[color=a0410d][i][b]Trace Retloth[/b][/i][/color]

Trace Retloth had just signed up as an unaffiliated mercenary.  Since he didn't belong to a company he could be assigned anywhere.  He was quiet and only said what was needed.  There was no point attracting undue attention from a new employer so he kept his skill to himself.  Besides, there were many in the world who were better than him.  Of that, he was still certain.  If notoriety and fortune were to come his way, they would come on the battlefield.

The town was glutted with people and vibrant with noise.  Trace had known battles quieter than these pre-battle markets.  He longed to return to his tent outside the walls.  It was at least a little quieter there, though the other mercenaries were fairly rowdy.  Even though the money was good in war, mercenaries had to consider their odds of living to collect.  Looking around, Trace had seen a lot of mercenaries who didn’t seem likely to.  In fact, most of the bigger name companies didn’t seem to be here.  At least, he hadn’t seen their markings or names in the camps outside just yet.

He hoped that they weren’t trying to join the Lyonesse.  It would be tough going without having to face veteran mercenaries from the same lands.  The numbers here weren’t very great.  They weren’t as bad as they could be, but the people weren’t leaping forward to defend the Emperor and the Empire.  Then again, if his mother wasn’t buried near Edinburgh… maybe Trace would have sought other sources of fortune a long time ago.

But, for now, there was only one reason why he was still suffering with the crowded streets of Garleton.  His whetstone was getting pretty worn and he didn’t want to go off to battle without one.  He still had a few coins from his last job, enough to last a few weeks or so if he camped in the wild and only bought food that he couldn’t hunt or trap.  But, the way prices go in places like this, he would be lucky to find a used whetstone that he could afford.  He was forced to check the small merchant stalls that were hidden and out of sight.  These places often charged less in an effort to attract customers to their less suitable locations.  However, they also frequently offered lower quality.

It took over an hour before he finally found a tiny shop run by a poorly dressed teenager who had an assortment of poor quality daggers, knives, and a few serviceable tools that had likely been stolen from craftsmen and soldiers as they walked through the crowds.  Among the motley assortment was a chipped whetstone.  Aside from the chipped corner, it seemed to be in good shape but the boy was offering a fairly low price for it.  It could have been one of his highest value items.  After all, most of the stolen tools and weapons had some kind of small markings that would allow the owner to identify it later.  The whetstone did not have any and could be purchased more safely.

Trace showed interest in a dagger as well as the whetstone and began to haggle over the price.  He favored lowering the price of the dagger at first but eventually, with apparent reluctance, gave up on getting it and took the whetstone for about three-fourths of its listed price.  Then he moved back into the crowds before allowing his disappointed expression to fade back into stoic neutrality.  He had what he came for.  The quiet called to him.

Then he heard the raucous noise of a bustling tavern by the road and remembered that he hadn’t eaten or drunk much for the past couple days.  More than that, he hadn’t heard many rumors worth hearing.  As much as he longed for a quiet moment at his camp, dying because you don’t like the noise of the places where information flows… would be embarrassing.

He headed into the tavern, paying no heed to the sign above the door, and found one of the very few empty seats.  It wasn’t as remote as he would like but it was at a table midway between the wall and the center of the room.  It would do.

Trace didn’t stand out much.  Most of his gear was leather and his lance was simple iron and unadorned.  So, it took a few moments before a hustling serving girl to notice him and take his order.  He only ordered a little food and an ale.  But, he kept his ears open.  He wanted to gather rumors of the Lyonesse army, if there were any, as well as any news of the bigger mercenary companies.  He hoped that it wouldn’t take him long to get some information worth hearing.

The ale… wasn’t very good… even for the price.