>>3822663

> "I told you," I told him.

We did

>>3822663

> "I told you," I told him.

The joy!

>>3822663

> "I told you," I told him.

>>3822713
>>3822717
>>3822743
> "I told you," I told him.

He looked contemplative, like he wanted to throw his boot at me. But I was right. I had told him. "It's still your fault we were picked for this mission," he said with a finality that brooked no argument.

I shrugged. Everyone needs a scapegoat. And if that meant I wouldn't a shit-slathered sole smacking at my sorry face, it was a win in my book.

Also, it was maybe my fault. The hot springs. That was going to haunt me forever, wasn't it?

The locals were amused by our antics. But in our easy manners they saw something they didn't like in a target. Some of the older and wiser, gaffers in the clubbering trade, slunk away out to wherever they laired. No shiny sword-loot for them to pawn off today. Life was too precious for a handful of gold.

A minority, however, took our levity as weakness.

A daggerer swaggered into the poor man's road, filled with vim and vigour of a successful mugger. Behind him skulked fellow friends, weaker copies that had been bullied and cowed in line. "Oi, you!" he said, halting Sergeant - and consequently, the rest of us - in his tracks. "You're new." He paused, uncertain what to say next. "Money?" he suggested at last.

Sergeant stabbed him in the gut.

You could almost forget sometimes that this was the same man that played horsey with Honey. He wasn't an evil man, unless you counted killers-for-hire like the rest of us as evil, which, fair enough, you could. But most of the world is filled with killers-for-hire, or at least, would-be killers-for-hire. It's all about the price offered. And the Black Company offered lucrative contracts indeed.

I like to think that we're merely opportunistic, not downright evil. Sure, we were supporting an allegedly tyrannical regime in Granite (guess the city's main export), propping up the magister through force and more force. One child in three seemed blitzed in the head with Rebel sentiments in this place, and we ended up killing two child in three whenever another grain riot started. But that's policing duties for you. People die.

Plus, it was an easy job. Better than marching through the Old Forest, which our previous employer was probably still in the middle of doing. All in all, it was a good gig.

For the daggerer that tried to scalp us, the gig was turning out to be a very bad one. His minions hesitated as their slow brains comprehended the death of a leader.

"Maybe run away?" I suggested.

Something clicked in their heads. They attacked. Was it pride? I bet it was pride.

>>3822775

Aurelius: Healthy
>Combat = +38DC [Healthy +5DC, Skilled +2DC, A Certain Something +6DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Chainshirt +5DC, Gladius +10DC, Iron buckler +5DC]
>Armour Value = 25AV [Chainshirt +10AV, Iron buckler +5AV, Roundhelm +10AV]

vs

Goon: Unhealthy Lifestyle
>Combat = +8DC [Unhealthy Lifestyle +0, Street-wise +3DC, Big Stick +5DC]
>Armour Value = nil

Personal Combat DC80
>3 d100

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>3822780

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>3822780

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>3822780

>>3822793
>>3822797
>>3822808
>3 Success

Should've run away. I shoved the dagger one, two times without even needing to dodge the stick. Pain makes for a hell of a distraction. And distraction weakens the blow. Thin blood washed over my boots as the lightweight sort of splurched on the shit-ridden floor. Damn. They really are starving down here.

For all the riches the magistrate enjoyed from exporting chunks of big fat rocks, you would think some would manage to find their way down here somehow. Trickle-down economy, wasn't it? Let the rich flourish, so that the poor may lap on the ground for whatever falls from their overflowing goblets.

Hood scythed down another with her knives. I lifted a questioning eyebrow. She huffed. "Waste of arrows." Ah. Understandable. ...Did that mean I wasn't a waste of an arrow? Is it just me, or is it getting warm in here?

Another desperate warrior of the alleyways whiffed what might barely pass as a quarterstaff at me with all the desperation of an older brother trying to make enough for his two younger sisters back home. He was shivering, half fear, half the early winter cold.

Not a sign of the warmth that a moment ago touched my cheeks. So just me, then.

"You really should find a better job," I said.

"As if you would know what life here is like, Gold-eyes" he replied acidly.

>Then I stabbed him. Conversations are good mid-combat distractions. Write that down.

>"Are you doing this to try your best as an older brother, desperate to make enough to feed your two younger sisters back home?" My imagination sometimes runs wild. It made me invent backstories to people I was about to kill. Why? Haven't the foggiest.

>>3822826
>Then I stabbed him. Conversations are good mid-combat distractions. Write that down.

Let's get some ruthlessness in ol Aurelius. We saw how softness did us last go around.


Good to have you back Tyche.

>>3822826

>"Are you doing this to try your best as an older brother, desperate to make enough to feed your two younger sisters back home?" My imagination sometimes runs wild. It made me invent backstories to people I was about to kill. Why? Haven't the foggiest.

Kek this is hilarious, headcannon for mooks
But kill him anyway I guess

>>3822831
Good to be back. I've always had issues with scaling things way, way too fucking high too quick. Let's see if I do better this time around.

Was playing with the idea of Dumpling being perma-deathed, but settled on temporal reset with still SUFFERING potential by keeping Imperial blood. It's neither quite [Imperial] nor [Innocence], since one anon did note that the bloodline was important for the character.

>>3822826

>"Are you doing this to try your best as an older brother, desperate to make enough to feed your two younger sisters back home?" My imagination sometimes runs wild. It made me invent backstories to people I was about to kill. Why? Haven't the foggiest.

Not a waste of arrows

A quote atributed to sweet(yeah right) Hood that could go on his grave.

Oh shit....too soon?

>>3822833
>>3822836
>"Are you doing this to try your best as an older brother, desperate to make enough to feed your two younger sisters back home?" My imagination sometimes runs wild. It made me invent backstories to people I was about to kill. Why? Haven't the foggiest.

His movement stalled, surprised. "How did you know?"

Squelch. The human body is seventy per cent water. Good thing to remember when you stab someone in close range, if you don't want to get splatted with the gore and viscera. "No particular reason," I said, carefully keeping my arm extended for maximum distance away from the gutted bowels that threatened to leak. "Just making conversation. It's a very good distraction technique."

"Wish I'd known earlier," he said sadly. Then he died. The gods gift us with tragic backgrounds so that we may make more appealing character arcs, however short they may be.

All around were dead bodies, none of the brothers. Sister had taken on three. I gave him a thumbs up. He rubbed his head sheepishly. Boy had a bit of a self-esteem issue. Not like I could talk. He was a good soldier. Strong arms from working in his father's farm since childhood - still growing, to be sure, but already built in with the necessary musculature. And the father issues. His thing was that he had made a liaison in the haystacks with a maiden intimately connected to his genealogical tree.

He fucked his sister. His father, I gather, was not amused. But aside from that, good lad. Very quiet. Not a fan of cities.

"Now that clownery is over, we can continue," Sergeant said, rubbing the sole of his shitty boot on one of the dead.

"Disrespecting the dead? That's going in the Annals."

He gave me that long suffering look only Sergeant could make. "Clean your swords, make yourselves presentable. We don't want to look too out of place when we arrive."

The place we were headed for was the Blue Moon, a disreputable disestablishment that served piss for drinks and was filled with disgruntled dissidents that desired change. Precisely the sort of people the magister had hired us for. Lack of training and proper weapons made them terrible combatants, which is why the Lieutenant was comfortable enough sending just us.

If it was anywhere else, we'd be under a platoon with a squad of stormtroopers taking the vanguard to storm the den of conspirators. "They should stop conspiring," I sighed. "It's not as if they can bring about change."

Sergeant gruffed. "They are an oppressed people. It is natural that they want to make change." A rare piece of revealing commentary from the shrouded man himself. All brothers make their past as unclear as possible. Some are embarassed. Others are genuinely ashamed.

>>3822873

Most, however, just want to appear tougher than they are. Knew a guy named Mushroom. Farmers, they name their children after anything. He had been very drunk when he leaked the details. How embarassed he had been. He begged me not to write it down anywhere near the Annals. I promised. I had lied. That was also going in the Annals. Not like Mushroom could read.

Sergeant however was a rare sort, the genteel and classy kind. Grizzled and in his maybe-fifties, the man had been in the Company as long as anyone could remember. Given that I was only a yearling, that wasn't very long. But still, he was one of the longer survivors here. Fourties was the more usual sort of age here. Twenties the most common.

Maybe he had been court-born. A local noble's fifth son or a bastard. He knew how to read, that much I knew.

He also had a somewhat idealistic view of the world. Right is right, regardless of might. The strong have a duty to protect the weak. Things he professed to believe in, even as we smote down the oppressed proletariats for the clinking gold of the bourgeoisie. "Because," he once said, "I must believe in something. Else what do I have to live for?"

Don't I know it.

Honey was mine. A little orphan girl who I'd rescued from... somewhere. Not quite sure. Actually, the whole detail was mostly out of my memory. You'd think it would be something memorable, but no. The wonders of the human mind.

"Any questions?" Sergeant said as we crowded in front of the closed door of the Blue Moon. Behind we could hear the conspicuously loud conspiracies, muffled and unintelligible from the rain.

Dumpling shivered. Sister sneezed. I raised a hand.

"Anyone aside from Aurelius?" Very few brothers hold the inquisitiveness I do.

> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

> "Shouldn't we spread people round and about to stop runaways?"

>>3822877
>> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

priorities are important

>>3822877

> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

Ah, carefree Aurelius, only when near Sarge to make him frustrated, his death really took a toll on him, maybe we should hallucinate (or be haunted) with him to be able to make him mad.

>>3822877

> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

>>3822877

>> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

>>3822882
>>3822886
>>3822921
> "Do we get to go to the therma after this? Because Iesus Christos, I am fucking soaked."

"Yes."

"Oh." Not going to lie, I was expecting a no there.

"I am responsible for your well-being. Not having a hot soak might make you lot sick." I began warming up to him, "In the case of Aurelius, sicker." And thus ended the honeymoon phase.

"I'm not sick," I protested. "I have a unique condition."

He was not convinced. "You gobble those damned pills every meal."

"ONE pill. Per meal, yes, but out of necessity. They're not psychedelics nor hallucinogens."

"As long as their use doesn't impair your performance," he relented. In the end, I was the scrivener here. Sergeant couldn't overrule me on medical matters. "We get in, listen for seditious talks, then reveal ourselves and arrest the leaders. I don't care about the minor members. If we started imprisoning everyone who harboured a grudge against Fuckface, the entire city would be in there." Fuckface was Sergeant's name for the magistrate. It was not wholly descriptive of him. The magistrate was a handsome man, young, vivacious, and very lady's-man. He was pursuing Captain. Wait, was that the hidden intent behind his hiring us? Wooing the Captain?

Good luck with that. She was very much happy with the husband I won her back in the north. They were cousins. Once removed.

The six of us entered the bar/inn/drinking hole in single file. I immediately relaxed into a ganger's confident stalk, nothing so amateurish as the swagger of the man we had killed minutes ago. Lying is the most important skill when on the road for long. I should know. I'd been on it for eleven years.

It had been very lonely.

We scattered. Better to hear out possible conspirator-leaders around the bar that way, and it made us less conspicuous. Most of the people here were colourful characters anyway. Our entrance didn't even lift eyebrows.

I tagged along...

>Theophilos
>Dumpling
>Hood
>Sergeant
>Sister

[and now i must sleep, may my writing mojo still exist in the coming days]

>>3822927
>>Dumpling

for some reason, I don't know....maybe something we dreamed of? just feels like we should cherish our time with her...


and hood is not ready yet of course

>>3822935
Ugh ok, I was gingerly typing hood but I guess I can't be greedy.

>>3822927
>Dumps

>>3822927
>Sergeant

I feel like we owe him, like we let him down somehow. Cannot really remember the details.

>>3822927

>Theophilos

>>3822927
>Dumpling

>>3822935
>>3822948
>>3823682

>Dumpling

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." Even shivering from the cold, she was her usual cheery self. "Got brass? I think I got nicked by that street urchin five houses back."

