Before I'd even reached the town of Fisk my nose had begun to wrinkle in disgust. My soft boots trudged through what I could only hope was mud, and the wet grass around the road glistening in the afternoon light. Each of the fields that lay within my view held cows and horses, while pigs were penned up closer to town.

When the light breeze filtered through the low-hung buildings of the town my nose was assailed once again, the new scents brought with the wind an avalanche that managed to make me gag. A few of the men working in the fields paused to look at me, their dirt-encrusted clothing only matched in filthiness by their own faces.

To make matters even worse I had been rained on all night and my normally loose clothing clung to my body. With every step I could feel the leering gazes of innumerable hungry farmers as they looked at me. I tugged at the lip of my wide-brimmed hat, the droplets that fell from it a reminder of how soaked through I already was.

Ahead I could make out the tavern of Fisk, a single story building with a storage shed nearby. The lanterns that hung outside the porch were dark, though the interior looked to be well lit. By the time I walked up to the front entrance the boisterous noise from within was obvious enough as the people within shouted to one another without pause.

I paused at the door, my hand halfway to the handle, before I drew in a long breath. One of my teachers had pointed out to me that image was everything and here I had almost blundered. If I wanted to get what I needed then a decisive image was required. So I channeled all of the distaste I had garnered for Fisk and put it all within my right foot.

The moistened wood of the door cracked readily beneath my boot, hitting the wall on the inside of the tavern with enough noise one might think it had been thunder. What had been a cacophony of shouts and laughter ceased at my arrival, every eye turned to the door I had broken with a single kick.

I strode through the tavern, the twin silver loops on my left wrist clinking together with an almost musical beat. Some of the men whispered to one another as I passed by, though none could tear their eyes from me. There was no sparkle of amusement in my blue eyes as I glared at all of the people inside, most of the men as dirty as the workers in the fields.

“Good day miss,” a fellow behind the counter of the bar said in greeting, his hands busy as he worked at cleaning the wood with a brown rag.

When I reached the counter I put one elbow on it, an action I immediately regretted at the sensation of stickiness against my sleeve. “Is this place always so disgusting?” I inquired with an aggressive tone, my hostile gaze directed at the barkeep.

“Gets worse in winter!” The bartender laughed at his own comment. If he was bothered by my attitude he managed to not show it. “What brings a girl like you here though?”

“I heard there’s an escort job?”

The barkeep’s eyes widened, his hands pausing in their continual ritual of cleaning a permanently filthy counter, before he grinned wide enough that I could see he barely had any teeth left. “Yah, there’s a merch set up at the south road. Think he leaves tomorrow?”

Before I could thank the bartender for his information a dark shadow fell over me. I hadn’t even turned to look at what cast it when the smell hit me, a stench that made me wish I was still outside with the cows. My left hand went up to my nose and clenched it shut, while I turned to face whoever had gotten far too close to me.

“Ya think ya can handle something like dat?” He leaned in close to me, the face reminiscent of a pig and stained with green and brown colors. “Ya a little twig not a fighta!”

“How did you manage to teach a pig to talk?” I asked over my shoulder to the bartender, my face showing how shocked I felt at that moment.

“I ain’t a peg!” shouted the man as he grabbed for my shoulders.

It was a poor choice made by the pig-man, as I took it to mean he meant harm. Before his hands could grab hold of me I caught the left wrist and twisted the arm. A squeal came from the fat man, which only made me want to twist even harder.

A few of the men nearby stood up from their seats and gave shouts of protest. I focused on one of those tables, and then crouched low to the ground. With a powerful sweep of the legs I destabilized the pig-man and set him up for my next move. As he tipped over I used his own weight against him to send his body tumbling into the targeted table.

The friends of the pig-man paused at that, most likely because none of them had expected I would be able to toss their friend. While they stood there, their eyes moving from me to the pig-man and back, I threw a few coins onto the counter.

“For the damage,” I told the bartender.

“What a nice miss.” The bartender grinned as he scooped up the coins. “Thanks for going easy on the idiot.”

I turned away from the bar and walked back to the door I'd broken, a quick salute with two fingers directed over my shoulder. Most of the patrons watched as I departed, though this time their whispering had become all the more pronounced. I paid it no mind and instead focused on ignoring the stench that everybody permanently had.

When I got out of the tavern I drew in a deep breath of fresh air, an act I regretted as I gagged on the smell of manure. “I hate this town."

