Our protagonists, all drawn together by the weave of faith, find themselves in The Alabaster City. The city got it's name from the numerous alabaster quarries that exist miles away from the city. The coastal port of the city became a hub of trade, of not only the valuable alabaster that is mined and brought in almost every day, but of many other products and goods. If Tysea is the brain of the Tysus Kingdom, then The Alabster City is it's heart - it's life blood. As Tysus is the overland link between the Jadelyn Empire and the various countries and kingdoms south of Tysus, there is a huge diversity of different peoples both in this city, and all around Tysus.

Much of the city is, as you can guess, built from the white alabaster. The lower parts of the buildings, however, are gray-ish from dirt, smoke, and corrosion. The higher buildings, however, kept their white gleaming shine, but only on the higher floors. As you get farther from the city center, you can notice buildings made out of regular stone and wood. A huge wall of alabaster weaves around the perimeter of the city, with three gates. One on the north, east, and south. The garrison of the city make their rounds around the walls, wearing their red Tysus surcoats.

The most noticeable thing concerning The Alabaster City on this faithful day, however, is the small fleet of military dromons anchored at port. Extremely faded on some of the ships, the sigil of the Fifth Echelon mercenaries is still slightly visible. Signs of black charred wood remains on some of the ships, quickly being repaired. You can't help but notice that the damage looks as if it came from mage fire.



Although the port is, indeed, enormous, the city does not seem too happy with the appearance of this fleet. The less space they have at their pier, the slower the loading and unloading of trade goods.

You arrive at a large booth, set up at the seaport, in the vicinity of the anchored fleet. A large line, filled with a variety of people, including broke gamblers, alcoholics, excited, risk seeking teenagers, and mangled, scarred ex-soldiers, is standing. An interesting mix - half are those who have no choice but to leave their dark past behind by signing up, and then those that are willingly doing it in order to see the rest of the world.

It is finally your turn to come up to the recruiter. An interesting fellow: an eye missing, as well as one arm. He doesn't seem too happy with his life, although you wouldn't be either if you were in his position. No wonder they put him here, this might be the only thing he is useful for.

Angrily mumbling something you can't quiet hear over the raucous coming from the line behind you, he hands you over a piece of parchment and a quill. Ah... The contract.

Name:
Age:
Sex:
Height:
Squad Role:
Appearance:
Origin:
Background:
Skills:
Reason for joining the Fifth Echelon:
Other information:

The signature below, hereby, signs up _______ under the service of the Fifth Echelon Mercenary Host, for a period of three months.
______ is allowed to freely leave before the three months, after being paid for the amount he or she served, only after the first major engagement.
4 Silver coins a week of service. Bonus coinage or rewards may be given depending on quality of service or performance during engagements.
Signature: ________

After all the recruitment papers are given in, everybody is asked to return to the booth the next day, where the recruiter will assemble squads.

-------The Next Day---------
Hunter stood in the huge crowd of people by the pier, once again examining the Fifth Echelon ships. The mercenaries were not given barracks big enough to use, so the majority of the ships weren't even docked at the pier, but anchored a bit farther away. The Fifth Echelon soldiers on those boats were leaning against the railing, looking at the new batch of mercenaries that are about to be recruited in.

A different recruiter, this one actually has an arm, stood up on a large wooden crate, holding a book of parchment in his hands.

“OKAY! Listen up you ugly bastards; I’m going to start listing the squads. The first person listed will be the Sergeant; he will receive the Fifth Echelon sigil pins that he must hand out to his squad. As I say your name, you come up to this side of the wooden crate, and meet with your Sergeant. Once I start naming another squad, I don’t want to see you by the wooden crate! We are leaving the city tonight, meaning we are meeting here in a bell (a bell is an hour, half a bell is thirty minutes, etc..) in order to get everyone on the ships.”

He starts listing the companies and squads, until he gets to…

“2nd LEGION, 5TH COMPANY, 9TH MARINE SQUAD! Sergeant of this squad will be Fyn Hunter”

Hunter shook his head as he began approaching the wooden crate. He gave up on leading men, never again does he want to live through seeing his men butchered.

“I’m sorry, I can’t take that title in the squad,” started Hunter as he got to the wooden crate.

“We don’t care what you think, SERGEANT, you are what we say you are. Its either that or I’m ripping this contract up…”

Hunter scratched his blonde beard. I need this contract… I don’t have enough coin to last for more than a week in this city. But Oponn’s luck, to be given a Marine squad… It seems like a fateful coincidence.

After some thought he quickly nodded his head and took the twelve sigils. Eleven crescents, and a twelfth crescent which was ‘thicker.’ Hunter assumes Fifth Elechon ranks go by how close the sigil is to a full moon, the fuller the moon the higher the rank of the officer. He clipped the thicker one onto the chest of his dark leather armor.

“NOW, YOUR SQUAD, 2nd LEGION, 5th COMPANY, 9th consists of the following soldiers - Merek Harclay, Zyre le Maitr, Iver Magsin, Jayda Wolf, Viktor, Sean Uidhir, Xavier Hawthorne, Tal Etai, Cynric, Ana Valerius, Acele Gvene”

Hunter took a look at the group of men and women making their way to the crate. Damn tough looking squad… For sure. Those two got the look of heavies… Oh and that one HAS to be a sapper, just look at her! She’s probably strapped with a cusser already.

The Sergeant accosted the squad as all eleven were at the crate.

“We have a bell until we have to be back here… You heard what the recruiter said, we can’t stand and loiter here, so let’s head to the tavern not far from here.”

_____________________________

The tavern keeper quickly cleared a large table for the marines, (although we have different roles in the squad, since we are a marine squad we can collectively be called marines) and per Hunter’s instruction brought in several huge jugs of ale. The sergeant put the eleven sigil pins on the middle of the table, only now noticing that some of them still had dried blood on them. These were definitely taken from the dead bodies from the last engagement the Fifth Echelon took part in…

“Hood’s arse… They could’ve at least washed them... Anyway, these are going to be your sigils, each one of you should pick one up.”

