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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813479" data-attributes="member: 22792">Chapter 12: Bloodshed (Continued)The mage slid through the door into the pre-dawn heat.  A harsh sun was only beginning to cast its violent rays skyward in the west, highlighting the shimmering cobalt of Raider’s Bay.  Rain had yet to break the unending summer draught.  The cloudless sky promised no relief for Rhelm.“Wizard!” barked Motega as he strode quickly across the dusty road.  “Where is Netto going?”  “I’ve sent him to Rhelm.”“What’s that now?” queried Tobias as both the paladin and Fitz closed their distance to the brewing spectacle.“I’ve sent Netto to Rhelm,” the mage patiently repeated.  He glanced around, noting four Minetown patriots waiting for their own orders.“Are you a fool?!” bellowed the Rornman.  “We could’ve used another sword here.”  The mage’s face was beginning to flush.  Hopefully, the four natives wouldn’t notice the blossoming color in the dim light.  “I’m no fool,” he interjected.  Quieter, he added, “Do not speak down to me in front of the villagers.”  The mage paused, allowing Motega to stare with incredulity at the sudden backbone he had grown.  Raising his voice, the mage continued, “Netto was sent to deliver a missive to the King himself.  It is an important mission.”“We are unsure of the size of their force, mage.”“I have it covered, ranger.”  Magnus’ tone was full of bitterness and exhaustion.  Each member of the Heroes showed wear and tear from a night without much rest.  Tobias seemed the worse; his muscles trembling with exhaustion from readying the defenses and searching the town.  Motega stepped in toward Magnus but before the distance betwixt them dwindled to nothingness, Tobias popped in between.  His arms kept them both at a safe distance.  “We are all tired here,” the paladin hissed between his teeth.  Turning to Motega he stated as calmly as possible, “let the mage give us his reasons before judgment is passed.”  All turned to Magnus, eliciting another stir of embarrassment in his cheeks.“The King must be warned of these events.  Netto was the best choice.  And he has already suffered enough.”  Magnus searched the paladin’s eyes, hoping he had played the correct sympathy card.  “Besides, if Netto’s sword was really necessary—that would mean that all three of you had already fallen.  If it came down to Netto’s sword than this town’s fate had been decided.“No, it was better for Netto to ride to Rhelm.  At least there, he may beg the King’s aid.  With any luck, a royal contingent can be drawn the forty miles to this town.  We may need the help.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Magnus noted Fitz nodding his head in agreement.“Bah,” Motega snorted.  “I doubt we could hold out long enough for some army to reach us.”“It doesn’t matter,” Tobias decided.  “Magnus has good reasoning this time.”  A cocky grin stretched the mage’s face but Tobias glowered at him.  “You had a good idea mage, but we are a group.  Ultimately, I have final say on our course.  Next time you have an idea, discuss it with the rest of us.  I grow weary of your secrecy.”  Without a final glance back, the paladin marched from the group, back to his tasks.  Fitz followed quietly.Magnus simmered.  Motega looked deflated.  Turning, he too left the mage, standing alone amongst the natives.  The mage swallowed his anger, realizing it as a byproduct of exhaustion.  “Are you all we have?” he asked the six that had watched the drama unfold.  “No,” responded a young man in yellow garb.  “How much are you offering?”“I’m sorry?”“How much are you going to pay me for my services, mage?  They don’t come cheap—especially if there is an element of danger.”  The other human watchers nodded in acquiescence.“Wait,” the mage demanded, rubbing his temples where a headache was quickly blossoming.  “You want money to defend your own town?”  “For a mage, you’re not too smart are you?”  The man questioned with a haughty grin.  Before the insult sank completely in, he jabbered again, “This isn’t my town.  I’m just a traveler that happened to be in the right place at the, well, wrong time.  And quite simply, I have no problems with the Culites personally.  So, I’ll need money to sway my loyalty to your favor.”“Feh,” snorted the only inhuman remaining, a dwarf.  He stepped forward, already dressed in a fine suit of mail and hefting a beautifully crafted axe.  “Yer jus’ another greedy priest of Galar,” he accused.  The young man in yellow finery shrugged carelessly.  “Look mage, I’ll fight fer yeh, and fer the town.  If yeh wanna toss a little of the loot my way, fine.  I’d like ter get rid of those damned, dirty Culites.”“Well, ser dwarf, I will be more than happy to pass some of the spoils of war your way.  