Fanilly was struggling to understand what she was seeing.

"Mercenaries? Then they were looting the bodies, but how did they..."

She trailed off. Had these Golden Boars killed off the fort's guards? But how had they managed it? She shifted uneasily on the back of her horse, hands gripping at the reins. With no signs of an attack on the fort itself, just how had they managed this? Had they infiltrated prior? But even if they had, a scene of carnage like this precluded the possibility of some kind of perfect stealthy assassination of the fort's occupants.

How had the soldiers died in such numbers?

"Oh? Well, I think you can count the number of Boar bastards I slaughtered by their wounds," commented Alette, cocking her head to one side with a smirk. Indeed, a considerable number of the tattooed corpses had been dispatched with swift, precise spear thrusts that had opened holes in their necks or torsos, "But that fool with the crossbow had tried to ambush me after the rest of his cohorts were dead, so I broke off to finish him."

She shrugged.

"If he'd just run he'd probably still be alive. Idiot."

It was clear she was evading the question of her employer, which was really to be expected. Mercenaries who went outing their employers' identities at the drop of a hat weren't liable to look to good to those in need of their services.

As she spoke, she glanced towards Maritza.

"Oiii, Bors," she called suddenly, "Want to come out?"

With that, the door opposite the main entrance to the innards of the fort swung open, and from within emerged one of the largest people Fanilly had ever seen. She didn't even know if he was a person, at first. Her initial assumption was that he was some sort of gigantic iron golem, clad head to two in dark gray plate and standing several heads taller then even the tallest knight.

He had barely managed to squeeze himself out of the fort.

When he spoke, his voice was like thunder.

"Very well, captain," he replied, calmly, "I see all has gone well."

After getting over the sheer size of the mercenary that had emerged, it was easy to understand what was going on, to Fanilly. Alette had noticed Maritza's movements and responded by calling quite possibly one of the single most threatening mercenaries she had at her disposal, just in case, even it it appeared no violence was likely to ensue.

"That it has!" declared Alette with a grin, "The virgin rose captain here seems pretty reasonable."

If the situation had been less serious, Fanilly would have buried her face in her hands and screamed. Why had the mercenary chosen to describe her like that?

But...

This situation was far too grim to express such feelings. Any embarrassment she felt was buried under her fears over what had occurred here.

"... Putting that aside," she began, "What happened here?"

Alette's cocky grin faded. For a moment, her smug, playful attitude seemed to dissipate.

"I've seen plenty of dead, but this is different."

Within the fort, the situation was far worse.

Soldiers in Thaln's colors lay dead, haphazardly scattered across the floor. Some were slumped on tables, throats slit, or swords buried in their backs. Others had been beaten, some killed seemingly in the middle of a fist fight with a fellow soldier. Two soldiers had died on one another's swords. Some had been taken by surprise, others had died fighting among one another.

A few of the mercenaries under Alette's command were visible here, as well, searching for something other than corpses. Among them was an exceptionally pale, almost bleached white woman in leather armor. She was far more pale then the Shark herself, looking as if she was truly dead, carefully searching drawers. Her long, wavy, pale hair hung to her waist, and she was practically adorned with knives.

One thing was clear, if it hadn't been already.

The soldiers of Thaln...

"... They all killed each other."

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