Hiring Hall

You walk into the bar, looking for some rough men to do violence to those who would harm your interests. You turn to your guide, and ask him about one such man who catches your eye.

"Who? Oh you mean him in the corner. I think his names Victor... something. I hear he's solid, never worked with him myself though. He ain't cheap, I know that much. He's a bloody warcaster and is like ta cost ya more then some companies. Not too many merc warcasters 'round and he bloody well knows it."

He raises an eyebrow at your questioning expression, but explains.

"See, most times when Mercs got some 'jacks, they've got a Jack Marshel riding herd on 'em. You do know what a Jack Marshel is right?"

You nod, not wanting to betray any more of your ignorance.

"Good. Anyway, War Casters are just too rare and the army snatches 'em up whenever they can. Still, a few do take to that road, and the way I hear it Vic was walking it long before he became a 'caster. Like I said, I don't know much 'bout him, but I hear old Rot-Gut over there knows some. Ain't quite noon yet, so he should be mostly sober."

You make your way across the crowded bar to a large corner table, covered in greasy food. Looking at the occupant, it is easy to see how he got the name Rot-Gut. The man is hugely fat, and it looks like he can barely walk. Your guide mentioned that he once commanded a company of heavy foot, a good one, until he struck it big and retired. Looking at him, it is hard to imagine how he could ever strap on a suit of armour, but it isn't the first time you've seen a man fall far.

"Victor? Yeah, I've worked with him before. He's a bit of a odd one, good bloke to have with ya in a fight though. Him and his 'jacks saved me boys a bloody lot of trouble a couple times."

He looks you over carefully, his sharp eyes belying his seemingly drunken state. You can see a hint of the man he once was in those eyes. "So, you lookin' to hire him? That'd be the smartest thing ya could do on a day, 'cept asking old Rot-Gut for advice that is! Hope ya got deep pockets boyo!"

He lets out a deep booming laugh, and you can smell his rancid breath even while standing across the table. Rot-Gut takes another massive swig from his tankered and gets back to your question.

"See, he don't talk about his past much. Nothin' strange 'bout that, lotsa men got things in their past they don't want spread about, 'specially us mercs." he slaps his chest proudly, setting his rolls of fat shaking. "Still, I've picked up a bit and can guess at more. Siddown and I'll fill 'ya in."

Looking at the filthy seats, you hesitate, but sit when your guide gestures. You are paying him for his expertise after all.

"Ah, that's better. Don't need to crane my neck ta see ya. Now where was I... Oh yes, Victor. First time I met him was 'bout eight, maybe nine years ago. We were over near Westwatch. Seems that the bloody necros had hammered the local garrison hard, so me and the boys had been hired to cover a stretch of coast. Been a boring couple of weeks, no sign of anything interesting. We were doing a 'nother bloody patrol when the scout came scurrying back. Seems some adventures were having a royal donnybrook with a whole bloody lot of those dead gits."

"So I thinks to myself 'it ain't our job to pull some damn fool adventures fat out of the fire, but the boys are getting boxy and looking for a bit of rough and tumble.' So I tell the boys to move out. Sent a couple squads with the scout to get behind the bastards, while the rest of us went in the front."

Rot-Gut's enthusiasm at reliving his glory days is clear. He leans forward and starts drawing diagrams in the congealing grease to illustrate his points.

"So pretty soon I could see the fight, and it was pretty much like I 'spected. Some damn fool berks that didn't know enough to leave the fightin' to professionals and got their bums caught in a crack. The was five of 'em and a whole wagon load of walkin' corpses all around 'em. A couple of the poor sods were dead already and two weren't far from it. One though... one caught my eye. He'd gotten separated from the others, and was in a spot of trouble. The deadmen had him surrounded and he was swingin' this big damned sword around like a madman, just trying to keep them back. It seemed to be workin' but I knew he'd get tired soon and that would be it."

He sighed heavily, remembering. "I felt bad for 'em, but there wasn't a bloody thing I could do. My boys were still to far away, and there were just to damn many deadboys for us to cut through fast. I saw the lass take a hit and she went down and then the Ogrun just plain lost his head. Landed damn near twenty feet away. The boy with the big sword saw to, and I could see he knew he wouldn't last much longer. I figured I wouldn't be able to do much more 'en give 'em a proper burial."

He shook his head sadly, then chuckled
"Then one of the deadboys broke his sword... Oh lordey, did he ever get mad then. He started at the busted hilt then up at the corpse that done it. Suddenly there was this huge explosion and bits of bone went flying everywhere. Kid looked more surprised then anyone should ever be. Still, He didn't wait to figure out what happened. He just tore this big damn axe right out of the hands of one of 'em that was still standin'. He took it and chopped the bloody thing right in half, armour and all! Let me tell you, after that things went really differently! Especially 'cause my boys were finally ready. We marched out and set about pounding those blighters into the mud. It was a right good fight, and after we finished there and got back to camp, I took the kid and got him good and drunk. That reminds me, HEY MAGGIE!"

Rot-Gut stops his story while the bar-wench goes to get him another tankard. You lean back, forgetting the filthy seat back, and consider what he's said thus far. It sounded promising, wizards seemed to be quite powerful here. One skilled with a blade would be even more useful. Still you wanted to know more before putting down any coins. For starters, what was a 'Jack' and why they were so special anyway?