The two of you found yourselves (individually, not together) rather down on
your luck, through twists of fate most unkind. Unhappily draining huge
tankards of ale (with your few coins), you came upon a posting needing
soldiers for hire. Neither of you having much in the way of martial
experience, you at first scoffed at the message, but your empty pockets and
the addendum "Muscle more important than brains. Good pay" sadly attracted
you. So you found your way to the inn mentioned in the post, only to see
that the offer was attractive to many men, not only yourselves. However,
the natives around this region lack the size of either of you, and that
made you feel somewhat more comfortable.
Indeed, you see an attractive elven woman at the bar surrounded by would-be
applicants. Many are obviously attempting to sway her with flattery, or
flirtation, and she is clearly not one to be so swayed. She motions and
several Italian men wearing black leather surround her, pushing the louts
away. She then steps upon her barstool and lightly ascends to the bar
itself. You can see that she wears fine blue robes and is well armed with
sword and bow. She speaks, and her voice is suprisingly deep, "I need two,
just two!" Her voice rings out over the small crowd of men. Then,
amazingly, she rises up off of the bar and floats neatly through the air.
She looks intently down at the men, many of them attempting to get a
glimpse from underneath only to be foiled by some sort of metallic armor
she wears beneath the robe.
She immediately points out Forte, as he is the largest man in the crowd,
"You there, you'll do." She then continues to look about before double
taking at Leslie's massive frame. Though short, he is clearly terrifically
muscular, "And you." She then gestures to the rest, "Thank you for coming."
Then her voice deepens even further, and an unnatural echo booms out, "You
may go." The men, just moments earlier fawning about her, make haste for
the exits, and the common room is quickly empty of all those in it other
than the two of you, the elven woman, who is now settling back into her
chair easily, and the four men in the black leather, who sit with her.
Leslie chuckles to himself at the site of the fleeing men, a sound
reminiscent of rockslides. He looks at the other chosen one, sizing him
up.
The woman then looks at the two of you appraisingly, and you begin to feel
a bit like sides of beef. "Yes, you'll do nicely. Gather your things. We
leave immediately" She is clearly not interested in conversation. As the
two stare at her, she realizes that all they have is upon their persons,
she smiles a rather unfriendly smile, "Do you ride?" Not waiting for an
answer, "It matters not. You will ride today." She then sweeps up and walks
out the inn's front door, followed quickly by her men.
Opening his mouth to answer the Elf's question, Leslie finds himself about
to address thin air. He shrugs his massive shoulders, and turns to follow
her out. On the way, he sticks out his hand to his new companion. "
Leslie's the name, friend. And you be... ? "
Shaking the stranger's hand firmly, he responds, "I am called Forte."
Assuming you will follow her, she leads you to the stables. Inside are
seven horses. Five are normal riding horses with basic tack and gear and
two are large strong horses with fine gear. They seem preternaturally calm,
even as the strangers approach them. "Do not salivate so, gentlemen. These
horses will be used by you, but will not belong to you. If you attempt to
steal them, I will make you wish that you had never been born." Once again
not giving the two brawny fellows room to speak, she continues, "If you
serve me well, though, you will be granted their use. Their former
owners...fell on hard times." At this the four black clad men laugh, and
the woman smiles, "Now they belong to me. If you wish, after you have
served me well for enough time for it to be worth it, I might sell them to
you."
She then changes her tone slightly, but still does not leave room for any
interruption, "And as to that, the agreement will be that you all are paid
one gold royal a day for your services. If you are required to do anything
other than sit and look angry, bonuses will accrue. I will also pay for
your food and give you someplace to sleep at night. This is satisfactory to
you?" Her tone indicates that she has no conception you will say no, and a
brief glance toward the leather clad men, whose hands stray quietly toward
their weapons, indicates that you may not have terribly much choice in the
matter.
Forte nods his agreement.
Leslie ogles the fine steeds, ears perking at the Elf's suggestion of
possible future ownership. By the time she finishes laying out her terms,
he has a hard time keeping his jaw from banging the floor. "A gold royal a
day!" he thinks, " plus board and lodgings... Les my boy, you've hit the
jackpot!". He quickly gathers his wits, and addresses the woman. " I am
called Leslie, m'Lady. Leslie LeCroix. And what might we call you, our
benefactor?"
Forte looks to the elf, wondering if she will answer. His hazel eyes
glance sideways at Leslie, then quickly back at the elf.
