Warring Eras of Eartha: Ironhearts

Chapter 2: Not Quite the Quiet Night

Mistics are a menace to all that lives, some of these ill-proportioned creatures prefer to torment one living being more than the others, but in the end they both bring the same amount of suffering to everyone in one way or another.

While most would agree that they are a threat, no governing body has ever deemed their presence necessary to suspend their other conflicts, probably because while fighting them off protects what you have from being destroyed it doesn't earn you the rights to claim the property of another. Why waste men that are supposedly indebted to you that can potentially die in one of your wars to claim land supposedly yours by birthright, when there are organizations already taking it upon themselves to do so?

Either zealous militant orders or profiteering guilds fill this role. In this town that is a great centre of commerce, being both fortunate and cursed to be sitting in the crossroads of many prosperous destinations, an example of such a guild exists.

And why is a representative of theirs here, in an inn filled with men from many walks of life busying themselves in stuffing their faces with grub and flooding their bellies with alcoholic beverages?

"Anybody here ready to fight for some fortunes?" The representatibe asked in an out-of-breath fashion, sweating and breathing profusely after running for quite some distance it seems.

"What? Why?" A gentleman asked in curiosity, face flushed with the obvious signs of drunkenness, which is compounded with the four empty mugs on his table

"How come you don't know?" The woman sitting opposite to him asks, with four empty mugs in front of her as well but no sign of being near as drunk as the guy, the effect of it would've been impossible to miss on her snow-white face.

At this point everybody else is asking questions about this or that, how much, where, when, why, but it seems that these gents are too drunk to ask what the most important question is.

Despite being drunk it is quite impossible to not know what this is about, to most anyways.

While mistics exist everywhere, they are mostly not in great numbers, because of that it was never necessary to maintain a force too large for groups who endeavours to enrich themselves in their extermination. Sometimes a troubling amount of these monsters will appear, and only then will the guild or holy order need more manpower to deal with it.

So an order calls for the faithful to their religion and the guild to... well, just about anyone, to fight with them. While costly, their credibility is on the line here for obvious reason, and besides that, the local governing body tends to pitch in with either men or coin, so it never empties their pocket that much anyway.

"So, what are we fighting?" The woman from earlier finally asked the most important question.

There are two facts in the mistic-slaying business that anyone who would want a hand in it needs to know, one is that it pays well, and the other is that it does not pay for dying. The more dangerous the job, the better the pay, the more that you might not get paid on account of being dead.

"The mistics mostly consist of gaunts in the Raised state, some are in the Recalled state, the number slightly over a hundred if our informants were to be believed." The representative answered.

"And what about the Necro Maester?" It was the same woman again, but she seems less interested somehow, maybe she doesn't view the gaunts as any challenge?

Not that I blame her, Gaunts in the Raised state like infants learning how to walk and play with whatever weapons they were holding when they died, and the Recalled may be able to recall some of their past experiences which might mean a tidbit of fighting know-how, but not always.

"The Necro Maester is suspected to be a mecka." Was the answer, which seems lacking in information to me, but to the rest of the people on the room who heard it is another story, silence reigned before the representative tries to reassure them by saying, "Don't worry, we have mahickais at our disposal to deal with it, the gaunts will be handled by anybody here willing to join the fight."

After that a long line of mostly inebriate men was eager to sign up, expecting to earn easy fortunes. They are just gaunts after all, one of the easiest to deal with, according to those who's profession is to deal with mistics on a regular basis, that is.

I notice the woman from before still drinking, now that I decided that I should pay closer attention to her for some reason, I noticed that she is still wearing her maille hauberk despite being in an establishment where most weapons are to be surrendered or confiscated upon entry to the city, which meant that armour is not necessary since its an overkill protection for firsts and whatever ad hoc implement of murder may be used.

She wasn't arrested by the town constables, so maybe it is not outlawed, though that does not discount how odd it is.

She even has her helmet with her, upon seeing it I immediately understand why she is still wearing part of her armour. The helmet would have no distinguishable difference with the others common here in Breighton besides one thing, the spectacle extension of the helmet which provoides protection further to the eyes just above the cheeks.

She stood up all of a sudden and walks towards my general direction, not sure if I am her destination, I looked up to her only to notice her looking at me in a weird way, with a toothy smile.

She stops in front of me, I looked up at her from where I was sitting.

