36th of Winter, 514 AV
14th Bell
Cold. Always so damn cold, The Myrian thought bitterly as she trudged through the snow in her bladed boots, lips pursed each time Morwen's breath left shivers down her spine. She knew she should've been used to the wintry weather by now. Five years she'd been abroad and away from the warm embrace of Falyndar. Five winters and each time she hoped they'd be more mild than they tended to be in Sylira. If only she had such luck. With the winter cloak tightly wrapped about her body, Kaie resigned to grit her teeth and bear it. The rendezvous with the employer wasn't too much farther off. Several more paces and she'd reach the designated glade where the shipment of slavers would be waiting, shackled bodies shivering in their scanty clothing. Certainly the chill of winter did them no favors when it seeped into the metal that confined them. Noting their reddened skin where the cold chains and manacles touched their bodies would be an unwelcomed sight. However, it was not the place of the hired mercenary to question the humanity of their employers. She was merely an escort for coin, not some glorified abolitionist. At least that's what she'd had a habit of telling herself over and over whenever she received jobs of this nature.
When she'd finally reached the glade, the scene before her was exactly as she imagined it would be. Sitting inside a pair of caged wagons were the slaves. Most were sitting upon the wagon's wooden floor, shivering and huddling together to conserve what little heat they could provide for one another. One or two were bold enough to stand and grip the frozen cage bars to stare at the oncoming mercenaries with nothing short of hatred. They were the last to remain unbroken. The city will fix that unfortunately. Two mercenaries stood on guard beside the cargo with their hands on their weapons. They too had a disapproving glare as the Myrian woman emerged from the forest.
"Ya made it! Good. Cold as shyke out here without a good fire. Don't want the slaves freezin' up before my brother can sell 'em either," came the bold voice of one man in particular who approached her suddenly. He scrubbed his gloved hands together for friction. Snow was caught in his scruffy, orange beard. "We outta get a move on pretty soon. Get off the streets before Syna sets if ya know what I mean. What are ya called, woman?" The Myrian took her extended hand and shook it firmly, which yielded a satisfied grin from her apparent employer.
"Kaie. And you must be Devin?" She replied steadily, her hand dropping to rest on the hilt of her sword out of habit. The man flashed what was left of his teeth and nodded.
"Aye! Merchant at the docks told me 'bout ya. Heard ya made 'em dress as a slave himself to disguise yer selves. You and that Bitzer woman saved his life and his wealth, ya did! Clever, but he told me yer cutthroat too. A real pisser. That's exactly what I need!"
"As long as you pay me fair, I'm willing to be put to good use."
"Ah, learnin' yer business too I see. Fair enough. I'm as honest a business man you'll find. Forty gold paid to each of my mercenaries as long as you prove yer worth."
"Forty gold it is. What sort of job are we doing here?"
"We're waitin' fer one more. Another woman. I'll let ya'll know what I'm expectin' from ya soon as she gets here. Try and play nice until then, Myrian."
And with another friendly grin he was off, already barking orders at the pair of laborers in charge of driving the wagons. Their mediocre horses stomped impatiently, hooves kicking up clusters of white flurries. The Myrian paid the people and animals about her little mind. Instead her striking amber eyes settled on the forest, listening and watching. Having been a part of a squad in Syliras that slayed slavers to hijack their merchandise, she'd be fool to think such a group wasn't watching them that very moment. Let's hope they don't have the numbers to pull anything.
14th Bell
Cold. Always so damn cold, The Myrian thought bitterly as she trudged through the snow in her bladed boots, lips pursed each time Morwen's breath left shivers down her spine. She knew she should've been used to the wintry weather by now. Five years she'd been abroad and away from the warm embrace of Falyndar. Five winters and each time she hoped they'd be more mild than they tended to be in Sylira. If only she had such luck. With the winter cloak tightly wrapped about her body, Kaie resigned to grit her teeth and bear it. The rendezvous with the employer wasn't too much farther off. Several more paces and she'd reach the designated glade where the shipment of slavers would be waiting, shackled bodies shivering in their scanty clothing. Certainly the chill of winter did them no favors when it seeped into the metal that confined them. Noting their reddened skin where the cold chains and manacles touched their bodies would be an unwelcomed sight. However, it was not the place of the hired mercenary to question the humanity of their employers. She was merely an escort for coin, not some glorified abolitionist. At least that's what she'd had a habit of telling herself over and over whenever she received jobs of this nature.
When she'd finally reached the glade, the scene before her was exactly as she imagined it would be. Sitting inside a pair of caged wagons were the slaves. Most were sitting upon the wagon's wooden floor, shivering and huddling together to conserve what little heat they could provide for one another. One or two were bold enough to stand and grip the frozen cage bars to stare at the oncoming mercenaries with nothing short of hatred. They were the last to remain unbroken. The city will fix that unfortunately. Two mercenaries stood on guard beside the cargo with their hands on their weapons. They too had a disapproving glare as the Myrian woman emerged from the forest.
"Ya made it! Good. Cold as shyke out here without a good fire. Don't want the slaves freezin' up before my brother can sell 'em either," came the bold voice of one man in particular who approached her suddenly. He scrubbed his gloved hands together for friction. Snow was caught in his scruffy, orange beard. "We outta get a move on pretty soon. Get off the streets before Syna sets if ya know what I mean. What are ya called, woman?" The Myrian took her extended hand and shook it firmly, which yielded a satisfied grin from her apparent employer.
"Kaie. And you must be Devin?" She replied steadily, her hand dropping to rest on the hilt of her sword out of habit. The man flashed what was left of his teeth and nodded.
"Aye! Merchant at the docks told me 'bout ya. Heard ya made 'em dress as a slave himself to disguise yer selves. You and that Bitzer woman saved his life and his wealth, ya did! Clever, but he told me yer cutthroat too. A real pisser. That's exactly what I need!"
"As long as you pay me fair, I'm willing to be put to good use."
"Ah, learnin' yer business too I see. Fair enough. I'm as honest a business man you'll find. Forty gold paid to each of my mercenaries as long as you prove yer worth."
"Forty gold it is. What sort of job are we doing here?"
"We're waitin' fer one more. Another woman. I'll let ya'll know what I'm expectin' from ya soon as she gets here. Try and play nice until then, Myrian."
And with another friendly grin he was off, already barking orders at the pair of laborers in charge of driving the wagons. Their mediocre horses stomped impatiently, hooves kicking up clusters of white flurries. The Myrian paid the people and animals about her little mind. Instead her striking amber eyes settled on the forest, listening and watching. Having been a part of a squad in Syliras that slayed slavers to hijack their merchandise, she'd be fool to think such a group wasn't watching them that very moment. Let's hope they don't have the numbers to pull anything.