Hunter sat down at the head of the table, and looked at his squad one more time, left to right.

“I am Fyn Hunter. I’m guessing that’s Sergeant Hunter now. If you’re not happy about that, guess what? Neither am I.”

Hunter picked up one of the ale jugs and began pouring himself a hefty amount.

“ I fought in the Jadelyn War, was Captain in the Jadelyn 1st Army. To make the long story short, times change, coups take place, some woman decided she wants to be an Empress, and so now I’m sitting before you in this shitty establishment and half assed predicament. The 1st Army began this marine unit organization, and it’s something I have experience with. Let’s work together, cover each other backs, listen to my advice, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll all get out of this alive.”

The Sergeant picked up his mug of ale and began chugging it down, finishing the whole thing before looking back up at his squad.

“Now, how about each one you introduce themselves. Ya know, what you’re good at? Why you’re here? Who you are?”

Merek stepped into the tavern just after his new Sergeant. He stepped to the side to let the rest of the group in while a space was cleared for them, in the meantime he looked around the tavern, scoping it out to some extent. It wasn't a very 'nice' or good looking establishment, but what tavern that isn't filled with pansies is all that 'nice'. Most of the occupants of the bar were fishermen, no one was really drinking this early on in the day unless they were unemployed or off for the day. A few other groups of marines could be spotted dotted around the bar, but they were mostly those yet to be put into a group who were taking a quick swig before they had to meet their new commanding officer.

He sat at the table across from, Hunter. He poured a small amount of the ale into the rather grimy mug provided for him and took a swig before listening to his sergeants rather 'enthralling tale' of his life and the small fragment of what could have been added to some momentous and awe inspiring final speech made by some commander right before his face was shot with an arrow and his army was killed by the opposing force. The mental image didn't add a whole lot to Merek's overall mood to be honest. The mention of the Jadelyn war did seem a bit interesting though, he had heard about it during a stay in a tavern in Lacomyn and from the tone of the sergeants voice, it obviously didn't go well for the Jadelyn 1st army.

He looked about the group to see who would take over after, Hunter, after a short while Merek decided to pipe up and give them his life story.
"My name is ser Merek Harclay of Mountmend.", He said 'ser' with the sort of snide tone he would have spoken it with about nobles before he was actually made one.
"I grew up on a farm and then met some bloke who knew a bit about swords. Long story short, he took me on a few whimsical adventures and taught me how to use a sword. Most of what I learned about actually using a sword is from first-hand experience though, I was in a different army a few years ago, but left and done a wee bit of mercenary work on the side when I was heading back up to Mountmend." He took another drink before continuing.
"Turns out some barbarian scumbags ransacked the village and the noble overseeing my village was too busy fighting some other war to send a few troops down to save the little folk. I gathered a few of the remaining men and attacked the barbarians myself just before I went to go and have a word with the noble. Turns out the noble was so grateful of my work that he gave me a small sack of gold and the honourary privilege of being called a ser." He sort of motioned towards the torn and slightly burnt flag bearing the sigil of a blue lion hanging by a thin piece of string on his cloak.
"Joined Echelon because to be frank, farming is about as exciting as watching grass grow for a living, literally and fighting is just about the only thing I know how to do to a somewhat good degree other than planting a turnip every few months." He took a third swig of his drink before grabbing one of the pins and pinning it to the rope that held his house banner up on his arm.
"That's about it really" He said before waiting for the rest of the group to get over with their introductions. If anything they were a ragtag looking bunch, but Merek was one to speak, looking like he'd just walked out of a warzone when he hadn't been in a good fight for about two months.

Acele turned in her papers the gruff looking recruiter gave her a nod and told her to return the next day, she curtseyed to the recruiter and thanked him which got her a eye brow raise and a grunt for her troubles. Acele turned away after that and walked to the inn she was staying at and almost instantly fell asleep.

The next day.

The next day Acele paid for her room and headed for the docks, she made it in time for them to announce squads, this recruiter was less war torn than the one she met which made the healer feel a bit better. Soon enough the man started listing off names and after what felt like forever Acele's name was called, she was the last of her squad called so she felt all of their eyes on her or (so she though anyways.) As she walked over.

Acele stood with the squad, she was one of shortest and least imposing figures in the group, she looked like she didn't belong. "By the gods all of them look like they could tear a man in half." She thought, apparently she was lost in thought for awhile as the group started moving on without her so she jogged to catch up and fell in behind everyone. Apparently their destination was a tavern, and they all squeezed together at one table, their leader threw their emblems on the table some had dried blood on it, so Acele picked one that was realtivly clean and clipped it to her robe, as soon as the drinks arrived their leader.. Hunter was his name if she remembered correctly, asked them what they did and why they were here. Before she answered she pushed her drink to the middle of the table "Whoever wants it, they can have it i don't drink, as for what I do I heal people." She said.

Iver walked away from the recruitment stand wondering what awaited him now that he had signed his life away to the Fifth Echelon; he would definitely be getting adventure, but would he live through even the first battle with what little experience he had? He walked the streets of the city in a daze, running things over in his mind. After several bells, Iver finally made his way back to the somewhat rundown inn he was staying in and flopped down onto the excuse for a bed in the room he was paying for; the frame creaked as his full weight hit the mattress and sounded like it was about to give way under him. He grumbled as he began stripping him armor and sword off to lay back on the lumpy mattress.

“OKAY! Listen up you ugly bastards; I’m going to start listing the squads. The first person listed will be the Sergeant; he will receive the Fifth Echelon sigil pins that he must hand out to his squad. As I say your name, you come up to this side of the wooden crate, and meet with your Sergeant. Once I start naming another squad, I don’t want to see you by the wooden crate! We are leaving the city tonight, meaning we are meeting here in a bell in order to get everyone on the ships.”

