Tannit was a medium-sized city that had two distinguishing characteristics that established its claim as a major concern in the area: The first was a massive onyx plinth with tens of thousands of names; a monument to the people that had died in the War of Liberation almost three hundred or so years earlier. They died defending their walls against the hordes of ogre-giants, ettins, mutants, mages, and beastmen that had come screaming out of the forest. The city’s defenders had fought valiantly, holding the blood-dimmed tide back long enough for several mercenary bands to arrive and fortify the city.

Back then, things were different. People had unshakable convictions grounded in zealous faiths in Gods and Goddesses that were real. But the sweet wine of faith had turned into the sour vinegar of betrayal as their gods revealed themselves as betrayers, tricksters, and parasites.

The second characteristic of the city that made it remarkable was a wonder of human engineering and determination; they’d widened the banks of the river to fit a number of docks and dredged the river down so larger ships could bring cargo up the Tems river and deliver it right to them, instead of having to rely on caravans and wagon trains to bring goods up from Einsamkeit and Begierde.

On this early morning, it looked like the city was under siege. Armed camps flying an assortment of standards were grouped loosely around the city walls. The lucky or rich mercenary bands got to camp upstream of the city; the less lucky were settled downstream, and the remainder ended up renting out space in farmer’s fields at cutthroat prices. There were two mercenary bands that had permanent recruiting offices within the city itself: the Red Rocks Company and the Black River Band, the two mercenary bands that arrived centuries ago to save the city of Tannit.

Mercenary bands came to Tannit every summer to recruit and collect supplies, and the city reveled in the influx of coin that the ofttimes rowdy mercenaries, camp followers, farriers, blacksmiths, fletchers and prostitutes brought to the city.

Just north of the city, and a hundred yards upstream was a small but orderly mercenary camp, with tight rows of single-person tents and organized picket lines for horses. In between the rows of tents there were rows of supply wagons, and patrols about the camp were regular, discouraging thievery and assault from any of the neighboring bands.

The day was a little too bright, the noises a little too loud, and Daveth had drank a little too much wine last night to make sense of anything except that his head hurt awfully. The drone of the flies seemed thunderous and even from here the drifting sounds of the city waking up just over the next rise were an annoyance. He really just wanted to crawl back into his bedroll and forget the day existed, but that would just result in someone tossing a bucket of water on him.

He stared blearily at his meal, a lump of trail biscuit drowning in greasy sausage gravy, feeling his stomach churn slowly. He closed his eyes and began shoveling the food into his mouth rapidly.

A shadow fell across his vision as he shoveled. He swallowed rapidly, and glanced in that direction.

“Daveth, you’re going to be my second-in-command.” Captain Aldric said with a nasty grin, seating himself across from the other man. This was the first thing said to him since Daveth clawed his way out of his bedroll this morning.

“You’ve got some fine ideas there, Captain. I hope they serve you well in the Void.” Daveth grumbled, returning to his attempt to eat the uniformly hard and flavorless biscuit given at first light.

“I can’t see why you’d refuse. You get an increase in pay, a tent- well, a ‘gently used’ tent- and hey, why don’t I throw in a squire for good measure. Well, you’ll have to find and pay the squire yourself, but it’s the thought that counts, right?” the other man replied helpfully.

Daveth took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and let it out, and eyed his superior officer warily. Aldric would be considered tall when placed next to anyone except Daveth, who reached seven feet in height. Aldric’s hair was a stringy mop of tangled brown, and he had a beard that always looked bedraggled and unkempt, no matter what he did with it.

Their band was a mercenary group with the unlikely name of Seventh Seal. When Daveth had asked what had happened to the previous six seals, Aldric had laughed, clapped him in stocks, and let him stew in his own sweat for an entire day with nary an explanation. The rumor in the camp was that Aldric had served in the army of Queen Arlene Lybeth, the monarch of Angland, and had eventually quit over “mutual disagreements”. The rules of the regular army didn’t suit him, and that he found them too rigid and inflexible.

The truth was a mystery, though he once remarked to Daveth, “There’s a lot of wrongdoing in the world, Daveth. I want the flexibility to do what’s right. Not just once in a while, not when it’s convenient, but all the time.” and he had recruited Daveth.

