Hello to everyone who bothered to click on this! I've posted a fan-fiction on this site already, and while I'm not going to stop writing that one in favor of this one. I kinda wanted to post this one as well and get some feedback on it. In case the description gets cut off, this fan-fiction is loosely (very loosely) based on the world of Dungeons and Dragons. I had first started writing backstories for my characters in D&D about 2 years back and it quickly led to me just writing stories for the heck of it.

The full title of this story in particular is: "Part 1 of the Crimson Wolf Saga: Road to S". Based on just the name, you can probably guess that this is a bit of a longer story. There will definitely be some familiar sights in this tale and a whole lot of new stuff as well, which will hopefully make for an enjoyable tale if I've done my job correctly. Anyway, I think I've rambled on quite a bit, so without further ado, let's get this show on the road!

[p=center]Chapter 1 - Gilean[/p]

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Age of Dorweir - Year 2620[/p]

A gentle breeze sailed through the fields outside of the village of Gelaweir, carrying with it the scents of spring and the melodies of the birds that rejoiced in the new season. The clear skies offered no protection, however, from the piercing light of the sun's rays. Thus weary travelers seeking a respite from the heat of the day sought refuge underneath the cool areas of a home or tavern. Or in one traveler's case, beneath the swaying branches of an old oak tree that stood curiously alone in the field some distance away from Gelaweir.

The figure dozing beneath the oak was covered head-to-toe in all black clothing, which, under the shade of the tree made it difficult to pick out any prominent features. The traveler was of average height and bore a slender build that was coupled with a pair of prominent ears poking out from beneath his (for he had a fairly masculine appearance) tufts of wind-swept black hair. The characteristic tapering of his ears and their unusual size marked the mysterious traveler as an elf.

Next to the elf was a incredibly heavy-looking greatsword that had been stabbed into the ground. The steady rise and fall of his chest quickened, his sleep disturbed, as he shifted around under the oak, searching for a more comfortable position. He apparently found it as his breathing settled down to a steady rhythm and he lolled back into a peaceful state.

Taking in all of this, Melia shook her head in disbelief at the elf's cavalier attitude at sleeping so defenselessly. While she eyed the blade with some trepidation, she dismissed any notion of going back to the Mercenary House empty-handed. A small smile crept across her face as she thought how he was going to wake this lazy bum up as she made her way over to the tree, intending to shake the unruly elf awake.

Her long strides ate up the distance between her and the elf, but before she had come within 20 paces of the supposedly sleeping elf, his golden eyes shot open and froze Melia in her place with its fierce, bestial gaze. In the span of a few seconds, the elf had retrieved the greatsword from the ground and was pointing it at Melia, as his eyes narrowed to slits, seeing the vague figure that was obscured by the blinding light only as a potential enemy to be cut down.

Her heart in her throat, Melia feebly croaked out a greeting to the man, “Gi-Gilean, it's past time to meet everyone. We're going to be late...”

The sound of Melia's voice seemed to fully wake up Gilean as his eyes visibly softened and blinked away the last vestiges of sleep. Gilean relaxed his ready posture and sheathed his heavy weapon back into the baldric on his back, yawning as he did so.

“Melia?...What time is it?” asked Gilean, stifling another yawn with a hand over his mouth. Seeing Gilean's nonchalant attitude calmed the furious pounding of Melia's heart as her anger quickly bubbled to the surface.

“Time to wake up you idiot! We were supposed to be meet at the Mercenary House 15 minutes ago!” shouted Melia. Gilean winced from the sharp reprimands as he gazed at the position of the sun to confirm the time on his own.

“You're right.” said Gilean with a touch of wonder in his voice (A vein on Melia's forehead twitched), “Meaning I can sleep for at least another 15 minutes.”

With that irresponsible statement, the incorrigible elf walked over to a more shaded part of the tree and plopped onto the grass with a contented sigh. A sigh that was rapidly transformed into a short yelp as Melia seized one of his ears in a crushing grip and stood Gilean up. Her hand on his ear and increasing the pressure ever so slightly, Melia marched towards their next job while ignoring Gilean's continued pleas.

The Cataclysm was said to be the event that heralded the dawn of a new age, a time of darkness and fear. Monsters, demons, spirits and all other manner of horrors became more than myth as such sightings became more and more frequent.

It had been almost 20 years since then, and the world had begun to regain some sense of normalcy, helped in no small part by enterprises such as the Mercenary House. When it became clear that relying on roving bands of adventurers to deal with the occasional problem was no longer a viable solution, the leaders of the various races created various institutions that were directly funded by the state.

