Daphne’s metal and leather boots clanked against the stone bricks of the Silver Leaves bastion as she walked through its gates, and she was filled with the same sense of enthusiastic monotony that had become all too familiar to her. She passed a few other members of the mercenary group, fighters and caretakers alike, as they meandered about in the early hours of the morning. She paid them little mind and they seemed to do the same, more concerned with committing themselves to their early morning rituals than bothering the lone woman that had only just arrived. She did not politely to a guardsman as she passed and she did the same, if only to be courteous.

She pulled her cloak around her a little tighter as she walked with one hand, and then used the other to rummage through her satchel quickly. Pulling out what little stale bread she had stuffed in her pockets she began to chew on it slowly as she made her way towards the mess hall, silently wishing that they had something more flavoursome on offer for her breakfast.

The mess hall was not difficult to find, having tread the route towards it a thousand times before. She followed her nose, the smell of wine and food starting to fill the air as breakfast was prepared for the dozens of mercenaries that would soon flood the doors. Even now it smelled divine. She pushed open a side-door into the mess hall and stepped inside, greeted by the sight of a few Silver Leaves mercenaries who had woken up early enough to get first pickings at breakfast. Daphne joined them shortly after gathering some soft bread, cheese, and meat to eat, sitting by a pair of dwarven brothers who were downing their second glass of beer this morning.

“Ah, Daph’,” said one of the dwarves. He was older than the other, with a thick blond beard that was braided quite delicately. His nose was large and his eyes were a steely grey, covered by a small pair of spectacles. “Good ta’ see ya’. Sleep well?”

“Not particularly,” she replied, kicking her legs up onto the table in which they ate. She felt a slight sting run up her side, reminding her of the reason why she hadn’t slept well. “Fresh injuries keeping me awake again… I don’t think I sealed the tissue right. Blasted magic.”

The younger dwarf spoke next, running a few fingers through his longer but less well managed beard. “Das’ what’cha get when ya’ dabble in necromancy, gal. A whole bunch of nasty side-effects ya’ never wanted nor needed! You should go see on of tha’ healers right away and get it looked at.”

The woman rolled her eyes at the nag, having heard it all a dozen times before. The Silver Leaves were more tolerable of necromancy than most, acknowledging its tactical use and practicality, but Daphne was no stranger to being criticised for her craft. While the eldest brother, Asmund, had long accepted the usefulness of necromancy in the Silver Leaves organisation and was perfectly happy to let Daphne practice it, Ake had never taken to it and insisted on reminding the woman of that fact.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, rubbing the position of the wound through the fabric of her clothes. “They’re always like this for a day or two.”

Ake did not seem too impressed but Daphne didn’t care, more concerned with the plate of food that rested on her lap which she picked from mindlessly as she spoke with the two dwarven men for a while longer, recounting the past few days as she had not seen either of them in some time. Ake and Asmund told her of a few contracts they had undertaken and she told them of the same, but each one of her exploits paled in comparison to those of the brothers. Daphne had no idea if any of their stories were even truthful but she enjoyed them none the less, even when they claimed to have slain a dragon with nothing more than a knife and a fork between them.

Slowly the mess hall filled up with all sorts of faces, many of which Daphne recognised. They eagerly dug into their breakfast and made themselves merry before they faced the trails of the day which would arrive soon. Two faces of note were Linwë and Iano, two fellow fighters and mercenaries. Daphne nodded a welcome to them both as they entered, still keeping one ear to the conversation as Ake recounted the time he threw an axe one hundred feet, made it ricochet off the wall of a church, only for it to embed itself in his bounty’s skull.