This isn't an actual story post, just some stuff for y'all to know. Let's see... 1. Don't post, if you do, f**k you. 2. I'll make a Feedback after this post. 3. I'm using the character from the original Mercenary. If you remember that story then know it's something of a prequel. Because he died at the end of the first...cough And uh...I'll get it up soon, thanks.
To whoever may be reading this, I am unable to give you my name. I will however tell you about my life, and the events leading to my death. I am a mercenary, a soldier paid to fight for a foreign army. Or in most cases, hired help for dark deeds. Before I begin this blood-soaked tale of war and betrayal however, I shall tell you more about the birth of a mercenary. I said birth of a mercenary. Why would I say birth? The training I have received is beyond the darkest thoughts of my mind. A normal man would break under such conditions. Many have. So when I say a mercenary is born, I mean a being beyond the physical and mental capacity of others. I am proud to call myself one of those individuals. I was born in a country far to the north. I will not reveal the name. Last I was there it was in the middle of three wars and a terrible drought. Honestly, now I question if it even exists. Anyway, as said, I was born into this war-ravaged world. My family being among the lower-class of serfs. I myself was born into a life of...slavery? No, just a servant. My father had high hopes for me. My mother the same. I'm not sure why, even to this day. I do however remember something my father said I carry with me everyday I am breathing, "Your name will be remembered." I assure you, he was correct.
At the age of eight my talents displayed themselves. I was very athletic, the fastest runner in my village. I was persuasive, the tounge of a devil. And finally, I could fight. I may've suffered serious trauma, but I would not let myself fall. An example of my ego? Probably. My father had been a soldier, but in his age had become a farmer. My mother assisting him would sell what he grew in the market. This is an odd thing to throw in but, I've always been something of a rebel. Constantly undermining authority and all that jive. This stems from an event in my childhood. What caused this anarchist attitude? Don't worry, I'll tell you. In the market while selling some of the vegetables my father had grown, two soldiers came by my mother's stand. They attempted to take some corn. Was it corn? I can't remember, but that detail doesn't matter. Anyhow, this didn't sit well with my mother...or my father. Now even though he had been a soldier, my father was a very peaceful man. He politley asked the two men to leave the stand. They laughed. My father threatened them. They laughed harder. My father swung for one of their heads. One of them stopped laughing. Now two slightly armored men versus an older unarmored man seems fairly one-sided. Albeit my father got a few good hits in, he drew blood, he didn't win. One of his blows was blocked, and he received a swift kick to the gut. He fell fairly quickly. One of the guards kicked him, cursing in some foreign tounge. His friend called him off. They turned to leave, but not before knocking baskets of various crops to the ground. And as they walked away laughing...I felt a new emotion. At first a feeling of sadness. I wiped my tears away, but even though I felt I was going to cry, I didn't. My hands curled into fists, breathing heavily and my teeth grit. This was the first time I felt rage.
At age 13, during a winter night, I was awoken by someone beating on the door. I didn't know who it was at the time, but you'll be hearing of them throughout my story. The Guild. The Guild was created some two-hundred years ago. Built into the side of a mountain, the Guild has been home to every great mercenary known. Training in the arts of sabotage, combat, and psychological warfare. While there are several Guilds, the Guild I belong to is the best. No question. I share this information with you only because the name has already become infamous across all lands. The Guild of the Crossed Blades. Now...back to my home and childhood. I went downstairs to see my father talking to two hooded men. One of the men was short, speaking to my father while fiddling with his own hands. The other stood tall, his arms crossed as he peered in to inspect our home. Then he looked at me, giving his associate a gentle nudge with his elbow. The shorter man looked up to me as well, then back to my father, "Say your goodbyes Herris, the boy goes tonight. Guild order." My father never did say goodbye. He led me to my room, collected some essentials in a bag, staring down to the floor. He seemed distant. We walked downstairs, and before I exited my home for the final time, he grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face him. "Make a name for yourself." I'm sure he'd be proud of all my...accomplishments.
Now I did step out of the house. I did get in their carriage. Now, at first I resisted. But that didn't last very long... The taller man put a hand on my shoulder, and as the door closed I tore away from him. He sighed heavily, putting his hand back. I resisted once more. The shorter man grabbed my wrist, his voice a raspy growl, "Just get in the carriage, boy." I shook my head. He bent down, and looked in my eyes. His right eye was a milky white, a jagged scar running over it. He stared at me for a moment before quickly pulling his mask down, blowing a blue smoke into my face. It stung my eyes, and even as I stumbled his grip didn't loosen. He leaned back up, pulling me along to the carriage. "Necessary?" , the taller man asked. "Damn brat wouldn't listen." was the response. I woke up in the carriage. It was running on a stone road, the surrounding area flat and void of all life. Not a single thing was out there, aside from some mountains in the distance. The two men sat across from me. The seats were soft...a dark red shade...I think it had a satin cover. The taller man spoke first, "You'll learn to obey in time." The shorter man let out a laugh...sounded forced, "We do not ask for your respect, we demand it."
