The ongoing story of some sellswords, a city, and a war. --- The city of Kriest was falling apart at the seams. Lighting spewed forth from blue skies as magery ran rampant. A rogue bolt struck the House of Lords, decapitating the holy statue and killing several members of the priesthood. Tentacles of eldritch beings broke through the cobble streets. Mad mages cast their fireballs into alehouses. The oracle herself hid away in her temple. The men reported an increase of murders, and general discontent among the lower class. A necromancer had begun to raise the dead in the catacombs, and the corpses had begun to spew forth upon the surface. Eyes of shadow seemed to look out in the night and occult whispers could be heard throughout the air. The lords refused to leave their estates, fearing that doing so may lead to their deaths. Mad prophets entered every tavern and whorehouse proclaiming the sinful to ask for repentance before the end. The trade ships coming from the Sufferer's Sea had little in terms of food and supplies, telling tales of great leviathans and marauders. The night was made thick with the screams of victims of crimes most obscene. For two weeks the sun was never seen as dark clouds of storm blanketed the city. The chilling winds of Winter whipped through the air and froze the harbor solid for two days. Slowly people began to kill themselves out of desperation. In short it was a regular Winter in the last Free City of the North. Though the superstitious may very well declare this as prophetic for the events yet to occur. In retrospect we should have known it was coming. But we had so far crushed any real opposition that may have arisen, and five hundred of the best warriors in the North seemed like a major deterrent to anything that may arise. Though I do believe even if our entire team of wizards was divining through the murky shadows, it would of still taken us by surprise. That was the curse of time, everything seemed easier in retrospect. Still it is comforting to think that you may have been able to stop it. Though in all the records of a city as old as Kriest, there has never been a recorded of a prevented slaughter. Slaughters were endured like everything else and would continue to be endured. Kreist was old and the signs of its degrading mental state were obvious. The stench of chaos, vagrancy and moral rot filled the lungs of all who dwelt within its crumbling walls. Only the young and the optimistic could think of the city as going in an upward direction. And optimism died a long time ago, stabbed and left to die laying somewhere in a gutter. I stood on the ramparts of the upper city, looking down upon the patchwork streets and paths below. Sentry duty was hell, and Kreist’s weather did no jobs of making it any less painful. In the winters; the sun was barely able to shine through the clouds, the trade winds whipped through the air chilling you to the bone cutting through any fur or armor you had upon your body. Your tears froze to your face, and you could swear you felt your toes beginning to fall off. The summers were no better; piercing bright sun burned all that dared venture outside, but worse yet was the thickness of the air: it seemed to cling to you and not matter what you tried to accomplish you could not escape its grasp. Though currently standing out in the cold, I would have gladly taken the summer swells over the bitter chill. Teeth chattering and flecks of frost formed upon the grizzled scruff of hair that some would call a beard as I stood by the lone brazier searching for warmth. The flame did little to keep the warmth in my body. “Worried that the old cock is going to fall off now, Breaker?” I grumbled a curse against my companion, something uncivilized that any mother would not care to hear. We called him Patch and he was the other unlucky soul assigned to sentry duty this morning. Patch was a big man, born and raised in the North he was built like a bear and had the body hair to match. His intimidating physique being supplement by the dark eyepatch he wore upon his right eye, hence the name. I cursed his damn Northern blood and his seemingly inability to feel the effects of the cold. He was a native of Kreist and we picked him up when we first moved to the city taking the High Lords commission. When we found him he was waiting for the Executioner's axe for the murder of a Lord, so it was either death or joining the Company. He took the more painful option it would seem. “And what got you up here on watch today, Patch?” Anything to really keep the cold off of my mind for a little bit, even if it was hearing whatever infraction against company policy Patch committed to get stuck on sentry duty on a day like today. The Captain was a stickler for the rules like that, or as most of us would prefer to say she was a cold bitch. She kept on going on about how we were a business, that we had an image to uphold, that we couldn't just kill anyone that looked at us funny, and I cringe to think what our forefathers would say to us if they could see us now. Rather than being the feared group of warriors that had made our banner feared, we acted like civilized gentlemen. They would probably call us women folk and us our skulls as cups. “Lacking proper discipline in the line of duty.” Patch grumbled as I raised an eyebrow. “Care to be more specific? That could almost mean anything. Especially for you.” I asked as I drew my body closer to the fire as the winds began to pick up. “She caught me “fraternizing” with a whore while I was suppose