The Mission?

 

 Light, bright light, all too painful light so rudely assaulted Erik Alanson’s dark brown eyes as he struggled to open them. Coupled with the pounding drums in his head, the light sorely reminded him of the last night’s memorable activities. Erik sat up on the straw covered mat in the corner of the common room and rubbed his throbbing temples with long rough fingers. Finally willing his eyes to open, Erik pulled himself to his feet and swaggered towards the back door of the inn to answer natures call while trying to avoid some still stupored boarders. Erik was captain of a company of 12 mercenaries. He was young to hold such a position, at only 19; Erik had experience well beyond his years.  As he bent over the wooden bucket of water for the horse trough, he gazed at the scars on his dark gaunt face and tight chest that testified to his extensive experience. He and his “Boys” had just come back from fighting for some petty Lord who wanted a couple of acres of his neighbor’s choice farm land. If you can call it fighting, it was more like butchering.

  

“The greedy b*****d,” Erik had thought.

 Erik raised his head out of the water trough and let the cold water stream down his face and glisten in the noon day sun. As he took his rough wool shirt and dried his stubbled face and shaggy hair, he took a moment to recall the events of the last several hours, or, at least the ones where he was conscious.

 

 Erik and his men had arrived in the northern capital city of Redmoor late the previous evening and had found lodging in an inn called the Crow’s Gambit, where they were regulars when in the area. Things in the northern country were looking a little rougher lately, ever since the old king and his son died suddenly and the chief chancellor claimed the throne. But such politics did not bother mercenaries like Erik or his men, if anything the current politics meant more people hiring mercenaries which meant better business, and better business meant purses full of gold and swords covered in blood.       

 

 Upon entering the body and smoke filled tap room of the Crow’s Gambit, Erik and his men were welcomed by its patron, a grog-bellied ex-royal guard who went by the alias “buck tooth” or just “Buck”, which referred to his foot long buck knife that he always wore on his hip.

 

 “Erik, you filthy son of a camel, what are you doing in these parts?” greeted their jolly male host loudly from behind the bar.

“Why, I’m here to eat your food, drink your ale, and rob you blind you spineless pig,” replied Erik as he heartily shook hands with his old friend. Buck laughed a wheezy laugh.

Erik turned to Bowen his lieutenant, a burly fellow who wore a purple plaid kilt along purple woad on his face, and barked over the noise of the crowded common room,

“Tell the lads to relax and to enjoy themselves, but to meet back here by this time tomorrow.” Bowen gave a tooth-filled smile.

“Aye sar, the lards will enjor themsaleves.” He laughed as he turned to spread the word.

 “Alrighty then, what will you have old friend, the usual blueberry mead or would you like to try one of our new imports from the misty islands?” asked Buck.

“I’ll have the usual, and some of whatever you have roasting over that cooking fire,” replied Erik as he approached a corner table dragged out a rough stool and collapsed onto it.

“Aye consider it done, I’ll have it brought out to ya,” shouted his host as he vanished amongst his other patrons leaving Erik to take in the atmosphere.

   The Crows Gambit was a nice establishment in its own sense, though most of its clientele were either city tramps, off duty city watch, traveling mercs or the occasional w***e or two, but it was well kept and had the reputation of a well supplied tap room.

It was also in establishments like this where a mercenary would most likely find a well paying patron. Most of Erik’s patrons in the past had been overweight petty Lords who wanted a rival Lord taken out for one reason or another, or who just wanted Erik and his lads to do his dirty work for him. These sort of men sickened Erik, and many times He had contemplated the thought of doing in both his patron and his target.

 

“But then again, one in this line of work can’t be too picky,” Erik always reasoned.  

 

It was upon these thoughts Erik was pondering, when a wooden dish filled with a steaming mutton stew and a leather tankard overflowing with foaming mead landed on the table in front of him with a loud plop. Erik stared at the food for a second letting it’s enticing aroma fill his nostrils.

 “Thank you Sada,” said Erik as he slowly began shoveling hot stew into his mouth.

“Thank you!” said Sada while hovering over him in mock disgust. She quickly shot a hand down to Erik’s stubbled chin and roughly tilted his face, which was still half chewing bread and stew, toward hers. Sada was a regal looking woman with green eyes, long chestnut hair and fair skin, who fairly was the embodiment of physical desire. She appeared to be about 20 winters but was in reality considerably older than that. There were rumors going around that she was part elf, so she retained some traces and features of that race.