The carriage eventually began up a slanted path. I looked forward, there was a building but I couldn't quite see it from my angle. As we got closer I was able to see the building in it's entirety. It reminded me of a cathedral, complete with stained-glass windows. Albeit instead of religious figures, it the images were of mercenaries. Several of them depicting someone being slain at said mercenaries' hands. When the carriage did stop, I didn't move to exit. I felt sick, I now think it was just the higher altitude. Or perhaps the nerve poison blown in my face. The door did open, and I was taken out by another hooded figure. His cloak however was white, not black like the men who had abducted me. I learned the white cloak signified a teaching position in the Guild. He took hold of my hand, leading me along the paved pathway into the Guild's main hall. It would be years before I saw the outside again. The Guild never trained outside the headquarters. Bad publicity to show children throwing blades at armored dummies. So, all training was inside, but at that time I was just being shown to the dorms. The dorms were lovely by the way. The doors were wooden with a few golden accents. He opened a door and pushed me in, locking it behind me. There were two beds. And this is where I met my most valuable commrade, Samuel.
The rooms weren't built for housing. They were renovated prison cells. By renovated, I mean they added a window and blankets to the beds. Aside from that it was still a small, stone, squared off room. So happy I'm not claustrophobic. Now on to Samuel. We were both 13, but he was shorter. Lanky arms hung from a lean torso, his head covered in a matted mess of blonde hair. He looked like a vagrant. Later found out he was, actually saw the Guild as a blessing. We didn't actually talk much until later years. Mostly because I was scared and unaware of what was happening. He on the other hand, excited to have a roommate. My first week he showed me around the building. I marveled at the detail, murals covered the wall in a swarm of warm colors. This fascination didn't last long though. On my second week I woke up to see Samuel in a crimson cloak, face covered. "Time for training."
The training room. Take a dirt floor with a white chalk ring around it. Add a large, squared window on three sides, the fourth having the door. Weapons and training dummies piled carelessly on a corner. But don't forget the greatest detail, the two adolescents trading blows in the center of the room. The instructer wore the normal white cloak, albeit shorter near the ankles. His left eye was covered, the right glaring at his students. His tone of voice, however, was hushed. A whisper really. His students hung on to every word though. Whatever this man had done in his life was obviously infamous enough to make him the trainer of future killers. And that was the most unnerving thought of all. As the ring cleared he scanned the room. He first pointed to Samuel, who slowly made his way to the farther side of the ring. He then pointed to a heavyset boy behind me. Now Samuel...didn't really look like he was going to win. I'd say his opponent was around a foot taller. Not to mention he seemed fairly strong, the sleeves of his cloak almost seeming to tear. Yet, Samuel showed no fear, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. The other boy seemed as though he was staring at the Devil himself. He wasn't too far off.
The larger boy swung first. Samuel swayed to the left, bring his hand up to chop his opponent's neck. Cheap shot. As the boy grabbed his own throat, coughing and wheezing, Samuel delivered a kick to the back of his knees. In a cry of pain his opponent fell, Samuel stepping behind him. He climbed on the boy's back and stood on his shoulders. I turned away at this point, but still heard the battle. Two cracking noises and a scream. Samuel won the fight. Dislocated the kid's shoulders. He seem satisfied in his work, gloating the rest of the night. Lucky me I didn't train that day, just spectated. Still though, now I worry about what will happen to me. I've fought before, but it wasn't this serious. A bloody nose is much different from a broken leg. In Samuel's eyes though...I think a bloody nose would be disgracing his skill. I did eventually ask about what happened after Samuel stood on the boy's shoulders. He was in bed, at first I thought he was asleep. He turned over then and gave me a detailed explanation, "I climbed on his shoulders, crouched down to grab his arms, lifted said arms...then I just started jumping on his shoulders. Awesome right?" I would use a different word, but amazing none the less.
