MERCS:
Mila | The Explorer | Bletcher | The Bludgeoner | Randall the Heavy-Handed | Lurin Veinfinder | Rilie Rumblewind
Character Sheets:
The Squished Plums in Mer Khazer was doing a roaring trade.
Word of the town, founded by Lothar Sauer, the saviour of Gal’azu, had spread far and wide. The more adventurous spirits in Gal’azu visited—only for a day or two, sometimes—but most who came never left. Housing was cheap. It was safe. And there was a sense of contentment about the place. Nearly everyone commented on it. They used different words or phrases; put it down to one thing or another. But the growing number of townsfolk were united in their love for their new home.
The Rotten Apples had managed to secure themselves a table in the inn. Not so hard these days. Until yesterday, there had only been four of them. Now there were seven. The drinkers in The Plums were cosmopolitan types—not afraid of leaving one place for another. Folks who’d seen a bit of the world. But even they glanced over and muttered to each other with wonder. Because dwarves had come to Gal’azu. Dwarves had come to Mer Khazer.
To be precise, two dwarves and a halfling. Not, Jaelin considered, that anyone could really confuse Rilie with the other two. She was even shorter than Wilson; and slim with it. It was much more likely that a passing stranger might mistake her for a human child.
The dwarves were shorter than humans, but stockily built. Easily wider in the shoulder than Jaelin, with muscular chests and limbs. Randall had reds and browns in his long hair and full beard. Jaelin was yet to see Lurin without his helmet; a beard and eyebrows with as much grey as black in them blanketed his face.
With their evening meal demolished, it was the Bludgeoner who drew proceedings towards the reason they had gathered. Jaelin noticed Randall giving his cousin a nudge as Larik spoke.
“This is my thinking. When I joined the Rotten Apples last year, I struggled. A lot of the squad were more experienced than me and I felt like I didn’t have opportunities to make an impact, or progress. So I came up with a solution: missions that the likes of us can take on by ourselves. We deal with the danger, and we claim the rewards.”
“Rewards are for the gods to gift,” Bletcher intoned.
Larik ignored him. “First, a raid on Darkspike Dungeon. It’s inside a mountain. It was the home of an orc army commanded by a queen. But she and most of her troops are dead. I expect it to be lightly defended, with decent loot available.”
“Lightly defended or not,” Heavy-Hands commented, "breaching a mountain fastness is not an easy proposition.”
“Ordinarily, very true,” said Larik. “But we have someone with us who has already done it once. Explorer?”
“I found a way into the mountain that was undefended. I doubt the orcs realise it’s possible.”
“They didn’t spot where you got in?”
“No, we left via another exit. No real reason to think they worked it out. I didn’t get to see that much of the dungeon. But we found their armoury.”
“Armoury?” said Rilie, suddenly interested. “With treasure?”
“No. It just held food and weapons.”
“Orc food and weapons are less than worthless,” Randall said.
“Maybe,” Jaelin said, “but I still think the room is worth checking out. If there’s nothing of value, then we move on to the throne room. My colleague identified it when we were there. It was too dangerous to explore at the time. But with most of the orcs killed in Eisenberg, it may be easier to get into.”
“There’ll be treasure in the throne room?” Rylie asked.
Jaelin spread his hands, unsure what the halfling was asking him. “There might. I can’t know until we search the room.”
“You and I can do the searching, Rilie,” Mila said. “While they do the fighting.”
“But I’m doing the fighting!” cried the halfling. She took her sling from her belt. “Stiff gave me this to use.” She spun it around a few times, a wary eye on the two dwarves, who frowned at her.
“Fine,” Mila said. “From a distance.” She pulled at the halfling’s tunic. “But this isn’t going to save you from an orc spear. You’re too vulnerable to be getting involved in combat.”
“She speaks true, Rumblewind,” Randall said.
“We need to get her some better armour,” Larik mused. “Henrik in Eisenberg is the man for the job. But he’ll have to get her measurements.”
“Which is why, for now, you mustn’t be getting involved in combat, Rilie,” Mila said sternly. “Do you understand?”
Jaelin smiled at her motherly tone.
Rilie sullenly hooked her sling back on her belt. “I suppose so.”
“Then everything is settled,” Larik said, sounding relieved.
Jaelin thought the Bludgeoner hadn’t anticipated how much work leading a team of dungeoneers would be.
“May the gods bless our undertaking,” Bletcher pronounced.
“What gods?” Randall demanded.
“What?”
“What gods are you asking to bless this venture?”
Bletcher looked confused. “The gods,” he said, rather lamely.
“You don’t even know which gods you are asking favors from?” asked the dwarf, aghast.
Bletcher looked confused. “They never told me. They just took my arm, and in exchange I can speak with them.”
“If you don’t know,” said the dwarf, “I suggest you find out. Before they take something else.”
A day’s walk brought them to Darkspike.
“What’s that?” Lurin asked, pointing to a structure sticking up from the mountain.
“A tower. That’s where we exited the dungeon.”
“Is it defended?” Randall asked.
“It was last year. I don’t know now.”
I don’t know. How many times have I said those words? Jaelin asked himself. He was tired of being the expert on Darkspike. All it did was bring endless questions.
“Well,” said the dwarf, “we don’t want them to see us coming.”
“No,” Jaelin agreed. “We’re going to detour around and approach from the west.”
“Makes sense,” said Heavy Hands, giving his unasked for approval of the plan.
I wish it was just me, Jaelin said to himself. Well, me and Mila. He sighed. Perhaps dungeon raids aren’t my thing.
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