Dumpling is a Parthian sorceress. Her people came far from the west, where ancient kingdoms crumble within the Desert like testaments to human folly. Gregarious and energetically kind, they live secluded lives in dotted villages raising goats and tilling the earth with barley aside remnants of once-sprawling canals.

I snorted. "I noticed you practically throwing the coins to the kid. You're never going to buy that headdress you want so much if you keep throwing money away." Women and headdresses. They're like men and cloaks. Desirable and impractical.

"Dunno what you're talking about. Come on, I'll pay you back. I'm going to need whatever this shithole is serving to warm myself up."

Parthians are not known for their endurance to the cold.

>With much magnanimous waving of hands, I placed five sesterces on the table. "Don't forget the interest." We are mercenaries. Everything we do is, by definition, mercenary.

>"Here." I dumped my cloak on her. When it comes to insulation, it is not the thickness of the cloth that matters, but the number of layers. "I'll pay this round. Treat me to something nice when we're back somewhere civilised."

>>3823710
>>"Here." I dumped my cloak on her. When it comes to insulation, it is not the thickness of the cloth that matters, but the number of layers. "I'll pay this round. Treat me to something nice when we're back somewhere civilised."

and they say cloaks are impractical, HAH!

>>3823712
Oh, I meant to write capes there

>>3823713
oh, capes are terrible, yeah

>>3823710

>"Here." I dumped my cloak on her. When it comes to insulation, it is not the thickness of the cloth that matters, but the number of layers. "I'll pay this round. Treat me to something nice when we're back somewhere civilised."

>>3823710

>"Here." I dumped my cloak on her. When it comes to insulation, it is not the thickness of the cloth that matters, but the number of layers. "I'll pay this round. Treat me to something nice when we're back somewhere civilised."

>>3822835
so, is this the mind thing we have to escape that was on imperial?

>>3823712
>>3823724
>>3823729

It was calculated. I doubted the swill they served here was drinkable, nevermind palatable. It would cost me very little, and get me a free dinner somewhere nice. Crafty, Aurelius.

Besides, drinking alcohol actually lowered your core temperature. It would be irresponsible of me as the squad's scrivener to let her drink without making up for the heat deficit.

She snuggled into the extra not-blanket, spreading its fabric over her small frame. Not for the first time, I wondered how old she was. On the young side, that was for sure. She and her sisters had joined the Company before me, almost as child soldiers. That she was Ensorcelled helped. Wizards and sorcerers are a rare breed, standing somewhat apart from the regular joes like - well, not me. But most others.

Large almond eyes set upon dusky face, she was a favourite among the scrivener initiates. You wouldn't believe the kind of smut they wrote and drew on their spare time. Waste of ink and vellum. When found out, we always deducted their costs from their own pay. That put a stop to it. Most of the time.

The barkeep waddled to us, breaking my reverie. "What can I do you for?"

"Five cups. Make sure they're clean, please." She didn't bother asking for the selection. Place like this had one type on the tap.

"Two," I cut in severely. "I'm not carrying you on my back in the return trip this time."

"Boo. Two for me, one for him?" The man looked at me. I shrugged.

"Alright," he said. "Three cups for the happy couple."

"We're not a couple," we said in synch.

"Whatever." He was more disinterested than unconvinced. "I just brew and serve the drinks. Say, your girl looking for a job? I could use an extra pair of hands around here." He waved at the full house. "Business' been booming since-" He caught himself just in time. Dumpling and I shared looks. Since the conspirators made this place their favourite getaway. This one had very loose lips. "Anyway," he restarted, "if the dam's keen for a silver or two... what is wrong with your eyes?"

Right. I lost the hood when I gave her the cloak. "It's congenital." Which was technically the truth.

It was the weapons and the armour that kept him polite. "...Okay, but you two, don't do anything weird. I'm running a respectable establishment here." No comment. "And keep the offer in mind. If she's a slave, I might be buying." He winked. "Came into some money as of late."

I glanced at her. The extra cloak had cloaked her equipment. She did look like an overbundled girl on the cusp of womanhood, nothing like the vicious murderer she - we all were.

Oh, the lecheries of Man. They buy them, young and impressionable, and throw them away broken and thoroughly misused. Slave trade was the other big thing in Granite. Gangs practically depended on the flesh trade.

>"Hypothetically, if I were to be selling... how much are we talking here?"

>"She's not my girl," I repeated. "Can we get those drinks now?"

>>3823729

>>3822835

>>3823729
Oh, just realised you'd linked back to that comment. I'd say it's more of a... dragon break?

>>3823744

>"Hypothetically, if I were to be selling... how much are we talking here?"

He'll say a price, we ask how a barkeep has that cash, and looselips mcgee will give us something.

>>3823750
so forest never happened? I'll have to woo Hood again? Not complaining, I love to woo Hood, some of my favorite moments came from that lol

>>3823744
>>"Hypothetically, if I were to be selling... how much are we talking here?"

>>3823756
We're post-Magal but after that the Captain didn't renew contract, so yep, no harem this time because I cannot juggle all those relationships, so choose very, very wisely - I'm also going to take it slower in terms of romance instead of panic-hitting the harem button

>>3823763
it was a nice panic button, no worries, Hood! The suffering and angst is just too much for me to resist, Aurelius has a problem lol
Glad Sarge is alive

>>3823744

>"Hypothetically, if I were to be selling... how much are we talking here?"

>>3823756
>>3823757
>>3823800
>"Hypothetically, if I were to be selling... how much are we talking here?"

"Oh, I'd say fifteen denarii, easily," he said.

"Daylight robbery. See how young she is? Look at her. A beauty. Her father himself had to be paid an aureus more than that before he would let go of her."

"Oh, sir. I am a simple man with tight purses with a family to feed. Twenty denarii."

"You said just now that business was booming. Thirty-five denarii."

"I have debts and interests to pay back to Tench." Tench was the local strongman. "You know how he loves to double-collect sometimes. Twenty-one."

"We are brothers in that regard. I, too, am under the employ of Tench, and you know how he loves to skimp over our salaries." It wasn't an obvious lie. Gangs liked to subcontract outsiders for various deals. Not being tied to the seedy local politics made them more trustworthy, and just as important, expendable. "Thirty-four. And that's my final offer."

"I must gouge out my own liver and sell it to the medician to make this deal. Thirty denarii."

I made a show of considering for a while. "Only if you pay the scribe to finalise the sale. I'm not paying for the drafting of the contract."

He hemmed and hawed, but in the end agreed. Thus a deal was struck. For thirty silvers, the Parthian "girl-slave" was to be sold. The barkeep bustled out to fetch a scribe after placing our drinks - "On the house for a deal well done," he said. Dumpling watched the disappearing back of the large man with some amusement. "Good job," she said.

"Oh, it wasn't me. Just my silver tongue at work." Humble and polite. Two words that did not describe Aurelius.

"No, I meant the way you looked at him in the eyes. You still do that thing where you look down and try to hide them." Oh. "You didn't stutter or evade eye contact this time. So, good job."

>>3823810

She referred to a habitual twitch I had. Its source was an odd deformation that plagued my visage. Where in normal eyes irises of brown and green and blue and even black occasioned, mine were sparkling golden things. It unnerved people, not least of all myself. And it was the reason behind the social ostracisation I sometimes faced.

You know how that old saying goes. "Never trust a man whose intent you can see in his eyes." How are you supposed to tell what a golden-eyed man is lying?

"Thanks," I mumbled. Took a sip. "Iesus Christos," I swore, after coughing out the content. Alcohol is supposed to burn while going down, not while it swirls in the mouth.

"Don't get in the habit of saying that," Dumpling said drily. She was already in her second cup. "Honey might learn it from you. I'm trying to keep her mouth unsoiled. Hard enough to do that as it is, surrounded as we are with soldiers. You gonna finish that?"

"Take it, you incorrigible alcoholic." She took the third cup and drained it. "That was an indirect kiss."

She threw the cup at me. I deserved that. "Why did you want to send the barkeep away?" she asked, as we picked up the pieces of the shattered earthenware.

>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

>"Didn't like the way he was looking you up." Don't get me wrong. Dumpling is a friend. There is nothing romantic between us, so I wasn't trying to act like her boyfriend here. Besides, she could take care of herself. But friends don't let friends get visually patted down.

>>3823812
>>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

>>3823812

>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

>>3823812

>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

>>3823812

>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

>>3823818
>>3823824
>>3823825
>>3823851

>"Easier to search a place when the owner isn't home," I explained, switching to Old Parthian. It was highly unlikely anyone here would understand the language. I stood up. "Come on. He'll be back soon. They have a cellar in this kind of place, don't they?"

The more traditional drinking place might put barrels and barrels of their sinful wares in the cool and dank interior that characterises most cellars. Not the Blue Moon, if my sudden suspicions were correct.

"Shouldn't we at least signal Sergeant?" Dumpling asked as we casually trundled to the behind-room.

"What, and alert the entire pub to our intent to kick the door down? Too many cooks. Spoils the broth." The other pubgoers had seen us interact extensively with the bartender. They would assume we had some sort of an arrangement with the owner. An assumption, I hoped, that would stretch to us quietly strolling to the employees-only section. "Here it is. The forbidden door."

The hatch door was covered with muck like every other bit of floor. Rain had poured hard today, the cold, dreary sort that can't make up its mind whether it is snow or sleet. The bartender was right about one thing, at least. This place desperately needed a second pair of helping hands.

>"Ladies first," I said.

>I gingerly opened the hatch.

>>3824125
This is me, forgot to put name in

>>3824125
>>I gingerly opened the hatch.

let's do this, she can blast whatever pops up

>>3824125

>I gingerly opened the hatch.

>>3824125

>>I gingerly opened the hatch.

>>3824125

>I gingerly opened the hatch

>>3824132
>>3824137
>>3824256
>>3824334
>I gingerly opened the hatch.

Revolutionaries are not the cowardly sort. Despite their tendency to skulk around in areas that should, by all rights, be far beneath the notice of one so high-fallutin' as the magistrate and his thugs, they were taking significant risks simply gathering like this. Smuggling weapons. Printing pamphlets. And they would have been safe, too, if it weren't for two things.

One, the Black Company is familiar with having to deal with revolutionaries. And we aren't afraid of getting our hands dirtied. I didn't enjoy going elbow-deep into the muck and gore that came with the job, but I endured it, unlike the pickaninnies the magistracy of Granite propped up as "honour guards" and "elite battalions" and all other rotten titles that have no place in a proper fighting corps. I can't remember the last time I saw an honour guard with half an honour between the bloody lot.

The second, and rather more pertinent point, was this. We had a coven of wizards.

The Magal campaign had gained us more than mere recruits from the horse-people and their magnificent mounts. A new sorceress had joined the ranks by the name of Katyusha. Dumpling tells me she is one of the stronger Ensorcelled she has seen. Wasp also agrees. Each sorcerer's power, he told me, was dependent on their inborn capacity, whatever that means. Only Shade was reluctant to admit his arcane inferiority to the newcomer, but that was Shade. "In terms of raw capacity, maybe," he argued. "But you can't compare talent with technique."

Four wizards are more than most kingdoms retain. In fact, Shade was once a court wizard, if you can believe his boasts. It has I think more to do with the fact that kings are paranoid about people more powerful, than our amazing dental plans, that we end up accruing so many practitioners of the Art.

The tipoff on the existence of the Blue Moon had been thanks to a concerted effort by our wizards, sans Dumpling. They were also in charge of warding off any and all curses and maledictions that our many enemies, built up in the long existence of the Company, might think of shooting off once in a while.

Ritual casting isn't her forte. She was more of an ad-hoc spellblazer. Of the Company wizards she ranks the least in terms of power, but she makes up for it for ingenuity, most of the time.

It didn't take a Zhuge Liang to figure out these were the rebels we were looking for. They had a furtive, persecuted look on their faces. The wordless pamphlets scattered about the place with ridiculously uglified portraits of the magister also helped.