Iver listened as intently as he could to the harsh man atop the wooden crate over the grumblings of the crowd around the area. When the first name was called, Iver watched the man walk up to the crate and start talking to the announcer and then look resigned as the names of the squad were called. He barely caught his name over the crowd and quickly pushed his way through to stand alongside his new squad. It was obvious they were mercenaries by the way they held themselves and from their armor and gear. The young man followed the group to a tavern near the docks where they were to report to in a bell to start loading the ships. Iver sat down to the left of the sergeant as he began recounting part of his life to the group and laid out the pins for them to take. Iver made a mental note that the sergeant, Fyn Hunter was his name, had served in the Jadelyn War.

As the older man with a lion banner on his shoulder began to speak, Iver reached out and grabbed a pin; it had a splash of blood in the top right as well as dent in the very center that looked like it was from an arrowhead. He placed the pin on the torn bit of scarf near his left shoulder plate and took a drink as the small woman to the front and left of him spoke up for a brief moment. Iver swirled the mug around, watching the amber liquid within make a tiny whirlpool before he finally spoke up.

“Well, I’m Iver Magsin. My father was a tailor, and my mom helped with the shop until he was shipped off to fight in the Jadelyn War and died. After that I helped her out as best I could as a courier ‘til I eventually joined the City Guard Force. When my mom died, I took what money I had and set out to explore, but money soon ran out, and now I’m a member of Second Legion, Fifth Company, Ninth Squad with you lot.”

With that, Iver took a gulp of his drink and let the sour beer wash down his throat.

Ana returned the next day, clad in her full battle gear. She was an odd sight to behold, with the strange mix of metal and leather that passed as armor covering her whole body in a way that it would have been impossible to note if she was male or female. The helm she wore was an even odder thing, of a make that was hard to come by in this day and age, or any other day or age, for that matter. No weapon could be seen on her, but the unmistakable form of a sharper hung from her hip, right next to her right hand, where she could grab it and throw it if the need came. Or if she felt that someone was getting too close. Though, considering her getup, not many people were all that willing to come near her. She might as well have had some kind of plague.

As the 9th Squad was called off, Ana watched each one that went up there. They all looked like the typical mercenaries, nothing really of note to someone who wasn't paying all that much attention. Which, she wasn't until she could have sworn her name was called. When no one else stepped forward, she eventually did, casually making her way up there, meeting up with the rest of the squad just before the one she heard was called "Acele" arrived. Not a word was spoken from her, simply she crossed her arms and awaited an order to be given. When it was, she suppressed a groan. If she knew mercenaries, and she did, whatever tavern they were headed to probably served stale piss instead of beer, and smelled about as bad as the swill tasted.

And, just as she had thought, the place they arrived at had just the smell which she had anticipated. Old, partially rundown, and with a smell that made one think that someone had died upstairs, which they probably had. The mugs set around the table were only testaments towards the place's horrible condition. If it had been up to her, she'd have picked a place more reputable. But, then again, most of the people here probably didn't have money to piss away like she did, so no complaints came from her. At least, not yet.

While the sergeant and the other three introduced themselves, Ana pulled off her helmet and sat it down on the table. From one of the folds in the leather of her armor, she produced a match, a pipe, and a small case of tobacco. She shoved some of the tobacco into it, scraped the match against a rough piece of leather on her armor to light it, and then placed the smoking pipe up to her lips and took a long drag of it. Just as she puffed out some smoke, Iver Magsin had finished speaking, and so she took this as an opportunity to introduce herself.

So, she stood, holding the pipe in one hand, allowing the aroma of burning tobacco to fill the air, and looked over the others with a not-so-friendly gaze. "Name's Ana Valerius, raised by merchants and trained by one of the best explosives experts to ever come out of Tysus. I know my way around every sort of bomb you can get, so I don't want to hear a damn word out of anyone if they think I don't know what I'm doing, because I'll plant a burner straight up the first person to say something's ass. And I don't want to hear complaints about the smoke either. Keeps me calm enough to work, so unless you want me to be one of those jittery, insane types that likes to handle the explosives, best to just let me have my smoke in peace."

And with that, she plopped back down in her seat, and shoved the mug away with her free hand. "Oh, and if anyone wants that, take it. I don't drink piss."

"Tal Etai. Son of a Imani prostitute and unknown customer. Pickpocket, thief, burglar and magic user. I took this contract because magical education is expensive and I need to fund it. What I do best is provide cover and concealment for my fellow thieves and now, apparently, mercenaries as well." Swarthy and aquiline, he described the harrowing circumstances of his childhood, ignominious lineage and moral shortcomings into a few short sentences even as he reached for his pin; the blood was dried upon it -- someone's son, some life snuffed out. It was an ugly business, but most businesses were at the bare essentials. There wasn't a lot of sentimentality in his life, so he didn't particularly balk. He didn't look like the rugged tough type, but rather wiry and more understated. There wasn't a weapon openly on him, but there were a number of places where he might have a knife tucked away, dark folds of cloth cut just loosely enough and a cloak that could easily hide such a weapon, though such was cleverly concealed if it were there at all.

His drink sat untouched, as he let it sit there at a hard to reach angle. There was a slightly disdainful expression as he regarded the drink as he pulled in his pin, letting that sit in his palm. He contemplated that far longer than the beer; perhaps he'd seen one too many sots; those that drank too much and became slaves of it. Where he came from, self-control was an under-appreciated virtue.

Zyre followed the others into the tavern, lagging behind everyone else for a moment as he paused to notice the table they were to be sat at, his expression changing to one of mild disappointment as he noticed the ale, he needed something classier, so he turned to one of the pretty bar maidens and flashed a charming smile at her as he spoke to her, issuing the simple request for her to bring a glass of red wine to him at his table. She nodded as Zyre moved to the table, lowered his hood and sat down.

He crossed his arms and remained silent as he listened to his new team tell their stories, some came from humble beginnings, others with some extraordinary tales to themselves. Zyre himself hated to speak of the past, he really had nothing to say. He glanced to see the waitress hand him a glass of wine, which he grasped, then with his free hand he flipped a coin to her hands. The assassin brought the glass to his mouth, taking an extended sip.

