Mikiron awoke with a jolt! His head felt like hornets had taken up residence inside it. He looked around for the tabaxi who’d just hit him, but all he saw was a cleric of Arawn holding a washcloth.
“Good morning,” he said with a slight smile. “You are not dead.”
“Where...am...?” Mikiron struggled with complex sentences at the best of times.
“You and that cat fought again,” the cleric firmly pressed Mikiron’s forehead back onto the bed. “You lost. He nearly killed you.”
“Nearly...” Mikiron coughed and forced himself up. Suddenly the curtain behind the cleric flew open and in flew the bespectacled half-elf BaKevin all a fluster.
“Is he dead?”
“No.” Mikiron stood up. “Not yet.”
“You were wonderful! Amazing! Oh, the money I’ll make off, we’ll make together!” BaKevin gushed. “You and Smoke are the best things to happen...”
“Smoke?” Mikiron asked as he pulled on his boots.
“The tabaxi...your opponent. Regardless, how’d you like some work, here, three nights a week fighting Smoke.” BaKevin smiled showing off his yellowed teeth. Mikiron stood up, patted BaKevin on the cheek, and walked out.
“Is that a yes?” BaKevin questioned as he followed out after the big burly orc. The cleric grabbed BaKevin’s sleeve and gestured for payment. ‘Yes, yes, you’ll get your money, does your god need it right now this second? MIKIRON!”
The orc wandered through the near deserted bar, only a few diehard alcoholics and adventurers were in at this hour of the morning. He spotted Smoke sitting at a table with a fancy looking human who was possibly a minstrel, an elf woman with a bow slung across the back of her chair, and a plump dwarven man with a coal black beard. Mikiron strode over to the table. Smoke’s ears twitched and he sprung up, hand on his axe ready for round three.
“WE ONLY FIGHT IN THE PIT!” cried BaKevin as he ran up and between them. “Can’t make any money if we act like savages.”
Mikiron glared at Smoke, who stared back. BaKevin went to speak as Smoke’s hand lashed out and clamped his mouth shut. The orc and the tabaxi stared intently before Mikiron’s hand shot out, as a handshake.
“Good fight.” Mikiron stated.
Smoke took the hand at the elbow and shook. “Good fight.”
“Are we good here?” asked the dwarf.
“I hope so,” chuckled the fancy man. “Any more tension and I’ll need a change of pants.”
“Now that I have you both,” BaKevin prised his mouth free of the furry paw. “I was hopin...”
“Go. Away.” Smoke snarled and shoved him several feet backwards, into the cleric of Arawn.
“Yes, right, very good,” BaKevin muttered as he walked away, shooing the cleric away as one would an annoying fly. The dwarf nodded at Mikiron, he sat, and the conversation resumed.
“As I was saying, simply escort job...”
“No kissing on the mouth, that’s extra,” the fancy man joked. The elf rolled her eyes and the dwarf just continued.
“I have a shipment of salted fish, glassware, and dried fruit I need taken to the Barony of Biazzan. Should be there in seven days, there’s a bonus if you get there earlier but its glass, so you’ll be deducted for breakages. Thirty gold pieces, get an extra fifteen for each day you’re early. You’re delivering to my brother, Thaddeus Shalesmite. Any questions?”
Mikiron sheepishly raised his hand. “Where?”
“The Barony of Biazzan, its northwest of here.” The dwarf replied and watched as the orcs hand went back up. “Yes?”
“What’s a Barony?”
“I think we’re good, Ezra,” the fancy man said. “We can explain the geo-political structure to our friend over some ale.”
Ezra stood up. “Come down to the warehouse at midday, I’ll be ready for you. Mikiron, Smoke, Alba...”
“Alvarelle,” corrected the elf.
“Alvarelle, and Sigmur.”
The fancy man tipped his plumed hat. “Sigmur d’Scaal, lover and arcane extraordinaire.”
Ezra Shalesmith ignored the pompous human and wandered out the bar into the morning going over his potential error in judgement in hiring two brutes, an elf, and a peacock.
“Seems we’ll be working together,” Alvarelle said as she waved over a barmaid, but BaKevin swooped in instead.
“So, a minute of your time my friends,” BaKevin gushed as he took up the empty chair.
__
Alvarelle, Sigmur, Mikiron, and Smoke stood at the entrance of the Shalesmite Fine Goods Emporium. It was a hive of activity with dozens of people flitting to and fro, wagons being loaded with goods, a literal giant worked an anvil hammering blocks of metal into flat sheets. Ezra Shalesmite wandered through the chaos to the group, his hands full of scrolls and parchments.
“Can I get your names again?” he asked. “It’s for the drivers and for my brother in Biazzan.”