And they knew that I wasn't one of them.

>>3825584

They didn't ask questions on how we'd found them. Not even beg to be taken prisoner. They simply attacked. Is it wrong to admire those you are about to kill? To wonder, for a brief moment before the meeting of blades, if they might have something I don't - that elusive idea that good is something worth fighting for?

Ah, well. Being good never fed me anyway.

Aurelius: Healthy
>Combat = +38DC [Healthy +5DC, Skilled +2DC, Unnatural Prowess +6DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Chainshirt +5DC, Gladius +10DC, Iron buckler +5DC]
>Armour Value = 25AV [Chainshirt +10AV, Iron buckler +5AV, Roundhelm +10AV]

vs

Rebel Miner: Granite Lungs
Rebel Propagandist: Exhausted
Rebel Mother: Has not received her meal rations for the past two days
>Combat = +12DC [Occupational Illness -2DC, Idealist +5DC, Rebel training +1DC, Dagger +3DC, Propagandist +4DC, Mother +1DC]
>Armour Value = nil

Each success = 1 dead Rebel, starting from below

Personal Combat DC76
>3 d100

Rolled 14 (1d100)

>>3825587
a shame really, but making their prisoners would probably be a worse fate
I admire rebels

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>3825587

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>3825587

>>3825599
>>3825603
>>3825605
>3 Success

I handled the first rush. Buckler in one hand, sword in the other, merciless and methodical. Lunge and fade. Don't even give them a moment to take a breather. It's easier against those who aren't trained for it. They think simply charging and swinging their weapons wildly is how you inflict wounds.

In a drunken street fight, sure. But this was a battle. To my side, Dumpling was shrugging off the cloak, sending a burst of shockwave that prevented us from getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers from the rest. Then she closed her eyes and muttered something subliminal. A horrendous stench sipped from the barrels of moonshine that lined the walls as caskets lined up against the walls burst open from the invisible force.

Her whispering intensified. Phantasmal midgets with barely-defined physical boundaries seeped from within the ruined barrels, drenched and marinated with the vile liquid within. The rebels chased the images, bewildered and terrified. With wild throat-swings and mid-air jabs, rebel daggers found rebel hearts. Three seconds later, it was done.

Not a pretty sight. At least killing them yourself is honest. It's unpleasant to watch former colleagues delude themselves into turning against each other. One of the reasons I am terrified of magic.

Dumpling swung unsteadily, drained from her performance.

>DC50 to catch her from falling to the floor

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>3825655

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>3825655

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>3825655
Mage drop

>>3825672
We'll give hood all the wrong ideas, nice.

At least we prevented cracked skull in addition to magic exhaustion

>>3825672

"You've gotten heavier."

"Fuck off. I'm just a growing girl."

I hefted her on my back. "Told you not to drink so much. All that alcohol isn't good for your health."

"I may have a problem," she admitted. Don't we all.

Sergeant was sitting on the barkeep when we clambered back up. He was tied up. I wasn't sure what made him more furious, the destruction of his stock or the loss of well-paying customers down the cellar. "You!" he shrieked. "Tench'll hear of this. You think he'll appreciate having one of his bars ransacked?"

"Magistracy business," Sergeant said harshly to the surrounding crowd, ignoring the owner. "Run along now. Unless you want to see the inside of the Citadel. Now," he said, when the stampede to get out was over, "what the hell was all that?"

"Classic cellar-in-the-bar situation. Leadership-types were headquartered there, looks like. Lots of pamphlets. Ink. And they had daggers."

"Metal?" Theophilos asked. I nodded. "That is serious."

It was. The so-called revolution was manageable even with the utter lack of cooperation from the honour guard so far because they were rabble. There were the occasional riots. Brothers died, head bashed in or ribcages stuck in their hearts. But usually blunt trauma inflicted from simple tools turned to makeshift weapons. Bricks, cudgels, the like. Metal represented an uptick in material support.

"Doesn't look like they got much else aside from weapons," I said. "Half of them were starved looking. No new clothes or basic supplies. Just daggers."

Sergeant frowned. "Theo, Hood, Sister. Grab those weapons. I don't want to have to deal with sicarii." Daggers are easy to conceal. Many a tax collector died from the hands of suicidal daggerers that they bumped to in the streets. In the hands of rebels, that could extend to the peacekeeping force under the magister's pay.

The three trotted back into the cellar without grumble. None of us were eager to schedule an impromptu appointment with our own guts. Sergeant turned back to me, eliciting a pained groan from the owner under him. After he mentioned the magistracy, he'd gone quiet.

"So," Sergeant said, prodding him with the sheath of his sword. "What to do with him?"

>"Dumpling can wipe his memory," I suggested. Dumpling made a doubtful noise.

>"Heard too much," I shrugged. "Off him and we'll be on our way." It was cold, I was wet, and Dumpling was drooping like a turnip sack.

>>3825703
>>"Heard too much," I shrugged. "Off him and we'll be on our way." It was cold, I was wet, and Dumpling was drooping like a turnip sack.

the guy is rotten, buying slave teen around, off him

>>3825703

>"Heard too much," I shrugged. "Off him and we'll be on our way." It was cold, I was wet, and Dumpling was drooping like a turnip sack.

Can't someone interrogate him?

>>3825703

>"Dumpling can wipe his memory," I suggested. Dumpling made a doubtful noise.

>>3825703

>"Heard too much," I shrugged. "Off him and we'll be on our way." It was cold, I was wet, and Dumpling was drooping like a turnip sack.

Tired mage + messing with the mind will probably end with the guy husked

>>3825736
we wouldn't want anyone ending up husked like Jokk....wait...what am I saying, Jokk is alive and well, probably losing at dice somewhere.

>>3825708
>>3825717
>>3825736
>"Heard too much," I shrugged. "Off him and we'll be on our way." It was cold, I was wet, and Dumpling was drooping like a turnip sack.

I set Dumpling down on the cleanest table I could find while Sergeant nicked his throat. I was growing old. I couldn't even carry the little woman for an extended period of time. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live." Like a rain-ragged streetcat. Living, but not pleasantly so.

"I could have dealt with the rest of them," I said reproachfully. There were only five left.

"You couldn't even carry me up the stairs without swaying," she pointed out. Had I been swaying? "Besides, it's safer that way."

It wasn't that I felt winded, more... tired. Like a dead man, walking on long beyond his lifespan. A block of cheese, stretched to the limit.

Creaking floorboards. The sound of waves.

I took my medicine while we waited for Theo and the rest to finish up downstairs. The lack of water to wash it down with made me gag a little, but I immediately felt much better. "It's the nerves," I said defensively. "If you don't like my carrying, Sister can take you the rest of the way home."

Dumpling didn't reply. She had fallen asleep.

"Getting the jitters?" Sergeant said.

"Just tired. Killing takes a lot out of you." More energy than you might think. The human body naturally resists foreign contaminants. Pushing steel into flesh and bone repeatedly leaves even a veteran soldier breathless. Thus the concept of triplex acies - rotation of the troop lines to give front-line combatants a moment of rest.

"And it's cold, too," he nodded, understanding. "At least we didn't have much in the way of rain up north." That was a plus. It was just wind up there, easily blocked by the heavy duty wartents of the Company. Water was a different matter. Insidious things that sliver in through any and all cracks. I wasn't looking forward to the walk back.

Sister looked apprehensively at the corpse when they returned, stinking to high heaven with the alcoholic deluge that Dumpling had wrought. "We could have left him alive for interrogation," he said.

Hood scoffed. "What would he know? Where he kept his moneybox? He wasn't Rebel, just renting to them."

Sister signed up into the Company the same day I did. He was even greener than me. Before he joined the Black Company, he had been the son of a wealthy farmer. And he didn't have a tragic murder-filled backstory, either. Just some family drama. He probably had the least amount of death in his hands in the squad. He wasn't squeamish about killing in battle, but captives, well, that was different in his mind.

But Hood was right. Lugging him around would have been more trouble than worth. Rebels don't usually confide in a settled man who aren't keen on non-financial incentives like 'loyalty' and 'duty to a higher cause'.

>>3825798

Sergeant scuffed his boot against the dead man's back, ridding himself of the final vestiges of the dogshit that had earlier marred its sole. "Looks like your soul is clean," I joked. Sister and Theophilos sniggered. Hood closed her eyes as if summoning up patience, while Sergeant simply sighed.

"If you've got the strength to joke, then you've got enough to carry her," Sergeant said. Damn. I shouldn't have made a pun when the boss-man was miserable with rain. "Try to bring some light and laughter into the squad and see what happens," I grumbled.

>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

>I quietly transferred the body to Theo's reliable (and large) back when Sarge wasn't looking. Not like he was constantly going to turn around to check on me in the rain.

>>3825800
>>I quietly transferred the body to Theo's reliable (and large) back when Sarge wasn't looking. Not like he was constantly going to turn around to check on me in the rain.

pick up brother

>>3825800

>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

Well shit, I hope this is not lock but I can't let a friend down

>>3825808
It isn't romance luck, far too early for that

>>3825800

>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

I'd hate if this was saving her from death goddess and we didn't do it for fear of getting tired

>>3825800

>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

>>3825819
Oh I get you, "carryng her through the unrelenting rain" has an ominous kind of feel

>>3825800
>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain

>>3825800
>>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

File: Citadel.png (3.84 MB, 1360x1920)

3.84 MB PNG

>>3825808
>>3825819
>>3825822
>>3825937
>>3825947
>Picking up the sleeping sorceress, I followed out the others. Into the unrelenting rain.

Trevain awaited us at the gate of the Citadel, a mountain of towels in his arms. "Don't track the mud in."

Nothing looked so good as the corporal holding his dry - and clean! - cloth in that moment. I grabbed two - one for me, other for Sleepyhead. "Marry me."

His eternal poker face didn't even crease. "You're not my type." Story of my love life. He relieved me of the comatose sorceress from my back. Twisting the fabric of reality to your desire, though advantagous in its own right, had its costs. She would wake in a few hours, sore and grumpy. But still alive.

Alive. Of course Dumpling was alive. Why should she be anything else?

"Good hunting?" Trevain asked as we made our way up the stairs under the scathingly disapproving gaze of portraited nobility. We were tracking some mud and rain in, even with the towels. Were those faces ancestors of the magister? If so, I didn't see the resemblance.

"Aurelius nabbed a few miners. And a washerwoman." Hood managed to end a sentence without insulting me. Even the iron maiden was not immune from the dreary downpour. She ruffled her long, raven hair with the towel, wrenching them to drain the water out with minimal movements. Fastidious but economical. Like a cat.

"I will dig your eyes out if you keep staring." I looked away.

"Sounds about right," Trevain replied curtly, ignoring the lovers' spat behind him. "I had the servants heat up the water. You should head to the thermae"

Hood temporarily forgotten, I grasped his arm. "We can start as lovers."

"Just because I am homosexual does not mean I go for anyone with a dick, Aurelius."

>Mixed

>Segregated

As in, are the baths mixed or segregated by gender

>>3825960
>Mixed

>>3825960
>Mixed

>>3825960
>Mixed

She can't bring a knife here....right?....this is gonna hurt

>>3825960
>>Mixed

also
>Alive. Of course Dumpling was alive. Why should she be anything else?

this little things man.....

>>3825960
>>Mixed

>>3825974
>>3825979
>>3825980
>>3825993
>>3825997

The Magister's private thermae was, like everything else the noble owned, an example in tasteful opulence. Sinic jade-dragons wove around granite pillars that numbered far too many for their presence to be merely out of architectural considerations. Lewd displays of sexual adventures by nameless gods spread out panoramic above my head in the ceiling, each mosaic tile of semiprecious stones cut impeccably in the highest of Latin fashions.

The thermae was open to the Black Company while we worked for the noble, which was a great perk in this city of endless rain. I just wished they hadn't put softcore porn right in view where we were, by necessity, nearly nude. It made things very awkward.

