Anslem, in all his years hadn't seen such a sorry bunch of mercenaries since he was a young man. They used to be a grand company, but now? Now they were four tired, and bloody folk whose only leader was now a gods damned frog. He shook his head, staring into the flickering firelight and took a swig of the swill he had swiped from the cellar after they had put their comrades to rest below.

"[color=gray]Fucking hell,[/color]" he sighed passing the jug to the person next to him "[color=gray]I can't stand this shite.[/color]" Anslem grimaced, the taste of the brew somewhat asinine.