[center][b]The morning after.
Welcome to the Forlorn Hope.
The army sets sail.[/b][/center]
Myranda didn't feel particularly imposing at the moment. 

As she shuffled forward and shook Captain Elias' hand, all the elf could think about was how greasy, disheveled, and exhausted she must look. After her meeting with General Astra, Myranda decided to celebrate her promotion to the rank of lieutenant the only way she knew. By drinking until she couldn't see straight. She'd wandered back to Colwen's Bunkhouse and, since the other guests were either asleep or terrified of her, ended up having a few beers with Dagmar Colwen himself. The pimply Mardochian had been more than happy to just take Myra's coin at first, though he eventually joined in her revelry as the night wore on. Considering how watery and awful the beer was, neither Myra nor her drinking partner expected to actually get drunk until Dagmar found an unlabeled green bottle behind an old chamber pot. Both the elf and the Mardochian were sloshed at this point so they'd each decided to take one sip from the bottle. Myranda had been shocked to discover the bottle was full of [i]wotka[/i], a powerful Coromic spirit brewed in the dwarven stronghold of Tzar Ungol, and she'd poured as much as she could into her wineskin over the course of the evening. As the first rays of sunlight filtered through the grimy windows of Colwen's Bunkhouse, the bottle lay empty and forgotten on the floor, but Myra had chosen to make one last regrettable decision. She offered to give Dagmar Colwen a "fun romp between the sheets" as payment for the [i]wotka[/i]. Initially, the bunkhouse owner had been unsure if he'd enjoy bedding someone like Myranda, though his concerns vanished when they finally clambered into his bed. 

Unfortunately, due to a combination of inebriation and weariness, this "fun romp" was more of an embarrassment than anything else. As the first few patrons began shuffling around the common room demanding breakfast, Dagmar politely asked Myra to leave his chambers and she, feeling befuddled and nonplussed by the experience, didn't need to be asked twice.

Now, standing before the gallant Captain Marko Elias with her hair stinking of sweat and her breath stinking of booze, all Myranda could do was cough and say, "Good ter meet ye, Captain Elias. A right pleasure, I'm sure. I'm guessin' yer here on account o' that commotion I heard while I was havin' breakfast, eh? Some couriers came in a little bit ago an' started sayin' the army was leavin' Taranidorn afore nightfall or sommat. Guess it's time ter get movin'." 

Politely ignoring the state of his companion, the Gray Winds captain inclined his head and gestured for Myranda to follow him as he strode away from the bunkhouse. Thanks to the early hour, the capital's main square was mostly deserted, though Myranda saw other groups of people running towards the docks as if their lives depended on it. The elf chuckled dryly, noticing the expressions of confusion, panic, and anger stamped on the faces of those men and women scurrying by, and she wondered what game Oromis was playing. Evidently, the God-King intended to have his army depart as soon as possible, though Myranda couldn't imagine a force of this size being ready to leave by nightfall. According to what Sweet Thond had told her a few days ago, Myra knew the army's original departure date was two weeks from now, and at least a dozen Mardochian lords claimed they wouldn't be ready by then. Now, the God-King wanted to set sail even sooner? It was impossible. Then again, the elf was still trying to come to terms with her new position as a lieutenant in a sellsword company serving the whims of a powerful immortal conqueror from a bygone age. Her life seemed full of impossible situations at the moment. 

As Captain Elias and Myranda jogged towards the Taranidorn shipyard, the elf took a moment to take a long sip from her wineskin. The bitter taste and overpowering burn of [i]wotka[/i] made her wince as she gazed down at the seething madness consuming the docks. People of every size, shape, and race were doing their best to meet the God-King's unexpected demands, which meant tempers were running high and fights were already breaking out. Trying not to jostle anyone too roughly, Captain Elias began to maneuver through a gaggle of elves carrying burlap sacks, wooden crates, and solid-looking casks on their backs. At the head of this weary band, a man wearing a yellow silk jerkin and a red cap was bellowing at a terrified city guard standing at the door of an old warehouse. 

