Vraxious- Red Willow Mercenary Compound

  Vrax finished pouring more mana into the Thresher; it was as big as he could make it. The efficiency boost from it technically being a carnivorous plant now had done the trick. It was the size of a smaller riding horse now, although a bit taller since it was a two-legged beast. “Someone throw me some blinders!” Cover its eyes like a horsey; that should keep it calm...or at least from mind-wiping anyone nearby.

  A pair of blinders sailed over the enclosure edge, and Vrax attached them firmly to the thresher before squaring a rope around its neck and hopping onto its back. It seemed completely unbothered by the additional load, especially after Vrax gave it a hunk of jerky like the evil version of a sugar cube. It was utterly bizarre watching the horror gnaw on the strip of meat while retrievers skittered over to also get a piece, to the point its head was swarming with them while it snacked.

  Someone opened the door finally for Vrax, and he got to see the chaos that had been unfolding beyond the walls. Torvald had Segunda’s limp body in his hands, holding the man like a damned meat haunch, one of his massive hands wrapped around his leg, holding him aloft in front of the assembled crowd. A motley collection of about ten cutthroats had circled the enclosure, weapons in hand. Jonathan stood in front of Torvald, trying to get someone to fight him.

  “Come on, literally any of you. I have a new class, and by the gods, I want to try it out on one of you fucks. I won’t even feel guilty.” He had his halberd in hand and a potted vine on his back like a damned backpack that kept twitching between looking normal and like a demented bladed whip.

  The big man in an armored robe from before was trying to talk him down. “Seriously, man, let’s just chill until our boss and the paladin work this shit out.” He looked nervously at the unconscious Segunda and then towards Vrax as the gate fully opened, his hands tightening on his flail. There was a series of gasps and curses as people saw what the thresher had become and Vrax sitting on top of it, happy as could be.

  “Fuck, it really is the paladin.” The man trying to calm Jonathan said while looking to see if he had any easy path to escape.

  “Did they just let that psycho in? Why?” said a weedy man already taking his leave as Vrax prowled forth on his new mount.

  “They need to raise that fucking bounty.” One man said to another, who nodded heartily in agreement.

  “That’s not even the thing we saw before! Is no one worried about the six-armed, three-tongued dragon that just fucked off!?” One slightly drunk warrior exclaimed, waving his arms dramatically.

  Vrax stood in a crouched stance, leaning over his mount’s shoulder and partially hanging off its neck, both for balance and dramatic effect. “Nice doing business with you. Oh, does anyone want to try for the bounty? I’d rather just get it out of the way instead of dealing with you on the road.” Vrax was really banking on his reputation carrying him here. No one knew what level or hell tier he was, the same with Torvald and his almost mocking disguise item that identified him as [Samantha Stillton Tier-1](lvl2)[Bodice Framer]. If they all charged them, things could get rough; a few of the men were in their mid-fifties in level.

  Most of the crowd blanched except for one, a squat, sinewy man in tight-fitting robes who moved with a fluid grace as he stepped forward. His weapons suddenly puffed into his hands, forming seemingly from the misty shadows of the evening air like the breath of a dying elemental. He cracked his neck dramatically and rolled his shoulders to limber up. He raised his dagger dramatically toward Vrax. Jonathan’s smile grew crazed for a moment before he interrupted the shit out of whatever challenge the man was going to offer.

  The vines on his back roiled with a manic will of their own, snapping out in precise bursts of movement like a pair of bladed whips. At the same time Jonathan exploded forward with an excited breath, his footsteps barely kicking up dust even at a full sprint. The robed man was caught off guard, deflecting the crazed snapping vines in a flurry of swipes Vrax couldn’t even track.

  Jonathan lunged like he was making a full-force sweeping strike; instead, he put a hand on the ground and spun with his momentum, booting the man savagely in the face. A shower of teeth sailed into the crowd as the man stumbled back. The whips never stopped snapping down in precise slices that exposed bone on the man's hands.

  He disappeared in a flash of mist and smoke, appearing beside Jonathan in a heartbeat, daggers sailing down in an overhanded stab. Jonathan shifted a hand span, letting the blades whistle by. The man teleported again, a flash of darkness followed by a dizzying array of short, precise stabs aimed at Jonathan's vitals. A metal ball the size of a man's fist hit him going so fast it punched clear through his back in a sudden spray of bone and through the compound wall behind him.

  Johnathan looked in disbelief at the gaping hole in his opponent and then at the shit-eating grin Torvald had as he hefted another projectile. “That was some fucking bullshit, man. I called dibs!”

  Torvald shrugged. “Fair fights are for idiots.” Vrax nodded in agreement.

  His opponent wasn’t finished yet, though, rasping painfully as his wounds shuddered for a moment before filling with a dark mist that seemed to hold his lifeblood in.