“I won’t lie to you. You’ll sleep in dirt and mud, and I won’t be able to pay you sometimes, but I swear to you that we will be doing what’s right.” That had been Aldric’s promise to him, all those years ago.

Daveth blinked slowly, coming back to himself. “You have a second, Captain.” He pointed out, gesturing with his fork. Aldric shook his head, stringy brown locks swinging.

“Had. Had a second, Daveth. Had. Unfortunately, he ran afoul of the local ruffians last night in town. Accused a gent of cheating at dice or some such, got a knife in the throat as thanks. I need a new second, and you’re the best choice for the job. Take the promotion. That’s an order.”

Daveth dropped the forkful of biscuit into his plate with a clatter and folded his hands.

“Captain Aldric, what wind had to blow that you would come up with such a horrible idea like that?”

“I told you: you’re the best for the job. Hell, you’re better than my previous second, on account he got himself killed in a spectacularly stupid fashion, while you have managed to keep your head firmly attached.” Captain Aldric replied glibly.

“I aim to keep it that way.” Daveth replied dourly, picking his fork up and scooping up a bite.

“Great! Glad you’re on board. You can stop with the whole ‘Captain’ business; you’re upper echelon now.” He clapped Daveth’s shoulder briskly.

“Give me a serious reason.” Daveth replied stolidly.

Aldric sighed and scratched his short beard. “You have an eye for combat. You can size up a situation tactically, and come out on top. I’ve seen it. We all have.” Daveth opened his mouth, but Aldric rode over him.

“Don’t try to pull the “I’m just a dumb soldier” bit with me. You’re fucking smart, and we need smart people to keep the real idiots in line. That’s you. Take the fucking promotion.”

“Why didn’t you pick Jonan? He’s got the tenure and the experience.” Daveth countered. Aldric snorted at that.

“He’s seasoned, yeah. I’ll give you that. He knows war. Hell, he’s got legitimate military experience. Fought on both sides of a war, once. Ask him about it sometime, it’s hilarious.” Aldric chuckled, and then sobered up a scant second later. “But he’s got no imagination. He follows orders spectacularly, but he’s running out of room for flexibility.” He rolled his eyes. “I need someone that’ll disagree with me, not someone that’ll ‘yes sir’ himself right off a fucking cliff.”

Daveth was at first worried, then humored as Aldric tried to sell him on taking a promotion, but grew angry when Aldric succinctly cut off his escape.

“I’d better get an increase in pay.” he argued angrily, dropping his fork again.

“Of course. I said so, didn’t I?” Aldric replied glibly.

“A better tent. one with a partition.” He demanded.

“Of course, of course.” Aldric repeated in a conciliatory tone, spreading his hands in grandiose gestures.

“Fine.” Daveth relented with a sigh. “What do you want me to do?” he asked resignedly.

“Officer’s meeting.” Aldric replied curtly. “My tent, fifteen minutes.”

Daveth sighed. “I haven’t finished breakfast, Aldric.” Daveth replied crossly.

Aldric rolled his eyes. “There’ll be food, man. Wine, too.”

Daveth shrugged, and rose to his feet to follow his captain.

In Aldric’s tent a heavy table rested in the large open area, and there were a couple of maps of the nearby city spread out atop it. A small tray of flatbread, meat, sliced cheeses and a small dish of pickled cucumbers was off to the side. Daveth busied himself, stuffing everything between layers of bread while Aldric poured them a couple of cups of wine.

“In times past, these’d be glass.” Aldric remarked, passing Daveth a wooden cup. “Glass is precious, though. Nowadays you could trade a windowpane for a sailing ship and have enough to hire the crew as well.” He offered a sarcastic eyeroll at that.

Daveth took his cup and downed half at a swallow.

“Bah. Boorish lout.” Aldric cursed, and Daveth shrugged.

“Did nobody teach you how to drink wine, boy?” Aldric wondered, and shook his head. “Rhetorical question. Of course they didn’t.” He gestured at the map.

“What do you think about Tannit?” Aldric asked him, setting his wooden cup down on the table and looking up at the giant.

Daveth took a breath and sighed. “Just another jumped-up river town with a lot of dirt-mean fucks that’ll stab you in the neck and dump you in the river with the chamberpots.” He replied.

