Red Company Form

Dis-allusioned with the Syndicate. Red Company form

Near the gates of Doomsayer’s Keep: Drawing deeply on the pipe, the embers glowed brightly in the late afternoon dusky light. Exhaling he studied the blue grey smoke as it drifted on a light afternoon breeze, Tombs contemplated the last few months…Or was it even longer? He shifted uncomfortably, not that his perch beneath the shady tree was particularly uncomfortable, the discomfort came more from within. He had wrestled with his mood, morals, loyalty, and esteem for far too long now he decided. He had watched his friend slowly drift further away, he wondered if it was the horrific treatment from the Erayax when he’d been captured, Tombs had been instrumental in his rescue, such was his devotion. He wondered if it were perhaps the pressure of leadership forcing decision which, deep in his heart, Tombs could simply not abide. And, most uncomfortably, he had to look within and wonder if it were himself over reacting… He shifted again and drew on his pipe – another blue grey cloud. Wondering if he would always be vexed over this, he considered his once beloved Syndicate feeling as though it was driven into the ground, he acknowledged not intentionally so, in his mind it was just a pragmatic observation – and given his internal conflict, one he accepted could be his alone. His almost destitute state here and now was, to his mind at any rate, a metaphor for the Syndicates fortunes of late. It hurt him almost physically to consider some of their battles over recent months for extraordinarily little return and, to be fair, for a range of reasons. He hated himself every time he blamed his friend for their misfortune, this made him progressively angrier and so the cycle had been for months now. Yet he also could not help but to apportion at least some responsibility to their band’s leader. For Tombs a significant moment was not so much the capture of a faction house bard, Null, that was a fortunes of war moment as far as Tomb’s could tell. No, it was the decision to use that prisoner as leverage, and to what ultimate end Tomb’s was still to this day unclear. What was palpable though, the rescue of the Null was unexpected, a disaster for his own house and ultimately damaging to their reputation as mercenaries for hire, neutral mercenaries for hire. To this day, Tombs did not consider himself to have enemies per se, opponents in battle were a business proposition ultimately. Thus, he was not without mercy if he could still get the job done. But no, their fortunes spiralled even further after the rescue of Null and the maneuvering to catch First-Marshall Lord Mikhail Orlat alone, their reputation, at the very least, among Empire forces was in ruins. He assumed some significance behind the empire assassin’s involvement in the rescue was at the behest of his faction masters and not simply from a house request. Tombs shook his head in frustration, this was what burned him up, the reputational damage and also his friends seeming further descent and ultimate disappearance. Sucking on the pipe stem, he clenched his jaw briefly, reflecting how he had felt shut out initially and now abandoned. Tombs was not alone in that, as the opportunities had come up, he had talks with two of his closest house allies, Baelin – Paladin, healer, fighter and Cillafrey – the Mage Hunter. They too acknowledged feeling cut adrift and without purpose or a lot of confidence in their present position. Here he was now, sitting under a tree just outside of Doomsayer’s Keep where they had agreed to meet after resigning from the Syndicate. He knew all of them did so with heavy hearts – he contemplated if either of them might ultimately have a change of heart, he certainly contemplated the potential risks of his decision. Tombs hoped beyond all hope that there would be no ill will about their decisions and actions. The three had agreed to set up as an independent company for hire, they were starting with the bare bones carcass of an idea basically. Limited resources and, as such, the new company would, for the time being bring whatever these three carried upon them at this moment… Tough times were ahead, of this he had no doubt. Of course, he was also confident that, given time and perseverance, they could earn both reputation and reasonable payment for their services to either or both factions as required. He could only guess about how long that trust might take to build. He could also for now only hope that someday soon they had the capital behind them to purchase (or obtain in other ways perhaps) their own headquarters/stronghold. As far as Tombs was concerned, securing headquarters somewhere in the free lands would be a demonstration of some success in their building of the company. Contemplating this set Tombs mind somewhat at ease if he were truly honest. Nothing beats a pleasant daydream distraction from woes – he quietly chuckled to himself as he reached for his hip flask… He uncapped it and drank, coughing slightly as the contents burned his throat. Swearing he made mental