The taste almost made him grin in relief, he hadn't drank wine in some time, then again it was rare in his life that he was able to just sit back and relax, maybe light a candle, read a book, eat a sandwich. He placed the glass on the table carefully, then waited for the latest member of the mercenary band to speak as Zyre rose his voice to introduce himself as his eyes explored those at the table, putting names to faces.

"I am Zyre Le Maitre, I hail from the isle of Baellar. I've slit throats for coin and fought armies for jewels. I've been all over the world, across seas and under bridges. I have experience with mercenary bands when I joined one after my parents passed and I had to fake my age. I spent several years with that group then went my own way which has led me here," He paused to take a sip of wine. "I'm skilled with swords, knives and arrows. I'll fight wherever you request me to, whether that involves me slipping into an enemy's camp silently or charging the frontlines, it does not matter to me."

He finished speaking, then took another drink of his wine before placing the nearly empty glass down to reach across the table to grasp a pin, which he hooked onto his armor just below his collar. He then leaned back in the chair, eager to get going on their journey, a single finger twirling around the top of the wine glass.

Viktor stood tall and straight amongst the assembled crowd as they were addressed by this recruiter. He raised an eyebrow at his stern and overly gruff nature. He was either in a piss poor mood at having to be here or trying far to hard to intimidate people. Either way he cared little. He signed the name he learned to spell in the year or two since he left his tribe for the wider world. The So called sergeant, whatever that meant. He new that the militaries of these lands loved their titles to denote leadership. As if skill and courage were not enough. Besides this man had a less-than-thrilled look on his face mixed in with some surprise at this note. This may not bode well, or it may be for another reason entirely.

He soon tired of the speil this man was giving and simply waited for his name to be called. He focused his attentions on the skies above them. Watching the birds and the clouds in general though for one bird in particular. It did not take him long to find it's slim, dangerous profile and hear it's shrill screech as it dived suddenly upon an unfortunate rat that happened to get spotted as lunch.

As his friend left his sight he turned back to the shouting man in time to hear his name be called along with a string of others. He tapped the but of his glaive against the dock planks and pushed through the crowd to find his new and supposed leader. He eyed him carefully as well as many of the others that approached. If this was to be his 'squad' as they liked to call it. He imagined that these would be people he would fight alongside mostly. They seemed to be a mixed bunch with a few in the heavy metal armours he ahd grown accustomed to seeing. He had little use for such things as his nomadic upbringing taught him to abhor such a thing that could cut his and the rest of the tribe's ability to move and follow the herds. Even transporting such armour would be considered a waste of time and horses. But he could imagine how in these lands where everything was close packed and crowded that speed wasn't as much a concern.

He shrugged to himself internally, Well as long as they could swing a sword and use their armour to the best than may the spirits watch over them and guide their movements.

The suggestion to move themselves to a tavern was echoed loudly by Viktor. He could use a decent drink. Or at least a stiff one. And as they gathered round the table he had far less concerns about the quality of the ale than others. He grasped the the tankard placed before him and chugged it as easily as their sergeant did. “By far it wasn't the best he had ever had it was sour and more watered down than was proper. But it was perhaps surprisingly not the worst he had ever tasted either.

When the people around the table started to introduce themselves he paid attention enough to grab their names and any boasts they claimed to make about their skills and whichever of them either offered up their drink or looked like they had no intention on touching it quickly found it being grabbed as he leaned over the table and pulled it closer to him. He soon had quite the little collection of tankards and was enjoying the contents of each.

When it finally got to his turn he finished the current tankard he was drinking “You may call me Viktor” his accent was rough and foreign, this was clearly not his first language but he carried on. “I am warrior of the Storm Talons Tribe from the lands you call Kord. And I join you all to earn the rights to stories and great deeds that I may bring back to my tribe and earn my ancestors respect. And to see sights and experiences far beyond those I can experience back home.” He tapped the woad lightning bolt tattoo's on the side of his neck to show his tribal origins. “I Would be happy to return with tales of honourable allies as well as enemies for the fireside. Maybe I will speak of your deeds as well to my people when I return home?” he offered with a shrug. Their character and worthiness of song and deed has yet to be determined. He was not proud and arrogant enough to return home and claim he met no one of worth in his travels. Besides more characters always made a tale gripping.

The sun seemed to be brighter the next day as Seán was out and about. Then again the inn was a bit dark and it could have played with his eye sight. He looked up to the man who was calling out names and it felt like this man calling out names was far from calling his. I just might be in the seventh or eighth squad. He looked over the crowd, most of them were small, but muscular. A mix of gender was clear, but it was a tad scary to see some women that were battle hungry more than some of the men. Seán adjusted his sheath, which rested on his left hip, and the shield on his back before looking up.

A sword landed on the cloth right where his elbow was. Seán looked down to see a boy who looked to be in his late teens. The young boy laughed, "You wouldn't have an arm anymore!" Seán wagged his finger in response and then clenched his hand into a fist and knocked on his elbow. The metal gloves met with another piece of metal under the cloth. "A heavy never leaves open skin." The boy looked over at the man on the crate and looked back. "Thats my name! Oh boy I can't wait to get out there!" Seán chuckled, he didn't think he would last too long, he seemed too over confident.

Seventh and eighth squad passed and Seán knew his guess was no longer correct. “2nd LEGION, 5TH COMPANY, 9TH MARINE SQUAD! Sergeant of this squad will be Fyn Hunter” There was a short pause, it seemed like there was a small disagreement between the newly made sergeant and the crate man. “2nd LEGION, 5TH COMPANY, 9TH MARINE SQUAD! Sergeant of this squad will be Fyn Hunter” Seán paused for a moment, a few seconds went by and his brain finally registered his name was called. He walked up to the crate, his large frame wasn't necessarily a good thing at this point. "Excuse me" and "Pardon me" were the only two phrases he was able to say at that point. When Seán reached the crate, he took a look at his squad. It was looking pretty good for the most part.

