“This town is dead.” Barim stated it matter of factly, the same way he would have remarked that the sun was hot (which it was). “The streets are full of old men and boys, Garold. Barely a man to be found.” Barim folded his thick arms across his broad dwarven chest and his braided blond beard for emphasis. Barim and Garold were dressed in armor, and wore the blue and white tabards of the Bannermen, which made the heat of the day even worse.
The Bannermen were a mercenary company, known throughout the petty kingdoms of the Ardovikian Plain. Famous for their steadfastness, their insignia featured a blue banner with a white closed fist. Barim was the head of the company’s heavy infantry, and he had a strong eye for talent. He knew within moments if a man could be trained to stand shoulder to shoulder in line with his mates. The Bannermen had taken a contract with Baron Rokur, a young minor noble who recently inherited his father’s “kingdom”. Like most local nobles, Rokur had delusions of grandeur, and he hoped to expand his lands with the Bannermen’s aid. As part of the contract, the company was permitted to recruit from among the local towns. However, the population seemed devoid of the second sons, thieves, drifters, and dispossessed young men that formed their usual recruits.
Garold smiled, “Full of your usual dwarven optimism, I see.” He patted Barim on the shoulder. “I agree that the previous villages were sparse, but we haven’t hit this particular village yet. This town may still hold a few surprises.” Garold was tall for a human, and thin, (some would say gaunt). He wore a cloth rag on his bald head to shield it from the sun, and his square jawline was framed by a tight salt and pepper beard. “As with most things, it will be Weighed on the Scales.”
Garold was a priest of the Children of the Fall, and the Bannermen’s de-facto chaplain. The Children shunned away from any excess, believing it to be the path to ruin. Garold was a member of a sect of the religion that worshipped the idea of the Balance. Garold, like other disciples of the Balance, believed in the duality of the primal forces of the universe, as shown by the splitting of the Celestians after the Fenulian Mirror shattered. They maintained that you can’t have light without shadow, and if one side became dominant, the world would grow static. Adherents appreciated that when both competing forces were at play, the world became more dynamic and civilization made its most progress. The Children of the Fall were popular in some of the human lands, especially in the Rhordian League. Its pragmatic tenets appealed to a world where real monsters and angels walked the earth.
Together, Barim and Garold made an odd but imposing pair, and they drew a lot of attention from the locals as they walked into the town square. The young people openly gawked, while the old people pretended not to, sneaking glances all the same. The two men were familiar with the attention, and they knew how to play a crowd. With practiced efficiency, Barim stationed himself in the center of the square, in front of a newly erected ten-foot-tall statue of the young Baron. Garold circled the statue, and the two men made eye contact with as many of the townsfolk as they could. Within a few moments, curiosity caused the townsfolk to begin crowding around. Barim scanned their faces as he unrolled an elaborate parchment scroll. With a deep, booming voice that could carry across a battlefield, Barim began reading.
“Hear Ye! Hear Ye! On behalf of the Baron Rokun, the Bannermen, the most famous mercenary company in the Ardovikian Plain, have been granted a charter to recruit from among the populace of the town of…”
“Farleaf,” whispered Garold
“Far Leaf!” Barim shouted the name as two separate words with enthusiasm. “Any and all persons are hereby invited to present themselves for consideration. If you are found worthy, you’ll be given food, clothing, shelter and camaraderie. You’ll also be given an annual stipend of ten gold Rhors.” A murmur welled up from the crowd. Ten gold pieces, or ‘Rhors’, was as much as an expert tradesman could make in a year. “In addition, you will be entitled to a share of the spoils of war gained through any future contract. And you’ll have the honor of being a member of one of the most feared and respected military companies in the land. Come, people of Far Leaf, present yourself, and take the first step on the path to adventure and a better life!”
While Barim read, Garold assessed the crowd. A few of the older boys seemed interested in the prospect, but most of them had only seen fifteen summers, at most. Even if they stepped forward, they wouldn’t make the cut. Garold met the gaze of one of the young men, and gave him a subtle shake of the head, saving the boy the embarrassment of being rejected in front of his peers. Silence fell over the crowd, and it stretched uncomfortably.