to be on patrol.” Patch explained, a grin on his face. He was a simple man with simple pleasures and showed no shame. “Ah.” I shook my head knowingly, a classic mistake that we had all fallen to time and time again. “She must of loved that.” “You could say that. I don’t remember much about our conversation. Beside the occasionally word of indecency placed against my mother and threats to tear my balls off.” He explained with a shrug. It sounded like he had a normal conversation with our lovely leader. By the gods themselves she was a mighty warrior, but her temper now that was what made her most fierce. Legend says that she once talked a war giant down from assaulting a city by giving it a stern talking to. But those are mostly exaggerated tales, all she had to do was look at the damn thing and it would have frozen in its tracks. “Speaking of punishments, my tiny friend. How in the world did Breaker, the greatest of us all end up angering our fair captain?” Patch asked a curious grin upon his face as he crossed his arms and looked at me. Being stared down by the giant was like looking into the jaws of death themselves. “Well you see.” I was cut off as I heard footsteps fast approaching. I looked it Patch and he nodded. Slowly we both turned as silently as possible and raised our spears outward searching through the whipping snow coated wind. Then out of the flurry came a small figure running up to us. In barely enough cloths dead of summer, let alone the winter chill came one of the messenger boys. The two of us relaxed as he approached. He came up to me and holding out in his small hands was a piece of parchment. Taking it from him, I opened it and let out a groan. “What another love letter rejected?” The giant laughed sometimes finding himself more amusing than anyone else could. He could have been worse, at least he had a sense of humor. “Worse, I’m to go meet the Captain about “matters most important” whatever that means.” I grumbled as I looked down at the messenger boy whose big black eyes looked up at me expectantly. Sighing I reach into my pocket and took out a small bronze coin placing it in his hand. He nodded and ran off into the snow vanishing from sight. “Blasted cutthroats are going to run me dry.” “Yeah, I think little orphan boys are the least of your problem Breaker, but we can talk about that later. It would seem you have a date with death.” Patch muttered pressing a thick finger against the parchment. Grumbling, I made my goodbyes and began the long march back to the Keep. Unfortunately, the only route back to the Keep was the long one. I traveled along the Emperor's Rampart, the large divider between the upper and lower districts of the city. The rich were like that not wanting to taint their blood and what better way to keep someone out than to build a wall? I looked out upon the rest of the city, distant streets looking more like the roots of a great tree than the garbage ridden pathways that I knew they were. Past all of this was the harbor the water was thick and grey from the winter chill, and he could only see a few sails bobbing up and down further out. The horizon finished into a white mist somewhere in the distant, but out there I knew was the rest of the world. Across the Suffer’s Sea were the Southern lands, the true bounty of civilization. But no ships would be coming in winter, no news of home or of the world beyond Kreist. The monsters awoke during the winter and made the crossing near impossible. And so it would seem we were stuck spending another winter in the service of Kreist. Freezing our extremities, thanklessly keeping the city from falling apart, disciplining their own native guards, protecting the lords from political rivals and assassins. Another winter watching as our glory and honor slips through our fingers. We used to lay siege to great castles, now we disciplining drunks and getting stab on street corners. The only thing that keeps us here is the coin running forth from the High Lord’s coffers. and even then sometimes gold could not make up for lost honor. But you play the hand you're dealt, and if that meant playing a long game then so be it. Survival was still survival, even if it was not the most glorious way of living. As I walked my mind wandered to other things. It was surprising Kreist was able to stand for as long as it had. It was an old city, older than most of the great empires of today. Its history was rich with violence and betrayal in equal amounts. The first people that settled it were men of the North that came down to the southern edge of their northern continent land looking for place not entirely covered by snow all the time, or at least that’s how the legend goes. A series of other “Free” cities like soon formed around creating a small trading ecosystem that lasted for hundreds of years. At least until the rise of the Cerinydd almost one hundred years ago. Slowly the Cerinyddiads slowly conquered the rest of the Free Cities, but Kreist has been able to stand strong. The only time the Cerinyddiads came close was the siege fifty years ago. Remembering the reason I was bearing through the cold in the first place, I double-timed it back to the Keep. You always knocked upon the Captain's door before you entered. It was proper form. Gods help you if you don’t and you interrupt her important business. You’ll be castrated quicker than you can say the word. I stood outside the door for a moment before I knocked trying to brace myself, but in the end it was wise to learn you could never really brace yourself