Hood gazed with distaste at my towel-girdled hips. "Men," she muttered. Her acid voice echoed in the cavernous chamber, made acoustic with tiles.

I shrugged. It is human to err, and man to erect. Another thing about this place was the fact that it was a mixed bath by virtue of being the only one. The Magister must have had... randy ancestors. I tried not to think of their family gatherings in the bath. "Still hate my guts, Hood?"

"Maybe I'd like you better if you tore your eyes out."

Ouch. My eyes often caused a negative reaction on laymen, which is to say, people not traveling around the world to kill for money, but Company people were typically more open-minded about these things. Hood was the only one who straight up had a vendetta against me. "I didn't choose my eyes."

"Stay away," she warned. She was carrying a sleeping Dumpling, towels covering their modesty. If this was a segregated bath I wouldn't have to bother with tying a towel around me. On the other hand, the view was nice. "And don't look in this direction, you pervert. I don't know why Dumpling thinks you a friend." She scowled. "Maybe she would know better once she realised what you and your kind are like." She began submerging the unconscious girl-woman carefully.

"Start slowly," I advised, the scrivener in me kicking in. "You don't want to submerge her right from the get go when she's in a coma from expending her magical mojo. At the start, I'd suggest soaking up warm towels and rubbing it over her skin to get her body reacquainted with the heat."

She grunted wordlessly, but pulled Dumpling out. Then, almost reluctantly, she began toweling her. She looked almost caring in that moment.

The steam must be playing tricks on my eyes.

>"You almost look like an older sister when you do that." I was supposed to think that, not say that. My own mouth betrays me.

>"When did you two get so friendly?" I didn't think Hood was the fraternising - or in this case, sororising - type.

>>3826075
>>"You almost look like an older sister when you do that." I was supposed to think that, not say that. My own mouth betrays me.

hood onee-san

>>3826075

>"You almost look like an older sister when you do that." I was supposed to think that, not say that. My own mouth betrays me.

>>3826075

>"When did you two get so friendly?" I didn't think Hood was the fraternising - or in this case, sororising - type.

>>3826075
>>"When did you two get so friendly?" I didn't think Hood was the fraternising - or in this case, sororising - type.

>>3826075
>"You almost look like an older sister when you do that." I was supposed to think that, not say that. My own mouth betrays me

>>3826088
>>3826102
>>3826129

>>"You almost look like an older sister when you do that." I was supposed to think that, not say that. My own mouth betrays me.

"That is because I was," she said softly. That was new. Hood wasn't the touchy-feely sort that talked about her family.

"Do you keep in touch with them?" I thought about my family. Not a topic that came up in my head often. I'd been married, once. Had a daughter. She was somewhere far away. Same with the daughter.

The daughter. Not my daughter. The entity that was my family seemed a fictitious construct in my mind. Try as I might, I couldn't even remember her face. Or her name.

Hood replied: "No."

"You should send them letters, at least." The imperial posts are expensive but reliable. And they are networked everywhere that is anywhere. Fifteen denarii per letter is a hefty cost, but the Company paid generously compared to other private militias. She could more than afford a letter a month. "I'm sure they'd like hearing from you." Did my daughter wish to hear from me? "And besides, we're going to be in Granite for a while yet. No battlefields and no bloody last stands. Just political intrigues and assassination conspiracies. Could be that they'll write back."

She looked up from her meticulous wiping of Dumpling with eyes that communicated nothing.

>"I could even pitch in, if it's the money you're worried about." The ingredients for the Medicine was expensive, but they were about the only thing I spent money on. And its cost was nothing compared to the prices in the red light district.

>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally.

>>3826148
>>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally.

>>3826148
>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally

>>3826148
>>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally.

fucking hell Aurelius, entire murdered family remember?
progress with hood is slow and steady

>>3826148
>"I could even pitch in, if it's the money you're worried about." The ingredients for the Medicine was expensive, but they were about the only thing I spent money on. And its cost was nothing compared to the prices in the red light district.

>>3826148

>"I could even pitch in, if it's the money you're worried about." The ingredients for the Medicine was expensive, but they were about the only thing I spent money on. And its cost was nothing compared to the prices in the red light district.

Stab o'clock now or later?

>>3826170
Actually, better not get stabbed now

Lets change the subject, or let her speak


>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally

>>3826154
>>3826164
>>3826166
>>3826178
>>I shut up. Even I can take a hint. Occasionally.

In her silence I sensed a tragic tale. A death in the family, perhaps. Or worse.

The Empire was peaceful in the surface, but a thousand internecine wars corrupted its gigantic corpse like so many maggots. Villages were raised and wiped out in a matter of months. There could be any number of things that caused her this private loss.

She was from Alexandria Eskhata, wasn't she? An island - a once holy site where the Emperor was said to have landed. I frowned. The Medicine was interfering with my recollection. Wasn't there some kind of trouble in that region? Something about...

"They're dead," she said flatly. "In a place not even the imperial post officers can deliver."

"Oh."

The air died. Sister scooted out of the bath, wet feet pattering against the tiled floor. Damn you, coward. Now I am an audience of one. And now I remembered. Too bloody late, Aurelius. "I am so sorry."

"Don't be."

She sounded hollow. She looked hollow. For that one, long minute when she silently mourned over the source of her simmering anger, she was not Hood, the mysterious archeress. She wasn't even Hood, the vicious bully who kept shooting me. She was simply a victim of circumstances beyond her control.

Like that rebel washerwoman. A gauntness of face and spirit. What had made her join the impossible revolution? A private loss, not so dissimilar to Hood's, I guessed. Somewhere in Granite, there is an unmarked grave of a child lying unattended.

I fidgeted. There was something really fucked up in seeing the usually proud and aloof woman so broken down. Was I supposed to say something? What?

Maybe I should stop taking the Medicine.

>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."

>There is no winning in saying anything in this kind of situation. I didn't even know her that well. Whatever I said wouldn't do much good.

amnesics*

>>3826202

>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."

Hope she doesn't take it but a helping hand is offered

>>3826202

>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."

>>3826202
>>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."

>>3826202
>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."

>>3826202

>"I've, uh, got amnesiacs," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the... memories."
Must try to help Hood, the memory medicine is so related to the two that it hurts

>>3826202
No point in even posting now but hoo boy do I think that was dumb to offer.

>>3826513
Oh I think it is too, but it's quite common to fuck up when we are trying to help those we care about

>>3826218
>>3826221
>>3826227
>>3826254
>>3826314

>"I've, uh, got amnesics," I began hesitantly. "That is, if you want relief from the memories."

She turned pensive, thoughts reflecting within. "There is a saying in Eskhata. A man dies but twice: first in the death of his body, then again when he is forgotten by the living."

What a strange philosophy. The dead are dead. Let them lie where they are buried. If I had to remember every single people in my life, I would be dragging my feet along the road of life until I became myself a member of the posthumous. I didn't tell her that, of course. I didn't want blood to ruin the bath.

"Is that what you've been taking every meal?" she asked.

I nodded off-handedly. "It isn't exactly a secret."

"You never mentioned what the pills were for."

"Scrivener-patient confidentiality. I also don't talk about which brother has sexually-transmitted diseases." Which was none of them. We scriveners work tirelessly for the Black Company to make sure any spreadable diseases are cut mid-gestation - quite literally, as many a brother rendered prematurely infertile can (but don't) attest. The way they spent all their blood money on women and men, you'd think they were trying to make up for the lives they've taken.

I was envied them, disease and all. Being scrivener and trooper gave me far less personal time even when the Company was garrisoned, and add to that the time Honey takes up in my life. There aren't many open timeslots where I might fit in a leisurely stroll to the red light district where Company silver is as welcomed as any else.

She acquisced, the point taken. "That explains it."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, nothing."

>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>The fell mood that had befallen her after I blundered into the topic of her deceased family was now lifted. It was a safe time to exit the bath, and get some food in my stomach.

>>3827435

>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>woman saying nothing
>being actually nothing

Yeah, right...

>>3827435

>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>>3827435
>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"


why does being naked with hood in a thermal bath gives me an extreme urge to file paperwork, a lust for burocracy.

>>3827468
Semi-nude*, modest bits covered by damp, form-clinging towels

>>3827472
>modest bits covered by damp, form-clinging towels
oh yeah, because that is waaaaaay less arousing and paperwork inducing, we should archive every piece of document we have right now!

>>3827435
>>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>>3827435

>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>>3827435
>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

>>3827450
>>3827453
>>3827468
>>3827476
>>3827479
>>3827485
>Nothing is never nothing. "Explains what?"

"Why you're not like the other Alexandrians."

"True. They are nothing as handsome as me."

"Oh yes," she agreed. "The others are always more handsome." Farewell, masculine pride. I never knew you. "But they're never as human."

I almost dropped my towel. "Come again?"

She turned aside, focusing once more on caressing her unconscious charge, bathing her with the warm water with care. The moment of elocution passed. She was safe once more behind the fortress walls of deafness.

Had that been a compliment? If so, it was a first. She was antipathetic toward me and my kinsmen, most of whom were secluded in the ancient Capital. Restrictive and heavily segregated, the vast majority of my extended family prefer an idyllic life of indolence to the "ocean of barbarism" that the Capitaline Walls stop from offending their sight.

But I wasn't Alexandrian. True Alexandrians beyond the Walls are a rarity. I was a half breed, the product of a non-incestuous coupling between one of those vaunted demigods and a mortal woman, as could be attested by my jetstone-black hair.

"I am not an Alexandrian." My words fell on deaf ears. Perhaps she felt she'd spoken too much, too freely. It is the way of the scuttleshell crab to viciously attack its prey with abandon, only to retreat into its shell just as suddenly. "Scuttlecrab," I namecalled. No response. Not even a cleverly-hidden throwing knife.

Thoroughly warmed in body if not the soul, I left the bath to get myself decent for dinner. As I neared the exit, I caught the faint notes of a hushed lullaby, sung to the sleeping sorceress amidst a watery silence. Like an older sister, taking care of her younger siblings.

Hood is a viper, relentless in her hatred against me. But she's a damned beautiful one.

-=-

>>3827543

We may have become garrison troops, used to the sort of urban living we used to mock. But there were always casualties. No deaths so far, thank the Emperor. But some of them were close. Broken glasses and bricks did what fists and sticks couldn't. And then there were the venereal diseases that came from bored soldiers dallying with ladies of the night. You had to catch them quick, lest they spread to the rest of the Company. It was no secret that there was a lot of fucking going around, even within the Company. They were bored. We scriveners picked up the tab.

In regards to the wounded, bread riots were the chief cause. It was midwinter, and grain carts were slowing down or going missing en route to Granite. A loaf of moldy brain went for two brass down street, a cup of beer three. It was getting to the point that even Company brothers were getting affected. And we were fed by the Magistrate.

"It's getting too expensive to fuck," Sister complained while he submitted to the usual post-coital exam. I hate my job sometimes. "If this goes on, the ladies will start charging me gold for their nights!"

"Stay still."

"And they don't even serve complimentary drinks anymore," he continued. "Not even a cup of beer to wet the throat after a vigorous tasting of-"

"Stop moving. I'm trying to do science here."

"Would you believe it, Aurelius? Four silvers for a night!"

"Mmhmm." At least you get to go outside for a quickie, you whiny brat. "Okay, looks like there is nothing wrong here." It was a magnificent specimen, if I had to be honest. "Now turn around and bend over." Sometimes, I really hate my job.

Sergeant saved me from having to delve Sister's cistern. "Aurelius, you in here?"

"Yep."

"I was looking for- Dark Mother, tell me if you are in the middle of work."

"Didn't wanna." Suffering is for sharing. I dumped Sister's secondary checkup on Lee, my assistant scrivener in training. "What's shaking?"

"Bakers' Street." He was rather put off after having inadvertently gazed into the nether abyss that did not gaze back. "Lieutenant thinks there's another riot being organised by the rebels."