Seán followed his new leader and squad to the tavern, where it wreaked of piss and rotting carcasses. He set his helm on the table and tried to sit in one of the chairs provided for him, but he was simply too big to fit in the chair, so he stood with helm under his right arm and his left hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Seán made sure to take note of every person that spoke and their role. He didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with anyone, besides, these were people that were to fight along side him, and if he had a shot at being able to move forward without getting stabbed in the back on the battlefield, he would have no choice but to trust these specific people. The last person seemed to enjoy all the beer that was given, so he took his tankard and gave it a push to the foreign man.

There was a long moment of awkward silence so Seán took hold of the opportunity. "I'm Seán, Seán Uidhir. I come from the mountains in the northern part of the Jadelyn Empire. My father was lumberjack and hunter and my mother was a simple housewife. We got by pretty easily until my parents were killed by bandits. They spared my life and dropped me off outside of a city where the city guard put me in an orphanage. It was a rough and annoying life, but, I wouldn't say it was as bad as any of yours. Anyways, long story short, I picked up an apprenticeship with a blacksmith that failed quickly when his son was old enough, picked up a nomadic life style for a few years, trained to be a literal intimidation on the battlefield and to be skilled in combat for eight years, and here I am, with you people." Seán didn't have a smile on his face. He simply just stared at everyone. He wanted this to be over so they could get out on adventure and battle. He wasn't planning on making any life long friends here. He quickly grabbed on of the sigil pins and pinned it to the cloth on his right arm.

Cynric had been to many places, as a mage for hire his skills were coveted and he had been paid well on each job he had done. None the less there came a point when collecting bounties and protecting people had got dull. This mercenary group intrigued him. He remembered the man who had taken his contract, a rather unpleasant man. But so would he, if he had been stamping and collecting papers all day. After he had signed up he was glad to hear that he had some free time. He took the time to buy a new eye patch and clean the one he was wearing. Cynric had a variety of eye patches to cover the hole where his right eye should have been. This new one was navy blue compared to the all of the black ones that he possessed. Putting on the new eye patch he went back to the inn to await the meeting.

The next day Cynric walked into the Tavern, looking around the dimly lit room he took in the sights and more noticeably the smell. This was not the first Tavern Cynric had been that smelled this bad and it would not be the last. To counter the foul smell of the tavern he grabbed one of the many cigars he kept on his person. His index finger glowed as he lit the cigar. Taking a deep breath he soon drowned out the smell of the Tavern with the cigar. Finding the particular group he belonged to he waited until everyone had gathered. Their sergeant was the first to speak, announcing his name and telling them a little about his past. Once everyone had introduced themselves it was now Cynric's turn to speak.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth he spoke. "My name is Cynric, I will be the other Mage that is accompanying this group. My skills lie in the manipulation of electricity a foreign thing to you all maybe but do not worry I wont be aiming for you. My job in this group will mainly be crowd control." Taking a deep draw of his cigar he exhaled the smoke and continued speaking. " My past is fairly simple; My father was a famous mage, rather not say his name as he made a fair few enemies in his past. I was taught by him and several other mages how to control and hone my abilities and a fair few other useless things. When all the learning became too dull i left my home town of Dylad and became a bounty hunter and mercenary. Oh and as for my eye? Well that is something I can talk about another time" Once he had finished talking he picked one of the pins off the table and attached it to his jacket.

Jania turned in her papers to the Recruiter and gave him a weird yet stern nod and while she did that he told her to return the next day, she nodded once more before she thanked the man for his time before she turned her back to him. She cautiously looked around before she left to her dwelling which she was only staying for the night which was closest to this place. She made sure the place was definitely for 'free' before she stayed the night and she made sure none would see her that night or what she did. After she done her errands she set down her bloody armor and sword and rested for the night

After much needed rest, The Next Day came...

The next day Jaina had left her room quietly and headed for the place where the Recruiter had said to meet up and quickly left with a steady pace. Before she got up she had made sure she cleaned herself and her armor plus her sword. As she made her way to the the squads where they were lined up and barely made it as her name was barely called last as everyone began to take off. She was slightly late but it didn't matter as long as she didn't look suspicious. Thinking of the place she stayed the other night, she shrugged the thought off before she took off after them. She probably thought that they were going to the bar, a correct assumption because the closer she got to the the squad a building came closer.

Apparently their destination was a tavern, and she had instead of being squished in with each other in the small table, she grabbed a chair and set it down next to them. She then saw that the leader of the group had threw some emblems onto the table with blood which wasn't much of a concerned and grabbed one before pinning it onto her. She occasionally heard the leaders name with was 'Hunter' as the small talk went around the table. As a drink was given to her, she smiled polietly before she set it down to the foot of her chair before she continued listening. When their leader asked what everyone was her to do, she had replied with a simple response...

"You may call me Jania and you may expect me to have your back while on the field; and I expect the same from you if you dont want to die or be injured much"

With that she scooted her chair back away from the group to the wall and closed her eyes, occasionally lifting one of them to check around her every so often. As she was always careful of what will happen at anytime.

Xavier bore a look of frustration at having to stand in the group of vagabonds and drunkards. Almost all of them were hoping to be assigned to a squad and many of them were likely to. But, the thought of serving with many of these people disgusted Xavier. His training told him that many of these men were likely to be common criminals and would die should they face a trained army. Xavier was waiting for his name to be called when he felt a man's hand slam against his back. Xavier's first reaction was to grab his sword when his hand was interrupted on its way to the hilt.

"Whoa man, don't go waving that about in a crowd like that. You will cause an all out brawl if you do that. It is just me." says the voice from behind him as it moved to face him. To Xavier's surprise, it was his father. The old man of now fifty was gruff from the long years of his life. "I.. how did you know I would be here? More so how did you know I was even alive? I have been gone for so long, you and mother should have thought me dead by now." Xavier said to his father with a look of worry. There was brief silence before Xavier's father started to answer. "I.. did think you were dead. But when I came here to bring a shipment of weapons and armor in to the Fifth Echelon. I thought to ask around about you and heard that you had signed up. I just came to say that .." his father was saying when he was interrupted by the recruiter.