  Jonathan smirked, twirling his halberd in a spiraling pattern closer to the crescendo of a dance than anything Vrax had seen before the movement ended with him striking in a jagged upward blow that took the man’s hands off at the wrists. Shadow suddenly shrouded his entire form as mana pulsed around him madly. The mana began swirling the shadows into a dark storm that looked violently malicious; threads of shadow shot out, a few longingly stabbing into Jonathan's legs as he leapt away to avoid the building maelstrom.

  The shadowy form of the man suddenly exploded into a shower of gore and entrails raining down upon everyone present. A crystallized statue of jagged blood in the rough shape of his veins stood where he once was. Stereos Sighed at the effort “A clear, decisive victory is best for showing dominance,” he said with confidence. The cutthroats slowly turned to look at him in concern as the crowd was suddenly more scared of the meek robed man than the paladin.

  Vrax turned towards him in concern as well, shocked by the utter annihilation that had just occurred. Stereos gave a small smile. “Don’t give a mage nearly a minute to cast uninterrupted, or things like that can happen.”

  After that no one wanted any more issues. Segunda wasn’t thrilled when he woke up covered in entrails, but a bit of gold and a health potion smoothed things over some. Vrax sure as shit didn’t think they would be welcomed back. But they certainly made a statement about how they deal with bounty hunters.

  They trekked onward towards the whispering grotto. They were getting curious looks from merchant caravans and concerned stares from their guards. Their group looked very much so like some eccentric, high-level adventurers' party. Torvald lumbering ahead on his bear covered in living bits and pieces of the Forsaken Lands. Jonathan on his persnickety chestnut horse and even Stereos, who had bought one of the jet-black horses from the mercenaries.

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  But of course it was Vrax’s mount that drew the most attention and drove a few families flat off the road in fear. It hissed and snapped toward other mounts more than once, drawing a horse straight towards the party with its gaze until Vrax covered its eyes and cajoled it back on track with equal parts curses and bribes. If there were any bandits waiting in ambush, they stayed the fuck away from Vrax’s party.

  They arrived at Crucible in a glorious record pace. Torvald looked at Vrax in astonishment; the journey had only taken them a few hours. “Why didn’t we get mounts sooner?”

  “We were broke as fuck, remember?” Vrax grumbled back.

  The wall guards watched them attentively as they approached; Vrax gave a friendly wave, and they relaxed noticeably, waving back before going back to conversations and leaving the wooden gates wide open for them.

  Stereos looked around in interest as they drew into the small but bustling town. “Fascinating. I don’t think I have ever seen every single person in a town openly armed and armored before.”

  Jonathan grunted, “Well, they kind of have to be since the dungeon leaks some bullshit from time to time. It used to be just goblins, but apparently someone…” He looked hard at Vrax. “Changed the first floor up, and occasionally it spits out a homicidal plant that is fast as fuck and manages to get by the staircase guards.”

  “Stereos, man, we should get you some armor on that note… the robes are nonthreatening and all but…” Vrax started

  Stereos held up a hand. “I am not a fan of armor; it’s rather…encumbering. If I can save up enough, I was considering purchasing an enchanted robe somewhere down the line, possibly even a magical weave.”

  “Ehh, fair enough, I lucked out that mine is unfairly light.” Vrax responded before tugging his mount towards the two inns in the dead center of town. The adventurers coming and going gave them a wide berth, a few staring in sheer disbelief at the Thresher and more than one making superstitious gestures. Ahh yeah, well, a horse would have been a whole lot more inconspicuous, but gods, it would be boring and probably eaten in a week with my luck.

  The two opposing inns stood as they did before, the glamorous manor-like structure that catered to the whims of the rich on the left. Men and women in the finest armor imaginable, trailing cloaks the color of the sunset, were piling out of a carriage and handing their bags off to a porter.

  And to the right was where they stayed last time. The slightly bloodstained simple wooden building with broken railings and a porch that screamed, "Just try it." The “Ain’t Dead Yet inn and tavern". Vrax sighed contentedly, jingling his coin pouch as he started walking for the finer inn.

  “Oh fuck yeah, sleeping in style tonight. This is the kind of place that’ll trim my beard for me; it’s starting to get in my soup.” Jonathan said enthusiastically, following Vrax as he lined up behind the cluster of knights being checked in to the inn.

  Torvald wheeled his bear towards the shabby inn. “Fuck that! They have a fight pit over here! I’m not staying with the fuddy-duddies.”

  Jonathan stopped, obviously torn. “Crap...I want to try out some stuff... Uhh, Torvald, I’ll join you later. I need to get some maintenance done on all this before it reaches the point of no return.” Jonathan gestured broadly at his filthy, unkempt hair and ridiculously bushy, tangled beard.

  Stereos didn’t say a damn thing, simply falling into line for the nice inn. The sign overhead identified it as the “Distinguished Delver” in a flowery, precise script.

  The doorman looked them up and down with an uncomfortable cringe. “Gentlemen, I think this inn might be the wrong one for you, and also there is no way we can stable...that…” He gestured at Vrax’s mount with a pained expression.

