaking in mumbles to each other. I walk amongst the group, and they look to me as I tell them of my current plans. We are to return to Sargoth to properly equip the men before setting out to hunt the group of bandits, and as such, we leave immediately the men having already given their farewells. As we continue down to the bridge to reach Sargoth, we see a commotion ahead, a small group of men numbering four kicking a farmer off the side of the bridge into the river below. It appears we may have found the bandits preemptively.."
"I tell the men to draw their arms and to drop their bags, leaving two men to watch them as the rest advance. We have those bearing shields take the front with the axemen and scythe wielders behind as we move forward as silently as possible, but it's no use, one of the men stumble and cuts himself on his axe crying out loudly, the bandits turn to us. They are momentarily stunned before seeing the weapons in our grasps and draw their own, backing up to the edge of their side of the bridge. Initially, confusion falls on me as to why they have not fully retreated, but it dawns on me that they cannot simply run blindly towards the nearest town where the town watch would cut them down, they would have to stand and fight. Telling the men to increase the speed of their march, the remaining seven leaving the wounded man to hobble over to the baggage train continue on forward, though I can see worry in their eyes, them not expecting to have fought anytime soon. I tell them to step aside and push to the front past the small shieldwall, sword drawn and eyes fixated on my foes. I increase the pace of my trek forward, and so do the men. We soon are in a full-on charge, and we clash with the bandits."
…
"Out of the seven I brought into the direct fight not including myself, miraculously none of them died, though one got a nasty gash in his leg, he'll live regardless. In terms of loot the lot we defeated had little, bearing only clubs and tunics not of any better quality than of the peasants I brought alongside myself so I leave the items alone for the men to go over for themselves. Unfortunately, none of the bandits lived, so now I am without any leads as to where the rest of their brethren were. Once the men are done collecting the loot and bandaging the wounded I tell them to continue moving toward Sargoth. One of them begins to complain and say that we should rest before advancing since they are exhausted from the fighting, but I reason with them that if there was one bandit party there would be more and we needed to be within the safety of the walls before sunset, and they begrudgingly agree and follow me silently, no longer having the same jovial mood they carried as when they first left Kywnn. It appears the men are shaken after having fought for the first time, but nothing a good flagon of ale wouldn't fix. "
...
"It is late by the time we arrive, having been far slower than expected, so I tell the men to follow me to the nearest tavern to find lodging and rest. The barkeep knows of me, as I have frequented his establishment many times, though never in a group. I tell him to open up a single room for my lot to rest in, handing him the necessary payment. My men head down the hall to the room, however I stay behind, instead then turning to walk out the door into the grasp of the cold air to reflect. What was I to do now, without a lead, a trail to follow, bandits to interrogate, who would know how long it was until I found their hideout, days, weeks, or even months. By then my silver would have run dry and the men deserted for greener pastures, and I would be penniless since I had already broken off my current guard contracts in favor of this current job. My thoughts are broken however by the falling of a wooden beam nearby, I turn to the left where the tannery had burnt down weeks earlier and see nothing. Unsure as to if the wood was disturbed or just crumbling due to damage and age, I back up into the door and push my way in, shutting it behind me. A lack of rest assails me, my last rest having been in a ditch, so retiring to my bedroll in the vacant space by the door, my eyes shut hoping no one rams the door against my head as they enter the room.."