"No no no! What part of the word don't you understand, fool? I haven't come to [i]empty[/i] the warehouse. These long-ears are here to finish [i]filling[/i] it on the orders of Lord Anton Dezco! His lordship has worked his peasants to the bone to produce the amount of food Duke Perinhold requested. Getting all of it aboard the ships before the sun sets is preposterous! I demand to speak to the guard captain on duty!" the courtier roared, though Myranda couldn't hear the cowering guard's response as the noise of the crowd swelled and she was forced to pick up her pace in order to keep up with Captain Elias. Like two fish being carried along by a treacherous river current, Marko and Myranda struggled to navigate the mass of sellswords, peasants, convicts, merchants and countless others shoving their way across the docks. As a wagon full of grim-faced red sashes rumbled by, a pair of elves, each one wearing the colors of influential Mardochian lords, forced the twosome to move to one side of the road as they sprinted past. Myranda heard one of them say, "I hear the God-King's gone mad, Fylerian! If he thinks the army will be ready to move tonight then he's going to be sorely disappointed."

Myra frowned to herself as the elves vanished into the hectic throng. She understood improvisation was key during battle, but this sudden change of plans was starting to gnaw at her. As a former leader of men, Myranda could only think of a few good reasons to rush an army's departure, and she was certain none of those reasons were foremost in Oromis' mind. Apparently, a few of the God-King's supporters felt the same way. Scratching at the fleshy lump that had once been her right ear, Myra watched as a regiment of Gray Winds marched through the tumult like a ship plowing through a stormy sea, each soldier moving with the same crisp, precise efficiency. At least someone was handling these changes with a little grace and dignity. Dignity, as Kurdan often said while drinking or gorging himself in his captain's tent, was overrated, but Myra had to admit she was impressed. Despite their rumpled clothes and tired expressions, these men looked like professionals, and the measured stomping of their boots reminded Myra of the many forced marches she'd been involved with. While the White Hands always reached their destination in the end, it wasn't because they were all in step or looked like an army of conquering heroes setting out to save the world. It was because they were greedy as sin and didn't want to give their employers any reason not to pay them. Sucking on her teeth, the elf hurried after Captain Elias as he darted around an overturned cart and the two Jadisi men arguing beside it.

After what felt like an age, Marko and Myra reached a massive galleon with the name [i]Blade of God[/i] painted on the side in golden letters. Wiping his sweaty brow, the mustachioed sword-for-hire said, "Well, Lieutenant Tavellan, this is the vessel that will carry you and your platoon across the Gap. I believe General Jalek of the Night Hunters will also be traveling aboard this ship. You should introduce yourself to her if you have time. At any rate, the Forlorn Hope platoon will be waiting for you at the rear of the ship. Look for Trooper Larius Pyral. He's your bugler and the oldest member of your platoon besides Trooper Mogdan. Good luck, lieutenant, and I hope to see you on the mainland." With that, the man hurried away, and Myra took a moment, despite the craziness swirling around her, to drink in the sight of Captain Elias' rump shifting beneath his cavalry trousers. She then quietly thanked the gods above and below for cavalry trousers. 

Taking another gulp from her wineskin, the elf strode up the gangplank, trying not to interrupt the steady flow of perspiring sailors and bedraggled mercenaries boarding the [i]Blade of God[/i]. The morning air was filled with the smell of salt water and body odor, mingling together with the unmistakable reek of fresh fish. Myranda hated fish almost as much as she hated being constantly wet. The army might not be ready to leave the Hamrock Isles but Myranda certainly was. Eventually, the elf reached the stern of the ship and was greeted by a sleepy-eyed man wearing polished lamellar armor and gray cavalry trousers. His mustache was also the largest and bushiest one Myranda had ever seen. It looked like a white, fuzzy caterpillar was sleeping on the human's upper lip.