Aldric nodded at that. “We know that one well enough, at least.” he replied sourly with a twist to his mouth. He continued, saying, “But if you want to recruit mercenaries, Tannit is the place to do it.” Aldric added. He straightened up a little. “No merc company worth their salt avoids Tannit, and everyone that wants to make their mark or earn their fortune knows it, too.”

“As you say.” Daveth agreed. “You didn’t pick me up here, though.” He challenged, and Aldric chuckled.

“No, but I got Jonan here, and you fought under him well enough.” he replied.

Daveth nodded. “Everyone, all the new blood fight under Jonan’s eye.”

Aldric nodded and gestured at the map. “True enough. What else?”

“We’re at risk. There’re other groups here that’ll eventually start thinking we look like a tasty treat.” Daveth immediately replied.

“You’re thinking of the Carrion Crows?” Aldric replied, and Daveth nodded.

“Not much difference between them and the bandits we faced at Garen’s Wall, Aldric.”

Aldric snorted. “If we’d been hired by the Dolomites instead of the Garenni, we would have been the ones assaulting the Wall.”

Daveth nodded. “And we would have taken it, too.” he replied.

“Well, I didn’t bring you here to talk about the Carrion Crows, or Garen’s Wall.” Aldric decided, and tugged a slice of ham from the decimated tray.

“There’s a few things I wanted to touch on: First, today we recruit. I have a terrible hangover, so I can’t sit there for hours on end in this godforsaken sunlight, listening to endless hours of bootlicking. I’m going to spend the morning in the blessed shade of the quartermaster’s tent. I know you Daveth, you never get a hangover, so I need you to stand in for me today.”

Daveth gaped at him for a moment. He was just as hungover from last night as Aldric was.

Aldric clapped him on the shoulder and stood up. “You’re good at judging character. Make sure we get some good people today. I don’t care if they’re men, women, beast or elf. Just make sure they’re good people, Daveth. People you can rely on to get the job done.”

Daveth sighed heavily. “And the rest?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, right. I’m giving you the odd-numbered files. First, third, fifth, seventh, and ninth. They’re yours. I’ll keep an eye over the even-numbered files. That’s how we’re going to do this.” Aldric replied.

Daveth shook his head wearily at this announcement. “You’re giving me the broken files?” He asked. There were a number of spots in each file that needed to filled to bring the company’s strength back up to two hundred.

Aldric nodded. “I figure it’ll give you incentive to get the right people.” He replied casually. He let out a breath. “Also ... There’s a mercenary band here I thought you should be aware of. Fangs of the Serpent. They fly a green banner with a black two-headed snake.”

“Think they’ll be trouble?” Daveth asked, thinking of the Carrion Crows, a disparate band of undisciplined and filthy men that were more bandit than mercenary.

“Well, they’re legitimate, so don’t go comparing them to the Crows.” Aldric replied, sipping from his cup. “Their commander and I have had ... poor dealings in the past. No matter what happened, we always seemed to end up butting heads.” He seemed to struggle with himself and finally let out a sigh of resignation. “I’m telling you these things because you’re my Commander and as such, there’s an... expectation that you’d know about your commanding officer. He and I served together once, though we couldn’t see eye-to-eye on the important things. There isn’t any bad blood per se, but...” Aldric trailed off ambiguously.

“Keep an eye out.” Daveth finished, and Aldric nodded. “Just so.”

Daveth stood, and pulled up the tablecloth to wipe his hands. Aldric squawked with outrage. “You savage idiot, use a bloody towel, not the tablecloth!” He roared, and Daveth shrugged and glanced at his hands.

“No need to, now.” He replied.

Aldric sighed again, and then added, “Finally, keep an eye out for the ones we lose, either through desertion or leaving legitimately. When we leave Tannit we’re going to need a full complement of two hundred.” Aldric finished, and then frowned. “Did you eat all the pickles?”

Daveth raised an eyebrow. “Wanna fight about it?” he challenged.

Aldric let out a resigned sigh.

“Take this table to the front of the camp, and grab a chair while you’re at it. Get started on the recruiting. I need to talk to our quartermaster.” Aldric replied in an irritated voice.

Daveth made sure the halberds were set up, had a passing soldier fetch a chair, and then settled himself to wait in front of a heavy table that had a few pieces of gear for the ones that signed up without it.