…
"As I was awaken rudely by a door in my face, my thoughts were rather, unpleasant, face turned towards the perpetrator. Sadly enough it was the innkeep, so my hands were tied if I was ever to wish to enter under this roof again, so I do nothing but mutter curses under my breath when he turns around. Idly as I rise I finally recall the farmer who got kicked off the bridge, poor fellow was unlikely able to swim and probably got carried off into the sea drowned. Oh well. I go into the main room of tavern where the rest of my lads are already seating, all of them already having consumed a small meal and making small talk amongst themselves. Two of them are showing off their spoils from the bandits, however few those are. Hopefully this first windfall will keep them loyal so long as the money and plunder comes along, at least initially. I chose not to take to any victuals, rather choosing to settle with a mug of thin ale and seat myself on one of the half broken stools by the counter. One of the first orders of business is to give the men some time to sell off their loot and to myself buy more proper equipment for them to wield, the last fight in and of itself was a miracle that none were killed, but that fortune was unlikely to last if larger groups of banditry came along. My head already aching at the prospect of emptying my purse further, I stand up and leave, my men gathering their gear and following rather excitedly, none of them having themselves visited The capital of the Nords before. "
"I rather not go into the price of equipping my men, but safe to say, giving all of them Leather jerkins, iron helms, and some sturdy iron rimmed shields emptied my purse down to a quarter of my initial funds. I would need to find the bandits, fast. Regarding weapons themselves, I tell the men to ditch the farming implements and to barter those instead for some handaxes and spears. All but one comply, the last man choosing to keep his two handed woodcutters axe and just keeping one of the dead bandits club's instead for use with his shield. If anything, I can use him for firewood duty or some other task, but im still peeved at the man's disobedience. Initially I start to yell at him but stop myself, as a crowd ahead on the road draws my attention. My lines of thought are always interrupted…"
"A townsman is shoved to the dirt before me, landing with a plop into the mud smearing his face. He attempts to raise his bruised face to plea for aid, though this effort goes to waste as I look behind him. I step backwards, now regretting that I had chosen to push through the crowd with my men to get a better view out of curiosity, and now I was close enough to get caught in whatever was to come. The three men pursuing the refugee close the distance to the fallen mud streaked peasant and haul him up by the collar of his tunic, dragging feet-kicking him past where I stood.. As they did so the third shoves me backwards with a sneer and the other townsfolk nearby quickly make way for the pursuers to drag their mark to the bounty office. Backing away from the manhunter, I find myself speaking to a nearby ceramics merchant who was watching the debacle from his stall, who had packed the most vulnerable of his goods into a blanket as a precaution should a fight have begun. Him relieved that I hadn't drawn my sword in a rash bout of anger at having been pushed earlier, he begins to speak with me. From what he heard, the refugee had attempted to kill one of the King's retainers stable boys or something and make his way off with a horse. The only flaw in the so called heist was the fact the gates were already shut as it was too soon in the morning, the fool was trapped with the city guard and whatever number of bounty hunters were in the capital. And as I saw, the hunters got to the bastard first, though I hardly feel pity, one less vagrant plaguing the town. Regarding vagrants and their ilk… I sigh as I remember my current predicament. Bandit hunting, and without any leads too. I may as well be chasing after the King's daughter, as the luck would be the same. The merchant in front of me stares with a dumbstruck expression at my face, I had gone silent mid conversation for the past half minute staring at the nearest wall. Snapping to my senses, I thank the merchant for his story and walk away in order to search for my men...now I hear curses over my shoulder. Apparently, he thought I had also intended to buy some of his wares and now was annoyed he had wasted time speaking to some stranger with a sword.."
"As I find the rest of my men whom had wandered off throughout the city, by the time all of them were together it is nearing mid-day. The gates have been opened now, but without a lead to pursue on the whereabouts of the bandits. It comes to mind though, that perhaps that bounty office I recall the manhunters having dragged the man off to before may have some information, given the right incentive. I have no gold to offer, but perhaps, yes, maybe that should work.. I call over my men to follow me, I need a actual name for the band, but that will be dealt with later as I approach the office. I liken the appearance to a decrepit hag as I pass through its arches. Old, useless, and rotting away to the bones. Apparently, whatever poor lot that used to live here once had a good hoard of denars, before it was plundered by the King's treasury to fund one of the many wars. Subsequently, the owners were forced to pack up and leave this hall abandoned till now. What had maybe once been held many a great feast flowing with mead had degenerated into a pile of rotting timber and musty straw matted with dirt over what once was stone tiling. What was once a beautiful slanted roof done in the old Nordic style with Dragons heads adorning the edges of the tips now dotted in holes with birds nesting in the rafters. The only redeeming quality of the hall that I know of as to why the rotting hulk was still used is the fact whoever built it had a great cellar built underneath, now converted into cells for whatever prisoners are brought.
"Unbothered by the smell of, whatever it was behind in what might have been the kitchen to the left, I approach the currently empty counter where a clerk should have been. Behind me is an impatient mass of men whom will start breaking things if they wait for too long, not that much here isn't already broken. Eventually though to me and my men's reliefs', the clerk who was supposed to man the table comes through the main doors alongside a group of slavers, pointing both them and the chattel to what would have been the kitchen. Now I know where the cells are.. The clerk's crooked limbs shifting to face my direction, he eyes me, waiting for me to address myself and my business…"