"Ahhh, capital, you must be our new lieutenant then. Capital!" the man said, his voice barely audible over the din of the ship, and he stroked his formidable whiskers, a look of bemusement skittering across his face. "I am Trooper Larius Pyral, and Captain Elias commanded me to welcome you to the Forlorn Hope platoon. We call ourselves the Forlorn Hope platoon because we-" Larius interrupted himself with a jaw-cracking yawn, and Myranda arched one eyebrow as she saw the deep bags under the man's eyes. "Pardon me, lieutenant, but I haven't slept at all since we arrived on these islands. It seems I've become accustomed to sleeping in the saddle, you see, and I don't find beds comfortable any longer. Imagine that, eh? But come, come, let's meet our bold companions. Your platoon, Lieutenant Tavellan, has the vital task of sneaking into enemy territory, crushing any initial resistance, and preparing the way for the cavalry. The Forlorn Hope, you see? Because the chances of us doing all these things without being caught are slim to none. Capital!"

Myranda wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but she contented herself with shrugging her broad shoulders and allowing Trooper Pyral to take the lead. Pulling at his mustache as though he was trying to yank it off, the elderly sellsword guided Myranda to the back of the ship. The Forlorn Hope platoon was waiting there in a large clump, laughing and chatting amiably amongst themselves while a number of them played dice.

The platoon looked exactly like Myranda had imagined it would. These men were as refined and disciplined as the White Hands were crude and vicious. The elven berserker paused for a moment. Why was she thinking so much about those traitorous bastards today? Obviously, she intended to punish both Pajaan and Clan Lord Miridon, not to mention those who'd supported their betrayal, but dwelling on the past wasn't something she normally did. Maybe it had something to do with the army's impending departure for the mainland? Or the [i]wotka[/i]? Maybe having sex with Dagmar, and feeling so incredibly empty afterwards, shook a few things loose? Adjusting her red criminal's sash and narrowing her mud-colored eyes, Myranda looked at the twenty-five mercenaries assembled before her warily. Most of them were Tolosi, albeit with unusually dark skin due to their vocation, though there was also an old dwarf leaning against the railing of the ship, a heel of bread in his gloved hands. Two elves, their faces covered in tattoos that marked them as natives of Xochimilco, stood off to one side, their pitted lamellar armor and tattered wool cloaks the only indication they belonged to the Forlorn Hope platoon. One of them, a lean, dark-haired male with one blue eye and one green eye, stared at Myra and smiled like a cat that had spotted a tasty-looking bird. He gave the hulking elf warrior a little wave when he noticed she was looking back at him. 

Myranda frowned and opened her mouth to speak when Larius roared, "Attention, men and women of the Forlorn Hope, attention! Lieutenant on deck!" The old man's cry actually made a few sailors stop what they were doing, though they quickly returned to work after realizing they weren't being addressed. Smiling warmly at his new lieutenant, Trooper Pyral ambled over to join his fellows while Myranda tried to think of something to say to the twenty-five strangers staring at her. "Hello" seemed like an excellent way to get things moving, but Myra's lips felt like they were made of stone. A twinge of icy fear rattled down her spine, though the elven warrior took a deep breath and told herself she was being stupid. She was Red Myra, after all. Why should she be afraid of addressing twenty-five mercenaries? If anything, they should be afraid of her. A faint sneer lit up Myranda's scarred face and she cracked her knuckles one-by one, the sound somehow making itself heard over the gulls cawing overhead and sailors bellowing at each other.

"Erhem, me name is Myranda Tavellan an' I'm gonna be yer new lieutenant. Now..." Myranda paused and scratched at the remnants of her right ear as she said, "We might as well get this done with. How many o' ye know the name Red Myra, hm? Raise yer hands an' raise 'em high. An' yes, if'n ye know the song "Beer, Blades, and Blood" then ye know who I am. The damned song is about wot me an' the White Hands did durin' the Siege of Fort Liburnum." Nearly a dozen mercenaries cautiously raised their hands, and the elf watched several faces turn the color of spoiled milk as they realized who she was. There was no help for it, of course. There never was. "Well, ye all know the stories about me an' I hate ter say it but most o' them have actually been cleaned up a bit so ye can tell 'em without scarin' people. What I'm sayin' is whatever ye might have heard about me is probably true. I ain't gonna lie to ye. So, if'n that bothers any o' ye or if me bein' an elf sticks in yer craw then ye can go. I won't fault ye, an' I'm sure the General won't either." To Myranda's surprise, nobody moved and she smiled, a warm feeling, almost like pride, blossoming in the pit of her stomach. These were good soldiers. Unfortunately, just because someone was a good soldier didn't make them a good person. The opposite was usually true.