In what was generally agreed upon to be the front of the camp, an archway had been erected by planting two halberds in the dirt, and then laying a third over the two to form an archway in what was generally and universally recognized as a sign of mercenary recruiting. Every recruit had to pass through that arch.

Daveth had originally guessed that recruiting would be fruitless, but there were at least a double dozen men and a couple of women that showed up. One of his cavalrymen mentioned that there were a couple of other mercenary bands nearby that were also recruiting; Daveth took that as a mixed sign.

There was a certain amount of migration from one band to another, as mercenaries tried to find the band that paid the most, or had standards that fit what they preferred. There was also the risk that the people they hired were criminals, or wet-behind-the-ears farmboys that had at one point played with wooden swords and thought themselves brave warriors; there were any number of camp followers that wanted to sign on as well; farriers and blacksmiths and fletchers and prostitutes and the like.

The day was half-over, and already Daveth wished he could crawl away and die. The sun was hot, the constant shouting, clank of armor, nickering and whinnying of the horses, it all built into an augur of pain that drilled deep into his brain. He could picture it, a great bloody rusty spike, driven deep into the delicate, quivering and vulnerable jelly of his brains.

“I do not like the look of that one, sister. Let’s go.” Alysia announced peremptorily, eyes flashing. Lynnabel sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose lightly. Alysia had done this with every mercenary band they had come across, and not just in this city, either.

“What’s wrong with this one, sister?” She asked in a tired voice.

“Look at him!” She accused, pointing to the giant of a man that slouched and glowered in a chair that was obviously too small for him. He was huge, a swarthy giant, a great bear of a man that likely stood seven feet tall. “He probably hasn’t bathed in a month.” Alysia announced caustically.

“Sister, how many times have I told you? It’s not customary for humans to bathe as frequently as we do.” Lynnabel replied, giving him a careful examination.

“Look at his eyes. They’re bloodshot. I can smell the alcohol on him from here.” Alysia continued with a frown, flipping her silvery braid over her shoulder. Lynnabel frowned at her older sister.

“I am looking at his eyes, and I like what I see.” Lynnabel replied calmly, and adjusted her sword.

“What? Why would you say that?” Alysia replied, eyeing her sister crosswise.

“Look at him. He pays attention to what’s going on around him. Likely he’s noticed us already. Come. I want to get closer and see what he does.” She stepped forward briskly, plate armor clinking with each step.

As they approached, a couple of young men approached the giant. They had the wide-eyed look of naivete, tousled hair, and were covered in brawny muscle.

“Farmboys, are you?” The giant rumbled at the two, and they nodded. They professed a desire to serve, to see the world and have adventures. They boasted about the few fights they’d been in, and their skill at wrestling and their familiarity with the axe.

Lynnabel’s attention was focused on the giant of a man who glowered irritably at everything. She hadn’t seen a man so huge before. As the farmboys wound down, the giant made a simple cutting gesture with his hand and they fell silent.

“You want to ‘adventure’?” He mocked dourly. “An ‘adventure’ is reading or hearing about somebody else slogging through mud and snow while suffering trench foot, ringworm, dysentery and starvation, chasing or being chased by people with their hearts set on murder, or worse.” he sneered. “We’re in the business of soldiering. Get outta here. Be content with your farm. Make lots of babies and bring them up to be good people.” He waved his hand dismissively and slouched in his chair more as the pair of farmboys wilted and slunk away.

“I cannot abide naive farmboys.” He growled to one of the soldiers standing by the chair.

“Were you ever a farmboy?” The soldier asked, and the giant grunted. “Certainly not. I would’ve gotten hung for certain if I didn’t sign up when I did.” he grumbled.

“Next!” the soldier barked, and Daveth winced, and shot an angry glare at the man.

An arrogant-looking elf in flapping brown robes stepped towards the giant who appeared to be in charge of recruiting.

“Winpen, at your service.” The elf announced with a barely concealed sneer.

The officer in charge of recruiting smirked a little and slouched in his chair a little more.

“All right, good for you.” he remarked sarcastically. “Tell me your skills. Can you handle a sword?”

“If the situation befits it.” Winpen replied distastefully. “My real strengths lie in the magical arts, however. You can only benefit from having me in your service. Place me in command of ... what other scraps of magical talent you’ve managed to scrape up, and I can assure you of victory at every turn.”