"Care for a game?" She asks when she arrives in front of me.

I just stared at her for a while, unsure how to respond. But it wasn't hard to put pieces together, she had been drinking for some time, her tab paid by the many challengers who thought they would win. Looking at my half-filled mug of mead, it is obvious that she saw me downing my tenth mug just a while ago without seeming affected, even until now.

"Eh, why not?" Yeah, besides me not wanting it, she doesn't seem to be in the right state of mind to accept no as an answer.

"Ha! My type of man." She chuckles, plopping her butt on the chair opposite mine.

"Hey, you barmaid that I swear I would've married if I was a man! We need a drink, no, want to drown in your strongest brew!" She calls out, I hope she doesn't get burned on the stake for that.

Some time later, after a lot of the inn's strong stuff, her icy blue eyes starts to droop as she stares at her newly delivered mug of beer.

"Giving up?" I teased before downing my mug even before she can do her's.

She tries to stare daggers at me, but any menace that it should have sent to me were lost under those tired eyes.

"You can't be cocky when you cheated!" She fires back as she slams her beer down spilling some of it, "And it's not your turn yet, reddy!"

Pouting, she looks away at me, in a way a spoiled child would when she doesn't get what she wants.

"Really now? Are we gonna pretend that I did not insist that you drink mead as well?" I responded, downing my next mead with ease, then doing so with the other one as well, since she somehow thought her liquor is worth three of my mead.

"But it tastes too sweet!" She whinges, ironic to have such a childish reaction against a child's favourite flavour of sweetness.

I sighed heavily, "Fine. I cheated, you win, I'll pay the bills." I think I have enough fortune anyway.

Except my purse feels of a different sort of reality. One that means I, in fact, do not have enough to pay the bills.

I spilled the coin out across the table hoping I was mistaken, but my hope is not gonna change reality soon. In fact, it seems the situation is actually worse, as my drinking tab isn't the only one not withing the means of my financial situation.

"On second thou-" I began, only to be cut off by the girl's proud proclamation of victory.

Which happens to be one of the loudest bellowings I have ever heard from a woman, she laughs as if she accomplished something sinister.

"Yes! Once again I have pleased the Aesur of drunkenness! whoever he or she may be, I dunno! Too many Aesur to remember, but maybe I should find out who it is, such a merry nectar is the most blessed thing aft-" Then she paints the floor, along with Cherisha's dress, in the colour of her bowel's fountain.

"You bleeding woman!" Cherisha exclaims as she almost slips on her vomit and wasted a tray of some sort of soup, which I hope doesn't have puke as an ingredient.

"Wait, where!?" The white lady checks herself frantically, genuine in her concern of being actually wounded, her movement was too much and the stability offered by the wet floor too little which is her literal downfall.

"You imbecile! You'll be cleaning that tomorrow!" Cherisha distances herself from the mess and delivers the food to a man who lost interest in it after the fountain display.

"Eh, anyway." The guild messenger had our attention once more, looking like someone wanting to add on the pool with the way he looks at the puke puddle, "You can join the team in our guild, but I do suggest to register as early as possible for we only need two hundred men."

He left a room already abuzz with the potential to earn some fortunes or be sent to their maker. While they discuss among themselves the merit of joining, I already made up my mind that I'm not gonna wash or clean anything in order to pay my tab, so I search for Cherisha to explain to her my predicament.

"Why did you concede to that horrid woman anyway?" Cherisha inquires after I told her my story.

"I was in the opinion that time is worth more than fortune, I guess ultimately what's more important is to ensure in which you are more opulent." I replied.

"That or you have poor luck, and if that's the case I suggest you go there immediately, you never know what antics the Lady Fortuna is capable of when she's in the mood." She advises.

I took her advise and left her establishment, shielding my eyes from the sun's shine. At this time of the night the sun is in the north-west side of the sky, hence it is now on my face. The streets is almost empty as well save for the occasional guard patrols who gave me looks of suspicion while I make my way towards the guild.

The place was devoid of volunteering men when I got there, the lone clerk behind the counter gave me a tired smile as I approach.

"Greetings, how can the Leas and Grimm Mistic Hunter's Guild be of service?" The clerk asks when I got there.

"I'm here for the expeditionary group your guild is currently forming." I answered while checking out the furniture of the place.

