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Old July 11th, 2012 (07:05 PM).
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It was justified
 
Join Date: Mar 2011
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Varian Sigmund and Cassandra Alexandera- Dalenham



After everyone had counted their pay, the drinks were brought towards them. Ava enjoyed hers with some potatoes while the rest of them stuck to their drinks. Varian took a few gulps of his Orbrigg Ale before slamming the goblet on the table, satisfyingly letting the aftertaste develop in his mouth. Ava asked a question that was probably on everyone’s minds (Well, probably everyone but Cass). Usually, Varian and Cassandra traveled without others. This was often due to their inability to find additional fighters on par (or close to) their skill, or the simple fact that everyone else they employ die untimely deaths. Such was the life of a mercenary. But in this situation, the two of them seemed to fulfill both categories: they were skillful, and thus far, they were alive. Alys suggested the notion of becoming a mercenary band, and at this moment, Varian couldn’t think of any reason to decline.

Varian picked up his goblet and drank from it again, contemplating the notion. “Well, in our line of business, work usually finds us.” He set his mug down on the table again. “I haven’t actually been I a group in quite a while. I say let’s give this a go, unless Cassandra has any objections.”

Cass downed her order in a single gulp, already ordering a second round and braving the fire ale that Alys ordered. It was apparent that she was going to let some newcomer out drink her. She needed more. She craved more. "Oh, was that an invitation to talk? Yeah, sure. I don't give a crap."

As Varian prepared to speak once again, he was interrupted by a clearing of the throat of a short, stout man in front of him. The plump man wore a large, hooded black cloak, and although Varian was no connoisseur on clothing, he could tell it was crafted of luxurious material, perhaps silk. The man kept very well hidden that which he wore underneath, but Varian could have sworn he saw some sort of jewelry on his garb. No matter how well the man probably tried to hide it, he was evidently quite wealthy.

“Excuse me, sirs, but I do believe I overheard that you are in fact mercenaries, is that correct?”

Varian looked back at the others, and then turned to the man in the cloak. He put one arm over the back of his chair as he continued to gaze at him. “I suppose we are.” Varian finally replied, much to the apparent joy of the cloaked man.

“Splendid!” He exclaimed, perhaps too loudly for which he intended, causing him to look around the tavern to make sure nobody else heard. After composing himself, he spoke again. “I am in desperate need of assistance, and I have no one else to turn to. My daughter has been taken by brigands. They took her north and are holed up north in a fort just outside of Curilan. I have sent others to try and release her, but none have returned. I implore you, please rescue my daughter!”

In Varian’s eyes, the man seemed sincere. It was against his better judgment to usually go directly for the client instead of through contractors, but he seemed like he was distressed and in desperate need of assistance. But Varian knew the others might be tired from just accomplishing one mission, and might have liked to stay in the city for a few nights before going on another job. He disliked the notion of turning down a potential client, but the lives and well-being of his group would always take precedence over the client.

“Sorry, but we’ve only just returned from a job of our own, and we’re tired. I’m sure you can find ano-“ Varian was suddenly interrupted by the man in the cloak. “How much did you earn on your last job?”

Varian looked at him curiously, bringing his mug up to his mouth and taking a gulp of the ale, and replied. “40 silver.” The man was quick to respond.

“I will pay you 40 silver to each of you, and an additional 100 to be split amongst the survivors upon completion.” He said, unflinchingly. Varian nearly spit out his drink from his mouth as he heard the offer. He place the mug down on the table and eyed the man suspiciously.

“Who are you exactly?” Varian questioned him. The man in the cloak looked around for a moment before replying. “I am…a reputable merchant wishing only to have my daughter returned to me.”

"Most 'reputable merchants' don't mind sharing their name," Cass said with a gulp of the fire ale, shaking her head at the taste. It was stronger than she expected. She glared at the merchant, before Varian grabbed her by the shirt dragging her close to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked under his breath.

"What? I don't trust him. Looks...sketchy."

"Says the drunk woman with the giant sword." Cass rolled her eyes. She knew Varian was right. He usually was.

"Fine, fine," she said before releasing herself from Varian's grasp. She downed the Fire ale, and throw the bottle down to the ground with a loud shatter, capturing everyone's attention. "What?!" She roared to the crowd. "Hey bartender! Another drink before I start flipping some tables!"

The merchant took one look at Cassandra before returning his gaze to Varian. "You'll forgive me if I don't share my name, but I came with the job offer under the intention of secrecy. Had I not wanted that, I would have chosen a more…direct way of getting my daughter back to me. This offer shall only come once. Either accept it, or do not.”

Varian sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked over the faces of the others. Cassandra would be willing to go, he was sure of it. Alys said she was looking for work anyways, and Ava had no plans at the moment either. He tried to read their faces, and without waiting for a particular response from them, spoke back to the merchant.

“Alright. We accept.” He said, picking up his mug and finishing the rest of his ale before slamming it down hard on the table. The merchant seemed overjoyed.

“Thank you, warriors!” He began fiddling in his pockets as if looking for something, but did not necessarily pull anything out. He continued to speak. “Now, I know you wouldn’t want to set off right away, and without any knowledge of the mission. Tomorrow at the break of dawn, meet me in front of the gates of Dalenham, ready to go, and I’ll bestow upon you the first half of the payment. Is this acceptable?”

Varian nodded, and the merchant smiled. “I will see you tomorrow, then. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Save your thanks for when we actually finish the job.” Varian said coldly. The merchant nodded in understanding, and departed. Varian eyed him the entire time while he left the tavern, before leaning over to the others. “Sorry I didn’t ask your opinions right then, but he needed an answer. Besides…” He said, turning first to Ava, “…you said you had nothing you were doing for the next few months and you…” he motioned to Alys, “say you’re looking for work. You’ve both proven your talent in battle and we can use fighters like you. Let’s all stick together a while longer.”

Varian motioned to the bartender. “Oi! Another round for the four of us!” He yelled at him. The bartender was quick to yell back. “Aye, I’ll get you your damn foreign pisswater!”

"And I will shove it up your ass!" Cass yelled in a drunken rage.

"I apologize to have over-heard your conversation,” Varian turned behind to see who had begun the conversation, “but you have work to be done? My name's Elijah Darryon Chapmann, and I'd be glad to be of service."

Varian eyed the man closely. Even while sitting down, he could tell the man was tall, probably even taller than him. He had black hair, and He wore chain mail armor under a black chest plate, and a smug, satisfied smirk across his face. Varian noticed his sword, which had an engraving on the hilt of the letter “E”. He took a drink of his next round of Orbrigg Ale just brought to him, and spoke.

“That depends, boy. Is that weapon just for show, or do you know how to use it?”
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