Preparations were underway for their departure. Gabriel had divided his team and sent them to complete their respective tasks. Time was against them. They knew that Goyun wouldn’t hold on to Vagalad’s goods forever, and the quicker they secured the stolen heirlooms the more lucrative their contract became. To that end, Figo had been sent to settle the party’s outstanding debts, Vish had been instructed to purchase supplies, Bling had been sent, just, away, and Gabriel had left himself with the job of recruiting some additional protection.

Finding a suitable candidate was no mean feat. There were only around half a dozen mercenary parties currently active in Gladstone, being one of the quieter and safer towns in the Kaden Circle, and even fewer unaffiliated adventurers. The trouble was, with the Gladstone mercenary community being on the small and close-knit side, most of the mercenaries available knew, and had personally interacted with, Gabriel and his team. This was very much to Gabriel’s disadvantage.

It had taken Gabriel a full half a day to convince Rebecca, the guild receptionist, to put together a list of candidates for him. In all honesty, Gabriel wasn’t quite sure why she had been so reluctant to help; once Rebecca had ruled out those unable or unwilling to assist Gabriel, the list of prospective mercenaries had boiled down to just one.

And so, Gabriel found himself in the Rickety Bridge, a small tavern in the centre of town, nowhere near a bridge, interviewing an adventurer who, against all odds, had an impeccable resume. The adventurer all but engulfed the bench across from Gabriel. Here was a specimen of athleticism and might the likes of which Gabriel, a small-time jack-of-all-trades (master of none), had never before laid eyes on. He drank the view in with bewildered awe.

Gabriel had to correct himself on his previous observation. He could not actually tell the adventurer was mighty and athletic. Rather, he supposed this were the case based on the ease with which the veteran wore their full plate mail and hefted their stein of beer, pinched casually between thumb and fore-finger, as if it weighed less than Vish’s conscience.

Really the only problem was that the adventurer was, well, she was a…

“Gabe!” a familiarly irritating voice whisper-shouted from across the room, “Pss, Gabriel, come here!”

Gabriel ignored Vish for painfully long seconds, but the mind-mapper had precious little social awareness to exploit, and persisted undeterred.

The adventurer, Lydia, frowned between the two and scowled irritably, “Friend of yours?”

Her question was met with a sigh that emanated from Gabriel’s whole body and soul, “Hardly.”

“Oi, Gabriel, you twat, come here,” Vish hailed his captain.

Gabriel gave Lydia a flat smile and muttered an “excuse me” through tight lips. He kept the smile plastered to his face as he politely rose from the table, tucked in his bench a little, skirted a few tables, chairs, servers and patrons, sauntered over to Vish, and whispered, just as loudly, “What? What? What, you insufferable turnip?”

Gabriel turned and gave Lydia a small wave, and what he hoped was an encouraging smile. She raised her tankard in acknowledgement and settled her attention on her beverage.

Vish dropped the sack of goods he was carrying and folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t know if you noticed this,” Vish started, “but our “hired muscle” happens to be a fairly bangable, brunette, babe!” He pointed, just in case any of his actions up until this point could be misconstrued as subtle.

Normally Gabriel interrogate his colleague on what he thought constituted "bangable" – if “Universally Accepted Traditional Standards of Beauty” were a country, then Lydia had flown a few leagues South of it, probably on the back of a gargoyle – but there were more pressing matters at play.

Gabriel shuffled awkwardly, “I know, I know, but,” he glanced at Lydia again, “that doesn’t matter, right? I mean, in this day in age?”

Vish put a finger to his chin, “Yeah, yeah, I see what you’re saying, the age of enlightenment, equality, rights, and all that shit, yeah… I’m pretty sure none of that reeeally applies to a profession where 80% of the workforce retire when their spleens leak around their ankles.”

The “captain” snorted derisively, “I’m pretty sure that is a made-up statistic. I mean, at least 30% get decapitated.”

“As many as that?”

“Oh, at least.”

“Huh, I would have thought decapitating was a little trickier, there are a lot of tendons and muscles in the neck. It would take a pretty strong swing,” Vish mused.

“Well I think it’s more about momentum, rather than actual strength-”

Across the room Lydia slammed down her tankard, probably as loudly as she meant to.

Gabriel jumped back on track, “Well, you can’t deny that she’s strong,” he said, massaging his ear, “and she definitely looks like a warrior.”

“A warrior, a lioness, a goddess… I bet she could squeeze a man to death between those tree trunk thighs,” Vish’s tongue darted across his lips as he spoke.

Gabriel eyed the mind-mapper, “What the hell was that, Vish?”

“Beauty is as varied as the notes and characters of wine, my friend, and I am a connoisseur,” Vish said, rubbing his hands together.

Garbiel grimaced, “I’m starting to think we have bigger problems than whether or not she can swing a sword. Can you be trusted not to swing yours?”

“No, sir, I cannot.”