"He's being paranoid. Poor people go hungry, they fight for bread. That's all there's to it."

"Maybe." Sergeant rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. That meant he was in the process thinking, and thinking sergeants generated more work for the squad. "But those disappearing grain carts."

"Bandits."

"In the middle of winter?"

I shrugged. "Or they're running off to a nicer city down south and living off the food they carry. Enjoying the tropics, the nice brown ladies. Golden sands and blue oceans."

"In the middle of winter."

>>3827544

Blast these meddling NCOs. I couldn't remember having time off since the riots started. He was going to take what little private time I had in his wild goose chase, wasn't he?

This wasn't fair. I didn't even have time for a goddamn wank.

>I stood my ground. "In the middle of winter."

>"Nothing strange is going on," I insisted. "It's just the usual logistical fuckups these kind of cities have. Snow makes the road difficult to navigate."

>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

>>3827545

>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

>>3827545
>>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

lt is manipulating you sarge! why didn't he die at the forest? wait....what?

>>3827545
>>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

>>3827545

>I stood my ground. "In the middle of winter."

>>3827545
>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

>>3827545
>>I stood my ground. "In the middle of winter."

>>3827547
>>3827558
>>3827564
>>3827573

>"So let me guess. Lieutenant happened to drop this hint on you, and now you want to investigate independently even when we aren't on the patrol roster." I snorted. "Let the other squads handle it, old man. We're on break."

His eyes hardened. "Stop thinking with your time schedule for a moment and think. Food supply's still holding for now, but for how long? This threatens the Company, Aurelius. Maybe the whole city. Somebody needs to look into it."

"I am chastened and ashamed," I lied. "The fact remains, that "somebody" doesn't have to be us. Isn't there anyone up for the job in the active roster?"

"Just the knuckleheads from the Stormtrooper corps and two Rangers."

"Rangers. You mean people trained for going on long, vigorous night-time strolls precisely to track or find our imaginary grain abductee-rebels."

"There's no one I trust more than our own squad."

"Oh no you don't. Don't go all "I believe you men" on me. We aren't soldiers. We're mercenaries. I'm not getting paid extra to do even more work." Overtime is a foreign concept for Company Command. Why pay extra incrementally, when you can send people on suicide missions under hazard pay that may never get paid up?

With the utmost reluctance, Sergeant said: "I'll play horsey for your Honey once a week."

I winced, phantom ache coursing through my spine. It had been impossible to find someone as replacement. Dumpling was too small, I didn't dare ask Hood, and Theophilos was too large. You need to be able to stride with legs aside. He was more like... a table.

Honey didn't enjoy riding on tables.

>The barter began. "Five times a week."

>"Ye- no! We aren't doing this. Look outside, Sarge. Look at the weather. Snow and rain and sleet and cats and dogs, for all I know. Does that look like the kind of environment you want to go on a long trek on?"

>>3827597

>The barter began. "Five times a week."
And a Ranger squad so we have someone competent at tracking besides Aurelius, Hood and Sister.

>>3827597
>The barter began. "Five times a week."

He is basically her grandpa, that is, if we needed a father figure, which we don't, since we have no father issues, no sir...not one.

>>3827597
>The barter began. "Five times a week."

This is relationship I want to explore the most Aurelius-Sergeant

>>3827597

>The barter began. "Five times a week."

>>3827622
It's right up there with Hood for me too.

>>3827633
>Lieutenant Obol's suspicions were probably unfounded anyway. It isn't as if we were in potential danger. "Alright. Where do we start?"

>>3827609
>>3827615
>>3827621
>>3827623

Don't get me wrong. It's not like I was doing this because Honey might need a gramps-like figure in her life. Definitely not because I occasionally felt something of a fatherly vibe from him. No, it was for my poor back, pure and simple. Honey was a growing girl. A steady diet of tasteless but nutrious food she'd received since joining the Company as a dependent was filling her out from her former stick-like figure. And that went straight to my back whenever we played horsey. My poor hips...

"Should I call Sister?" I asked. "I think Lee is still in deep."

"I don't need the entire squad," Sergeant said. "I'll be taking Trevain and Hood. The fewer I take, the better it is to slip out of the city unnoticed."

I frowned. "Dumpling is still recuperating?"

"First person I checked."

"That's unusual." It normally took a full day for her to recharge, and our raid was two days ago. But that's magic for you. Unreliable and full of unknowns. She would wake when she wakes. Even so, sorceries are too useful to stop using. "I'd have felt safer with her than without."

"Preaching to the choir. Now wash your hands. I don't want to have a dramatic cliff-hanging moment with you with your hands smelling of Sister's arse."

"I heard that," Sister said. "Eep, your hands are so cold."

"I hate this job," Lee said, his voice as dead as he probably felt.

"Proctological examinations are hands-on by necessity," I shouted over to my soul-crushed apprentice." It is not the most glamorous of a scrivener's duties, but important nonetheless."

"Come take it from my hands, then."

"Sorry, urgent Company business!" I turned to Sarge.

>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

>Lieutenant Obol's suspicions were probably unfounded anyway. It isn't as if we were in potential danger. "Alright. Where do we start?"

>>3827639
>>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

misery, once again!

>>3827639

>Lieutenant Obol's suspicions were probably unfounded anyway. It isn't as if we were in potential danger. "Alright. Where do we start?"

He just said that we need few people to not be noticed

>>3827639
>>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

>>3827643
I'll actually change to

>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

I don't think Sarge will bring them since if he would bring more people he would bring the guys from the squad but the mindset of thinking this is serious is important here instead of dismissing it as baseless suspicion by the LT

>>3827639

>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

>>3827640
>>3827649
>>3827656
>>3827983
>>"Can't we at least have a ranger squad with us?" Suffering is intended to be spread to the greatest number possible. If I was going to be knee deep in meteorological diarrhea that was Granite's weather, I was going to do it with brothers-in-misery.

We squelched into the rain, the twelve of us, making a damned racket that would have been audible if not for the absolute storm of a weather. The rain drowned out any rival sounds and snuffed open-air lights. By night it would be almost pitch-dark.

Sergeant Tanis was not amused at being pulled out of her pre-planned patrol route into this mission. "You're a berk, Iacob. This is no weather for a ranging. I knew your gen-infantry shitbrains were clueless, but not to this extent." Sweet, sweet schadenfreude. Their misery is my silver in the raincloud.

"Thank Aurelius," he replied, diffident. "It was his idea to get your backup." Twelve pairs of vicious eyes pivoted to me. This is dereliction of duty. Sergeants are supposed to be responsible for their squad and their doings.

"That the Goldeneyes I've been hearing about?" she said, eyeing me critically. I wondered what precisely she's heard about.

I launched a preemptive strike. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it. And even if I did, you can't prove it."

Her expression didn't change. "Don't look like much. Bit of a joker, isn't he?"

"Oh," Sarge sighed, "you have no idea."

"Ain't much either," Hood added.

Hey. "I protest that remark."

"Looks better suited to decorate some whorehouse' option for the discerning gentlewomen." I suppose that is a roundabout way of saying I look fuckable. But I had zero interest in getting in bed with the veteran ranger-sergeant, both metaphorically and literally. All rangers, after all, are barking mad. Never plant your polestaff in a madhouse.

She was young for a sergeant. That was because an old ranger is a misnomer. They tend to die quick, which shouldn't be surprising given their role in the Company. Instead of staying safe and sound in the middle of the Company behind ranks of pikes without, crossbows within, rangers go far and ahead in their so-called Ranging, a cool name for crawling in the dirt for fifteen hours a day and getting shot at by local bandits. It's a long standing argument between the rangers and the stormers which corps hold the highest mortality ratio in the Company, based on a technicality where rangers tend to go MIA instead of KIA, unlike stormtroopers, whose corpses are easily distinguishable by their black platebodies when the battle is over.

Those two deserve each other. Arguing over who lose more per month is just macabre.

Then I realised something disconcerting. Wasn't what we were doing right now the very thing that reduced the life expectancy of an average ranger? At least we were the legitimate military force this time around, and didn't have to hide from anyone.

>>3829049
>>I suggested to the sergeants that we should check out the relevant points within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

>>3829046

Dark Mother Below, but this weather was something else.

We left the gate under the ever-suspicious gaze of the magistracy guardsmen, who dawdled longer than necessary in opening the portcullis. If they didn't like us doing their job so much, they should've done it properly in the first place. Generations of privileges had turned the inbred military class into something of a quasi-nobility here, increasingly difficult for the Magister to outright command to actual military duties. They were all parades and shiny helmets and weapons inspections.

Which is why we'd been contracted in. I grudgingly accepted Sarge's explanation. Something fucky was happening on the grain caravans, the result of Granite's fruitful labour in granite exports, and the peacocks weren't about to do anything. The caravans were a product of a collection of ancient trade treaties, engineered centuries ago by the then-Magister of Granite and the grain barons of the surrounding countries.

We scriveners like to augment our records with indigenous writings to diversify our sources, and the current Magister was more than glad to rid himself of musty scrolls and browned parchments. Scrivener Shu crunched the numbers from the mountain of trade records, which showed that the wealthy landlords who ruled the ubiquitous pastoral farm-villages in the rain-fed plains around Granite had at at the start desired great amount of the rock that made the city's name for building sumptuous manors in what can only be called new-money mass hysteria.

In recent months, they were more interested in the flesh trade than granite. Rocks do not expire, unlike slaves. And the farms always demanded fresh workers.

>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

>Slums are unpleasant at the best of times, and we did just bust one of Tench's moderately legal enterprises within the week. "We're hitching a ride with the carts," Sergeant said. Oh, good. I wasn't looking forward to walking in the mud. Travel is a nightmare with mud grabbing your ankles every step of the way.

>>3829054
>>Slums are unpleasant at the best of times, and we did just bust one of Tench's moderately legal enterprises within the week. "We're hitching a ride with the carts," Sergeant said. Oh, good. I wasn't looking forward to walking in the mud. Travel is a nightmare with mud grabbing your ankles every step of the way.

>>3829054

>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

Let's bust some gangs

>>3829058
>>3829054

I change to

>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

>>3829054

>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

>>3829054
>>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

>>3829064
>>3829074
>>3829094
>>3829098

>Based on the link between the slavers and the grain barons, I made a suggestion to the sergeants on checking out the relevant places within Granite itself before embarking on some mad countryside-roaming walksies. That meant a chat with some of the local strongmen who ruled their little slices of gang territories, the main face of the slave trade in Granite.

The name of the Black Company is infamous among the nobility from various misadventures it involved itself with during the centuries of its existence. The citizens of Granite had no way of knowing that, of course, having lived and died here their entire lives without much chance for a relaxing read of the campaigns and wars of some free company. The borders of their lives were measured by feet, not miles.

But three months was enough for them to know blackened armours meant trouble. They scurried out of our way, and we did our best not to antagonise the locals. We weren't going in with cloaks and daggers this time. We were wearing our chainshirts and helms openly, cumbersome cloak traded in for oilskin against the rain. The rangers contented themselves with their usual: black-tanned leather jerkins that was fashionable as all hell compared to the standard uniforms we wore. If I was an author, I would definitely write about a band of intrepid rangers in their handsome black leather and dark, hooded cowls. Side by side, the four of us looked like some kind of nondescript army men scripted to die in the first four minutes of a theatric battle-epic.

Despite our black reputation, we don't go seeking trouble where there need be none. Same reason we weren't knocking down the doors of the slum's gang lords with an army. This was a friendly visit for polite inquiries. The sort of customary It's-been-too-longs and How-do-you-dos, all charming and above-board, not crashed-doors and naked-blades. Gangs were not illegal here, because they formed a crucial part of the economy. The Magistracy did not exactly condone the slave trade, but they sure as hell condoned the profit gained from them, and most of the nobles including the top pretty boy himself had fingers in the putrid pie.