♪ ♫ ♬ ♫ ♪

My journey through the town of Fisk was one marked with nothing of interest. By the time I reached the southern exit I had only grown all the more tired of the village. To me the fact that they seemed to wallow in mud and crap had placed my opinion of Fisk as low as possible. There was no reason for anyone, even farmers, to live like this.

So the sight of colorful tents pitched in an open field kindled a hope in my heart. Five wagons, two of which were heavily loaded with goods, along with a carriage designed for a noble or merchant sat on the road. At a glance I could already see there were at least twelve people that milled about the wagons, most of which were armed with weapons.

I approached the wagons even as I took off my hat, the traveling cloak that I wore opened in the front to show I had no weapons. Some of the men stiffened at my arrival, though most could already guess who I was due to the badge on my shirt.

“Stop right there,” one of the guards called out, one hand lifted up to stop me, “what are you doing here, miss?”

"I'm here for work,” I replied as I tapped the badge on my shirt.

“We’re already full, we don’t need any more Guild members.” The guard dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

I bristled at the off-handed style he attempted to discard me. I'd spent days walking to Fisk at the recommendation of a Guild employee, and I had even put up with the putrid state of the town hoping I could get involved with the escort task. Even as the anger welled up within my hands curled into fists.

“Yo hoo!”

A light call came from beyond the guards and close to the carriage. It was enough to put a temporary stop to my rage, as I sought out the source with my eyes. The man who walked over to us was a plump fellow who wore a bright purple doublet. He toyed at his trimmed moustache with fingers covered in rings.

“Master Elias,” the guard greeted the strange man with a nod of the head.

“What’s this, a late arrival?” Elias inquired of his guards, his voice far too high pitched for my preference.

“Quite late, and as you know we have more than enough mercenaries.”

“Enough? Nono, we can never have enough!” Elias giggled as he patted the guard on the shoulder. “Someone like her is a very valuable asset.”

“As you wish, master,” the guard replied as he turned his attention back to me, “this is Master Elias, show your respect mercenary.”

The attitude of the guard was enough to agitate me, but I managed to push past it and demonstrate a degree of professionalism. With my right fist placed against my chest I bowed to Elias, though I never fully lowered my head and instead kept my eyes on the man.

“A legionnaire?” Elias wondered aloud as he watched my bow.

“No, though my mentor is part of the Legion,” I commented as I straightened back up, "will that be a problem?”

“Nono, if anything that raises your value!” Elias giggled again before he turned to depart. “Please rest easy, if you have questions Brand here will help.”

Brand, the guard, clicked his tongue when Elias walked far enough away. He barely gave me any sort of attention and instead looked to his friend. “Warren, help the idiot, I’m going to go grab something to eat.”

“But Elias wanted you to!”

“I’m not wasting my time.” Brand walked off in the opposite direction Elias had gone, the look of disgust on his face obvious even to me.

“Sorry about that,” Warren apologized to me, as he nervously brushed at the long bangs that tickled at the top of his eyes, “I’m Warren, it’s nice to have you join us!”

It was a warm greeting that forced me to smile at the young man. “The pleasure is all mine. This is a simple guard duty right?”

“Yah that’s right, we’re even supplying food during the job.”

“I see, where are the other Guild members set up?” I studied the layout of the encampment and made note of the fancier looking tents. Likely one of those was for Elias.

“Ah, you can find them near the eastern part of the camp.” Warren pointed toward a small cluster of tents. “Do you want me to escort you?”

“That won’t be necessary, thanks for the help though.”

Before he could wrangle me into anymore conversations I walked away, picking a quick course through the center of the camp. Many of the fires were lit even though it was still close to midday, and pots boiled as they hung over the flames.

A scent of meat stew haunted me as I crossed through to reach the eastern edge of the camp. Though there was a town nearby none of the people hired by Elias acted as though they wanted to eat in Fisk. People carried wooden bowls that had already been filled, while random conversations started up throughout the entire campsite.

When I arrived at the area dedicated for the Guild mercenaries I felt a tinge of disappointment. The tents that had been erected were of the cheapest material I had ever seen. I was certain that if anything stronger than the current breeze blew through the camp it would cut right through the tents.

Nearby one of the tents stood a man so large that he made me instantly feel like a little child in his presence. A few old scars ran across his weathered face, while an impressive two-handed sword had been shoved into the ground behind him. With all of his weight leaned against the flat of the blade he casually ate from his bowl, noisily devouring the stew without an ounce of manners.