“Well, honestly, I think you deserve whatever fate that brings,” Gabriel stated sincerely.

“Gods, I hope it’s the thigh one...”

Vish was lost in a reverie for a few more moments before he remembered his surroundings, and how tight fitting his breeches were, “Anyway,” he coughed, “do we want to entrust this lady with our safety and wellbeing.”

Gabriel shrugged, “I say we give her a shot. She looks capable, her asking price is reasonable, and, as an added bonus, she may end up skewering your perverted arse like a kebab. I see only positives.”

Whether due to reason or lust, Vish seemed to be finding the idea less audacious, and only semi-reluctantly nodded his assent.

“There we go,” Gabriel smiled encouragingly, “I’m sure we won’t regret it.”

The pair sidled back towards Lydia, where Vish was introduced to the bodyguard-to-be. The mind-mapper set down the sack he had been carrying and took a place next to Gabriel, facing Lydia, whilst Gabriel flagged down a barmaid and saw to it that everyone had a drink in hand. The trio eventually settled back into their conversation.

“Don’t worry, by the way, it happens all the time,” Lydia said matter-of-factly, between gulps of her ale.

“Excuse me?” Gabriel responded.

“People get nervous about hiring a woman as a mercenary, especially if she’s not a mage, or a cleric. It happens all the time,” Lydia repeated.

What followed was a panicked and somewhat shrill exchange, during which Vish and Gabriel floundered like a couple of imps in ichor.

“Whaaat?” Vish began.

“That’s crazy,” Gabriel confirmed.

“People actually do that?”

“In this day in age?”

“Just because you’re a woman?”

“I didn’t even notice you were a woman.”

“I’ve hired plenty of women.”

“The nerve of some people.”

“Oh, no, when I say hired women-”

“I think women are just the same as men.”

“-I don’t mean, I’ve hired women.”

“Well, obviously not the same as men.”

“I would never use a woman for that.”

“In many ways, better than men!”

“Not that I don’t like women, that way, that is-”

Lydia pounded the table with her iron clad fist so hard that every set of teeth in the establishment chattered.

“Enough! Enough. It’s fine,” Lydia let out a slow breath, “Can we please continue?”

“Right,” Gabriel nodded, remembering himself. He cleared his throat and tried to get back on track, “So, the initial stretch will be from here to Tindra. It’s a pretty safe road, and we’ll be five in total.”

Lydia’s face was hard to read, but Gabriel imagined she was probably calculating her potential earnings from what was likely to be her easiest payday to date.

Gabriel continued, “We anticipate a four-day journey to Tindra, so we’ll pay for two days up front and then the rest when we arrive safe and sound.”

Gabriel’s negotiations were interrupted by a sonorous voice calling his name from across the room.

He tried to ignore the interruption.

“Once we’ve arrived in Tindra,” Gabriel went on, “we will have a few errands to run. After that, we may be returning to Gladstone, or we may have to travel a bit further. Of course, you’ll be amply compensated if our job takes us beyond -”

“Gabby!” The high, feminine voice calling from across the tavern continued, using Gabriel’s childhood nickname.

“- Tindra,” Gabriel went on, “If we can agree on a rate, and you are up for the journey, we’ll probably be looking at Jandrir as our next stop.”

“Gabby!”

“For gods” sake,” Lydia snapped, “Are you going to see to that?”

Gabriel physically deflated and murmured a “sorry”. With that, Gabriel, with Vish in tow, politely rose from the table, tucked in his bench a little, skirted a few tables, chairs, servers and patrons, sauntered over to the young lady who had been calling him, and greeted her with a somewhat drawn out, “Yeeeees, Natasha?”

“Lady,” Bling said.

Natasha indicated the woman in question with a sharp nod of her head. Her gesturing was made even less discreet by the fact that Bling jangled with every movement.

“She-”

“I’ll stop you there, Bling,” Vish interjected, “Gabriel and I have talked about this and we think that it’s time we accepted that women can be mercenaries too,” he said with a hint of self-satisfaction.

Vish eventually noticed who he was speaking to, “Not you, obviously. I mean, you are a woman, and a mercenary, but you don’t count,” he clarified.

Bling looked nonplussed.

Gabriel could only shake his head.

“She-” Bling tried again.

“- It’s alright, Natasha,” Gabriel interrupted this time, “We think she’ll do a great job. You don’t mind having another a woman around, do you? It might be nice for you!”

Natasha stuck out her lower lip and pointed at Lydia.

“One arm!” Bling bellowed loud enough to draw the attention of half the room, including Lydia.

There was a brief pause.

Natasha looked pointedly at Vish and her brother.

Gabriel looked at Natasha.

Vish looked at Natasha.

Vish and Gabriel looked at each other.

Gabriel and Vish looked at Lydia.

Lydia saluted them with her tankard… The tankard she had been effortlessly lifting with one hand - Her only hand.

“Oh,” they said as one.