The man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and tugged at his thick brown beard.

“Can you read?” the man asked. The elf sneered. “Of course I can. Likely better than y-.”

“Can you follow orders?” The man interjected. The elf apparently did not like to be interrupted.

“Excuse me?” The elf exclaimed.

“A simple question. Can you follow orders instantly, unquestioningly, at a moment’s notice?”

“I-If the situation calls for it, yes, sure, of course.” The elf replied warily.

The man sighed again. Lynnabel smiled to herself. She guessed how the man would respond, and then waited to see how it would play out.

“Many times the ebb and tide of battle will shift in unpredictable ways. You may end up receiving orders that seem bizarre, incomprehensible, and counterproductive- and yet they must be obeyed immediately, without question or contemplation.” Alysia called, stepping forward. Lynnabel blinked, startled, and looked to her older sister.

“You’re an outspoken one.” The recruiter observed, raising an eyebrow. Winpen turned and eyed Alysia up and down ostentatiously with a frown.

“I think the Lord Captain here wants to make sure that you do exactly as you are told, when you are told, without objection.” Alysia continued. The elf sputtered as he worked to respond.

The giant nodded. “I’d take ten barely competent mages that follow orders well over one impressive mage that thinks entirely too much of himself.” He replied with a wry smile, cutting his eyes to the elf for a moment, and then added, “And I’m just the Commander. The Captain is busy organizing our supplies with the quartermaster.” He turned back to Winpen and shook his head.

“I don’t think you will be a good fit for this company, but if you think you have what it takes, that you can immediately and unquestioningly take direction from ... people you think are beneath you, then by all means, we could use you.” He stated, and squeezed his temples with a pained expression on his face.

The elf stalked away, and Lynnabel chuckled.

“You two.” He mentioned, sitting up and leaning forward. “You’re clearly more experienced than that rabble. Tell me about your service record.”

Lynnabel raised her eyebrow, but Alysia took the initiative, as was her right.

“We come from a sorority of warriors from Rothgar, Lord Commander.” She stated, pulling out a bundle of papers from a waist pouch. “The Order of the Wolf. We are trained in the halberd, sword, and mace. We can ride horses, and can read and write.” She stepped forward. “Here are our identity papers and a letter of recommendation from the Matron of our order.”

The man took the papers and glanced over them, eyeing the two of them. He pointed at Alysia. “You’re Alysia?” he asked. She nodded. “So you’re Lynnabel?” He asked, but said it more for his own confirmation than hers, so she refrained from nodding.

“Let it be known, blah blah blah, esteemed blah blah blah, exceptional warriors without peer, blah blah blah.” He rambled as he skimmed the document. Alysia frowned a little, eyes tightening, as he did this.

His eyebrows rose at a short list of requisites on the letter of introduction. His mouth twisted as he considered them.

He tossed her papers onto the table dismissively, and leaned back in the chair ostentatiously, which creaked alarmingly. His eyes moved between the pair of silver-haired, silver-eyed sisters.

“The ... requirements for accepting your service are... steep.” he announced.

Lynnabel unlatched the gauntlet on her right hand, and stepped forward, drawing the gauntlet off.

“We require our privacy, so a tent is essential. We would prefer to share one tent, both for our convenience and for yours.” She stated the first condition in the list.

“Our order requires certain vows to be kept, one of which is cleanliness. We require the use of a bathtub at least once every three days. This bathtub must not be used by anyone else.” She stated the second stipulation, and arrived at the heavy oaken table that served as the recruiting desk.

“Finally, our privacy must be respected. No one may enter our tent without permission, at any time, and we can and will refuse admittance by anyone for any reason.” She stated.

She reached down and gripped the edge of the table. It was likely several hundred pounds of weight in just the table alone; there were parts of plate and mail scattered across the table, which added an additional hundred pounds at least.

“If you can agree to these requests, then we would be honored to count ourselves amongst your ranks and swear our swords to your cause.” She settled her feet and the man’s eyes narrowed, and then widened as she lifted the table up single-handedly. There were gasps from the other sellswords behind, and quite a few from the soldiers that had gathered to help their commander maintain order. The table creaked and groaned as the stress built up..

