Alright here goes nothing! Let me know if this upsets any of your stuff worldwise and I'll edit it.



[i]Ah Revenge, a tale as old as time. The Classic Story of the wronged taking vengeance upon those who wronged them. How justice often prevailed, and failing that violence succeeded. A story told by a wayward traveler in return for a drink, a night's amusement, little more than a folkstory. Oh how he had been proven wrong.

The man had told a tale of a child, enslaved by a Bandit King. Such a fanciful tale could never have rung true, except for the fact that such a King had existed... but he'd died nearly fifty years prior. Few humans outside his area of control had known him, and most of them were now dead, but the Old Man, he remembered. He remembered well.

The Recruiter felt himself drawn into the story, fascinated not by the way the story was told, or how some elements were surely exaggerated, but he could tell there was a layer of truth in them. Looking over at the wanted board, he felt his gaze rest across an old faded poster from times past, when he was little more than a young man. Thirty thousand... Quite a sum, reserved only for those who'd stolen great sums or killed important people. If memory served this person had done both, but surely they were dead by now? After all, fifty years had passed since the Bandit King's death, and she had not been seen in the last twenty or so... Still, his interest was piqued and the next morning he set out, thanking the old man slumped at the bar one last time with a small bag of coin. 

The next month was spent interviewing locals who'd seen her in action years before, finding out everything he could about the mysterious killer they called The Butcher. A person wanted by law in multiple Kingdoms. Every villager her interviewed gave the same story, a woman in armor, brutality, violence and murder, but the stories differed often from the official Kingdom's wanted posters in some regard. Every villager spoke of the woman's bravery, and how she fought to protect them

Indeed one night, interviewing an old maid to a young Lord, he heard the most promising tale yet. She told him of her time as a young maid, and how abusive the Lord's Grandfather had been, not just to her, but to everyone outside the High Rank of Lord, Duke or Royalty. How he taxed the town dry, comparing him to a Sheriff in a folktale of a Green Cloaked Archer. But unlike that story, the ending she told was more grisly. She told how the Warrior showed up one day, and demanded to see the Lord. How she had demanded he repent of his crimes, return the money stolen and beg for forgiveness from the girls he'd taken by force. In response the Lord had merely laughed, but the laugh did not last, for the woman had shot him then and there, standing not sixty paces from him. The Crossbow bolt pierced his throat and he'd fallen, and by the time the screaming crowd had been dispersed by the Guards, the woman was gone.

"Bit of a Local Legend she is!" the old woman had said in her croaking voice. "But a right hero if'n y'ask me!" 

That had sent him out, while before he had looked out of passing interest, now he knew he had to meet this woman. If nothing else she could offer sage advice in her old age.

Weeks passed and no clues, until one day a letter was sent by mail to his home. Upon opening it, he felt his hands shake with excitement, it was a letter claiming to be from the Butcher herself, a destination and meeting place, a week's ride, a command to come alone or face punishment. All thoughts of self preservation aside, he'd set off later that same day, arriving several hours early to a tiny farm in the middle of nowhere.

As confused as he was, he knew that this place was a good spot to be hiding in, and as he rode up he spotted a young woman working a patch of tomatoes. She was bent over the garden bed, trowel in one hand, a large straw had shading her face, and when he rode up to her she didn't even look up at him. "Excuse me miss" he'd asked, presuming she was the daughter or granddaughter to the woman he sought, as this one could be no older than thirty. "I'm here to see one woman identifying herself as Mergoux the Butcher? Is this the right place?"

The reply he got had been silence, the woman merely standing up and rolling her shoulders before looking at him. The gaze that fell upon him made him rethink his eagerness to meet this woman, for if this was her offspring, then what must the Elder be like? The woman before him was large, not in an obese way, but in that of the Nordic folk, easily topping six feet and built strong. Her sleeveless jerkin allowing him to see the intricate tattoos that flowed from her wrists all the way up her arms to vanish under her clothing. Shackles on her wrists, chains wrapping up her forearms until they broke away at the elbow, replaced by vines. Interwoven in the vines were 8 coins on her right shoulder, and a flower with 8 petals on her left. Her long black hair hung limp around her face, a stony glare sent his way from hazel eyes, under the left of which a terrible scare marked her cheek from eyesocket to chin.

He swallowed audibly, then his jaw fell open as she took off her hat and two long, Elven ears shot skyward, pierced so heavily that it was a wonder they didn't droop from the weight of the studs and rings in them. "You found me." said the long-lived Half-Elf "Now what do you want?"

Several hours later, they were both sitting in the shade of the modest house that lay in the center of all the plantlife cultivated over the past twenty years. The Recruiter was astounded, seeing the woman not only alive, but still so young and fit. Why had she retired? Questions he asked begot little to no answer, but questions she asked begot all he could tell her.

"You want me to explore some Island?" she had asked, to which he had explained further about the Isle itself, going on about how much Juun was apparently there, how those who managed to come away with a large chunk of it would be set for life, and there was so much there that a large chunk would only take a few months to gather, if that.

Mergoux at first seemed uninterested, not exactly happy with her life, but having been content to give up the violence of her past for a peaceful life. It was only when he mentioned the vanished prospectors, how no-one had ever returned that her hazel eyes lit up with interest. Men being lead to their deaths... Something preying on those who might be greedy, but among those there were still those who just wanted to provide for their family. Innocents being presumably killed. Perhaps it was time she came out of retirement...

Eventually they parted ways, him on his horse and her heading out to the field with a shovel. She had a past to unbury before she met him and the others at the port where they would set sail to find this mysterious isle and kill whatever may be on it.

The Recruiter had found his second "Partner" the strange half-breed, warrior from a bygone era, [b]Mergoux the Butcher.[/b]
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