“That my dear is not a thank you, Now what I’m about to show you is,” and with that she kissed him long and passionately on the mouth. Erik was taken completely by surprise. Though he knew well enough that if Sada wanted a man she was bound to have him, Erik was still quite backward when it came to women, but he would never admit it. Still, the kiss was…amazing? Sada laughed girlishly at Erik’s dumbfounded face as she pulled away from him.

“Well, well, Erik Alanson,” laughed Sada as she rested a slender hand on a well shaped hip, “You have certainly improved since we last encountered each other, I guess miracles do happen.”

 Erik did not ever embody any of the definitions of the word coward by any manly standard, but there was something about this woman that was odd to him, something that made his skin crawl. No matter how he thought about it or what he did, he could not shake the feeling of foreboding that lay heavily upon him whenever he was around her, but at the same time he could always feel himself being darkly and irrevocably drawn to her.

 “Oh come now don’t look so foolish; you should be man enough by this point to take a compliment like that from a lady, and besides,” said Sada bending over close enough that Erik could feel her scented breath on his ear.  “There is plenty more where that came from if you’re interested.”

“Call me if you need anything, and I do mean…anything.”

 She quickly pecked him on his still stunned face and turned to walk away, but stopped as she remembered something.

 “Oh, by the way,” she said with a seductive turn of the hips, “Someone handed me this message a few minutes ago and told me to give it to you.” With that she handed Erik a rough looking note.

    The note that Sada handed to Erik at first glances was an ordinary note made of rough paper with jagged edges, but the fact the hawk of Redmoor was stamped on it in red wax, made it quite extraordinary. Erik contemplated the thought of waiting till after he finished his now cold stew before reading the note, but his curiosity got the best of him.

“Why the royalty of Redmoor would be sending me a letter stamped with the royal seal I haven’t the slightest clue?” thought Erik to himself. 

“Besides, we have only been in the city for neigh over an hour, how would anyone know I was here?” “Oh, Hell!!” and with that Erik pulled out his black dust covered boot knife and carefully broke the seal. He could feel the anticipation growing inside himself as he slowly unfolded the paper, but it was what was on the paper, or lack there of, that left Erik dumfounded.

“Is this a joke?” Erik shouted in disgust while throwing the paper down across the crumb covered table. “Who would forge a royal seal on a blank piece of paper just to play me for the fool?

“Oh but you are not a fool,” said a very smooth masculine voice.

Erik slowly looked around himself using his well trained peripherals, but saw no one near enough to be heard so easily. Then he looked down at the discarded “note” on the table.

Upon what was previously a blank sheet of paper now appeared a hooded face of a man so clear and real that Erik could reach out and touch it.

“Or at least so I thought,” silkily spoke the image, “but from that stupid look on your face I’m beginning to think otherwise.”

Erik stared completely dumbfounded.

“Oh come now boy its magic, we haven’t got all day you know!” “You must listen to me.”

 Erik quickly regained his composure. Though the knowledge and use of a sword, bow and horse were well known and mastered by him, Erik was still very unfamiliar with the use of magic, especially such powerful magic as image casting.hg

 “Who are you?” asked Erik as he looked around to see if anyone else could hear him or this strange message.

“Who I am does not matter right now, what does matter is that you must be in the old gallows district by the widow’s oak at midnight.” If you are not,” here the hooded messenger paused for effect, “Your life will be forfeit.”

You will meet someone there, someone who will change you life, someone you must… kill. If you complete this task, you will receive a sizable reward for your efforts.

So remember, the widow’s Oak in the old gallows district. With a disturbing smile he added,

“Your life is about to change, you now hold in your hands your destiny.”

And with these words the image dissolved back into the paper which then burned to ashes.

Erik still stared at the ashes in complete shock. After a few minutes and deep breaths he relaxed and brushed the remaining ashes and some crumbs off the table.

“Well like I always say, one in this line of work can’t be too picky.” Erik thought to himself.

   He then glanced down at his now cold and fly covered meal. With disgust Erik pushed the bowl away.

 “I may not be able to be picky about my work, but I can sure as hell be picky about my food.” “SADA!”