“Lord Commander, we know war, and we have trained well for it. I understand that our requirements are onerous, but if you could find a way to accommodate us, I’m sure we’d both benefit.”

Another man, somewhat older in appearance and wearing a stained nobleman’s jacket, replete with tails stepped towards the seated commander and tapped the man on the shoulder. He spoke to the man quietly, with a hand cupped to mask what he was saying.

Alysia muttered out of the side of her mouth. “You can put the table down, you know.” Lynnabel smiled serenely and kept her grip, though the table was beginning to splinter.

The recruiter nodded back at the man, and they turned to the sisters.

“I think an arrangement can be made.” The commander stated, and Lynnabel set the table down with an audible thump. The man passed their papers back, and from a satchel on the side of his chair, he pulled out a sheaf of papers.

“If you can read, these are your papers. They detail your contract, your allotment, and the detail you’ll be assigned to. Welcome to the Seventh Seal. I’m ...” He cursed. “I’m Commander Daveth. This is your new captain, Aldric.”

Both girls stepped to attention and saluted, fist to hearts. “Sir!” Daveth returned the salute, and gestured to the captain. They followed after him.

“And who might you be when you’re not at home?” Daveth asked the young girl in front of him after the two armored girls left with the Captain.

“My name is Audra.” She stated, and drew her bow from her back. “I’m an archer.”

Daveth coughed into his fist. “Sorry, didn’t notice the bow.” She raised an eyebrow at his sarcasm.

“Mind taking off your hood?” He asked, and she sighed, and drew back her cowl.

“An elf!” he said, eyebrows raising. “Well, you won’t be the first, but it’s rare. We’ll quarter you with your kind, don’t worry.”

She frowned at him. “I don’t mind being quartered with humans, sir. I don’t need special dispensation for anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No?” He asked, and she nodded. “You sure?” He asked, and she nodded again.

“I came to fight, not be coddled.” She replied evenly.

“Fat chance of that happening here.” He snorted. “Fine. You’ll be in my company, fifth file. We lost two archers defending Garen’s Wall a week ago... i imagine you’ll be pulling double duty for a while.”

She smiled at him. “I look forward to it, sir.”

“Do you now?” he mused, handing her a sheaf of papers.

“Of course. How will I learn my limits if I’m not pushed to find them?” She asked honestly, and followed a soldier for the signing, twisting back to wave at him cheerily. Daveth snorted.

He picked two more rank-and-file to fill some holes in his infantry, and decided enough was enough.

“You’re all dismissed. We’ll continue applications tomorrow.” he announced. The applicants began to file away, muttering and talking amongst themselves. As they walked away, they all parted around something- or someone- Daveth corrected himself. As the crowd thinned, he caught sight of them, and his hands clenched on the armrests of his chair.

She was taller and more solidly built than an elf, as tall as Aldric, but her features were unmistakably elvish in nature. She wore a suit of full plate, lacquered black with hints of blue here and there. She carried two enormous swords crossed on her back.

What caused him to react wasn’t her armor, which was functionally no different from anyone elses’, if better crafted, and it wasn’t the swords, which were ostentatious and huge, with broad milk-white blades; and it wasn’t her obvious mixed heritage, either. No, what caused his consternation was the device enameled on the breastplate of the armor; a jagged fang in white, a sigil of the Northern Avalanche.

The Northern Avalanche was a race of half-giants that lived to the north of Urthan, in the Arboreal Wastes. They were relentless and unstoppable, living up to their namesake. Every campaigner had at least heard of them secondhand, and each story was worse than the previous. Relentless and unstoppable monstrous warriors, mixing a strange sort of sorcery with a savage, brutal fighting style.

She approached, and as she moved towards him, Daveth could feel it. There was an unearthly chill radiating out from her. Her armor was dusted with ice crystals, even in this heat. Daveth sat up straight in his chair.

“Come no further.” he warned. “I did say recruiting was closed for the day.”

She wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes roved about the camp, weighing, assessing. Her hair was a pale blonde, almost white, and her eyes were blue, and she carried herself with a noble grace. Her eyes finally turned to Daveth as she arrived at the table.

“I wish to join.” She announced flatly.

Daveth’s brows drew together. “I really hate to repeat myself.” He replied warningly.

“I don’t care. I wish to join.” She replied stubbornly.

