A New Contract

Miragliano was the greatest city to have ever existed, according to it's residents, in all of Tilea and by extension, all of the old word. The former was hotly debated by other city states in Tilea, but they all agreed on the latter. After all, Tilea was the beating heart of humanity at it's finest, despite what the snooty Bretonnians and overly fanatical people of the Empire believed. No other race that ever lived in the old world was as adaptable as Humanity, and humanity excelled in conflict.

Conflict was an old comrade in arms and a jealous wife all in one in the sunny climates of the south. City states were always vying for a bigger slice of the trade coming from the far nations of Ind and Cathay, the trade from lustrian colonies and of course the dwarfs that lived in the Vaults.

Serra could see a bit of the famous Tilean rowdiness in display at a tavern she was seated in. Seated in one of the tables in the far corner, she took in everything happening in the parlour. The place was well furnished by human standards, but would have turned the nose of the homeliest woodcutter in Chrace. A large number of bare tables crowded by dozens of men laughed and cheered as two men, - An Estalian and an Imperial – exchanged blows. Of course in a brawl like this, bets would be made and coin won or lost. With a dexterity she had never thought humans could possess, coins were tossed and wagers laid on who would win. The fighters in comparison seemed positively slow in comparison. The Estalian was smaller and nimbler, while the Imperial was bigger and seemed sturdier. It was always hard to tell with humans. For all their bluster and posturing, they seemed to go down fast to the arrows of elven archers or get skewered by spear or lance when they managed to land on the coasts of Ulthuan. She turned her attention away from the impromptu entertainment of the night to the man who was seated opposite to her.

Serra was positive that the man couldn't see her. Between the voluminous cloak she was wearing and a simple spell harnessing Ulgu – the lore of shadows, the humans senses would be befuddled.

He however was not looking at her. Much like his kind, his attention was drawn by the crude spectacle of the fight. She studied her quarry for a moment. An imperial, by the looks of him. Paler than a Tilean and grey eyes made him stand out in a southern crowd. Short black hair covered his head and framed his face. A sharp nose and an aristocratic bearing marked him as nobility – or what passed for it among humans. She was reminded not so much of the men of the Empire as the knights of Bretonnia when she looked at him. Still, it was unheard of for the bretonnian nobility to fight on foot. A mishmash of clothes including a rich tunic coloured in barbaric ways made him look like a foppish noble from the Empire all the samea. This creature was a product of Tilea in the matters of warfare, preferring to fight on foot or not at all if the money wasn't good.

Even as Serra finished her observations the Estalian swung behind the Imperial and punched him in the gut. The bigger man's eyes popped out and he began to go down like a sack of potatoes. Even as the smaller adversary leapt in to gloat, his hand shot out and he landed a flailing swing on the back of the Estalian's head. That knocked the man out cold. That did it. The entire tavern erupted into an uproar. There was no clear winner. Between all the drink and the shine of the coin, men began to start fights of their own to grab as much of the betting pool as possible. Her companion laughed and turned his attention fully towards her, his smile rapidly fading as he tried to make her face out.

"Let us negotiate madame, the gold you are paying us upfront is a bit too low. I have to make it worth our while for my boys."

Serra sighed inwardly. How Human. Haggling over imaginary pieces of gold like a child haggling for sweetmeats. In the absence of the Eldest Race from the old world, the humans had acquired the dwarf lust for gold. Much like what humans did, it was a weak imitation of those that came before them. Still, she would be using the tools she could make use of.

"As I have said, you get three tenths of the loot and don't have to pay for provisions during the journey."

"Those are generous terms madame, but the thing is, we haven't fought that far north before. While we will be sailing on the ocean, we will be letting go of contracts that are closer."

"So you are saying that you are too worried about short term profits instead of the much larger dividends I am prepared to pay you? And I had thought you and your men to be good soldiers"

The man's eyes flared up at that. His nostrils flared and he made to get up before breathing sharply and speaking. Humans were so predictable.

"We are good soldiers. The finest next to Borgio's company. We have taken on Orcs, bretonnians, beastmen and the ratmen – the skaven- that plague the hinterlands of our fair land. We are however not stupid. You promise to send us on a wild chase to the north beyond lustria with lesser pay than we would get upfront from a merchant prince from Remas-" the man grimaced at that name before continuing "- and a loot policy that is not fair to us. Madame, I have 2 cannons, light and made of bronze, they do not come cheap." He held up 2 fingers as if to emphasise his point. He continued with a boastful air. "We will bring back the treasures from the temple cities of Lustria if all the lizards of the jungle were after us and lay them at your dainty feet if only you promised to give us a fair share of it."

The man absolutely believed that. Despite herself, Serra began warming up to the man's boasts. He seemed to know what he was talking about, and his flourish at the end was something of a boast. The Asur often used human porters for their forays into Lustria. Each Elven life was precious, and there were humans aplenty. She smiled at the human and made him an offer she knew he wouldn't refuse.