The woman looks impatiently at them for a moment, "I am Fyodorll, and I did
not hire you for witty repartee. I hired you to look like great lummoxes,
which is what I expect you to do!" She then floats up onto the back of one
of the smaller horses, a finely muscled steed, which clearly is enamored of
her. Her cronies mount the other small horses and wait for you to mount the
larger steeds. With some trouble, Forte manages it, while Leslie swings
with some ease up into the saddle.
Without a word, Fyodorll begins pacing her horse out of the stable, with
her henchmen in tow. The two of you follow, but have to duck your heads to
avoid the top of the barn door. You depart just in time to see that
Fyodorll has ridden up to the gates. She has some words with the robed
functionary there, some coins change hands, and she waits impatiently for
you to catch up. She seems to have some sort of control over your horses,
as they move forward more of her volition than yours. As you reach the
gate, the small man there does not even look your way, but turns and begins
writing on a massive ledger just inside the gatehouse.
Fyodorll gestures toward you, "You to will ride one in front and one to the
rear, with two of my men on your sides. I wouldn't want you to get any
ideas about leaving my employ so soon." Once the arrangements have been
made, she begins setting a brisk pace. The horses you ride seem to keep the
same pace as she does effortlessly, even though they bear the weight of
large armored men.
Unfortunately, you have no further opportunity to converse, as from the
get-go Fyodorll sets a hard pace. It is now evening, and you assume that
she will stop for the night, but she does not seem to be terribly affected
by the night, and slows her pace only marginally. With the moon high in the
sky glistening off the river to the south, which your route parralels, she
finally halts you, and you utter thanks that the ride is over at last.
Fyodorll knocks on the door of a small cabin hard by the river, and you
hope that this will be your resting place for the night, small, but it
looks warm inside. However, it is not to be, as an older woman comes out of
the cabin, speaks with the elf, and then motions toward the small jetty
that reaches into the river from the cabin. You can barely see in the
moonlight that there is a ferryboat there, not large enough to carry more
than one of you at a time, but it does look strong enough to carry a horse
and rider. And so it does. The older woman wordlessly escorts each of you
across the river, dropping you off on the clearing on the other side. As
the two of you ride, you get the distinct impression that the woman is not
fond of Fyodorll, or you, as she ignores any attempted conversation.
Two of Fyodorll's men cross before you, and two after, as it is clear she
is taking no chances with you. Then as quickly as you can think of it,
Fyodorll leads you on to more riding. Clouds begin to obscure the moon, and
soon it is quite dark. However, you do not stop. You can only see and feel
the tree branches that slap you in the face as you go by for several hours.
You emerge from the forest and see that it is somewhat clearer, though you
cannot imagine how the elven woman could lead you at such a pace through
the forest at night. Clearly she must have some knowledge that neither of
you does.
As the sun rises, you see that you are on a path on the northern edge of
yet more forest. Seeing the sun come up seems to displease Fyodorll, for
she immediately leads the group of you back into the forest, and you ride
again for an hour or so before the path rejoins you, carving into the
woods. She seems happier with that, and slows the pace somewhat. After
another two or three hours, she slows further, and you see some sort of
encampment ahead. It is made up of three old covered wagons, and between
them there is some sort of corral. Fyodorll smiles a bit and rides her
horse into the corral, where you see there is hay and grass aplenty. The
others follow her lead.
She looks toward you and half-smiles, "You did well, for musclebound
deadheads. You are permitted to rest." She gestures toward a lean-to built
shabbily against the side of one of the wagons. She then turns and heads
into the largest tent, which has a sign above it reading, "Miss L.
Fyodorll--Equine Entrepreneur--Dealer in Fine Horses" It also has some
meaningless gibberish written below that in a flowing script.
Your horses, whether you allow them to or not, pace into the corrall and
begin to eat. One of the leather clad men waits for the two of you to
dismount, then closes the corrall gate behind you. He chuckles a bit, "We
work at night and sleep by day here, gentlemen. You can sleep over there
and we'll wake you when business hours begin." He then walks over and joins
his comrades, who walk in pairs toward the remaining two wagons.
Time passes, whether you choose to sleep (likely) or not. Though you seem
to have free reign over the camp, you get a strange twinge that you are
being watched at all times, and so behave yourselves. Perhaps once you have
acquainted yourselves better with Fyodorll, she will trust you a bit more.
Before you know it, you are being shaken awake by one of the men. You look
up and see that the sun is setting. "Up and at them, men. Time for you to
do your thing." You rise clumsily to your feet. Fyodorll emerges from the
main wagon looking fresh and actually quite attractive. She gestured toward
you, and you come forward. She then places you, like children, to either
side of the main door. "If anyone comes calling, you will stand alert and
do your best to look dangerous. Finger the hilts of those monstrosities you
call weapons, flex a bit, you know the drill. Do not address me or summon
me. My men will take care of that. Do not speak to the customers. In fact,
do not speak at all unless I instruct you to. You are here to make sure
that noone raids this camp. If someone in fact does bring about
hostilities, I am more than prepared, and you will probably not be
necessary, but I find that merely having men like yourselves keeps most of
that type of thinking to a minimum."