“Why?” He asked. The cold that radiated off of her would be welcome in this heat if it were not so unnatural, he considered.

“To fight.” She replied.

Daveth thumbed his chin meditatively. “You bear the arms and armor of the Northern Avalanche.”

“I have inherited my father’s arms and armor. He served the Northern Avalanche with distinction.” She replied coolly.

Daveth’s mouth twisted. “You don’t?” He inquired. She shook her head.

“Then who do you serve?” He asked.

“I would like to serve this company.”

Daveth chuckled briefly at her straightforward response. “Do you understand what we’re looking for in the people we recruit?” he asked.

She nodded, and from a belt pouch produced a crumpled flyer. “You’re offering your services to correct injustices done.” She said, and proffered the flyer. He took it, and glanced over it.

“Fucking Aldric, goddamn.” He muttered. “Righting wrongs, fighting injustice, monster hunting.” He shook his head. “Well, he’s not far off, but it’s not as romantic as he’d like to sell it.” He muttered. He straightened in his chair a bit.

“Listen: We’re a private army. We sell our services to those that can afford us. That’s obvious. What isn’t mentioned in this little flyer is that we pick which jobs we take pretty carefully. This means you may not be paid regularly.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and then smirked a little when he remembered Aldric’s sales pitch when he joined just a few years prior.

“You’re going to sleep in the mud, you may not get paid on time, and the food will be terrible.” He leaned forward. “You sure you want to sign up?” He asked.

She nodded without hesitation. “I want to fight. More importantly, I want to make sure that I fight for the right reasons.”

“With two swords?” He asked. She nodded. “No shield?” he asked. She shook her head.

He frowned at her. She fulfilled the general requirements that Aldric was looking for, but he was reluctant to recruit her. Was it personal bias? Aldric seemed to take great stock in his judgement.

“We’ll take you into the infantry.” He found himself saying. Was that what he’d meant to say? He nodded to himself, reached into the folder next to him and selected the infantry papers. He handed them over and she bowed slightly, fist to heart.

Daveth spent the early evening getting the newer recruits into Jonan’s stewardship. Jonan was a seasoned veteran that took it upon himself to train all the recruits that came into the Seventh Seal.

The newly-raised Commander spent the late evening moving into his new tent, which was significantly better than his previous. His new tent was inherited from his previous commander, and contained a desk that could be quickly assembled or disassembled, a stool, a cot, and several chests for gear. As Daveth tossed his sword onto the desk, Winpen burst through the flap and stormed into his tent.

“Commander? Commander, this is unacceptable!” The elf raged about.

Daveth didn’t hesitate; he grabbed the elf by his robes and unceremoniously tossed him out of his tent. “Knock.” He ordered gruffly, pointing to a post outside his tent, and then disappeared back inside.

Winpen struggled to his feet and dusted himself off. He grumbled and marched around in a short circle for a minute, and then knocked on the post briskly.

“Come in.” Daveth called noncommittally.

“Commander, I wholly expected that whatever mages you had assembled were incompetent, but this is ridiculous.” Winpen declared upon entering.

“I don’t understand magic.” Daveth began. “You need to explain to me what you’re talking about in a way that makes sense to a soldier.”

Winpen bristled. “I am a soldier too, Commander.” He sneered. “They’re not. They’re construction mage apprentices. At best.” He spread his hands and shook his shoulders. “They’re useless. They’ve got no combat spells. They’ve had no training in combat casting!” he stressed the last word hard.

“So they’re unskilled. They still help out where they can. Just the same as learning the sword- you suck at first, and then you get better.” Daveth replied with a shrug. “They’re effective at what we ask them to do.” He paused, and added, “Usually.”

Winpen let out an exaggerated sigh. “Listen: In order to qualify to be a warmage, you have to be able to cast under pressure. There’s training for that. They don’t have it. They can be interrupted or distracted easily. They’re a liability.”

Daveth nodded, listening seriously. Winpen seemed to be the kind of person that enjoyed having a flair for the dramatic, but he had some valid concerns. “We mostly use them for battlefield control or securing fortified positions. Raising bulwarks, palisades.” He replied, and Winpen made a strangled noise. “But you can change that, right? Train ‘em up in war?” Daveth asked pointedly.

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’m a warmage. They’re construction mages. Apprentices. Maybe I can train them.”