>>3829186


"Our boy Tench has been doing pretty well for himself," Sarge remarked, as we neared the stony building. Tench's home had once been a barracks in the old days when the guardsmen of Granite were less miserly with their time, a precinct-watch where significant detachment of soldiers made headquarters to patrol this part of the city. It served as the base of a different sort of watchmen now.

It was rather nicely retouched. Granite replaced stone pillars stolen away when the Magistracy stopped caring about the poorer districts. It even had glass windows. If that isn't a declaration of confidence in this rotten town, I don't know what is. Glass is expensive, but more importantly, they break very easily. That they were in pristone, uncracked condition said what the locals thought about throwing stones in this direction louder than any warning signposts.

"Lookout for trouble," Sarge said. "Your boys can hide in cities, right?"

"My boys can hide in the fucking moon if you want," Sergeant Tanis replied. "So that's it? You want us staying out in the rain, watching for incoming gangers?"

"Better out than in. It'll be easier for you rangers to fight in the rain dark than inside. Tench's in deep with the nobles back in the Citadel, so do try not to kill anyone."

"Only if you say please." The way they squabbled, you'd think they were married.

While the two sergeants argued in hushed tones, I bummed under an overhang that provided zero protection from the wind-slanted rain. Even with the rainproofed oilskin I was drenched to the bone again. What I wouldn't give for a nice long soak in the thermae right now! Trevain and Hood joined me, crowding what little shadowed space existed.

"You weren't kidding about the dogshit," Trevain said. "They must have a hundred dogs running around here."

"It's from the dogfight rings underground," I told him. "Most of the gang lords run something like them to entertain his underlings. Good money from the gambling as well. The shit they just throw outside, and the rain events them out." High heels were coming into fashion in Granite for a reason. I should buy a pair, I thought, as I stared sadly at my twice-ruined boots.

"Dog-killers and slavers," Hood muttered darkly. "We should just burn this place to the ground."

>"What's the point? Someone else will come by and set up shop again." I like dogs as much as the next guy, but this thing was institutionalised. Not something one count of arson can fix.

>Hood could be a little zealous when it came to the topic of slavery. "This is purely a social visit, not a freedom raid. Don't forget the reason we're here."

>I squinted to the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

I wish I could edit posts right in the thread itself, keep seeing additions and fixes and-
>pristone
Ye gods, I thought I fixed that typo...

>>3829193

>I squinted to the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

Killing dogs

>>3829193
>>I squinted to the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

>>3829193

>I squinted to the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

We should cave in, or use explosives Hood

>>3829209
Before we are set in our decision:

>Gangs were not illegal here, because they formed a crucial part of the economy. The Magistracy did not exactly condone the slave trade, but they sure as hell condoned the profit gained from them, and most of the nobles including the top pretty boy himself had fingers in the putrid pie.

Are you certain?

>>3829213
I was under the impression we were just agreeing with the sentiment, and giving some ideas on how to do it better, not actually going rogue and fucking the place up

>>3829215
Same. I don't think anything is actually suggesting wrecking the place.

>>3829215
Me too
If that option means attacking I change mine here>>3829197 to the second option.
If its just comenting on how it would be nice to kill slavers and dog-killers for a change I keep the 3rd option

>>3829228
>>3829227
>>3829215
Nah, just wanted to sound out whether you meant "Yeah we should torch this place" or "Pretty shitty I know, but them's the breaks"

>>3829193

>I squinted to the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

>>3829197
>>3829198
>>3829209
>>3829345
>I squinted at the grey, clouded sky. "You think a fire would survive Granite's weather?"

"It's not the fire that kills. It's the smoke." What a morbid woman.

"The entire thing is made of stone. It's not going to catch fire very quickly. And even if there was one, they'd just crash out of the windows anyway."

"No one is setting anything on fire," Trevain said. "Now look snappy. Looks like Sergeant just said the magic word."

It was beginning to look like a day of concessions for the poor Sarge. First the four horse-rides a week, and now this humiliation with a colleague. But that is the Sergeant for you. He had a tremendous sense of duty. I hypothesise that he is from a military background - if not a soldier himself, then his family. Nothing else can explain the dogged determination that he radiates. Little wonder that the Captain picks on our squad to do unpleasant things. Yes, that had to be it. Not the hot springs incident.

I suspect Captain still finds a sadistic pleasure in pitting me in unpleasant situations. Was I ever going to live the Incident down? I do not think so. It would take a tragedy like half the Company getting wiped for such an infamous history to be erased. Scrivener Xavier already had the whole event described and written in one of his books. What nicknames will I earn to the later generations of Company brothers? What exaggerated tales of masculine curiosity will scriveners recite in front of campfires late at night on how scrivener Aurelius snuck to a women's bath? It is that mindfulness for our future reputations that make the Black Company a different beast from other, and lesser, free companies. All we leave behind are names and deeds after our personal ends.

Hood was right, in a way. Memories of past brothers are a sort of immortality.

>>3829473

The interior of the barracks-turned-base of operations was more homely than I expected from a crime lord's private dwelling. The floor was cheaply carpeted, and there were signs of recent childs' play. A few wooden blocks, one playing ball, a toy figurine of a soldier.

We took off our boots near the entrance. Servants materialised to clean them of the street gunk that accumulated, going away as quietly as they came. Some of the household goons stood around uneasily. They clearly didn't trust us.

Seated by the large fireplace that crackled with blessed heat, the man himself greeted us with a grandfatherly smile. "Sergeants of the Black Company. What unexpected pleasure. I suppose it would be too much to expect you came to give an apology for the bar you wrecked?"

"Tench. How necessary to see you." Sarge dumped his drenched oilskin without ceremony onto the refurbished flooring. The carpet turned dark as rainwater seeped into the woolen fabric. "I'll take tea. No milk or sugar."

His smile widened even as his bodyguards tensed. "I have always admired that about your familia," he said. "Your recruits, they are men with such balls! Very few are like that in my own family. Alas," he tutted, "the youth of today are nowhere near as enterprising. But men of our occupation need more than balls. We need respect. Or we become nothing but like street rats with weapons, yes. I do not go by that name, not anymore. Friends call me Quirinus." A change from lower-class names to that of Imperial. He was at the stage where he was feeling conscious about his heritage, I supposed. "And I assume you come here with friendly intent."

"Maybe. I definitely didn't come here to talk about your unregistered name change today. It's about your grain carts."

"Hold." He raised a hand. "You've come a long way. From the Citadel, in this weather? Madmen! Not even my sons would make such a journey in the middle of a squall. But I am not doing my duty as host. Come, sit. The servants will bring a table in shortly. Do you drink tuica?"

"Nothing alcoholic," Sergeant replied. I was greatly disappointed.

He sniffed. "Tea it is." For a slave-trader and dog-murderer, he was rather charming. "You foreigners must have such negative impressions of our fair city," he said once the maids had brought in small tables for the four of us, complete with cups of hollowed ivory. Golden-brown water undulated within, piping hot. "But let me assure you, our divine city is nothing so downcast in spring and summer. It is in winter when the thunder goddess' anger fully manifests."

>I took a sip.

>I wrapped my hands around the warmed cup.

>>3829477

>I took a sip.

>>3829477

>I took a sip.

Look knowingly to Trev and Hood, if its poison we can probably survive it, like we did last tine at the restaurant.....wait....when was that again?

>>3829477
>>I took a sip.

>>3829477

>I took a sip.

>>3829477
>I took a sip

>>3829477
>>I took a sip.

>>3829515
>>3829536
>>3829552
>>3829558
>>3829620
>>3829754

>I took a sip.

There was a faintly acrid aftertaste, a minuscule burning of the tip of the tongue. Poison.

I shook my head lightly to the rest of the half-squad. Trevain politely placed the cup back on the table, the liquid untouched. Hood and Sergeant weren't drinking in the first place. It was because of the tea's naturally mild flavour that I was able to detect it so easily. If it had been any kind of heavily flavoured drink, I might have noticed only once the poison started its work. I silently applauded Sergeant's decision not to soil whatever wonderful alcoholic vintage Tench might have had. Maybe I could grab the bottle of whatever it is he was offering earlier after this was over. If I was alive, that is.

Sergeant's irritation went up a notch at the clumsy assassination attempt. "Trouble with your caravans, Tench? Rivals snatching your drivers away in the night, maybe?"

His smile had faded when he noticed my cautioning. The goons inched ever closer, subtly blocking the area between us and the exit. "Internal matter," he said indulgently. "Nothing for you to be concerned with."

"The Below it isn't," he growled. "We have to deal with the riots that your shortages cause. What's the problem this time? Not enough slaves to sell? Sabotage? You wouldn't try to short the market to make some quick bucks, would you, Tench?"

The underworld boss' temper was starting to show. "You come into my house. Soil my carpet. Insult me and call me a name that I long ago disavowed. Have you come to die, Sergeant?" I quickly began taking stock of our surroundings. Nine thugs, probably armed. No long blades or heavy cudgels. Knives?

Sergeant continued without even blinking. "Not from your tea, that's for sure. Would you care for a sip? A taste of your own hospitality."

He didn't. "Don't leave any of them alive," he commanded his bodyguards, leaping to his feet to run upstairs with surprising agility for his age. A lifetime of street wars must have kept him quick. Daggers came into play, glinting in the fireside, as they unsheathed in unison from whatever hidden places the gang's sicarii had hidden them in.

>I ran in pursuit through the ranks of his goons, heedless of the knives and daggers.

>Immediately, I ran to Sergeant's defence. He was already being surrounded by the goons.

>Knife-versus-knife combat tends to go ugly for all combatants involved. I lept to Hood's side, intent on partnering up with her in the ensuing melee.

>Trevain's side was the safest place in that room for me. The consummately skilled swordsman could easily deal with two of the sicarii at once, maybe even three. Every man for himself. Why did Sergeant have to provoke the old man so much?

>>3831103

>I ran in pursuit through the ranks of his goons, heedless of the knives and daggers.

>>3831123
>>3831121
Changing

>>3831103

>Knife-versus-knife combat tends to go ugly for all combatants involved. I lept to Hood's side, intent on partnering up with her in the ensuing melee.

Trev will do a better job defending sarge, and what the fuck was he thinking?

>>3831103
>>Knife-versus-knife combat tends to go ugly for all combatants involved. I lept to Hood's side, intent on partnering up with her in the ensuing melee.


fuuuuck

>>3831103

>Knife-versus-knife combat tends to go ugly for all combatants involved. I lept to Hood's side, intent on partnering up with her in the ensuing melee

She is the one in a worse situation I think, hopefuly we can get everyone alive and out of here

Guys, we have to catch him before he escapes

>>3831175
He ran upstairs, he's not going in any tunel or something, and if he goes outside we have a dozen Rangers waiting. I'm more worried in getting everyone one here out of this alive.
I trust that Sarge has some kind of plan or signal to the rangers for backup, maybe break one of those expensive looking windows

>>3831125
>>3831149
>>3831172

>Knife-versus-knife combat tends to go ugly for all combatants involved. I lept to Hood's side, intent on partnering up with her in the ensuing melee.

Based on her ever-present scowl, this magnificent moment of gallantry went unappreciated. But there was little time for any scathing remarks as we quickly found ourselves driven to a corner, back against back. "Had to rely on a woman to keep your arse safe?" she taunted. I stand corrected. She just couldn't resist, could she?

We were being needled here, the furnitures meant to inspire a homely aura now turning to deadly obstacles. Child's toys squished underneath, unbalancing and eliciting pain. A man has not known true fear until he has experienced the second right before stepping on a tiny, yet seemingly indestructible, toy of many sharp edges. I would have given my left pinky for the protection my shit-stained boots could have afforded my feet in that moment.