She then turns and walks back into her wagon. The others tend to the
horses, play cards, and drink a bit, though not excessively. Any movement
toward them or away from Fyodorll's wagon, though, is met with a glare and
the men gesture for you to return to your posts. A boring night passes.
This goes on for several days, and you begin to wonder how the woman
survives at all. You also begin to chide at the monotony of the job. The
other men still appear to have no desire to interact with you, and when you
attempt to strike up a conversation with each other, Fyodorll emerges and
silences you. Thus it is perhaps the most boring period of your life. The
only excitement provided is when an older man approaches in the late
evening on the third day. Fyodorll emerges almost instantaneously without
being summoned, and she looks quite stunning. The man smiles appreciatively
at her beauty, and she returns the smile.
She then gestures toward the wagon door. The man smiles from ear-to-ear and
rushes up the stairs. You look at each other in amazement as Fyodorll shuts
the door behind her. It is impossible to hear what is going on inside, but
when the wagon starts rocking, you don't bother knocking. The men in the
camp openly smile and laugh. After only minutes, the activity stops, and
the man emerges, dishevelled, but clearly very happy. He stumbles down the
steps, losing his balance, but rights himself. He then whistles toward the
woods he came from. Two young boys emerge, and the familial resemblance is
striking. They are quiet, clearly nervous, but Fyodorll emerges, looking
unfazed by her recent relations, and gestures them inside as well. They
gape at her beauty and then rush inside. Your eyes grow even wider as soon
after that, the wagon starts moving again, this time a bit more violently.
After a half-hour or so, the door opens again, and the two boys emerge.
Both are red-faced and seem a world away. They manage the steps down and
walk toward the older man. All three share a broad smile. They then walk a
few paces into the woods and return, each holding the reigns of a riding
horse. They appear to be somewhat attached to the animals, and you can see
from their worn tack and saddle that the horses have been well-used, but
they are quite healthy. The leather-clad men gather the horses up from them
wordlessly and escort them into the corral. The older man seems somewhat
sad to see the horses go, but looking at the glowing faces of his sons (for
these clearly are his sons), he seems satisfied. All three then walk back
into the woods and disappear.
Any mention of the "business" is responded to by the men, who gesture with
a slashing motion across the throat, and you realize that any speech of
theirs is well out of hearing range of the wagon. Another day passes, and
Fyodorll rarely emerges from her quarters, once every evening to tend to
her horse and take the food that the black-clad men prepare for her, and
then returns. She hardly speaks to them, and does not speak to you at all.
The food the men prepare is actually rather good, and one of them appears
to be some sort of cook, but they are all business even at meal times,
appearing to only let down their guard around each other, certainly not
around you. You begin to think that you must smell bad.
On the sixth day of service (the men briefly mention that you will be paid
at the end of the week), you hear quite a bit of activity coming from the
eastern forest, and the men bring their swords up and rush toward the lead
wagon. You do likewise, though Fyodorll does not emerge. Suddenly, a ragged
bunch of little men with pointed ears emerges. One of them yells out in
some unknown language, "Fya! Gogra!" Fyodorll emerges as if on cue and
gestures for all of you to calm yourselves. She responds to the little man
in the same harsh language. They converse for a few moments, and then both
nod. Fyodorll sweeps into her wagon once again, and you cannot help but see
a broad smile on her face as she does so.
Meanwhile, the little men begin moving about, and then bring forward a herd
of beautiful pure white riding horses. They are somewhat scratched, and you
can see that some of the men are injured as well, but the horses are fine
nonetheless, very high quality. Fyodorll emerges from her quarters with a
heaping bag of coins. She hands it to Leslie and points toward the little
men. He walks over to them, and the lead one snatches it from him. He opens
the bag and Les can see that it is filled with gold. It must be almost four
hundred royals! The little man gestures toward the others, and four of them
emerge to take the bag. They then disappear back into the woods, leaving a
full two dozen of the beautiful white horses, which the men gather up and
escort into the corrall. Fyodorll fairly gushes to the men as she looks at
the horses. She is happier than you imagined she could be.
She looks toward the two of you, "Well, done, men, we shall profit well
from these beauties." She then brushes by you both with a smile and returns
to her wagon. You can hear her rustling about inside.