Padra died sometime during the night. The first Cassilda was aware of it was when she tried to turn over in his arms and found herself stuck fast. She awoke in the dark, certain that something was wrong. Within moments the facts started to flood into her mind. His flesh was cold against, there was no sound of his deep breathing.

[b]“Padra?”[/b] she called, quietly but insistently. There was no response. Panic started to well up in her breast. Thrashing, she tried to free herself but Padra’s arms, already set in rigour held her like iron bands. Guilt and fear wared within her, she should never have spent the night with the man. 

Twisting like an acrobat, she managed to place her foot next to the crook of his elbow. Steeling herself, she shoved hard, the full power of her straightening body behind the blow. With a creaking pop the elbow gave way and she was free.

Cassie scrambled to her feet, her skin felt oily and soiled where it had pressed up against her former lover. She spat a word and a pale fire limbed her right hand, just bright enough to illuminate the inside of the tent.

Padra’s eyes stared sightlessly at the canvas ceiling, his tongue slightly protruding from his blue lips. She bought her left hand to her mouth to forestall a sob. Another one Gods help her. Padra had been a kind man and a fierce fighter, a rare combination. Mercenaries didn’t survive by being overly sentimental though, the first task was to distance herself from the corpse.

Shivering at the chill morning air she snatched up her armor and dressed quickly, pulling on her black leather armor as rapidly as she could, belting on her long sword with practiced ease. She collected the few coins she and Padra had left and shoved them into her satchel. Leaving Padra’s corpse and other possessions she tore open the flap, saddled the horse and rode of into the dawn, the few tears she permitted herself streaming down her cheeks. Another one, another man dead in her presence. She had done nothing, woven no spell, wielded no weapon, and yet still they died. Cursing the fates she rode into Shantytown.

Hours later the dwarf found her haggling over a few scraps of what once must have been a spell book. She was dressed in her blackened leather armor, with a dark grey cloak and a black veil, which concealed her mouth. The long sword hung at her belt along with several knives and more arcane implements. Cassilda accepted the invitation politely. Under normal circumstances she might have declined the invitation, but with Parda dead, she had no real plans, perhaps this presaged a change in her luck.

The horse had a hard time picking its way through the broken terrain at the base of the hill. Eventually she dismounted and lead the beast carefully up the darkening hillside to the flickering torch that served as a beacon for this meeting. Occasionally she fancied she heard the sounds of watchers in the dark, but perhaps that was her paranoia.

Reaching the watch tower she pushed inside. The dwarf, a man - presumably Kayden - and a gnome stood around a strangely shaped table. They all looked up at her as she entered. Reaching up she unhooked her veil and let it fall around her neck. Covering your mouth as a spell caster was as bad as the bulge of a concealed weapon in a warrior's robe.

[b]“Captain,”[/b] she said with polite coolness, putting a little question into her tone, she hadn’t yet decided if she would honor the title or not. She nodded at the gnome, noting his firearms.

[b]“You must know who I am, if you sent me the note,”[/b] she said to the human before turning to the gnome.

[b]“I assume there are others coming, should we wait on introductions?”[/b] without pausing she sat down at the table and sipped at the slightly bitter ale.