“The devil would be powerless if he couldn't entice people to do his work. So as long as money continues to seduce the hungry, the hopeless, the broken, the greedy, and the needy, there will always be war between brothers.”
- Suzy Kassem
The diary of Abbot Edward Westerfell
Year 5061 of the 23rd Roc
Plenmos 18, Malza
The spring crops have begun to be planted. The brothers spent the last nine days distributing the abbey's seed reserves to the peasants and watching as they plowed. The peasant crop is good this year; they are hard workers with strong backs. Only one faced the whip for improper planting behavior. I should probably take the whip authority from Josiah- he enjoys it far too much.
As I left my morning prayers, I happened to notice a band of mercenaries traveling past down the old grain road. What a strange lot they were, creatures of all kinds: fairies and orcs and an augury with its most revolting charge. Indeed, I even saw one of the accursed ones with them, a cave-dweller strolling in broad daylight! My goodness, the monstrous have gotten so cavalier! I remember the days when such monstrosities would be chased back to their burrows beneath the sand! Now, these rowdy bands of outcasts will even approach a holy place such as this, their minds blank save for their wanton lust for blood and power.
We live in a time of such strife. Each day, one hears of another revolution quashed or another lord cutting down his brother in the name of reckless greed. Lords throw more money now at building armies than they do at tithes for the church or even the adornments for their own great halls. By the time most people hear of these affairs, it is on the lilting tongue of the bards who troupe from town to town, spreading stories of knights and heroes and warrior-princes smiting evil from the land. If only half of that was true...
To the contrary, the face of war should be this rowdy lot, these blood-soaked outcasts bathing in the crimson pool of another's greed. No one will tell stories about them, how they died for a cause they did not believe in, how they bled to assert political power unjustly derived. They serve no crown or master or philosophy, only their own desires for carnage and glory. Perhaps it is best they die a forgotten battlefield death. I'd shudder to think what such folk could do if they left a mark upon this world...
Soldiers of Fortune is a fantasy RPG set in the world of Tithe, a setting developed over many years by myself and several collaborators (some of whom are in this RP). This RP will follow a company of mercenaries as they navigate the contentious political landscape of Tithe's many governments, seeking fortune and glory on the battlefield. Tone-wise, the story will likely be similar to a slightly darker Fire Emblem, with a focus on the themes of comradery between outcasts and the struggle of personal power versus the greater good.
This is a closed, invite-only RP. The format is pretty causal— there's no minimum or maximum post length and no posting order. I'd prefer that writers try to post at least one per three days.
The Iron Pride Mercenary Company is in its tenth year of operation. Founded by Adam Bradshaw, the company is of relatively average note, known by some, but not all, in the business. They primarily operate in the human-occupied territories of Southern Tithe, such as Nepharie, Talbor, and Dolorod. In the past, the company has performed rather perfunctory and apolitical jobs: guarding caravans, hunting bandits or pirates, and occasionally capturing bounties. The company tends to be small for mercenary bands, but has been known in the past to be highly efficient for their size, making some of the more frugal government officials in Tithe fond of them. An Iron Pride mercenary can expect to make 5-6,000 Mona a year, roughly equivalent to $50-60,000 USD, counting for inflation.