Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Puppy Kicker" data-source="post: 1743895" data-attributes="member: 20284">Helevent Rophen Hassitic Mercenary I suppose you could say I've had an interesting life. I grew up in Lawdess, a fairly small mining town near the base of the Varghani mountains. My father was a miner, my mother, Viera, a whore. It was a dangerous area. I grew up with a sword never more than a few feet from me, always prepared for an Orchazi raid. When I wasn't fighting those beasts I was fighting my father. He would drink, he would hit. I still have occasional memory loss from a beating I received as a child. That's why I left Lawdess at the age of 16... my father killed Viera, and I killed him. I can't go into that, and I doubt you would care to hear. Suffice to say I left that town and have never returned, nor will I ever. I admit I was lost, no family, no job. When I finally found my way to Damaristan, the only city I'd heard of at that time, I began looking for work. I cleaned tables, tried my hand at cooking even, but it was only near the end of my 17th autumn, that I found my true calling. By that time I was becoming quite large, as my father (curse his soul) had been. I was working at the Redfaced Harlot then, doing any labor the crotchety old owner could throw my way. It was a busy night in the fall, the mines and passes were being shut down as winter approached and the miners and soldiers were beginning their yearly hibernation in the taverns. As I was wiping down some tables a fight broke out between two soldiers of rival mercanary companies. Comaradarie and drunkenness being the forces that they are the entire tavern was soon in a general brawl. Brawls I had been in, but this one looked to turn deadly as swords were drawn and waved menacingly. Within seconds there was blood on the floor and two grizzled soldiers were waving wicked blades in my direction. I looked desperately for a weapon, and found nothing but a broom lying on the floor. Odds? Well, I survived, and I beat the sons of bitches to the ground to the astonished stares of a few of their comrades. By the time the brawl had been settled down and the sorely injured bodies of several mercenaries pulled out I was exhausted and sore, but in much better shape than the odds would have reckoned. The next morning I was approached by Jenz, a sergent in the Red Hammer mercenary company. After a brief talk, in which we discussed my previous combat experience during Orchazi raids and my financial situation, I was a proud and paid member of the Red Hammer Company. I trained all winter under many a weaponsman, learning to fight with sword, dagger, and crossbow, and fought my first battle in the spring. The mercenary life is hard, and sometimes I find myself questioning the morality of what I'm sometimes forced to do. Perhaps someday I will find another calling, but for now... well, killing is my business, and business is good.The situation I find myself in most recently is difficult, for I do not know that I can justify what we have been ordered to do. The Red Hammer has been commissioned to ambush a group travelling from Damaristan to Ilmara. A military group I assumed, as did most of my compatriots. But upon the return of a scouting party rumor began to circulate that it was not a fighting force, but a group of priestesses. Fighting women they are not, for they are devoted to the goddess of healing and love, so the the rumors claim. The mumblings have been circulating all night and as morning approaches the beginnings of the next scout party are forming. I will volunteer for this one, to deny these atrocious rumors once and for all. I know for certain we would not be ordered to commit such a vile act, and I feel it is my duty to verify this for myself that I may set the truth to light amongst my fellow soldiers. We head out in an hour. May my heart be right and my ears misinformed...</blockquote>

Verification