As well as to the others of you,” Magnus added.  The others nodded happily.  “Good ‘nuff fer me then.”  The dwarf, a craftsman named Cochly, said.  Hefting his axe up onto his shoulder he paced away toward Tobias and Fitz.  Before passing the mage he spun and glared at the other Minetown patriots.  “Arad, Byk, and Cargyle!  Get your asses in gear.  Don’ make me tell yer womenfolk what cowards ye be,” he ordered.  Reluctantly, three of the others bowed their heads and followed the dwarf.That left only the Galar priest and another in front of the mage.  “And what do you want?” sighed Magnus as he pointed toward the other man.“Me?” He asked innocently, with a hand pressed to his chest.  “Oh, well I’d enjoy a bit of the spoils, too.”“But?”The man flashed a bright smile and brushed a perfect curl of black hair from his forehead.  “Well, your tales will be recited far and wide across all of Rhelm?”“They usually are,” Magnus answered sardonically.“Then, I’d like to be mentioned in the story.”  The man flashed another perfect smile.  “I’d like it to tell,” he lifted his arms into the air, gesturing wildly, “of how Devon the Handsome—that’s my name—fought valiantly at the Battle of Minetown.  How he single-handedly slaughtered several of the Culite followers, restoring peace, order and justice to the terrorized citizens of Minetown.”  Devon smiled.“Right.  Consider it done.”  Magnus gave him a slight push toward the gathering around Tobias.“Can we talk about my payment now?” the Galar priest asked.“How much are you asking?”“Fifty kings.”“Fifty kings!?!?”“That’s my price.”“How about twenty?”“Twenty?  You’re kidding.”“Look—uh, what’s your name?”“Timmons.”“Right.  Look Timmons, we don't have fifty Kings  to give you.  If you want to be remember in this historical battle as nothing but a gold sucking mercenary, by what the bards write, then there is nothing we can do to stop that.  Right now we have pressing business of planning this battle and I don't have time to haggle with you over the cost of your support.  “Or you could—as Galar would want, no doubt—become part of a tale that will last through the ages.  You could be remembered as one of the many hands that decided the fate of this town.“If we live through this day, know that all goes in my report to the King; favorable or unfavorable."  Magnus added.  He pulled out another piece of parchment and scribbled a few letters across its face.  “So, what is your answer?  Lord Tobias will need to know if you will be included in our planning."Timmons smirked.  "You drive a hard bargain, mage.  I could just as easily, of course, set myself up in some attic and peer through a crack in the wood to watch the battle.  Then I can pen whatever song I want, showering whoever wins with couplets and rhymes.“But...but I think you may just be able to do this.  So be it - twenty kings, and I'll do what I can to heal and aid you and your allies.  Fifty kings, of course, gets me into the thick of things.  But, I guess I know your decision."  With a sad sigh, the cleric stepped past the mage.“Fine,” Magnus grunted, a frown etched deeply into his face.  “Fifty kings.”  The mage withdrew a bag and tossed it to the priest.  Timmons smiled and bowed as he turned away.  Instead of heading toward Tobias, he walked into the church.“Greedy bastard,” Magnus murmured.“Reminds me of someone else,” a voice retorted, causing the mage to jump.  Motega grinned wickedly.  He had been busy; a fresh Rorn symbol was painted upon his face in what appeared to be blood.  With a quick glance, Motega found a fresh but shallow wound stretching down the length of the ranger’s forearm.“I’m really not that greedy.”“I know.”  The Rorn reached for the shield resting near Magnus’ feet.  Magnus leaned back slightly.  Motega painted a similar symbol across the face of the shield.  Standing, he admired his quick work.  “Tonight, we are all Culi-kun.  Brothers in this slaughter.”  He placed a flask in the mage’s hand.  “Take a drink now; it will steady your nerves.” Magnus complied and Motega patted him on his shoulder.  “Come, there is one other thing we need to discuss with our brothers.”  The Rorn passed the mage, veering for Tobias and Fitz who now stood alone.  The mage paused, coughing a bit of the harsh whiskey up.  As he lifted his foot, the warhorn sounded again.-----------------[1] - Motega has had many last names throughout the campaign.  They were always something-kun.  -kun is a suffix meaning killer.  So, Culi-kun is Culite-killer.  <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f600.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":D" title="Big grin    :D"  data-smilie="8"data-shortname=":D" /></blockquote>

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