  Vrax disappeared the thresher into his garden with a quick boop, deftly landing on the ground as it apparated out from under him. “Not a problem, and this is absolutely the right inn for us. How much for a VIP suite for three for one night?” Vrax said with confidence.

  “Ten gold, sir.” The smartly dressed doorman answered calmly. “Unfortunately, due to some meeting that has called a dozen orders of knights to Hope’s Path, the inn is near capacity.”

  Vrax let out a strangled attempt at a chuckle and grimaced as he fished ten gold out of his coin purse. This inn better raise my fucking stats or something; for this price I could rent a fucking house for a few weeks.

  The doorman's entire demeanor shifted from cautious politeness to a magnanimous level of subservience. “Right this way, my lord,” he said, ushering them into the marble-floored dining hall that made up the lowest level. They left their belongings in a room that wouldn’t have been out of place in the guest wing of a palace and came back downstairs to enjoy some fine dining before getting the full-service pampering treatment.

  The room was arranged with circular stone booths embellished with silks and wood rimming the outside and a few larger booths towards the center. Vrax and his friends settled into a booth about the same time as four heavily decorated knights stuffed themselves into a booth closer to the center of the room, each of them in different heraldry. Oh damn, that's...a lot of different important-looking knights at one table. Vrax eagerly focused his enhanced hearing towards the table.

  The first was a woman with golden hair and fierce features in the resplendent orange and reds of a sunset. The next was an utterly plain man with a solid build and graying hair; his eyes were strikingly vacant, as if he had seen horrors that never quite left him. He wore a simple suit of gray plate mail covered in scratches with a tattered cloak.

  The next to sit didn’t wear classic armor, instead wearing a loose-fitting, flowing robe with a thin breastplate and armored vambraces; their clothes were swirling eddies of blues and whites, the colors you would see in a crashing wave. They had a stylized white mask obscuring the face and a single longsword in a sheath over the shoulder.

  The final member was a thick man, equal parts fat and muscle, who wore a simple but fine cloak of furs. He hefted himself into the seat with a grunt. “Alright, so why are we here, Phillis?” he said to the woman in the mask.

  Phillis nodded respectfully towards the others. “Rogar, welcome to you too,” she said with a hint of amusement towards the big man. “I know we all got the same letter from the king. I felt it was beneficial for all parties to discuss this as a unified front without the new sovereign present and already being picked at by the vultures.”

  The dead-eyed man looked towards Phillis. “You mean, decide who gets what and how you can benefit from this without us getting in the way.”

  “Dorn, that’s not fair,” Phillis shot back in a hushed tone. “As far as I’m concerned, you always get first pick of new recruitment areas...you honestly need it more than us… We all share a bond from our years as adventurers; that’s the only advantage we share versus the major orders.”

  Dorn looked back blankly. “This shouldn’t always be some grand game of politics; give me the ones that want to fucking fight and have more balls than sense.” He gestured towards the so far silent woman in the colors of a sunset. “Give Geneva the ones who think family lines actually fucking matter.”

  Geneva frowned but didn’t respond. “Rorgar gets the fucks who want to freeze or spend their lives hunting pirates, and you get everyone who wants to stab people but also wants to chant magic bullshit while they do it!” Dorn finished passionately.

  Phillis looked at Dorn, her expression hidden behind the ceramic white of the mask. “If only it were that simple…”

  “Bah, Phillis, in plain, simple words, what are we here for?” Rogar grumbled while waving down a waiter to ask for a flagon.

  “I wish to propose a new idea for a new kingdom. Why don’t we try a joint academy for once? We all have skilled instructors, and we can just funnel recruits towards whichever of our unique styles fits them best instead of fighting each other for all the best prospects for once.” Phillis said in a hopeful tone.

  Geneva spoke up for the first time. “No, the golden shores will continue to choose our recruits from the noble houses and them alone of whatever this new land is.”

  Dorn hissed through gritted teeth. “Some of those boys would have been a hell of a help to me at Hellmaw. You know I can’t compete with the absurd sums you offer when you cherry-pick the most promising fighters and more or less bribe them into your order.”

  “Bah, let her keep the fucking prissy ones, Dorn,” Rogar said with an unkind chuckle.

  “Quality deserves quality treatment, Dorn,” Geneva said in a voice as smooth as ice.

  Phillis lightly rapped on the table with her hand to draw everyone’s attention back. “Stop the bickering; we don’t even know who this new king is or where his lands are, but it has to be a small and minor kingdom still. The other larger orders will be trying to bribe him into letting them and them alone into his lands. The only way any of us are going to get what we want from this is as a unified front!”

  That brought the bickering begrudgingly to an end. Ho ho...well isn’t all that utterly fascinating… Vrax sipped on his ale as he continued to eavesdrop on the conversation. It was giving him a fantastically unfiltered look at how the knight houses operated.