note to have someone in the company learn much better distilling practices than whoever made this batch of whatever this gut rot was. With that he chuckled and took another swig. The sun was set and the only light now available was the ambient light from Doomsayers Keep. The pipe was out now, and he absently tapped it on a log to empty the burnt contents, giving the bowl a quick clean with the small tool specifically designed for the task. He rolled and unclenched his shoulders as he dropped his pipe gently back into his pouch. Checking his long arm and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood, he turned to break cover and stride out onto the road as he noticed two figures approaching. He paused. Tombs watched from the shadows as they drew near, their attention on the Keep. He noted that they looked in worse straights than him, the short one with his head bandaged and the big bloke. Tombs let out a soft whistle, it dawned on him just how big this fellow was suddenly. He caught himself gulping reflexively and unconsciously dropping a hand to his firearm sling. Tombs overheard their quiet conversation, as it carried on the early evening air. The bigger man was going ahead to seek a birth on a ship, this definitely tweaked Tombs’ interest in both these fellows. He watched as the two shook hands and parted company – the smaller man remaining just outside the gates appeared to be trying his best to groom himself to some semblence of looking respectable. Tombs considered it a big ask, the man’s attire was clearly unwashed, damaged, his leather braces and vest needed a serious clean and he could do with a new sword… Tombs finally noticed the shock of white hair and realised he was looking at an older man, Tombs already expected him to be an old salty, perhaps he should introduce himself. Just as the old man looked to be ready to stride into Doomsayer’s Keep, Tombs broke cover and casually approached the man calling out and showing both hands, an almost universal sign in these parts that you meant no harm. The old man glanced over his shoulder and paused clearly assessing Tombs as he approached. Smiling, the man turned somewhat boldly to face Tombs. “Couldn’t help but overhear at least one of you was looking for work friend.” Tombs began. “Was just about to head into the Keep when you two walked by” He admitted, smiling. “Aye, my Coxswain is looking for a new birth so was keen to head straight to the harbour district.” The old man replied with a somewhat refined accent that took Tombs by surprise. It was completely incongruous with the look. Noticing this, the old man held out a hand, “Henry Tall at your service sir” he glanced down at his current outfit and battered old sword, “perhaps not difficult service for the present….” He smiled somewhat sheepishly. Tombs took the hand in a firm grip and had to admit the old man matched his grip, “Tombs” was his simply introduction. “What’s yer business then?” asked Henry Tall, Tombs looked him in the eye and replied, “Mercenary for hire mate” Tall smiled at the use of the “swabby” term “mate”. Tombs was now smiling too. “So, you were thinking of offering one or both of us work then?” said Tall. Tombs explained at some length his current plan, or predicament as it were finishing with, “we’re obviously looking for people for the company if we’re to be effective anytime soon”. Tall, after some contemplation, filled Tombs in roughly on his situation, the storm and, most importantly, the loss of his ship. Tall acknowledged that his funds were almost dried up and, given his current situation, he could be extremely interested in joining the company. Tombs was quick to point out that they don’t have a ship, “yet” said Tall smiling, Tombs laughed in response. “We can’t afford to buy one anytime soon.” Said Tombs bluntly, a somewhat wicked glint appeared briefly in the mariner’s eye, “more than one way to obtain a vessel son” he said with some finality. Tombs recognised there was some metal to this fellow. “what about the big bloke?” Tombs asked. Tall considered for a moment, choosing his words, “his heart is on ships, when and if the company obtains a ship, regardless of the method, he may be tempted back, but I doubt he would before that. Not that it is my place to speak for him, but I will certainly speak to him as the opportunity presents. Trustworthy man is Watkin Rask”. Tombs nodded. “Look, I don’t have much money, but, let me buy you a tankard and we’ll share a drink to seal the deal.” Said Tall. Tombs grinned, “Now that’s the best offer I’ve had in a while.” Tombs could not help but admit he was warming to this bloke already; he hoped his gut was not misleading him. They turned together and the well-dressed highwayman and the raggedly dressed mariner made their way to the nearest Tavern together. “Welcome to the Red Company” said Tombs as they walked. Tall smiled to himself, an unexpected turn he thought. Despite all that had transpired, Tombs allowed a small bit of optimism brighten his mood. Some tough times ahead for true, but, he had his first recruit…