In big bright black letters, the words **Join The Braziers!** peered out from the paper held in the man's grip. Beneath it was conglomeration of info detailing what they did, who was who, and what benefits you might gain by joining such a group. Not that everyone didn't already know who The Braziers were. In terms of guilds, they had been one of the top scouting legions. The man, Wes Shanks, leaned back in the chair that was just a little too small for him. In his other hand held a tankard of ale that he occasionally sipped whilst reading. Leaning against the wall however was what appeared to be a huge mass of iron, shaped vaguely like a sword. 

Its large sized served as a deterrent against people if you got past the grizzly sneer that adopted Wes' face half the time. That and his sheer stature. He set the paper back down on the table, letting things mull around in his brain for a few moments. He'd heard the rumors, that the entire guild had been wiped out by an 'inescapable' boss, leaving only poor Hawke as the survivor. His opinion? It sounded a lot like bullshit. Either the man killed his group, or he didn't. Though, the thought of having one top tier person kill another seven of similar status was the only confusing part. Even Wes doubted he could kill seven other Wes.

So it was likely the Boss killed them all. 

Likely. There was still a chance dear old Hawke was just another killer. Not that Wes minded. He didn't care who he worked for, as long as they had cash. And a man who had just taken down seven others was bound to have plenty. He wasn't actually going to join the guild, mind you, just offer his services like he always did. It was a rather interesting system, these contracts. Around Floor Ten, Wes had found out he had the ability to offer his services as a mercenary without a lot of hassle. They were semi-magical pieces of paper that both he and the customer both signed. He had his guidelines there, flat as rain. 

One, he would only kill another person if they were red. He wasn't about to spoil his outside life by killin' a bunch of people. Second was that he wouldn't offer his life in the line of duty. If there were any sign of true danger, Wes would simply warp out of there, no harm no foul. Well, at least not for him. Last, but not least, he always got his pay. If you refused to pay, he would hunt you down.

So these were the simple rules he lived by. They served him well, and as a result, he never had money problems. He had enough saved in the bank to buy whatever he needed. Not that he wanted to live anywhere. Playing house wasn't gonna get him out. Still, the tavern he was in was nice enough. It was named 'The Lusty Sow'. A warm hearth was adjacent to the front door, inviting in wet travelers from the dreary outside that was the castle. Busty maidens traversed throughout the slightly full hall, bringing mead and mutton to whoever required it. It really was the only place that wasn't depressing. 

Not that he didn't like the castle. Something about the disrepair, the grey skies, the melancholy that surrounded it just put a bit of spring to his step. All of the damn places he went to these days were full of happy NPCs, bright blue skies, and amazing landscapes. It was about time they got something new and different. Still, the drag through the swamp to get to the place wasn't the best. The local wildlife wasn't nice either.

A strange, giant frog that was seven feet long and four tall had attacked him earlier that morning. It had a mottled brown hide that was tough as iron iron and its tongue was twenty feet long. Even cutting that off revealed that it regrew within' a minute. Suffice to say, The Dragonslayer had done a fairly well job killing it. The final blow had been a thrusting stab straight through its eye, killing it. And for his troubles, Wes had received a rather strange forked spear called 'The Toadsticker.'