"Now, I only got two rules ye need ter worry about. First, ye lot have ter listen ter me. I know yer reportin' ter Captain Elias just like I am, but if ye got a problem then jest let me know. Maybe I can help ye or maybe I can convince one o' the other officers ter help ye. However, if'n I find out yer goin' behind me back and tryin' ter do somethin' ye shouldn't then we're goin' ter have a problem. I'll find a way ter punish ye, don't yet doubt it. An' I'm partial ter floggin' meself. It's brutal an' ter the point. An' I like doin' it. Unnerstand?" Twenty-five heads nodded rapidly, and the dwarf, who'd just finished his bread, gave Myranda a delighted smile. "Second rule is also pretty damned simple. Even if the other platoons fuck up we're goin' ter do our job no matter what. Claes has her horses and her archers and the Night Hunters, but we're here ter smash shite ter bits an' make a mess so the cavalry can clean up. If we aren't makin' a bloody mess than we ain't doin' our jobs and that means the rest o' the army can't do their jobs. So, even if ye don't like it, we're gettin' paid ter do this shit right. Let's make sure we do, aye? Any questions?"

Complete silence was Myranda's only answer. The elven man's companion, a heavyset elf woman with a rearing serpent tattooed around her eyes, muttered something to her friend before shutting her mouth. Myra took that as a good sign. 

Clearing her throat, the elven warrior said, "Excellent, now go get settled in below-decks. I'll have time ter get to know ye all during the trip across the Gap. Dismissed." The Forlorn Hope members began to disperse, talking animatedly amongst themselves, though Trooper Pyral and the elderly dwarf both walked towards Myranda. Now, what trouble could a tired old human and a wrinkled dwarf with a white beard make? Nevertheless, the drums began to beat softly in the back of Myra's head despite the friendly smiles stamped on the faces of the two sellswords. Trusting people was a luxury Red Myra couldn't afford.

"A fine speech, lieutenant. Capital, I say! I'll be speaking to Captain Dimbick if you need me for anything. I look forward to serving under you, truly. Capital!" Larius said, and he bowed his head respectfully before hurrying towards the fore-deck, leaving Myranda alone with the dwarf. The two southern elves strolled by and the dark-haired one whispered something to his blonde comrade, who giggled loudly, and they both glanced at Myra before vanishing below-decks. The elven berserker was wondering if they'd be trouble when the dwarf tugged at her dirty undershirt, which was hanging out from her leather chestpiece.

“Can I help ye, trooper?” Myra asked the dwarf, though the short mercenary didn’t answer right away. He seemed content to stare at the elven warrior, an earnest expression splayed across his wrinkled face. It was almost like he was searching Myra's face for something.

The dwarf suddenly grinned, showing off his yellow teeth once more, and said, his voice made guttural by a heavy Coromic accent, “I just wanted to say those were some fine words, lieutenant. The flames of Geishra burn hot within you, I can tell. I am Vladimir Mogdan, formerly of Coromis. I look forward to seeing you fight.”

“Thank ye, Trooper Mogdan. Oi, just out o' curiosity, have ye ever heard of a dwarf named Kurdan Sokolov? He was a mercenary an' fought for the Empire a long time ago. Does the name sound familiar at all?" Myra asked, though Vladimir was already shaking his gray-haired head.

“I am afraid I do not know that name, lieutenant. However, [i]kurdan[/i] is an ancient Coromic word meaning "lucky." You are [i]kurdan[/i] to have me at your side, lieutenant. Trust me. Me and my axe shall make beautiful, bloody art for you. And for General Astra, of course,"  Vlad said before tottering off after the rest of the platoon, his threadbare jerkin flapping around his knees like a little girl's dress.

In spite of herself, Myranda chortled as she watched the dwarf go. Maybe she was [i]kurdan[/i] after all. Or maybe the other boot just hadn't dropped yet. Either way, the elf was looking forward to getting back to the mainland.