Xavier heard his name called and looked over at his father. "I have to go. I will come back home whenver I have leave, I promise." Xavier says as he walks away towards the group of men and women gathering at the crate. He was deep in thought through most of the time the group walked to the tavern and barely payed attention to what everybody said. When the others were finally done, Xavier took a swig of his ale and readjusted in his tight seat. The ale tasted like it was mixed with sewer water and the tavern was made for people of smaller sizes so Xavier decided to stand up instead.

"Well, my name is Xavier Hawthorne. I was born in Surra, more importantly the city of Banth. My father was a blacksmith and I was his apprentice from when I was nine to when I was sixteen. I left Banth and ended up in Gond. I was poor and lacked a job until I was accepted into the City Guard. I left Gond when I was twenty-seven. Let me just show you why I left." Xavier said as he pulled his left hand gauntlet off. Underneath was a mark of a circle with intertwined bands of vines that formed a capital a. "In Gond, this means I assaulted one to many people. Truth is, I did my job and they hated outsiders so I took the heaviest blows from them. Afterwards, I traveled through much of Tysus as a sellsword and came to the Alabaster City on promise of payment for a job done. Let's just say that he will not be alive if I meet him again." Xavier says as he finishes his statement. He grabed a pin which is rusted and dented on one in where the crescent of the moon bent under and attached it to the cloth from which his sword hung from.

Hunter nodded his head as he heard each soldier's story and background, attempting to memorize each one. He needed to know his squad like the back of his hand, but he also knew it will only come with time. From the looks of it, the squad was a talented one with huge potential, but he could see how the differences in personalities and traits could be a problem.

"Quite a squad we got here..." began Hunter as the last person finished. He didn't want to elaborate too much on his background, which is why he only partially revealed his credentials in his opening speech. The Sergeant couldn't help but decided that if openness, honesty, and comradeship would enter the squad environment, it would start through him. Not yet, though... They will have plenty of time on the ships before their engagement.

The Sergeant took another swig of the ale, attempting not to get his beard in any of it.

"Heavies, marines, mages, and a sapper." said Hunter, with a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "Hopefully you gentlemen know your roles, but we'll go over some of that stuff on the ships."

The Sergeant ran a hand over his beer mug, before he looked back at the squad, his eyes instantly hardening.

"But if there's anything that I want you to remember, is that this squad right here will be the reason you either die or live. I will do everything in my capabilities to get us through the thickest of situations. Survivng, hah, you could say I have a knack for that. But if anyone in this squad poses a danger to the others, if you don't have your squad mate's back when the arrows start flying and the swords start clashing, you will either die alone on the field or I will make sure you get kicked off the squad as soon as it is possible."

Hunter hoped he didn't go too far, but heck, on second though, he didn't give a damn. When joining the mercenary company he was hoping for some coin. Now that he was placed as a Sergeant of this squad, his main objective was to make sure no one in his squad died. He would do anything necessary for that, as was his responsibility. Hopefully he wouldn't like his soldiers too much, as his overprotective stance would only increase.

"Let's get to the port, wouldn't want the army leaving without us, eh?"

---------------At the Port---------------------

The squad made their way into the chaotic atmosphere of the docks. This place looks even more hectic then it did before, with supplies and rations being loaded onto the mercenary dromons. The company makes it there in time, just as the first ship is being loaded with supplies and the same recruiter is about to start listing the squads that will be traveling on that ship.

Hunter leads his squad up to the recruiter before beginning a careful examination of the squads around him. There were some formidable characters, without a doubt, but he could feel his squad stand out. Other squad sergeants eyed his group, but did not let their eyes settle for too long. After serving in the Jadelyn army for so long, Hunter knew that fellow squads better then these have broken on the battlefield before, or have been unable to cover his own squad when they most needed it. But these are the cons of joining a mercenary army, aint it?

The squad continued to wait, before the next ship docked in port. This looks like, by far, the freshest and least damaged of the ships. No mage fire damage on the hull of this one... In fact, Hunter found it suspicious as to why this ship is so much damn newer and better built then the others.

"Here we have the Raggaton" states the Recruiter, with a strange smirk suddenly coming over his features.

The Sergeant began to notice how on every Fifth Echelon ship, even the ones farther away from port, the mercenaries seem to all have gotten up from their tasks and were now eagerly looking at the newly recruited squads, as well as the Raggaton

"One squad will board the Raggaton, this will either be Sergeant Hunter's 5th Marines Company, 9th Squad, or Sergeant Helon's 2nd Heavies Company, 3rd Squad."

Hunter smiled as he looked over the docked ship. The squad couldn't have picked a better ship to sail on, this one looks like it could weather the worst of storms.

The squad's opinion quickly changes from glee to horror as they see peculiar wagons rolling up the gangplank onto the ship. The wooden crates inside are marked with a special insignia similar to a griffon: The symbol that marks the crates as being full of Moranth munitions.

"Hood's balls..." begins Hunter. "There's no way my squad is getting on that ship!"

"I'm afraid your squad numbers have been drawn in randomly. However, it is a tradition of the Fifth Echelon army, to let a squad get out of this... Adverse situation. 4th Squad and 9th Squad will fight, without weapons, until one unit is left standing. The squad which looses will sail aboard the Raggaton. You have a minute to get ready."

Sergeant Hunter quickly understood why the mercenaries aboard the farther ships were now so interested. He could see money being passed around, bets being made. He couldn't help but grind his teeth, annoyed that the Fifth Echelon would make entertainment out of them like this.

Hunter began unstrapping both his swords, and laying them down on a supply crate nearby, while looking over Sergeant Helon's squad. All twelve of them heavies, big as boulders. They're not going to be easy to bring down. The heavier they are, the harder they fall thought Hunter as he turned around to look to his squad.

The Sergeant gives a quick glance at the two squad mages. "The only instructions was no weapons..."

Never said anything about warrens, did he?

Hunter turned back to look at the squad of heavies, which had already put down their weapons, and, seeking initiative, were already charging toward Hunter's squad.