when it came to the Captain. I heard some sort of response through the wooden door and assuming it was a, “Come in”, I opened the door and stepped inside of the well kept office. The Captain was hunched over at her desk writing something down in that blasted ledger of hers. An unsuspecting man could claim that the Captain was a woman who was easy on the eyes. If you did not know of her personality this was true enough. By conventional means she was attractive; she had a feminine face, long blonde hair that she pulled back into a tight ponytail most of the time, and the feminine assets required to draw a man’s eye. This was of course before you knew her personality. Once you knew that she was the reincarnation of some ancient she-witch, it was best to stay very far away from her. “Breaker, and how was sentry duty this morning.” She asked me without looking up from her ledger. “Oh, it was wonderful as always sir. You know Patch and I truly do love these winter mornings.” I replied in monotone. “Sarcasm gets you nowhere Breaker.” She explained in a chastising tone. “But if you so insist, I’ll keep the two of you in mind next time the roster rotation comes up.” She was cool and did not even bat an eye or smile. Letting out a curse underneath my breath, I clutched the paper in my hand that had summoned me to deal with the demon in the first place. Wondering how long she would keep the torture go on, as I began to feel the minutes slip by. Finally I cleared my throat causing her to look up from her work. “You asked for me sir?” I asked holding the paper in the air. “Indeed I did Breaker, sit down this may take awhile.” She explained pushing the ledger to one side and swinging her legs onto her desk. I took a seat in one of the hard wooden chairs that forced good posture upon you and felt cold as death itself. She examined me for a moment more in silence before beginning to speak. “Our informants have found the location of a supposed Cohort meeting.” She explained and I raised an eye. “Huh, that so.” The Cohorts were the biggest group of rebels that were decidedly against the lords rule over the city. We've had a few clashes with them but generally they tend to remain low with large spans between movements. “Indeed, you are familiar with The Morose Emperor?” She asked as she rocked back and forth upon her chair. “Yeah, the tavern down by the harbor. Some of the boys go down there for their weekly game.” I explained to her. Not of course mentioning that the weekly game involved several hours of drinking and debauchery that she would not approve of. “That’s the one. Turns out the old barkeep was a rebel in his youth, and still lets the Cohorts and their type use it as a front.” She explained still not getting to the point. “That’s great. But if they are not planning something then why are we worrying about it?” I asked her curiously. “Patience boy, As of late they had just been harassing the guards but according to our informants they have recently put in a hit against some of our boys.” She declared and then it all finally made sense. “Breaker, what do you we do to people that try and fuck with us?” “We kill them.” I declared firmly and that got a very small smile in response. She swung her feet down off the desk and her boots collided with the ground with a loud thud. “Exactly, and that’s why you are here. I’m tasking you to lead a group of our men down to the tavern. I want you to kill any Cohort bastards you find.” I nodded and began to move towards the door before the captain called out one last time. “Oh, and Breaker? I turned around and the smile she had upon her face chilled me to the bone. “Bring me back their leader’s head. It will look nice on top of the battlement.” The Morose Emperor was a dingy little establishment that sat right on the docks. It was frequented by all types of individuals: sailors, mercenaries, murderers, thieves, assassins. The drinks were cheap and the food was tolerable, there was not much more you could ask for in an establishment. That’s why it made me almost sad to be the one that had to wreck the place but that was the cost of treachery. You pay blood for blood, that’s how it always been and always will be. There are ten of us trudging through the snow covered streets on the approach to the Tavern, I signal with my hands as we grew closer not risking rising my voice. Two break off from the group and head around back to cover anyone trying to run out, and two others go across the street acquiring a large barrel left in the snow. The rest of us gathered up around the front entrance, I took my position at the front of my group. Looking behind me, I saw that the two with the barrel were ready and I nodded. Counting off on a hand above my head, I want down from five. When we hit zero; I kicked the door open, and the two men threw the barrel through the window. There were screams as glass splashed across the room and the rest of us marched in swords drawn. Old Dryn the owner of the fine establishment was currently manning the bar, and his face grew pale as we entered. The broken window exposed the tavern to the elements as the cold wind dragged out any warmth that had been produced by the raging fireplace. The fine patrons sat at their tables, some of them had their hands upon the hilts of their swords, while others that knew better tried to shrink back into the shadows. The rest of boys fanned out, eyes on the patrons keeping them in place as I stood across from Dryn. “Let’s make this easy for the both of us Dryn. Where are they?” I asked simply, my voice was cold and direct. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Dryn responded coolly. He was good, his face never cracked as he spoke. Dryn was not a small man; even if age had marked his face as well worn and turned his hair grey, he still had the look of a man that had seen the rougher side of life. “Dryn, you know me and you know what I do to those that lie to me. So I’m going to ask you again nicely. Where are the Cohorts?” I asked my voice getting sharper and I heard a murmur of voices behind. It seemed Dryn had failed to inform them that they were in a tavern that catered to traitors. “I don’t serve drinks to the likes of those.” He responded firmly. I let out a sigh and shook my head. This was obviously not going to get us anywhere. I surveyed the room and in the corner cowering I found Dryn's daughter. Maybe nineteen or twenty, she stole the hearts of everyone in the area: bright red hair, supple frame and a smile that could brighten anyone’s day. She could work in my advantage. Without speaking I moved from my position and walked over to her, grabbing her wrist I dragged her back to the bar countertop as she kicked and screamed. Laying her hand flat against the bar I took my knife from my belt. “Sorry about this lass, should of picked a better old man.” “Dryn, Dryn, Dryn. You knew perfectly well what I do to those that lie to me. But it would seem you don’t value your life very much. So maybe you value your daughter’s fingers? I guess not.” I figured and rose the knife into the air and brought it down slowly. I got about halfway before he broke. “Stop, stop you bastard. They are upstairs in the private room. Just, just leave her alone.” He begged. I give him a nod, before motioning with my head from some of my boys to go check it out. Three of them proceeded to go upstairs, and soon various shouts were heard and thuds sounded through the floorboards. “You see Dryn? That wasn't so hard was it? But you know harboring enemies of the lords is punishable by death. And you did lie to me.” And without much ceremony I flipped my wrist and the knife slipped out of my hand and embedded itself into the neck of the tavern owner. Dryn clutched at his throat making sounds akin to a gurgle before he dropped to the ground. That was all it took for the room to exploded as daggers and swords were brandished. Even those that were innocent drew weapons, afraid that they would be taken along with all the others. The resulting clash of steel was a bloody close quarter affair. We took up a defensive position backs braced by the bar top as our two boys still out front came in and covered the door preventing any from escaping. Superior numbers meant little especially in tight quarters when compared to experience. As quickly as it all started it had ended, blood pooled on the floor and the bodies amassed. I looked down upon my bloodstained armor and shook my head as I motioned for the boys to handle the rest of the wounded. The rest of the boy’s came from their respective positions, all missions had been accomplished, the Tavern having being silenced. I told the rest to search the place for anything important and to herd any women or children outside. We were mercenaries, not monsters and they had little to do with our cause. Though telling from their curses and attempts to hit us they did not seemed to think that. I broke off the leg of a chair and stuck it into the fireplace setting it on fire as one of the boys started to coat the place with oil. We walked outside the women and children huddle together in the snow as the rest of us came out. They carried anything they could with them coin purses, new daggers, new boots anything they could get their hands on. Our job was done and we only had one injury to answer for it: one of the back door guards got attacked by an angry chef with a hatchet and received minor cuts on his arm. Looking around, making sure everyone was out I tossed the flaming chair leg back into the building. The oil coating went up quickly as the Morose Emperor went up in flames. The mixing smells of burning flesh and wood filled the air as the establishment burned. It was a message to any others that tried to attack the Company. One of the men came up to me. His name was Rat, due to his rodent like appearance: big ears, buck teeth and a small twitching nose. He was quick with a dagger and quicker with his mind. I looked at him curiously as he approached. “Did you get the leader’s head?” “Right here sir!” Rat stated holding up a bloody sack in his hand. The thought of the idea made part of me cringe, but it was what the Captain wanted. I don’t make the orders, I just follow them. “Good.” I said nodding my head feeling the winter winds whip through my clothing even as the fire raged behind us. “Sir, I found something else as well.” He explained and in his other hand was a piece of parchment. I took it from him and opened it not expecting much. In retrospect; if I had known what the contents of the paper said, if I knew what it result in. I probably would of just thrown it into the fire and never read it in the first place. I would of let us live in peaceful unawareness, I would of let it all end peacefully. But I did not know what the letter said, and it could have been important information. So I opened it and as a result everything would change. “The Captain’s... going to want to see this.” Was all I was able to mutter as the fire flickered behind me. EDIT: Added the short little italicized bit at top.

To be continued.... Eventually.