“Alvarelle.”
“Smoke.”
“Mikiron.”
“Sigmur d’Scaal, greatest wizard in and out of the bed...”
“Thank you!” Ezra cut him off and whispered the names into a rock in his fist. “There are four wagons, each with a driver. Two have glass, other two have goods. You are responsible for breakages, as are the drivers. We’ve had bandits hit one of our caravans this morning, so be on your toes. Any questions?”
Mikiron raised a hand. “Is it two wagons or four wagons?”
Ezra’s face couldn’t hide the puzzlement at the question. “Four. Four wagons.”
Mikiron nodded but really wasn’t sure of the answer. The wagon train pulled up.
“Good luck,” Ezra said. “Payment will come from Thaddeus in Biazzan.”
__
As the sun began to set, the wagon train pulled off the road and made camp. The drivers; Meluo, Corio, Alat, and Brie, tend to the horses and secure the load. Alvarelle wanders off to scout the nearby area for trouble whilst Sigmur waves his hands and creates a fire, Mikiron gathers some wood.
Alvarelle takes the first watch, Smoke the second, Mikiron third, and Alvarelle the last as being an elf, sleep is an inconvenience and more a trance than a slumber. But thankfully the night passes uneventfully.
__
Upon the second day, all is well. Alvarelle sits up front with Meluo, Sigmur beside Brie attempting to seduce her at any and all opportunities whilst Smoke and Mikiron sit at the back of the last wagon watching for any who'd sneak up from behind.
As the wagons crest a hill and begin down the other side, Alvarelle spots a log across the road along with drag marks. She reaches over and pulls the reins up. Meluo begins to protest but she cuts him off quickly.
“Ambush.” she hisses. Her eyes dart about and spots two crossbowmen in the nearby trees concealed in the branches, whilst two not so ducked heads are tucked behind the log. She knocks an arrow and lets it fly hitting one of the tree dwellers in the neck sending them out of their spot and onto the dirt with a crunch. “We are under attack!” she yelled and takes cover between the two horses of the wagon.
A quarrel flies out and pierces Sigmur’s shoulder mid-flirt which snaps him out of his seduction of Brie. The two bandits behind the log leap out and charge up to the lead wagon, as two more from each side run towards wagon three. Mikiron and Smoke leap off the back to meet the approaching bandits.
Smoke roars in anger, his eyes roll back in his head as his primal rage kicks in. His greataxe swings with power and sinks deep into the nearest bandit; breaking all their ribs and nearly cutting them in half. With a swift kick, Smoke punts the bandit off his axe and into the afterlife. Mikiron slams a fist into a bandits jaw followed by a devastating uppercut which sends the would-be robber into unconsciousness.
Sigmur pulls the bolt out of his shoulder only to have a tall bandit, dressed in better armour thrust a shortsword at him. “Mages are always problematic!” The sword impales the wizard and stops on the wooden seat behind him. Brie screams as Sigmur collapses and the tall bandit moves towards the front wagon. Brie rips off cloth from her sleeve and attempts to keep the blood inside of Sigmur. The other drivers open fire with crossbows.
Alvarelle fires an arrow, hitting the bandit in the eye, and with an elvish whisper a spray of thorns shoots from the arrow hitting the other bandit in sharp spines. Smoke swings at the terrified bandit who manages to deflect the greataxe but loses his sword in the process causing the tabaxi to roar in frustrated anger! Mikiron bobs and weaves through the frenzied swinging of his bandit catching some nicks on his shoulders but lands a sickening uppercut that breaks his jaw and sends teeth flying allowing the orc to give chase on the bandit captain.
The bandit captain attempts to hit Meluo both only manages to knock the crossbow out of his hands. Alvarelle fires two more shots taking out the other crossbow sniper in the trees and putting the bandit who was sprayed in thorns out of his misery. Smoke swings his greataxe with ferocity and lops off the bandits' leg at the thigh. Mikiron tackles the leader, and they begin scuffling on the ground.
“Get off me you animal!” he yells as the orc pummels him. With a deft kick to the groin the leader gets free and stands up only to have a longbow at point blank range levelled at his head.
“Surrender,” Alvarelle suggested.
“Or don’t!” growls a frothing and huffing Smoke. Slowly he raised his hands, and went for it, swinging his sword to knock Alvarelle’s bow away but the elven archer released the arrow and drove it right through his open mouth and partially out the back of his skull. He collapsed like a sack of wet rags, then Smoke brought his axe down cleaving his face in half.
“Nice.” Mikiron remarked at the horrific scene.
“Yuck!” Alvarelle moaned at the blood spray onto her boots.
“Everyone okay?” asked Meluo and then spotted Brie trying to keep Sigmur alive.
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