Merek looked about the docks and at the other squads that had arrived before them along with those that were just arriving. Most of them were just as varied as the squad Merek was placed in, although, there were quite a few dotted about that were essentially filled with magic users or heavies and the like. He wondered if all the squads would be called together for battles or just a few. He could see quite a few locals that had been hired to help with the increased workload, how they would have ever thought the small number of soldiers on each ship would be willing to help load things onto the ships was a mystery. Merek had found that after a few weeks on a ship you weren't exactly eager to quicken the time it took to get you back onto it.

After waiting a small while, a largely undamaged ship came into harbour. The 'Raggaton' it was called, a strange name as far as Merek knew, he'd always heard of ships being called things like 'The Ann-Marie' or 'The Beagle' and names like that. The 'Raggaton' had a sort of barbaric edge to it. Suffice to say it was better a better name for a ship than the woman down the road or her pet dog's name. A small shot of glee went through Merek as he discovered the squad had the chance to board the Raggaton. The shot soon faded and was replaced with a similar surge of shock as he realised that the highly flammable and explosive munitions were being loaded onto the ship. They would be a prime target for anyone who had a few cannons and a good shot. He restrained himself from expressing the shock on his face. A small quarrel went on between the sergeant and the man calling out which squads went where. Merek wasn't too pleased with the result. They were to fight a squad of tank-like heavies which wasn't too much of a concern up until it was revealed they weren't to use weapons. He hoped the allied heavies would at least attract the attention of a few of them.

He unclipped the belt holding his sheath up and laid it on the same supply crate that Hunter had. He also took the bow and quiver from his back and laid them next to his sword. He had to think of something he could do and quick. He had the idea to try and floor one of them by using his cloak as a sort of net to go around the heavies head. It was a pretty risky strategy and would leave him vulnerable after the attack along with during it if the heavy managed to counter his attack. He decided to only use it if it was an emergency. For the moment he decided to just use his fists. He held his fists up in a defensive position, but soon decided it would probably be better do dodge the heavies rather than try to defend against a full on punch from them. This decision was confirmed when he saw they began to run towards the squad. He leaped and rolled out of the way of one of the charging heavies and went for a flying punch on one of the charging ones to the side of him. It connected, with his gauntlet helping him a great deal in the damage department and leaving a gash on the heavies face. As he landed he felt a strong pain in his side which sent him flying to the floor behind the heavy. The heavy had swung his fist around in retaliation and caught Merek's side, the heavy was also wearing gauntlets that were bigger and heavier than Merek's. Merek rolled over onto his other side slowly, he saw something he wished he hadn't, the heavy slowly made his way over to Merek, stumbling halfway through, Merek had slightly dazed him. Merek took advantage of the situation and got up as quickly as he could. His side hurt like he'd just been donkey kicked. He gathered himself as quickly as he could and readied himself to dodge.

Hunter's eyes narrowed down at the group of heavies charging towards them. They could have at least waited until his squad was ready... Had some sort of propriety! He hadn't had time to give much orders or instructions.

But alas, the danger of being on a ship which held Moranth munitions instilled an almost manic fear in the brains of some of these brute, brain dead, heavies. Hunter quickly spotted Sergeant Helon running at the head of his heavies. He had a half a mind to grab his crossbow and skewer one of them with a quarrel, but even if he was allowed to do so, he knew there wasn't enough time to load the quarrel.

The marine Sergeant removed the crossbow from his back and gently put it down on the crate before facing the 4th Squad. Not a single one of them looked like a mage, but he knew that looks could be deceiving.

A flying fist of plate armor was whizzing towards him at alarming speed, but Hunter ducked in and threw a punch against the heavy's rib. The marine's eyes momentarily widened as he realized that he just punched yet another plate of armor, the painful vibration of the blow going down the entirety of his right arm. With the heavy still off balance from the bearish first punch he missed, Hunter was able to throw another left punch, but this time on the side of the chest plate, close to the lung, where he knew there might be an opening in the armor. Hunter couldn't help but feel relieved as he connected with flesh, and feeling his opponent slightly fold down in pain. The marine Sergeant agilely sidestepped to get behind the heavy, and back kicked the plate armor, leading to the heavy dropping down on his knees.

Hunter looked back at his squad and the fight that began to break out, and began to recall the names of his heavies.

"SEAN! XAVIER! Cover the mages! - " the Sergeant bellowed before raising a hand to block a punch from his opponent, who took advantage of the time to get back on his feet. Hunter felt the air driven out of his lungs as the metal gauntlet came into contact with his leather vambrace.

Cynric looked around at the rag tag group that had assembled and called out their names. The pubs atmosphere had livened up slightly, music playing in the background. With his cigar finished he stubbed it out on the table dropping it in his empty mug. AS their commander told them to move out Cynric had just sat down. Groaning he got back up stretched his legs and followed hunter through the door and towards the port.

Arriving at the port he was met with an amazing sight, great ships and people of all shapes and creed clambering on and off them preparing them for departure. The smell of the sea air was one of Cynric favourite. As he enjoyed the sea air his attention was drawn to a man who was reading from a rather long list. Announcing that the two squads would have to fight without weapons. Cynric was more than happy to oblige dropping his rapier onto the floor he looked at his opponents. "I see a lot of you are wearing armour made from metal. Iron I assume? Good."

Raising his fist into the air static electricity built up around his fist. Soon electricity began arcing from his fist to the ground, Cynric watched the electricity dancing around his feet. "Very poor choice of armour, most likely though. Your only choice." With this he let loose a bolt of lightning hitting the man who had been charging towards him in the chest knocking him away from Cynric and into his friends. "I will now teach you a lesson about how this works, your armour is a great conductor to my magic therefore you guys stay too close together and it will jump to one of your friends the effect will be slightly diminished though. Why am I telling you this? Well because I enjoy a challenge and it's been a long time since i've fought anyone worthy."

Gathering another bolt in his fist he prepared to let loose with another blast when a small man round house kicked him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The small man bounced on his feet as he signaled for Cynric to stand. He like the other heavies was covered in heavy plate armour, though he did not seem slowed by it. Rubbing his jaw he tasted blood in his mouth and smiled. Adopting a boxer stance the two men squared off.