One of these organizations was the Mercenary House and was one of the most successful ventures. If a person wanted to join the Mercenary House, they had to pass a series of exams issued by the governing body of the area to receive an official Mercenary license. Once this was accomplished, a person would be entitled to accept requests posted on the Board that was located in every Mercenary House. These requests were then verified by independent contractors from the ruling council to make sure they were important and severe enough that they warranted the services of a mercenary.

This prevented the Board from being cluttered with unimportant requests and the independent verification from the council also prevented any one person or persons having control over what requests came up. Once a request was confirmed to be real, a team of mercenaries was dispatched to the area to take care of the problem. When the task was finished, the mercenaries received their compensation from the Mercenary House, typically in the form of large amounts of gold. The immense wealth attracted many would-be mercenaries and the nearly impossible exams turned all but the most hardened of warriors away.

It was a little past noon when the pair finally reached the Mercenary House. They would've arrived even later if Melia hadn't finally relented and released her hold on Gilean's ear halfway through the journey. Gilean gingerly touched his poor, abused ear and winced as the imperceptible touch sent a jolt of pain through it. He glared at Melia who managed to stifle (poorly) a chuckle. Grumbling to himself, Gilean pushed open the door unceremoniously and stalked over the threshold with a huff.

The patrons populating the dim interior of the House all looked up warily at the new arrivals. Despite the fact that they were located in the middle of a sizable village; the harrowing nature of their profession demanded a constant vigilance at the risk of losing their lives. The presence of these two faces alerted some sixth sense of these grizzled veterans, a few even dropped their hands to their weapons unconsciously.

The slim black-haired man drew some attention for his apparent youth, until their attention was drawn to one of his ears which the boy's hand carefully hovered around. While an elven mercenary was certainly uncommon, it was not unheard of in such parts and it explained his youthful appearance.

It was the presence of the elf's companion that drew the wary looks for it – she because of the long hair and prominent chest – was an incredibly fierce-looking orc warrior. The she-orc towered over the elf and commanded the attention of every person in the room with her imposing aura. Rays of light that filtered through the slats of the shuttered windows, glanced off of the she-orc's full plate-mail armour and made it shine with a menacing light. Perhaps she knew the effect she was having on the people inside the House as her mouth split open in a feral grin; fangs gleaming through the twilight of the room.

This of course did nothing to allay the concerns of the mercenaries as more of them reached for their weapons.

It was a testament to their prowess (or sheer stupidity) that several of the mercenaries merely assessed the she-orc without fear and disregarded her as an enemy as several of their compatriots were so foolishly doing. Unaware of the tense situation that had erupted in the tavern, the elven male stalked over to the Board that was hung up on a wall in the centre of the House.

The she-orc followed behind after breaking off eye contact with the warriors who were considering drawing weapons with a low chuckle. Seeing as she wasn't a real enemy, many people dropped their hands away from their weapons, although more than few kept a watchful eye on the duo's progress.

Gilean quickly glanced through the many requests that were pinned on the Board, taking note of which ones involved demons and noted them down in his memory for later. After confirming there were no requests that demanded his immediate attention, Gilean tore himself away from the Board and sauntered over to the Mission Desk that was located in a small alcove at the back of the House. Behind the Desk sat a bored looking halfling who was staring at a heavily text-laden document embossed with official seals from the Elven and Dwarven councils.

One of his hands rested against the desk and was propping up his chin, while his other was dextrously flipping a deadly-looking dagger between his dancing fingers as he pored through the document. As Gilean approached, the halfling looked up and smiled, glad that there was something to jog him out of his usual routine of correcting official papers.

“Yes? Can I help you?” asked the halfling politely.

“I'm here with my companion to start the mission we had signed on for yesterday.” replied Gilean, jerking his head over at Melia to indicate who his companion was. “It was for the request over in Auverdale to deal with the demon attacks.”

Before the halfling could reply, a deep voice rang out through the stillness of the room, “You're late.”

The owner of the voice was a heavily-built human male clad in polished, steel armor sitting at one of the tables, nursing a mug of spiced cider. Melia recognized the man as one of the few people who did not go for his weapon when they saw her. The man set his drink down with a soft thump and rose up from the table. Now that he was standing up, his full height was revealed to be even with Melia's and was even more imposing than the she-orc because of the cold expression that defined his face. Melia's eyes flicked back and forth between Gilean and the man, anxiously hoping the former didn't do anything too stupid.

