“These are all so murdery,” Gabriel thought out loud.

A beefy, axe-wielding skinhead to Gabriel’s left eyed him like his quiver was half full and ambled off quickly, leaving Gabriel to peruse the noticeboard in the Mercenary Guild alone. That suited him just fine. He would get first pick of the jobs up for grabs. Now he just had to find something suitable.

The noticeboard occupied the majority of the left-hand wall as you entered the guild. The back wall of the rectangular hall was host to the receptionist’s counter, whilst the right-hand wall sported a decently stocked bar, with a kitchen in the chamber behind. The rest of the room was spotted with tables and benches, about a third of which were currently occupied.

Gabriel was far from interested in soicalising, though. He was here job hunting.

Most of the requests on the board were the usual fare: there was a request to hunt down a pack of wolves who had been harrying travellers; a bounty on a goblin tribe, who had set up camp a mile or two from town and had been preying on migrants; a plea to retrieve a stolen pendant from a group of bandits… Basically, a lot of tasks that sounded to Gabriel like he might very easily end up ingesting pointy bits of steel.

He carried on looking.

Generally, the team had the luxury of waiting for their ideal kind of job to crop up, and could afford to be on the picky side. Figo was born and raised in Gladstone, and had inherited his parents” homestead when his father had passed away. That meant they had a base. Sure, Figo had to look after his mother to an extent, but the upshot was that there was enough space in the little bungalow to put up Gabriel and the others whenever they were working in the area... Which was most of the time.

It wasn’t that the team was against travelling, or that they had any particular love for Gladstone, pleasant though it was. It wasn’t even that most sane people could only take two days” of Vish’s whining about hard floors, meager rations, or errant insects, before wishing death upon him and/or themselves. Well, okay, that was part of it. The prevailing reason was quite simply that bad things tended to happen on the roads - the kinds of things that got people killed, or maimed. Things like: packs of wolves harrying travellers, goblin tribes preying on migrants; groups of bandits stealing pendants…

Gabriel did have to question his career choice from time to time.

The “captain” forced himself to carry on searching. There had to be something for them, and the pressure was on to find something fast. Following Vish’s stunt with Hubert, Vagalad had given the mercenaries a, fairly generous, five seconds to vacate the establishment, or else find themselves gutted, flayed, and used to upholster The Duke’s dining room. Not being ones to turn their noses up at a good offer, the team had said a polite farewell and, with unparalleled celerity, promptly vacated the building, street, and, moments later, the district. Regrettably, in their haste, they had done so without their promised reward for finding and detaining Hubert.

Thanks to Figo they might well have a roof over their heads, but the band still needed to engage in such pleasantries as, say, eating. Given that money was generally required for this nicety, it was up to Gabriel to find his people some actual paying work, and fast.

Now, if only he could find something that both paid and guaranteed that the recipient of said pay lived long enough to spend it.

A commotion at the entrance drew Gabriel’s attention away.

A band of mercenaries had sauntered into the guildhall to a chorus of loud cheers and whoops. The newcomers made their way around the hall clapping backs, shaking hands, and just generally engaging in irritating merriment. By the looks of things, they had stopped at a tavern or two on the way in, and seemed determined to continue their social escapades here.

The cause for the celebratory atmosphere became clear mere seconds later when the leader of the troupe of mercenaries, an ashen haired adonis with olive skin, and a man that Gabriel regrettably recognised, strutted to the center of the hall, stood on a table, and raised a minotaur head for the crowd to ogle at appreciatively.

At least, Gabriel assumed it was a minotaur’s head. Thinking about it though, without a human body attached to it, it was just a cow’s head. Right? It was the fact it was a cow’s head on a human body that made it a minotaur. No human body, equals no minotaur. Come to think of it, It might actually have just been a cow head. As in, an actual cow’s cow head, not a minotaur’s cow head.

“I have slain a minotaur!” Archimedes announced, to a chorus of gasps and cheers.

“Show off,” Gabriel muttered under his breath.

