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A hulking figure emerged from the treeline, catching the nervous eyes of a few townsfolk who quickly backed away to make room for the imposing creature. Zul shifted her leather pack on her sore shoulders. The silver rings knotted into her thick, black braids clinked together as she moved. Her red eyes surveyed the sparse crowd of servants and workers who were transversing the beaten path from the manor toward the town as the work day ended. The shifting flow of individuals around her was a surprising variety of races. Even more surprising was the odd animated corpse that walked among them, seemingly ignored by those around them. Zul’s face twisted into a sneer. She was never a fan of the undead. Her hands shifted beneath her tattered red cloak to rest on the head of her axes that sat in the metal rings attached to her belt at the hips. The metal gauntlet that covered her left hand pinged sweetly against the cold steel of her weapons.
Ignoring the distasteful presence of the corpses, Zul started her trek up to the manor. Her tired legs protested the slight incline but she ignored them. The sellsword had been traveling ever since that fated night in the tavern. She had been several tankards under the table when approached by a few men who were too well dressed to be regular patrons of such a shady establishment. They sympathized with the plight of a mercenary in times of peace and offered her a way to remedy the situation. The two men quickly interjected that this job was to be discreet as possible and would require only her. Seemed fishy to her but she guessed that any plot to destroy a tentative peace between two houses and spark an all-out war would be on the dubious side of things.
She had left her company, the young mercenary band named the War Hounds, in the capable hands of her second in command. Not that there was much that needed to be managed at the moment. With the steady decline of battles between the two great houses, there were fewer and fewer contracts put out to supplement the armies on either side. Durzul had not seen a proper fight, outside of tavern brawls, in a few months now. Her hands itched to take an axe to an enemy, to feel the roar of warriors flood her ears as they charged. Hopefully, this mission would prove not only to sate her lust for adventure but also return the lands to the turmoil of war.
The wild half-orc reached the peak of her trek and stood before the open manor gates. This was where she had been instructed to meet the rest of those who would be undertaking this task. Zul had scoffed at the thought of having to work with total strangers. Her band of mercenaries was more than capable of dealing with this peace envoy and she had argued this fact to the secritive men that offered her the job. The insisted on the need for a “lighter” touch and Zul was not about to sit there and waste time trying to tell them otherwise. The idea of working with people who may, or may not, have any skill was troubling. She knew the men and women in her band of sellswords. Each worth their weight in battle and then some. She would not know these people she was supposed to travel with. Entering dangerous situations without knowing your allies was a troubling thought but Zul had to admit that the risk was somewhat exhilarating.
She stepped beyond the open gates and stood in a courtyard of sorts. The manor was massive. The grounds were dotted with smaller buildings of various purposes and even a sizeable graveyard on one end. Zul had not been given any details beyond where to arrive, when, and to bring only what she needed for the journey. At the time she had been too drunk to ask. She had gotten here, she was on time, and her pack contained the basics. The problem now was, who was she meant to speak with? As the servants and workers of the manor eased by her, Zul was able to make out the figure of a man seated far off in the graveyard. He did not seem to be in the afternoon rush of the rest but also did not seem promising for information. The mercenary shifted the pack on her shoulders once more and cut directly through the crowd. The flow of people parted for her without hesitation. She headed toward a less populated section of the grounds, coincidently in the direction of the graveyard.
Ignoring the distasteful presence of the corpses, Zul started her trek up to the manor. Her tired legs protested the slight incline but she ignored them. The sellsword had been traveling ever since that fated night in the tavern. She had been several tankards under the table when approached by a few men who were too well dressed to be regular patrons of such a shady establishment. They sympathized with the plight of a mercenary in times of peace and offered her a way to remedy the situation. The two men quickly interjected that this job was to be discreet as possible and would require only her. Seemed fishy to her but she guessed that any plot to destroy a tentative peace between two houses and spark an all-out war would be on the dubious side of things.
She had left her company, the young mercenary band named the War Hounds, in the capable hands of her second in command. Not that there was much that needed to be managed at the moment. With the steady decline of battles between the two great houses, there were fewer and fewer contracts put out to supplement the armies on either side. Durzul had not seen a proper fight, outside of tavern brawls, in a few months now. Her hands itched to take an axe to an enemy, to feel the roar of warriors flood her ears as they charged. Hopefully, this mission would prove not only to sate her lust for adventure but also return the lands to the turmoil of war.
The wild half-orc reached the peak of her trek and stood before the open manor gates. This was where she had been instructed to meet the rest of those who would be undertaking this task. Zul had scoffed at the thought of having to work with total strangers. Her band of mercenaries was more than capable of dealing with this peace envoy and she had argued this fact to the secritive men that offered her the job. The insisted on the need for a “lighter” touch and Zul was not about to sit there and waste time trying to tell them otherwise. The idea of working with people who may, or may not, have any skill was troubling. She knew the men and women in her band of sellswords. Each worth their weight in battle and then some. She would not know these people she was supposed to travel with. Entering dangerous situations without knowing your allies was a troubling thought but Zul had to admit that the risk was somewhat exhilarating.
She stepped beyond the open gates and stood in a courtyard of sorts. The manor was massive. The grounds were dotted with smaller buildings of various purposes and even a sizeable graveyard on one end. Zul had not been given any details beyond where to arrive, when, and to bring only what she needed for the journey. At the time she had been too drunk to ask. She had gotten here, she was on time, and her pack contained the basics. The problem now was, who was she meant to speak with? As the servants and workers of the manor eased by her, Zul was able to make out the figure of a man seated far off in the graveyard. He did not seem to be in the afternoon rush of the rest but also did not seem promising for information. The mercenary shifted the pack on her shoulders once more and cut directly through the crowd. The flow of people parted for her without hesitation. She headed toward a less populated section of the grounds, coincidently in the direction of the graveyard.