Garold made eye contact with a sizable older man in the back of the crowd, maybe in his forties, with black hair graying at the temples. The man was dressed in a well-kept leather apron, but the clothes underneath were shabby. The man met Garold’s gaze with brown eyes that showed sadness and desperation in equal measure. ‘Here was a man with a story’, Garold thought. Seizing the moment, he shouted out to the man, “You there! You look like you’re no stranger to hard work. What’s your name, friend, and what do you do?”
The man gave a wry smile. “My name is Harvir, and I’m….I was a blacksmith in the town of Ringill. There was a fire, and I lost my smithy and my home. I came here looking for work, but the local blacksmith won’t take me in. Not enough work to take me on, he says. So, now I’m nothing.” He said the last sentences with bitterness.
Garold gave an understanding smile. “We could use a man like you, Harvir.” Garold spoke the man’s name as if they were lifelong friends. “We can take you in, friend, give you back your purpose.”
Harvir looked at Garold, then Barim, and then the ground. His fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically, and Garold knew that Harvir was deciding. To push now would scare the blacksmith away. He waited patiently until Harvir looked up. “I’ll join your band, but I want double the sign-on pay.”
Garold gave a sigh of relief, which was echoed by some of the townsfolk. He didn’t realize that he had been holding his breath. “Come here, and stand with us. We will talk.” The crowd parted to allow Harvir to pass by, and as Harvir strode across the square he straightened his back and seemed to grow taller. He stationed himself next to Barim, within the statue’s shadow, and studiously examined the ground.
A few moments went by, though judging from the crowd Garold knew there wouldn’t be any more takers. But to net a blacksmith? That was worth a dozen thieves or farmers. He tapped Barim on the shoulder, and the dwarf looked up and muttered: “Alright then.” They both turned to go, but hesitated when a commotion broke out in the back of the crowd. Two young men were running into the square and pushing their way to the front.
“Wait! Don’t leave! We want to join up!” Garold looked them over as they emerged from the crowd. The men were both on the shorter side, both dressed in worn and dirty clothes. Despite that, the pair looked healthy and strong.
‘This is more like it’, Garold thought to himself. The young men presented themselves in front of Barim, standing as tall as they could, with their hats in their hands. Barim slowly looked them up and down, while the two men stared at a blank spot just above the dwarf’s head. Finally, Barim growled, “You look like you’ll do. What are your names, and what did you do before today?”
“I’m Nasser”, the shorter, darker one stated. “This is Jodan, Jo for short.”
“I didn’t ask you what HIS name is!” Barim barked. Garold turned away from the two men and smiled to himself. This was standard. Barim had to see how the recruits handled getting rattled. If they sulked, or shrank before the onslaught, he would send the recruits packing. But if they got a glint in their eye, Barim could work with that. Barim turned to the taller, lighter complexioned man. “Can’t speak for yourself, boy?”
“My name is Jodan, sir. Friends call me Jo. You can call me Jodan.”
Harvir snorted at that, even though he still stared at the ground. Barim smirked. “We’ll see what we decide to call you. So, what did you both do, Jodan?” Barim asked, looking straight at Jodan as he put a finger up to shush Nasser without so much as a glance.
Jodan answered, “We’re farmers, sir. Looking to get off the land and out into the world.” Barim nodded. Garold knew these men were lying, but that wasn’t unusual. Most of the street toughs that joined the Bannermen did so to gain a new start, and to leave their past behind.
Garold addressed the crowd. “Looks like we’re done here. Jodan, Nasser, Harvir, please come with us.” With that, the crowd began to disperse. The lieutenants and their recruits left the square and headed to the common fields outside of town, where the rest of the company had made camp.
—————————————————————————————————–
A pale, sallow face looked out at the two new recruits from the crack of a shuttered window in an empty building on the town square. Even in the complete darkness of the building, the creature’s yellowed eyes squinted from the brightness outside. The creature snickered to itself. “The two humans think they can escape. Think they can take their secret and hide. But no one can hide from the Master.” The creature crouched down, and suddenly a murder of crows exploded out from the window, banging the shutters hard against the side of the building. Where the creature had been kneeling, only a black charred circle remained, burnt into the floor.