Iver sat and drank the swill provided by the tavern as he listened to his new squadmates talk about themselves and a bit about their backgrounds, attempting to at least remember their names. When everyone was finished introducing themselves, Fyn proceeded to remind them all that the people seated around them would be the reason they live or die in the battles to come. Iver set his mug back down, unfinished; he couldn’t finish the ale with the thought of battle looming over his head now. He had actually forgotten that those around him had signed their lives away to the Fifth Echelon along with him and that he was now in a contract to fight in battles for the Echelon.

Iver left the tavern with his squad and followed them back to the docks in preparation for their voyage to whatever battle awaited them. Two men carrying a large crate walked in front of Iver, and he was so lost in his thoughts again he about walked into them. With much cursing in his direction, the men walked away from the young mercenary. Shaking his head at the men, Iver caught back up with his squad in front of the undamaged ship currently docked in the pier. After a closer examination, Iver realized it was the best looking ship there; the others were heavily damaged from mage fire. A smiled spread over Iver’s face about the prospect of being placed on the newer ship until he saw the munitions crate loaded onto it by the pair of men he almost ran into earlier.

Fyn moved toward the recruiter that called their names out before and began yelling about the munitions being loaded on the Raggaton. The recruiter countered by saying they were one of the candidate squads to be placed on the ship and that they were to fight the other squad without weapons, and the one that lost would be placed on the massive explosive. Iver followed his squad in undoing his weapon belt and laying it on a nearby crate. As he dropped his sword and knives on the crate, he turned to see the squad of Heavies already charging at them. Iver watched as one of the charging Heavies was taken down by a bolt of electricity from Cynric.

One of the Heavies tackled Iver, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s torso and lifting him in the air. Iver brought his left elbow down on the neck of the larger man, but his elbow hit plate. He sucked in a breath of pain as he brought his other elbow down closer to the man’s head, hitting flesh this time. The Heavy dropped Iver and bent double slightly as he cracked his neck to try and rid himself of the pain. Iver rolled across the wooden planks into a crate. With a groan, Iver stood up as the Heavy approached, a bit more cautious this time. Iver dropped into a sloppy brawling stance with his fists raised in a more defensive form now that he had time to prepare himself for his opponent.

Iver did he best to dodge around the Heavy’s assault, taking a hit here and there. Eventually he was able to dodge around the Heavy to get behind him and lash out with a kick in the unarmored part just behind his knee; Iver led the kick with his shin instead of the toe of his boot so the man would just be knocked off balance and not too injured to fight in the real battles to come. The Heavy lost his footing and fell to the ground, but soon stood back up and continued the brawl with the Marine. Iver managed to dodge better than last time, and even managed to land a few hits this time. The tide turned against him as the Heavy caught his fist and twisted his arm behind his back. In desperation, Iver flung his back and connected with the Heavy’s nose; he heard a crack and a yelp of pain as the Heavy let go of Iver’s arm. He turned to the see the Heavy grabbing as his swollen nose beneath the river of blood that poured from it. Iver wasn’t in much better shape, as a dull pain began from the back of his head and spread out to wrap around his temples.

Iver took advantage of the lull in action to continue his assault through his blurred vision caused by the headache he now had. He closed the small distance between him and the Heavy in a few steps and began punching and kicking at any part left exposed through the Heavy’s defense. The sloppy barrage from the Marine finally paid off when he landed a few hits in quick succession to the Heavy’s jaw. The bigger man was knocked off balance yet again and fell over a pile of crates behind him; he didn’t get back up after that. Iver turned back toward his squad and started to walk, more like stumble. in their direction, set on trying to help any of them.

Zyre carefully removed all his weapons, laying each one down as soon as the fight was announced. He disliked having to fight hand to hand, but it was similar to using a sword, speed mixed with intelligence and he would get out of it unscathed. The mob of large men charged at their group, Zyre making space between him and the others as one of the men came at him, going for a tackle. The assassin moved out of the way at the last second, causing the assailant to stumble.

Before the heavy could get up, Zyre was on him, his hands on the man's arm. Using all of his strength, he grabbed the arm, then brought down a hard fist right into it, his intent was to shatter the bone and take the brute out of the fight before it even really began. He was rewarded by the scream of pain from the man as his attack worked.

As he rose to his feet he turned to see another heavy charge at him, this one was quick and managed to knock Zyre off his feet. The man rolled on top of him and began tossing punches, which Zyre tried to defend himself from by using his arms to block the fists. Once there was a break in the punches, he shuffled, then brought his head up, aiming to headbutt the man in the neck. The man stumbled off of him, and the brawl resumed as Zyre threw a punch to the face.

Acele listen intently to everyone's stories, these people would be fighting with her, this she knew, but almost all of them had military, or freelance backgrounds all of them already had a jump on her as they had all fought people, "Well i guess i will just have to be a perfect healer then." She thought, as she was thinking Hunter reminded everybody what they were probably thinking that they are now a unit and they are now counting on each others strengths, with that said they got up and walked out of the tavern back into the streets.

The group navigated their way back to the docks, and stopped at a relatively clean and undamaged ship, it looked like it was going to be a smooth ride with the exception of what was being loaded on the ship. Acele might of never been in battle but she knew what explosives looked like, and they were loading a ton of them onto The Raggaton, but after a talk with whoever was in charge, it was decided that they would fight with another squad for the right not to ride on The Raggaton, the only rule was no weapons, so by the time she set her bow and quiver down the fighting had already started Cynric had let loose a bolt of electricity, and was fighting hand to hand with another one, Merek was fighting another, and Iver was stumbling back towards the group.

The healer in Acele took charge and she rushed to Iver's side, and used the abilities of her warren to heal the marine,hoping that would cover it she settled for walking Iver back, but didn't make it back all the way before a heavy pushed his way in between the two and delivered a uppercut to the stomach of the tiny healer, it felt like she had been hit with a cannonball, all of the air went out of her in a heartbeat all she could get out was a tiny gasp of pain before crumpling to the ground holding her stomach.