"Fifty-thousand Septims." The man's voice was slightly high, a tenor. He sounded vaguely Bosmeri. Looking up, I saw it was an Imperial. a soft Imperial, one not accustomed to labor. One who was born into his money. The money he had lain down in front of me.
His eyes were a humorless shade of grey. I didn't like his eyes. his expression angered me. I waited for him.
The hierarchy had been stabilished. He spoke first. "I need you to fight an army." I almost laughed. People had asked more of me in the past, and I always deliver. My lack of surprise seemed to build his confidence in his "choice".
"Then what?" My answer was casual, almost friendly. Almost.
"Isn't that enough?" He said, his voice rather high with nervousness. After a few moments, he responded. "I need you to lead a group of mercenaries, all under my gold, to fight a rebellion in the Grazelands."
"I'm no tactician." I pushed the bag torwards him again. "I fight alone."
His voice suddenly tok on a more pleading tone. "I don't need a General, I need a leader." he started to speak again, thought better of it, then stood silent for several minutes.
His last sentence did make sense. The difference between a General and a leader were vast. But, that wasn't my true qualm. I was actually quite skilled at leading forces. But, the ingelligence of my "soldiers"...
"I want to meet this 'army' first."
He only smiled.