"Bit of an early bird, are you? You're the first to sign up you know?" The clerk comments as he rummages under the desk for whatever papers are needed to be filled.

"I always thought there are enough poverty-stricken or adventurous men everywhere to immediately fill the list for things like this." I mused while still looking around for nothing in particular.

"Not much of those exist here in Langston, but which are you then?" He says as he passes me a number of scrolls that needs to be filled with basic things.

"Well, both are not exclusive to one another." I replied with a small smile while I write down the things required on the piece of rough parchment.

"Asheon de la Leon et Gladium, did I pronounce it right?" The clerk asked, squinting at it to ensure that he didn't mispronounce it.

"Most fluently."

"Oh? You're a nobleblood from Ibarras?" The clerk inquires sounding a bit surprised.

"Is there a problem with that?"

"The requirements are a bit more... nuanced, for men of your standing. You will have to speak to our guildmaster if you want to join." He says with a tone as formal as his tired state can muster.

"Eh? Why though?"

"Erm. Am I allowed to speak my mind without getting punished for it?" He sounded like his more careful with his words knowing that I am a nobleblood, for obvious reasons.

"I rather pride myself for my patience and thick skin, so unless you directly insult me and my kin there should be no fear in your heart in stating your mind."

"Very well then. For one, a noble blood spilt in a field is more of a concern compared to the corpses of ten peasants, especially if it is not in the name of his liege but rather under the leadership of a common guild. Secondly, we have a command structure vastly different from your traditional military, one being that you are not exempt from being under a commoner leader if it comes to it." The clerk explains, it even sounds like he has recited the same thing to countless men before me.

"Being under the leadership of an i***t is the only thing I consider an afront, other than that I have little grievance if at all to whoever's skull resides a brilliant mind for soldiering." I sighed, knowing that my sentiment is rare among those of my fellow blood.

"Regardless, you are still required to speak to someone above me, the guildmaster is sleeping in his quarters upstairs, I do not take him for a grumpy waker, yet I will still advise not awakening him in too much of a noisy manner." He tells me while motioning for the stairs for me to take.

"I wouldn't blame him for being angered though, as I myself do not appreciate getting my time in the plain of dreams being cut short." I chuckled.

"If he fumes over it, do mention that you are a knight from Ibarra, he has a bit of a fascination with your people."

"Oh? Why so?"

"He is rather infatuated with the idea of your noblebloods being the bulwark against the Comet and Crescent Sun." He says as if he is bewildered by it himself.

"Okay?" I managed to say in order to stall for time to think of something else to add, there is nothing else I could say though so it 'ended' up as an awkward form of end to the conversation.

A soft knock elicited an annoyed groan within the room behind the door with the name Guildmaster Farfred Far-Eyed.

"For the bleeding martyr, are you not aware of the time!?" The man within who I assume is the guildmaster, Farfred, protests.

"The clerk told me that I should speak to you, I'm a nobleblood from Ibarra and would wish to join the expedition you are in the process of assembling." I explained thoroughly.

"From Ibarra you say?" There was a short pause before silent rustling inside began, the obvious sound of a room being fixed, "Come on in then!"

I entered a humbly decorated room, with the most eye-catching piece is the Icon of the Crowned Martyr fixed on a wall behind the guildmaster's desk. The guildmaster himself sits on his oaken throne, he is a grey-haired, full-bearded fellow with a serious look on his slightly wrinkled face, that was until a yawn escaped his mouth. If I were to guess where he got his epithet, I need not 'look' further than his left eye which seems to be looking somewhere else while the other stares me in the eye.

"My apologies ibarran, I was in the middle of committing myself to slumber until the morrow." He confesses while wiping a drop of tear in the corner of his eyes with a handkerchief.

"You sleep here? On that chair?" I asked after looking around and finding no bed.

"Don't worry! I have my pillow here!" He says as if he has achieved something remarkable, showing me he has indeed a pillow which he has stuck somewhere under his desk.

"Okay then. So, how about it? I'm fine with taking command from those below my station if it is to the benefit of everyone." I say to get started.

"Ha! Spoken like a true Ibarran! Pragmatic military paragons, you lot!" You says as the tiredness in his eyes gets evicted by child-like excitement.

"Erm... okay?"

"If anything, I think you should be the one to lead the expedition tomorrow!"