"Very well. We shall share the loot from the sack evenly, and I am prepared to pay you double of what you asked for AFTER your services are no longer required." She was pleased to see the man stare dumbly at her for what seemed like an eternity before he sighed and nodded. The man brought out a large scroll of parchment and signed his name on it before passing it to her. She had tickled his professional pride with the promise of more payment.

"Von Peiper's Regiment shall exceed your expectations madame, for no extra cost." He proclaimed.

Time would tell of the veracity of his boast.

During their negotiations the brawl had nearly turned into a riot. Someone had the bright idea of beating up the barkeep and making a rush for the booze downstairs. Others followed this entrepreneur and soon enough the floor was covered with bruised bodies, barrels and booze that had been spilled. Serra was reminded of the aftermath of a battle. She got up to leave, as the pathetic scene reminded her of why she was in this squalid place. Before leaving she turned to look at the human who was gulping down his drink and stretching his hand towards her untouched cup.

"Be at the docks before dawn, we shall see how you earn your keep soon enough." The man nodded before emptying her cup in a long and uninterrupted gulp.

Erich Von Peiper hated ships. It was strange enough for a man who had grew up in the empire, where rivers were often safer than roads for travelling, and stranger still for a mercenary leader who regularly plied his trade in Tilea, Estalia and sometimes even Bretonnia. Still, he was of the firm belief that people were best served when the ground under them was solid, not roiling in turbulent waters in an oversized coffin that floated.

This infernal contraption was simply the worst of them. It heaved and rolled in the calmest of weather and made him feel happy he didn't invest in horses as part of his business expenditure. The beasts were too hard to transport over sea and tended to get eaten when supplies ran low. They were also notoriously terrible to pacify on ships. For all their stupidity, horses shared one idea with him. Travelling on boats and ships was bad. He wondered how much of that was due to his mediocre skill at riding. His father, a Knight of the Empire had tried to teach him how to ride a horse. After weeks of painful sores the man had declared Erich was as bad as a bretonnian peasant when it came to riding horses. Still, that had been a simpler time. The biggest worry Erich had then was a way to ride his horse. Now, his poor skill at riding just was about the least of Erich's worries about life. His father was still in Pfeildorf no doubt, brooding over his son and his failures.

Thinking of home brought to mind darker memories so Erich stopped thinking about the past and looked at his companions. The four of them were as bad as he was, alternately eyeing each other and the porthole. Bored out of their minds, a wager of a week's salary had been struck. The last person to puke after a full tankard of rum would walk away a decently wealthy man by mercenary standards. The tension in the room was palpable. Afraid that if they spoke they might throw up, and afraid that the silence was making them focus on the uncomfortable movement of the ship and the rum sloshing about in their bellies.

Myrmidia protect them, they were going to throw up simply due to boredom if this continued. Erich broke the silence. "So Sven, how do you like travelling in Southlander boats eh? A far cry from the terrifying longships your fathers used to terrorize all rightful men of the Empire." He emphasised this with a hearty clap on the back. It was a bit of a harsh clap, primarily a shove and an outsider may have been forgiven for thinking that Erich was trying to eliminate his competition early. The large 'Norscan' standardbearer looked at him with bloodshot eyes, making their blue stand out even more.

"I keep telling you, I was born in Salzenmund and my my mother was an honest tender at an inn on the waterfront." The man who spoke it seemed to be part of a Dietlef Sierck play, with his words completely at odds with his physical bearing. Taller than the imperial and tilean yeomen that made up the majority of Erich's mercenaries by a head, Sven made for an excellent standard bearer. Yet the man was gentle as a mouse and did not like fighting all that much. Someone had jokingly called him the most domesticated follower of Ulric in the Old World which was something of a dubious honour. The God of Winter and Wolves abhorred cowards, which probably explained why most Northerners were hot blooded in their quest for fighting just about any enemy of the empire.

"Yes, yes, we all know the story Sven, your mother was a barkeep and your father was an unlucky patron who ran out of money and had to pay in more base ways." Rudi interjected. A slim, lithe Reiklander with the air of a fox, Rudi was the piper in the company. It was his job to set the marching beat, a job that he excelled at – much to the consternation most men in Erich's company who protested that he made them march too fast. It was of course Rudi's idea to lay the wager and Erich didn't doubt that he had filled his belly with ham before suggesting it. Typical Reiklander wiles that would get him rich eventually, or killed quickly if the tables turned against the rogue.

On another Northman, that barb about his paternity would have been enough to cause a duel – if he was noble – or a brawl if he was an honest yeoman. Sven simply shrugged and continued. "Like I was saying. I tried my hand at a fishing boat once, the thing went down faster than a Marienburger looking for his coin purse. Ever since then I have kept a healthy distance from seagoing vessels, whether they be boats or cogs."