While some patrons were ignoring this confrontation and continuing with their own conversations; many people watched the scene with undisguised eagerness, each hoping that a fight would break out between the youth and the warrior.

Melia inwardly groaned when she saw the completely unabashed expression and slight smirk dancing across Gilean's face. The knight's face darkened when he saw Gilean, coming to a halt a hairsbreadth away from the elf, so Gilean was forced to look upwards.

“Semphil Albernson, I presume?” enquired Gilean easily.

“You presume too much if you think we are on an personal basis with each other, boy.” said Semphil coldly.

His grin becoming imperceptibly wider, Gilean raised an eyebrow and corrected himself, “Do you prefer your unofficial title then? I feel that “The Mobile Fortress” seems a bit too odd to use in a proper conversation with someone.”

At Gilean's retort, the room erupted in a low buzz as people looked on with renewed interest at Semphil; some gazed at him with something close to awe. Among the few A-Rankers, “The Mobile Fortress” was one of the most well-known members of the class. He was known both for his incredible strength as well as his unwavering sense of duty to the people he accepted requests from.

Semphil ignored the furious mutterings of the mercenaries and remained glaring fixedly at Gilean. “You know quite a bit about me. That information would've been on the approved request we had all accepted. As was the time, we were to meet.” added Semphil severely.

“And?” asked Gilean, refusing to move the conversation forward.

“Why are you late?” rumbled Semphil, his eyes glittered with a dangerous light.

“Technically you're 15 minutes early.” answered Gilean cheerfully. Faster than the eye could follow, Semphil's hand shot out from his side and seized hold of the front of Gilean's tunic. The giant man lifted Gilean easily off the ground without any form of strain appearing on his face.

“For your sake, I hope you have something better than that, boy!” shouted Semphil. There was a soft hiss of steel scraping across leather as Melia drew her battleaxe and hefted it into the air menacingly, “Drop him.” growled Melia.

Several of the patrons were showing very worried looks now; what had started off as a good bit of fun now seemed like it would yield heavy bloodshed. Indeed, more than few people were pushing backing from their tables and drawing their own weapons to preempt the ensuing carnage by dealing with Melia. Gilean and Semphil remained unfazed by the deadly situation, as they continued to lock gazes with one another.

“Is this how you treated the other two?” asked Gilean. Gilean's unexpected question significantly lowered the tense atmosphere of the room as Semphil drew back from Gilean and wrinkled his brow in confusion. “...Other two?” he repeated slowly.

Gilean made an exaggerated show of surprise as his eyes widened and his jaw hung loose in supposed shock, “You didn't know? Two more people were assigned to this mission. A message hawk was delivered to the House yesterday about these changes with a new meeting time.”

Semphil was utterly nonplussed at this information for he had spent the entirety of yesterday at the local shops to restored his equipment to their previous pristine state, as well as replenish his dwindling supplies in preparation for his next mission. One of the regulations of the Mercenary House is that all missions were subject to immediate and potentially radical change by the ruling council up until the day before the scheduled mission. While this technically meant that mercenaries were required to check for new updates, such changes were so rarely done that most neglected to do so.

Semphil couldn't even get angry with Gilean because of this. Gilean had told the truth and Semphil had reacted rashly without pausing to consider that what he had assumed to be a sarcastic comment, to be the truth. Although Gilean's attitude certainly didn't help in convincing Semphil to other alternatives, the fault still lay with Semphil alone. And that was something the knight could not tolerate.

Semphil gently placed Gilean down and stepped away form him to bow his head in apology, “It seems that it was I who presumed too much. For that, I cry both you and your companion's pardon for my unacceptable actions.”

Gilean was surprised at the knight's earnest and sincere apology. His reputation is well-deserved. “Please raise your head, sir knight. My own attitude hardly helped, and was certainly inappropriate for one of your stature.” Melia and the rest of the patrons silently agreed. “Let us start over anew.” said Gilean, extending his hand as he did so.

Semphil clasped Gilean's hand without hesitation as everyone watching breathed in relief, “Thank you for your understanding. And please, call me Semphil.”

Gesturing over to where his table was, Semphil ushered Melia and Gilean to sit and refresh themselves as they waited for the last two companions. Conversation slowly returned to the room as people went about their own business. Semphil had gone to retrieve drinks for Melia and Gilean, despite their polite (but not adamant) protests.

Melia narrowed her eyes at Gilean, who returned her gaze evenly. “I did tell you we had 15 more minutes, Ms. Ear Torturer.”

“Oh, shut up.”

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