Gabriel sat Natasha down at the bar and instructed the grouchy, mutton-chopped bar tender to keep the ale coming Bling’s way. He promised to settle her tab before he left.

That done, Gabriel and Vish navigated the path back to Lydia, and sat down on their bench once more.

The captain drummed his fingers lightly on the table.

“So,” Gabriel started hesitantly, “so it’s come to our attention that-”

“That I only have one arm,” Lydia finished for him, “Yes, I heard. I’m sort of surprised you didn’t notice yourself. I didn’t exactly hide it.”

This was true. Where Lydia’s right elbow should have been (and it would be the right arm, wouldn’t it?) there was an iron cap, apparently forged by the same armourer who had fashioned her plate mail. Gabriel winced at his glaring oversight.

“I hope this isn’t a problem,” Lydia seemed to challenge them to make it one.

“Look, we don’t have an issue with disabled people,” Gabriel explained.

“Or differently abled, some might say,” Vish added.

“It’s just,” Gabriel stammered, “can you really fight like that?”

Lydia nodded thoughtfully, as if considering his question, and placed her tankard on the table. Half a second later a hatchet appeared in her hand, and, before Vish or Gabriel had a chance to react, the hatchet had left the aforementioned hand and sailed across the inn to find a new home – neatly imbedded in the cap of a rosy-faced patron.

The cap dangled from the tavern’s wall like an oil on canvas, and the gentleman was left patting his, impressively shiny, bald head. He was totally oblivious as to what had just transpired.

The slightly tipsy, very bald man blinked at his favourite hat, and drew his belt dagger. He span on the spot, trying to find someone to introduce the blade to, and yelled a challenge to the tavern common room. It was a challenge that died in his throat, however, as Lydia was on her feet and at his side in an instant. She had a bastard sword in hand that very convincingly dissuaded further action.

The man wisely froze to the spot. Then, perhaps less wisely, he shat himself.

“My apologies, sir,” Lydia crooned, “I must have slipped.”

The man nodded his agreement.

“Allow me,” Lydia insisted, as she sheathed her sword and retrieved the hat and hatchet from on high. The latter was tucked into her belt, whilst the form was deposited unceremoniously on the glowing rouge head of its shite-scented owner.

Lydia deposited a copper piece on the bar and strode back to her seat.

The man was so enraptured by the bold behemoth storming away from him that he entirely missed Bling avariciously staring at the shiny coin and swiftly depositing it in her sleeve.

“Wow,” was all Gabriel could say as Lydia plonked herself back down in front of him.

“Satisfied?” Lydia asked coolly.

“I’d say so, yes,” Gabriel confirmed.

Vish just nodded, repeatedly.

“Your terms are agreeable,” Lydia decided, “I’ll be ready to leave by nightfall.”

“There’s really no need,” Gabriel said, “We are quite content to spend another night in Gladstone, and I’d rather avoid marching through the dark. We’ll gather a few extra supplies and leave in the morning.”

“Not even that early in the morning,” Vish added unhelpfully.

Lydia frowned, “It would be best if we started today.”

“Does it matter?” Gabriel enquired.

“It matters,” Lydia persisted.

“Gabriel!” A man shouted from across the room.

There was a pause. The inn, and all of its occupants, seemed to sigh as one.

Gabriel and Lydia exchanged a look.

“S-,” Gabriel began, but was cut off.

“Don’t. Don’t say sorry, just go,” Lydia insisted.

Gabriel smiled crookedly. Then, with Vish in tow, Gabriel politely rose from the table, tucked in his bench a little, skirted a few tables, chairs, servers and patrons (including Bling), sauntered over to the man who had beckoned him, and stared.

Gabriel stared long, and hard.

Figo looked at his captain curiously, “What’s up with you?”

“Just… Just, what is it?” Gabriel urged.

“That woman you’re with-”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, I know. Whatever it is, I know. I know she’s a woman. I know she only has one arm. I also know that this is my decision. It’s mine! Not yours, not Vish’s, mine,” Gabriel pointed to himself for emphasis, “and I have decided. I have decided that I don’t care that she’s a lady, I don’t care that she’s probably crap at playing the lute, and I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks!”

Gabriel was breathing heavily by the time he had he finished his tirade, and was more than a little flushed. He also fancied that he heard someone in the background clap, but that was probably his imagination. Despite his mounting frustration, Gabriel was feeling quite proud of himself. It felt good to assert some leadership.

Figo, for his part, just blinked a few times.

“That woman you were sitting with, I saw her less than an hour ago,” Figo explained, “She killed three guys in the alley across the way and stabbed a horse in the face!”

The silence was electric.

Slowly, Vish and Gabriel turned to look at Lydia once more.

There was blood splattered across the front of her plate mail that neither man had noticed before.

She gave them a rueful smile.

Gabriel made a sound like a kettle boiling, “Ooooh, come on! Reeally now?”