Four against two, their knives spun in street-wisened chaos. In such enclosed settings, their lack of reach actually turned advantageous. They'd fought in such unorganised mess before, and in the obstruction of interior settings. Nothing like the brave, but ultimately suicidal rebels, these men. They were well-fed and quite up to the task in duking out against Black Company brothers. There was a breaking of glass. I did not have to turn my head to see the rangers were coming in (in their typical dramatic fashion), which was just as well, as I had not even the necessary half-second to look elsewhere. I stabbed blindly, all coherence lost in thought from the pain emanating from my left toe. Someone fell with a scream and a heavy thud. It wasn't Hood. Thank the gods. Then the rain-slicked carpet turned. I lost my footing.

>>3831198

For all the tomfoolery that mimers and thespians make of war, the very middle of a pitched mêlée make terrible stages. Each breath of air expelled and inhaled can make or break a fighter's stamina in any given moment. Thus, the experienced combatant makes use of natural lulls mid-battle to regain his breath and the strength to swing his blade. Screams and death-threats are gambles intended to draw the opponent into similar feats of wasteful emptying of lungs.

Hood knew this. It was the reason the Emperor's True Legions were ever silent in the undertaking of their often grim tasks. It is why they are referred to as ghostly warriors. Silent in combat, silent in victory. No triumphant shield-bashers they, those Bloodbound who'd sworn eternal vigilance against the enemies of the Emperor. The way they meandered through a broken field of battle scything through the wounded and the pretend-dead inspired dread and disgust by friend and foe alike.

Yes, Hood must have known. Her island had been destroyed by their like, after all. But merely knowing is not enough. It is a quietude that needs to be drilled and trained over years of life-threatening battle. Even the Black Company was nothing as still in battle as the infamous Legions of old, never mind the modern legions, pale shadows of that sorcerous army of ages past. It is almost natural for humans to shout in defiance when death stares at them in the form of chaotic clashing of swords, the bashing of shields against arms.

And yet, despite knowing its costly nature, Hood uttered those unfortunate syllables: "Aurelius, you clumsy little shit-"

At least I didn't shout as I fell.

>Flat-footed Fighter, Distracted Archeress - 3 d100

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>3831201

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>3831201

>>3831205
>42
the answer to everything

Rolled 66 (1d100)

>>3831201

>>3831216
Can we use the gladius Reroll if this is above the dc?
I'd rather not be disarmed

>>3831220
This isn't a combat roll but a concentrated slip-and-fall one, so gladius bonus won't count

>>3831225
Oh, I see, let's see if the 42 holds and the double doesn't fuck us too badly

>>3831205
>>3831208
>>3831216
>1 Success
>The Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything is Despair

I am ashamed to say that I closed my eyes, so certain was I that this was the end of the road. My life didn't flash before my eyes. There wasn't a life to remember. Oh, I could think of plenty of vistas that I'd seen; the gentle sloping hills that lined the Imperial Road that led to Khorasan beyond the Golden Pass; the strange, fetid air that seemed to glimmer with pollen and fungal matter at the edge of the jungles of Nanman; the faces of the fourty-odd Parthic merchants that journeyed with me for the better part of a year on a course to the Peninsular Kingdoms to the northeast. This was it, Aurelius. A sharp pinprick in the chest, and it'll be over.

Instead of a prickle, I felt a trickle. Something warm seeped into my chest, through my shirt of chain and underclothes. Not my blood. I opened my eyes into hers. Hood lay over me, clutching desperately against my overshirt. She was ruining the tabard with the Company insignia, but I hardly noticed that at that moment. Even on the black fabric, the deep wine-dark spread of blood was very much visible.

"Can't even stand straight," she mumbled. "You useless..."

Aurelius: Healthy
>Combat = +23DC [Healthy +5DC, Skilled +2DC, Unnatural Prowess +6DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Chainshirt +5DC]
>Armour Value = 25AV [Chainshirt +10AV, Iron buckler +5AV, Roundhelm +10AV]

VS

Tench's Henchman: Injured
Tench's Lackey: Healthy
>Combat = 20DC [Injured +0DC, Street-wise +3DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Combat Knife +6DC, Lackey +6DC]

Personal Combat 53DC
>3 1d100

Rolled 60 (1d100)

>>3831251
so, what just happened?

AV is 20, not 25

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>3831251

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>3831251
That escalated quickly

So it was one success and she took a hit for us? Not life ending I hope?

>>3831264
>Not life ending I hope?
God I hope not for a roll we actually passed

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>3831259
rolling av for us I imagine right?

>>3831273
fear not anon, hood is tough, but she is out of the fight I think
I'm scared as fuck, hold me, I was not prepared to see her hurt

>>3831290
my heart is tight anon, waiting is making me anxious as fuck, we'll have to nurse her back to health if we both get out of this as thanks for the save.

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>3831251
Oh geez

>>3831256
>>3831262
>>3831264
>>3831290
>1 Success
>AV failed

Thank Trevain that I only had two fucks jumping for my neck.

He charged into my view - swordpoint front, free hand back. Noble swordsmanship does not teach for handling more than one opponent, because noble swordsmen assume the opponent would be similarly blue-blooded and bound by traditions. Fair play and sportsmanship. What bloody nonsense. You don't call for an umpire once you get hilted up to your throught by a sicarius. But Trevain was good. A standing swordsman who'd taken three of theirs presented more of a threat than a bleeding woman and the man under her, both prone.

I threw Hood away from me - her head knocked against the table leg, making me wince. That saved her from getting another stabbing that'd been aimed at her spine. Sadly, that left me undefended. Twin daggers descended on my undefended body like vultures lured to a corpse. Oh, they were vicious. And definitely knew what they were doing. This was their job, you know. They went around terrorising locals for protection money and led gang wars with a mix of charisma and personal skill. Theirs was a position earned with blood and violence. Tench's own lieutenants.

Through pain-clouded eyes I could see that we weren't without losses. At least two rangers were down. Idiots. Wearing leather instead of metal. Sergeant was swearing like a sailor out of sight with frustration and surprise. He hadn't expected an outright attack. This is why paranoia is an essential skill for every NCO. You can't get surprise attacked if you are constantly on the lookout for the damned things.

My stomach was in tatters. Given the way I felt like it was burning, the stomach acids had burst into the rest of the body. That was going to be messy to fix. I heaved, vomiting water and digestive fluid on the floor. The two attackers were already turning to unconscious Hood, leaving me for dead.

I would have laughed, if it wouldn't have made me vomit again. Rookie fucking mistake. "Should've made sure," I coughed in to the ear of the astonished gangster. Into the other ear I sheathed my dagger #2. I think I am owed a badass comeback comment even if it isn't, strictly speaking, professional.

That got the attention of the henchman. He flipped his combat dagger blade-point down and assumed a boxer's pose as I staggered back to my feet.

Aurelius: Wounded
>Combat = +13DC [Wounded -5DC, Skilled +2DC, Unnatural Prowess +6DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Chainshirt +5DC]
>Armour Value = 20AV [Chainshirt +10AV, Roundhelm +10AV]

VS

Tench's Henchman: Injured
>Combat = 14DC [Injured +0DC, Street-wise +3DC, Dirty Fighting +5DC, Combat Knife +6DC]

Personal Combat 49DC
>3 1d100

>>3831488
2, because 2 opponents

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>3831491
well, let's do this again

>>3831496
makes sense

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>3831491

Ignore this comment, just trying to see if I can italicise mid-word

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>3831491

>>3831509
Finally, a positive double crit

>>3831499
>>3831505
>>3831509
>2 Success
>Double Crit - Enemy Disarmed

He circled me once. I turned with him to remain face to face, shaking all the while. The torso is the container for your most vulnerable bits. Organs. Stomach, liver, lungs, intestines... fuck, that excretous smell better be from those maids cleaning my boots. If intestines were affected, that was game over. Germs would explode through the entirety of your body. Gangrenous rot would begin to form as the body's organs started shutting down, overwhelmed by the deluge of very literal shit. I should be dead already. The only thing keeping me alive was adrenaline and a curse. Felt like I'd been here before.

Real professional, this guy. He didn't even react to the colour of blood pouring from my innards, as gold as Croesus' hands. If he had, if he'd just looked at my bleeding stomach for a second, that would have made things easier. Eyes are the windows of the soul. Look away and you lose the premonitive tells before the movements.

He swung first. He could have waited, let me go weaker and weaker as more of what constituted me and mine joined the floor in a tangy puddle. But his guys were losing, badly - outnumbered, if not outmatched. So he rushed. Came in with the classic one-two, left hand fake, right hand jab. Left was the one with the dagger. I was forced to pay attention to it.

I met blade against blade. He fumbled, lost control of the one dagger he had. The loss dismayed him, slowed his reflex enough that I could evade the real attack that was the righthand hook. Then I summoned up all the strength still left in my stringless marionette of a body and arced my knifehand up. Right where Adam-u's apple meets Ishtaroth's nape. He gurgled twice. I think they were both names. A lover, a child. Or maybe it was just a curse. Give me a wistful death with the names of loved ones any day. Dying with anger and rage and frustration - that's just too fucking sad. No way to end your road.

He fell forward, took me down with him to the floor. I banged my head against a corner of the table. Cerebral concussions. Just what I needed. The world wobbled and shook lightly. The floor was gently swaying. Like I was on a ship. The sound of ocean waves rushed into my ears.

A figure slapped me from the lull. "Don't fall asleep, Goldeneyes." I tried. It was that redhead. What was her name? Tanis. Sergeant's sweetheart.

I attempted speech. Tried to get the words out of my mouth, get my lungs to blow the air through my bile-filled throat.

>"What took you so long?" I said sarcastically.

>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal.

>Sergeant, was he alright? He was one versus two, before I fell and Hood was wounded and I started puking blood.

>Mother...

>>3831557

>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal.

She took one for us, help her sexond sarge

>>3831557
>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal.

point if we have to

>>3831557

>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal

If sarge was down she'd have gone for him

>>3831557
>>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal.

>>3831557

>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal

>>3831581
>>3831582
>>3831596
>>3831599
>>3831611

>Get Hood first, I wanted to say. She'd gotten stabbed in the back. Must make sure it isn't spinal.

"Crispin, check the girl for spinal injuries," she shouted at her squad scrivener. There was an affirmative. "I think this one's going to die, though."

"He's been through worse," Trevain said. I could almost see him shrug.

"I'll sleep it off," I croaked. "Be good as new."

"Ah. This the famous godsblood they talk about? It's beautiful. I wish mine were half as pretty."

Stab your stomach two and three times, miss, I wanted to reply. See how much you care about the colour of your blood then. But I didn't. It was far too much effort to talk, even with my unnatural body somehow reconstituting itself. I have been told the process is rather gruesome to look at. One of the rangers vacated his bowels after getting a look at the squirming innards that could be glimpsed through numerous stab wounds.

But that was no concern of mine. I half-crawled, half-dragged myself to where Hood lay. Crispin was trying to remove the chainshirt, doing a bad job at it. He's a fine scrivener. Specialises in medicines. But he served ranger squads most of his life. Man did not know how to undo the snaps.

"Lemme," I said. My voice was cracking from the stomach acids that had vacated through the throat earlier. "Water?"

He handed me a flask, which I gratefully accepted. The water soothed my burned throat for a second as they passed down, after which the pain flared, though more subdued now. I could hear the water settle into my ruined somach, then spill outside. Curious sensation, that. "Thanks. Give me something sharp."

"You shouldn't be moving," young Crispin admonished. I gave him the finger. He sighed, handed me his scalpel. I snipped through her tabard, then expertly dechained her shirt with a speed that came from almost a year of experience in battlefield chirurgy, burrowing through the layers of armour and cloth (soaked red through) to reveal toned flesh. I sighed in relief. My lungs rattled. "Not the spine. Just needs the bleeding stopped and cleaned." Her ribs were probably nicked, but that could be dealt with later when she wasn't leaking blood so profusely.

"Go rest," Crispin said firmly. "I'll handle this."

>"No."

>"Okay."

>>3831735

>"Okay."

But stay there and watch him work to be sure, just intervenene if he fucks up somehow, let's keep our shit filled blood away from her wound if we can help it.