"And now you are here." Rudi picked up the conversation before Erich had a moment to interject. The man was incorrigible."Doesn't the sea make your stomach churn Sven? Manaan doesn't like us trespassing upon his domain. A little tumble and you could fall deep into the cold depths, far away from battle." He gave the table a violent shake as if to emphasise this point, hoping the quivering would be enough to make Sven lose his week's salary. The Nordlander didn't even budge, staring dimly at his cup.

A moment of awkward silence passed and then the four of them burst out laughing. Morr was a constant companion of mankind, his hand stretching over to claim the dead eventually, whether they died at sea or land. Being mercenaries, they had made peace with that axiom long ago.

The fourth companion, Phillip looked at them and clutched his sigmarite medallion. A bald and powerful man, he seemed more like a warrior than a drummer. He spoke, with a deep voice, the kind a priest would use. "Speak not of such foul tidings. I would rather be buried in the ground rather than at the bottom of the wide seas. Instead, I propose that we should rather discuss what our patroness has told us regarding our venture and Sigmar willing we can find a way to keep our heads on our shoulders with our purses considerably heavier with coin."

That was Erich's forte. He immediately sobered up and began to speak in a authoritative tone officers were fond of using. While initially a source of amusement for his company of mercenaries, that voice alone was the thing keeping them together in the midst of battle. Battles are chaotic places, and a tone of voice speaking loudly, and calmy gathered far more attention than frantic screaming. It also made Erich's stock rise among his clientele once they actually saw him in the middle of the battlefield slowly going about his business of killing their foes.

"Well, you see, we are to make a stop at Skeggi and take supplies and say hello to Sven's distant cousins and maybe find him a bride." Sven grimaced at that although it was hard to tell if it was the prospect of marriage or being related to the norscans that made him more perturbed.

"Our resupply completed, we are to take sail again and go north to the sea around the Titan Peaks. Our patroness assures us that the denizens of that place are fighting against the skaven or each other, and we shall help them by relieving them of treasures that they may hold. Once we have reaved and sacked to our fill, we are to then take the ships back to skeggi, and then on to the High Elven Harbour of Lothern. Then, our contract is complete, and we can return back to Tilea and continue our careers – or retire depending on our current financial status."

The last line was an something Erich had looked forward to earlier in his career, but was now certain was not going to happen, unless he found a hoard of dwarf treasure buried in The Vaults.

"What do we know about our patroness?" Rudi asked. Ever the practical man, he didn't like the idea of sailing to another continent to reave for large treasures when smaller treasures were already present for the taking in the old world. He lacked imagination, which in their business was a double edged sword.

"Well, for one, we know that she is a witch." Phillip clutched his medallion even harder, causing his knuckles to whiten. Erich continued, "so the idea that we can slit her throat and take all our share is probably not going to work unless Rudi wants to spend the rest of his life as a toad."

"Why would a witch want to hire some reavers to raid some forsaken coast on the other side of the world?" Phillip asked. It was a good question. Erich had a good answer, or so he hoped.

"Well you see, as powerful as she magically may be, she still needs people to actually fight. With a little bit of luck she destroys our foe with magic and we loot them and take their treasures. Besides, the war between Remas and Miragliano is over, and Pavona has been looted and gutted. I wasn't going to pay for idle hands and we still need more money so that we can retire."

"Aye, and for all we know you will give away the paychest to the first mewling child who comes across you back home." Sven's words stung Erich a little. Maybe his father was right. He wasn't cut out to be a soldier. Too awkward and too soft to face the harsh realities of life. He sighed as he said finished his briefing.

"Methinks our patroness is an Elf" Rudi mused. "Think about it. She comes to Miragliano, hires a small force of men and pays them in half a hundred coins from all over the world. I think I found an Ind ivory coin in my salary"

"Why Rudi, are you going to turn your charm on her? Maybe ask her for a special favour?" Sven retorted. "Ulric's teeth, you really want to be turned into a toad don't you?" Rudi glared angrily at a moment at the guffawing Sven before joining him in laughter. At times the two of them seemed like overgrown children in comparison to Erich and the sombre Phillip. Or maybe it was the drink getting to their heads.

"No, no, I got it all figured out. She leaves us at Lothern. Who would want to go to Elven lands unless they were an elf?"

"Except Lothern is perhaps the biggest port in the world Rudi. It would be a perfect place to hide in." Phillip spoke less often than Rudi or Sven, but what he spoke was generally sound advice to be heeded. A nearly ordained Warrior priest, the man had learned to quell arguments with a forcefully spoken point.

Yes indeed. Von Peiper's boys would have to find their own way back to the old world and given the nature of mercenary companies, they would spend most of their gold in the port itself before returning back.

Just then the ship gave a large lurch and the four of them threw up nearly together. The last thing Erich remembered before passing out was Rudi saying, "Lets call this a tie then."

Update as of 30th Jan. I corrected some minor mistakes in spelling and grammar.