It was always the arrogant, stuck-up ones who got the lucky breaks. Archimedes was pure ego, without a decent bone in his body. Gabriel couldn’t see why anyone liked the snooty prick.

“A round of drinks for everyone!” Archimedes announced, to an even bigger chorus of gasps and cheers.

Gabriel sighed.

A beer was thrust into his hand.

Gabriel sighed again.

Sipping his beer angrily, yet appreciatively, Gabriel turned back to the noticeboard. He had twice the motivation to find a job quickly now. The last thing he wanted was for-

“Gabriel,” Archimedes yelled jovially when he spotted the long-haired mercenary, “wonderful to see you! What brings you here? Here to turn in a reward as well? Did you find Nana Fatima’s lost cat again?” he chuckled, and was echoed by his sycophantic band of comrades.

“No!” Gabriel asserted, “Why? Is it missing?”

The pair painted quite the contrast. They were wan and tan. Gabriel was thin, with ghostly pale skin and nut-brown hair. Archimedes was staunch, with ice-white hair and sun darkened skin. They were basically a human Battenburg.

Archimedes and his backers laughed heartily, “Oh, Gabriel, when are you going to take on some real work?”

“I’ll have you know that just last night I found and captured a dangerous thief, who had been plaguing the streets of Gladstone,” Gabriel bragged.

“I heard! How is young Hubert? His mother tells me that he’s reading books without pictures now,” Archimedes said with a grin and a wink that caused most of the ladies in the room, and a few of the men, to flush.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes until they were near shut, “It was a real job, Archimedes, and not one you could have done,” he paused, “better.”

Archimedes waved away the objection, “Still, it’s nice to see you, and I mean that! I want you to know that there are no hard feelings between us,” Archimedes said seriously, “If ever you wanted to be a mercenary again, and I mean a real mercenary, you and your sister are always welcome back. Who knows, you might even get to hoist your own minotaur’s head one day,” he smiled.

Gabriel wondered how it was possible to enunciate so perfectly with a shit-eating grin permanently stamped to your face.

He waved the thought away.

“No, thank you, Archimedes. I’ve got my own crew now, and we happen to be fairly successful,” Gabriel addressed the whole of Archimedes” brigade when he stated, “I’m content to live off of the jobs which require actual intellect and finesse, rather than just bollocks for brains.”

A few hands twitched towards weapons at that, and someone cracked their knuckles forebodingly, but Archimedes kept his people in check.

“It’s not wise to make any more enemies than you already have, Gabriel,” the mercenary leader cautioned his counterpart, “A heartfelt apology from you is all I would require, and we could undo a lot of past unpleasantness. We can turn over a new leaf, Gabriel.”

Gabriel actually preferred Archimedes” jabs and insults to his moments of sincerity. He always found them disarming, and more than a little discomfiting. It didn’t help that an apology was indeed owed.

Gabriel found his mouth suddenly dry.

“We don’t need your help,” he croaked weakly.

Archimedes looked wounded, but he nodded his understanding.

“Enjoy the beer, Gabriel.”

With that, Archimedes turned, and the celebration continued. Gabriel was instantly forgotten.

Gabriel was left watching the backs of laughing men and women as they congratulated one another and shared tales and anecdotes. Finally, he grew tired of punishing himself and shuffled over to the reception desk, where a bored looking young lady pointedly ignored him and “busied” herself rearranging papers on the counter.

“Heeey, Rebecca,” Gabriel greeted the woman in a way he hoped was charming.

The woman carried on shuffling through papers and said nothing.

“I was wondering if there were any requests that hadn’t been posted on the board yet,” he asked hopefully.

“What you see is what we’ve got.”

“I know, I just wondered if anything had come through recently. Maybe someone just wandered in, or-”

“What you see is what we’ve got, Gabriel.”

Gabriel pursed his lips, “Nothing about a cat, then?”

The woman slammed down the papers in her hand, “Look, Gabriel, you can either take a job from the board, or you can piss off. Either way, you can stop bothering me.”

The mercenary raised his hands defensively, “I’m just making pleasant conversation. There’s no need to lash out.”