>>3831735
Okay

>>3831755
If this is possible I agree, otherwise say No and stay there

>>3831755
>>3831761

But I kept an eye out, just in case.

It was excruciating. Every wound has its unique bite, but the sensation of stomach bile trying to digest your own insides is quite the something. Oddly enough, I didn't feel as though this was my first time experiencing this particular type of wound. I must have been into serious shit before I became a vagrant, then a Company man. Sleep would have been good. Keep me unconscious until most of the body reformed itself, skip the pain and the not-quite-pains of feeling your skins knit themselves back together, bones snap back into place.

Oh, and there was also the sound. It didn't affect me too much, but the others were clearly uncomfortable with the orchestra of organic undulation coming mostly from my stomach.

"Check the head," I advised. "She hit it particularly hard when I threw her off me." Crispin was not a full scrivener yet, which was partly why I was so anxious. Ranger squads don't live long enough to warrant experienced scriveners. We're a valuable resource, you know.

"Hell, Aurelius," Crispin grumbled. "She your fucking girlfriend or something? Just go to sleep already."

>"What? No! What?! How dare you, I have standards!"

>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

>"You're not even rated for surgeries, you cheeky fuck," I grunted. "Do as your elder says or I'll tell Bantam you should be held back for a year."

>>3831783

>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

Damn we both would be dead

>>3831783

>"You're not even rated for surgeries, you cheeky fuck," I grunted. "Do as your elder says or I'll tell Bantam you should be held back for a year."

Indignant fury!

>>3831783

>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

I hope she is hearing us not deny It.

>>3831783

>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

I would pick the first but that "standards" talk threw me off

>>3831783
>>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

>>3831783
>"You're not even rated for surgeries, you cheeky fuck," I grunted. "Do as your elder says or I'll tell Bantam you should be held back for a year.

>>3831796
>>3831815
>>3831845
>>3831877

>"You are lucky she's unconscious and didn't hear you say that," I told him seriously. "She'd have gone for your throat with one of her arrows."

He shook his head. "You Infantry are nuts."

"Nuts, sir." Scriveners have their own internal ranks. It may not count as anything official in the rosters of Company brethren, and certainly, they do not get you anything extra in terms of pay. But the order of scriveners is an ancient and hallowed affair, composed of men who graduated above the ordinary knuckleheads who could kill and be killed. We are the medicine men, the scribes, both writers and keepers of the records of the Black Company known collectively as the Annals.

"Sir," Crispin added. Then he said, "You sure you aren't her bedfellow?"

"Never even thought about it," I lied.

-=-

For all the efforts of Tanis' squad, Tench got away. He knew the city better than us. In the following days, Captain had Ephraim and Brennan's platoons dismantle his strongholds in Granite. The Citadel gained a couple hundred new inmates for her dungeon. Many of them were marked for later sale. We even got his grandchildren. He'd been too much in a rush to disappear himself. Confident that his enforcers would have taken care of us, I think. It was a close thing, too.

But that wasn't nearly enough people, considering the size of the criminal boss' operations. And with the dismantling of one of the major crime lords, so too went the stream of slaves. Other gangs tried to make up for the deficit, but it was going to take time.

"Perhaps it is time you took a proactive approach in human resource acquisitions," the Magistrate said. I dutifully wrote what he said down. I was just here in a secretarial role, recording the discussion for posterity. One of the negatives of unnatural regeneration - you go back to work that much quickly.

Captain flat out refused. "We're not here to raid for slaves."

"Why not? It is one of the historic aspectst of war. Rape, Loot, Enslave. The Three Pillars that make up what you mercenary types do."

"Not for the Company." Join the Black Company. We have Morals. Sort of. "And our contract called for bodyguard duties, so I can - and will - refuse."

>>3831960

"You are the most difficult woman I have ever met. But that makes you all the more... desirable." I coughed politely to remind him I was still here. "Be that as it may," he said, throwing me an irritated look, "the continued existence of Granite relies on the Trade." He said the last word carefully. Euphemisms are such useful things, aren't they? They have the ability to relabel things we may find detestful, or in the case of the Magister and the rest of his cronies, "dishonourable". Not that that's stopped them from partaking in the profitable pie. "And a threat against Granite is a threat against myself. I order you to consolidate the farmlands around the city."

Captain didn't budge. "I'll have to talk with my lieutenants."

"Fine. But don't take too long. And on a more personal note, my... Invitation is still open, despite your Difficulties." Brrr. If only he would shroud his intent as well as he did his words.

"Well, Aurelius?" Captain said when we were alone, looking over the notes I'd made. "Happy with your decision?"

I blanked. We had something of a rapport, after the events that happened during our stay in the north. I'd extricated her now husband from some sticky situation. I was one of the few low-rankers who could dare talk to her without her proper honourifics. "My decision?"

"You told me not to accept an extension with Prefect Varus' contract. Even used your one-time favour for it."

I frowned, thinking. I didn't remember making that decision. Or spending that favour. Or having had a favour in the first place. "Did I really do that?"

"You must have hit your head too hard on that raid five days ago," she chuckled. "Of course you did. You were hysterical. Insisted on not marching through the Forest and everything." Huh. One of the things my Medicines obliterated, perhaps. "Three more months of this moron, and our contract expires. But Granite has been good for us," she said thoughtfully. "Little in way of casualty, steady pay. I think I can get the Magister to pay up for another year."

>"I'm not sure I trust that creep to keep his hands to himself for yet another year," I said. Aurelius, champion of women's right not to get sexually harassed. "Will you and Yesugei be alright?"

>"If you say so," I said. I wasn't exactly thrilled. But it beat being on the field twenty-four seven. "Reckon I should buy some property here? Seeing as we're aiming to be here for the long haul."

>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.

>>3831965

>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.

And the guy wants us to slave raid

>>3831965
>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.


did we get any news from that Varus guy from the forest?

>>3832003
No reason you would, Granite is far from Rainless and all that northern nonsense and the Empire is very, very big

>>3831965

>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.

>>3832015
I was hoping we could say "I told you so" once again

>>3831965
>>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.
Good in the short term bad in the long term.
Also maybe bring up the first point as well. It'll be messy if the Prefect eventually tries something stupid and shit goes down.

>>3832040
Good point

>>3831965

>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.

>>3831987
>>3832003
>>3832026
>>3832040
>>3832062
>"I'm not sure that's a good idea. We're growing soft with steady diet and soft beds here." It pained me to admit it, but the edge that kept the brothers of the black in top shape was slipping, despite regular drills from bored sergeants. You could see it in Sergeant failing to trigger his paranoia-sense. Garrison duties were turning us into sentries.

Of course the alternative was war. Forces marches under cover of darkness, half-rations, quarter-rations, battlefield surgeries. But the Black Company has survived all these centuries not by pussyfooting around behind walled citadels. It is those trials and tribulations through which we graduated that kept us on our toes, made us survivors.

I am certain I will change my tune once we see combat again. I am not a brave man. But the Company was slowly beginning to disintegrate. We were far too used to war to ever become comfortable civilians.

Used? No. You can never get used to war, not really. But we acclimatised the way an octopus did in a bow of gradually heating water, until it boiled. We were adapted to war, until the moment it killed us. Yet were we to be robbed of that deadly temperature, we would feel ill and at unease. It's Catch-22. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I do not blame the Company for my life choices. I'd already been a soldier - fatherly issues and all - long before I joined. On what outfit, I cannot for the life of me remember. Perhaps it is just as well.

Captain dismissed me without further comment. I could see she was deep in thought. I left her like that, near fleeing from the aura of piled up responsibilities that she radiated. To have to balance the lives of men on one hand, and the reputation of the Company in the other, nevermind the financial prerogatives and such - it's too much for one person. That is why no one ever volunteers to be Captain. No one fit to be one, anyway.

Going to sleep for now

Forced*

>>3832179
thanks so much for running, I must say, this thread feels way nicer.

>>3832197
In what ways? Now I'm really going to sleep

>>3832201
the writing, aurelius's humor, pacing, the suspense too, it was very nice, thanks and have sweet dreams

>>3832179
Thanks for running, on the bright side, now we got to change Hood's bandages instead of looking up Sister's arsehole

>>3832179

-=-

"Maybe I should grab Bantam or Wink," I said uncertainly to a bandaged Hood. The bound cloth hugged her muscled torso well. Too well. Scriveners serve both sexes regardless of the gender of the medician, but patients could request one outside their squad, if they felt uncomfortable. I certainly did not do checkups of more invasive natures on the women of the squad.

Hood wasn't having it. "Don't be such a baby," she rasped. She just wanted to get it over with so she could go back to sleep.

I placed a hand on her brow. She didn't even resist. That was as big a warning sign as the pearl beads of perspiration that was wetting her pillow. "You have a mild fever. Have you been drinking your medicines?" The archeress nodded. "Might be the knives were made septic." Mix shit and urine and gauze the product thinly against your knife and voila, you have a Knife +1. "I'll, uh, need to undo the bandages to check on the wounds' progress."

She nodded again, meek as Merry.

>"Thanks for back then," I mumbled...

>"We've been missing your archery skills," I told her...

>"Crispin thought I was your boyfriend," I began mindlessly chattering...

>>3833947
>>"Thanks for back then," I mumbled...

>>3833947

>"Thanks for back then," I mumbled...

Time to apply golden blood to the wound! Kek, she would freak out.

>>3833947

>"Thanks for back then," I mumbled...

>>3833965
>>3834021
>>3834034
>"Thanks for back then," I mumbled...

...as I began unwounding the bounded cloth. It was changed daily, but already it was reeking of pus and old blood, a unique mixture of aroma that is immediately recogniseable to any scrivener worth his two-bits. This wasn't a good sign. There was infection.

"Hmph," she grunted. I couldn't see her face, checking her back as I were. I surreptitiously nicked my thumb, deep enough that the wound won't immediately close. I let the golden droplets fall freely to her naked back, smearing them onto the entry wounds. To Hood's credit, she didn't cry out in pain, though she paled her knuckles. By the time I was done though, the smell was significantly eased and her fever visibly better, already starting to go down. Abomination I may be, but there are some useful things packed in this strange and unnatural body of mine. Antiseptic blood with little to no transfusion reaction is one of them. It's like I was intended to be a soldier.

"We're square," she said simply as I bandaged her. "I heard from Trevain. You got me out of the way of the attackers and took them yourself. So there is no life debt or anything stupid like that between us, clear?"

"Crystal." I hesitated. "Why did you do it?"

"It was an accident."

"Or maybe it was love-"

"Choose your next words very carefully."

"-of a brotherly sort, because we're all brothers in the Company."

She lay back on her side, favouring her injured back, face away from me. "Go away, Aurelius. I need to sleep."

Her ear was red. She wasn't so indifferent about having had her body exposed like that, after all. But why not call for a woman scrivener if she was bothered by it? Pride, maybe. Many of the female brothers did not like to stand out by dint of their sex, even though some things were just physical realities and said nothing against their own performances as combatants.

Women. You can't live with them, you can't live without 'em.

-=-

INTERMISSION
Or
The Calm Before the Storm

>A Civilian Calm
Aurelius/Honey/Sergeant

>A Friend's Invitation to Hang Out and Nothing More Than That
Aurelius/Dumpling

>Scrivener's Scribal Duties
Aurelius/Xavier/Lee (male)

>Men's Night Out
Aurelius/Theophilos/Trevain/Sergeant

>>3834085
this is me

>>3834085
>>A Friend's Invitation to Hang Out and Nothing More Than That
Speaking of which Shamaness still around?

>>3834106
She's part of HQ doing sorcerer stuff, mostly warding off voodoo curses and trying to look-see around Granite to catch Tench with Wasp and Shade

>>3834085

>A Civilian Calm

Horseys and absolutely no issues or parent digure replacement

>>3834085

>Men's Night Out
Aurelius/Theophilos/Trevain/Sergeant

This should be fun