The man paused in his eating when he noticed my arrival, both of his blue eyes focused on my figure more so than my face. A wide smile spread as he gave a nod of greeting toward me. “Hey,” he said in a far too friendly tone of voice, the bowl in his hand offered toward me, “you hungry?”

“Not in the slightest,” I replied, my tone openly hostile to the man who couldn't keep his eyes off of my chest, “you aren’t the only Guild member are you?”

“Naw, Shorty’s getting his food and the others are out near the trees.” The man gave a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the forest. “If you wanted to wait for the others we could maybe do a little something to take up the time?”

“Don’t scare away somebody who came to help, Skara,” came a male voice from behind the tents.

The owner of the voice stepped into the ring of low-grade tents immediately after he spoke. His face was youthful and yet handsome, curly blonde hair combined with green eyes that sparkled when he smiled. At his waist twin rapiers were sheathed in cloth, their ornate handles marking the owner as a rich man.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lance. She wasn’t about to get scared away, right girl?” Skara glanced at me as though for confirmation.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” I said with shrug. While he seemed to lack manners he was still vastly preferable to the pig-man from before.

While we talked another member of the Guild arrived, drawn by the conversation. A woman who stood at least a head taller than me strutted into the open. With bronze skin and a very ample chest she had an exotic flair to her, the scarlet hair cut short and left unstylized. Throwing spears hung in a bundle on her back, a common weapon used by the plainsfolk.

“Another member?” the woman inquired before she clapped her hands together, “how wonderful! Now we don’t need to worry about that rumor.”

Skara eyed the woman quite worse than he had me, though he made no comment on her appearance. “Kids stories, every town has them," he said before his gaze swung back to me, “so you going to introduce yourself anytime soon mystery girl?”

“Ah!” I exclaimed, having realized I'd made a slight social blunder, “my apologies. I am Liliana Rose of Scintallia.”

“Scintallia? Up near the capital?” Lance tilted his head. “What’s a central lady such as yourself doing here?”

“I was curious about the southern towns,” I replied, choosing not to share my real reason for being here, "do the central citizens normally not visit the frontier?”

“Only merchants, mercenaries, and legionnaires,” Lance told me.

“Runaway slaves too.” Skara tossed his wooden bowl into a nearby fire pit. “Met a few ladies who were looking for a strong man to help them that way.”

“I seem to remember a few tourists as well, but no way they survived,” the woman with spears commented as she leaned against Lance.

Skara’s laughter poured out of him, his already ever present grin widening all the more. “Tourists!” he exclaimed with a shake of his head, “more like walking money bags!”

“Oh? What’s gotten you in such a good mood?” called out a voice from behind me.

With a start I turned to face the new speaker, my body instinctively shifting into a defensive posture. I'd heard no noise from behind until the man spoke up, a fact that instantly elevated my opinion of him. However when I saw that he barely reached the height of my stomach I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

“Shorty! About time you got back!” Skara waved his hand in my direction. “The girl is Liliana, she wants to join us for the job.”

My eyes widened at the name that Skara used. “Wait, you can’t call him…” I started to say in defense of the midget before I hesitated.

“What? Shorty?" the man in question responded, “don’t worry lass, it’s my name.”

“Well...if you’re alright with it I guess I am too. Would this be everyone from the Guild?”

“Naw, we’re missing that weird guy still.” Skara glanced at Lance. “Manage to talk him into being a bit more social?”

“He won’t say a single word to either of us.” Lance turned to look back at where he had come from. “I think the only person he’s spoken to is the merchant.”

“He’s not worth our time if he’s not willing to speak to Lance,” Anya complained, “I don’t get why he’s even here in the first place.”

“Who are you talking about?” I wondered aloud.

“Some weird kid, up in the tree off that direction,” Skara said as he pointed to the perimeter of the camping area, where a few trees stood.

Naturally my eyes were drawn to where he directed to look. It was a regular tree with a few low hanging branches, the higher leaves clustered thickly together and more than enough to ward off the breeze. On one of the branches a dark figure could be made out, a person who had opted to seat himself with his back against the trunk.

Even though there was such a distance between us I couldn’t resist the feeling of dread that welled up within. A sensation like insects gnawing at my skin covered me from head to toe, while I hugged myself to try and ward off the sudden chill I felt. That unknown man turned his hooded head in my direction as though my look held enough weight to gain his attention.

Draped in black and hooded there was nothing I could make out on the body of that man. Nothing aside from a single color which seemed to almost glimmer with a light all of its own. An emerald eye sparkling within the shadows of the hood.

The eye of a devil.