Rebecca responded with a very eloquent look, that conveyed a whole host of profanities.

Gabriel was undeterred, “What about Nico’s caravan? He’s normally leaving for Sanshire at this time of year, isn’t he? Isn’t that job going?”

The surly receptionist pointed across the hall without looking, “Dexy took it.”

Rebecca stormed off after that, but Gabriel scarcely noticed. His eyes were locked on a table at the far side of the room, where Dexy and his people were playing a game of cards.

This was bad news. The Nico contract was one of the best available. Once a year, Nico, an elderly herb merchant, took his goods in two or three carts to the neighbouring town of Sanshire. Now, there is neighbouring, and there is neighbouring. Sanshire, was neighbouring. It was right there. On a clear day you could see the smoke from its chimneys. Nico was old though, and cautious… Also, arguably a little demented. The herb merchant paid through the nose for protection that was wholly unnecessary, and even put his caravan guard up in the plushest tavern to boot. It was a cushy contract, and Gabriel had to have it.

Gabriel swanned his way across the hall, ducking arms swinging tankards and dodging patches of spilt beer. When he arrived at his destination, he was greeted in a manner befitting of his reputation.

“Fuck off, Gabriel,” Dexy warned, without taking his eyes off of his cards.

“Come now, Dexy, I only want to chat,” Gabriel lied, poorly.

“I know what you want, you vulture, and you can’t have it,” Dexy won a hand and collected his winnings, “the Nico contract is ours and that’s that.”

Gabriel took a seat on the bench across from Dexy, entirely uninvited. He almost knocked a young mage off of the far end as he squeezed in between a bristling barbarian and a startled spearman.

“Let’s be real, Dexy, the Nico contract is far below your prodigious capabilities!”

It really wasn’t.

Dexy raised an eyebrow, “I suppose some might say that.”

They really didn’t.

Gabriel seized the opportunity, “A man as highly regarded as you would sully his good name by taking a job as easy as the Nico caravan.”

Dexy’s reputation was only marginally better than Gabriel’s own: that is to say, pretty shit.

Gabriel saw the other man puff out his chest and used the momentum, “You and the Swift Swords should be felling ogres and rescuing princesses, not escorting flatulent old men down to the market!”

“It’s The Midnight Runners now,” Dexy corrected.

“What?”

“The Midnight Runners.”

“Not the Swift Swords?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Kevin’s gone.”

Kevin was, had been, the Swift Swords only swordsman.

“Nooo. Really? What happened?”

“An ox got him.”

“Noooo.”

“Yeah,” Dexy said, shaking his head.

“An ox?”

“Yeah.”

“Shame.”

“Damn shame,” Dexy agreed.

There was a moment of respectful silence, but only a moment.

“Still though,” Gabriel persisted, “the Midnight Runners?”

“If there’s nothing more, Gabriel,” Dexy said as he reached for the deck and started dealing. He did not deal Gabriel in.

Gabriel changed tack and switched his attention to the woman sitting next to Dexy, Dexy’s second in command.

“Talk some sense into him won’t you, Eileen?”

“You heard the man,” she said indifferently.

“Come on, Eileen!”

“You heard him.”

“Oh, come on, Eileen,” Gabriel pleaded.

Eileen rolled her eyes but she did shoot Dexy a look that must have had a bit of surrogate empathy in it.

Apparently Dexy found some meaning there, because he set down his cards and offered Gabriel an ultimatum, “Look, you irritating sod, you’re not having the Nico contract, no matter how much you pester me. However, if you are gone from this table in the next twenty seconds then you can have the job we took on before Nico’s was posted, okay?” Dexy threw up his hands, “That’s my final offer, take it or leave it.”

Gabriel thought for a moment and then leant across the table and shook the other man’s hand, “Deal.”

When Gabriel left the Mercenary Guild two minutes later it was with a smile on his face, a job contract in hand, and an overwhelming sense of self-satisfaction. He was a negotiator. He was a leader. He was a provider. He was a gods’ honest savior.

He read the job contract outside on the steps.

He was also going to have a hard time explaining this to the others.