The larger boy swung first. Samuel swayed to the left, bring his hand up to chop his opponent's neck. Cheap shot. As the boy grabbed his own throat, coughing and wheezing, Samuel delivered a kick to the back of his knees. In a cry of pain his opponent fell, Samuel stepping behind him. He climbed on the boy's back and stood on his shoulders. I turned away at this point, but still heard the battle. Two cracking noises and a scream. Samuel won the fight. Dislocated the kid's shoulders. He seem satisfied in his work, gloating the rest of the night. Lucky me I didn't train that day, just spectated. Still though, now I worry about what will happen to me. I've fought before, but it wasn't this serious. A bloody nose is much different from a broken leg. In Samuel's eyes though...I think a bloody nose would be disgracing his skill. I did eventually ask about what happened after Samuel stood on the boy's shoulders. He was in bed, at first I thought he was asleep. He turned over then and gave me a detailed explanation, "I climbed on his shoulders, crouched down to grab his arms, lifted said arms...then I just started jumping on his shoulders. Awesome right?" I would use a different word, but amazing none the less.
Have you ever felt like you won't live to see the next day? As if somehow, in a way you can't fathom, you will die? Hopeless, just spiraling down into the abyss of your own psyche. This is how I felt. Nevertheless, I will climb back up. With God as my witness, I shall not fall. The next day was slightly better I suppose. Arms training...weapons. I learned all thirty-six ways to dismember my opponent with a speared chain. Fun. Eventually we were asked to use the weapons...I didn't do very well. The sword I carried was long and curved back into a wicked point. Several detailed designs were embedded into the steel somehow, a language I couldn't read. I did swing in, but I brought myself down in the process. I put the blade down and searched for something else. And that's about when I found my most notorious tool. Six small blades, handles not even able to fit in a person's palm. They were to be thrown. I had amazing accuracy, hitting my target's vitals everytime. Heart, lungs, kidneys, I hit whatever I was told to. My teacher took notice, and I was placed in a class to further influence my raw potential. I can even remember the class name. Small Arms Mastery. The day dragged from there, Samuel telling me about his sparring practice the moment I stepped in the dorm. My arms ached, all I wanted was to sleep. Samuel's voice faded as I slowly fell into a slumber. I had a vision then. Maybe not a vision...just an idea of my future I suppose. I saw a man in a cloak, and piles of dead bodies. A dagger glistening crimson in his hand. And I was proud.
From that day onward, the process repeated. An endless cycle of misery over the course of several years. All my bones fractured at least once. Every inch of skin covered with a bruise at one time or another. Eyes sunken from the sleep deprivation as I thought on what await the next day. And this was my home. I'll jump ahead to the age of seventeen. It was then I met the Guild Master. Azäir Mesieł. He was younger than I expected, late thirties tops. He wore a black robe, but unlike all the others, no mask. I asked him about that at one time. The answer astonished me, "My name carries with it hundreds of other names. Names of dead men, names of widows, names of orphaned children. I know at this point in life many want me dead, and I do not fear this. I await them, and when I die, I want to look into their eyes. My final glance tormenting them to their own deathbeds." I almost clapped. Samuel hadn't changed. A lithe figure still, the blonde hair hidden under a gray hood. Faded emerald eyes giving no hint of the malicious intents he has. I myself had grown too. I kept my hair short now, it helped me keep track of my target. So says the teacher. My hands, once raw and calloused from the labors endured, now hardskinned and fine to the touch. And I knew soon, I may leave this place. I hoped to never look back. But in time, I did.
One more year of this laboring and I was set free. Awoken early in the morning, fellow trainees of my age also bumping shoulders in the cramped hall. A man stood by the exit, leaning against the door. His cloak was white, several golden clothes tied on his arms. Three on the left, four on the right. He spoke fast, and at a louder pitch to draw in attention. He sounded like a con artist honestly, trying to bring in his latest batch of unsuspecting victims. "Outside kids, outside. Joyous day when you little assholes get to leave," He leaned out the door and yelled, "Ain't that right Jaius?" The man, I presumed he was Jaius, answered, "Herris, note your tounge...it'll get you into trouble..." We walked outside. After so many years in the darkness...I felt blind. My heart raced as I thought of freedom, of finally leaving this place and starting my life! The Guild Master began to speak, "The time has come my students...today you leave this place," A few cheers arose from the crowd, they weren't silenced. "and that was to be expected. But why do you cheer?" A student stood up, their cloak having some type of black trim near the neck. It was a woman, "We finally get to leave! And tell all of the attrocities you commit." Instead of the Guild Master speaking, the man known as Herris stood up. He spoke differently...more solemnly, "Yes, you leave. But may I ask you something? Since the ages of oh...six or seven...you've been taught nothing aside from basic math and how to read. Aside from that, all you know is murder. What career could you possibly hope on finding?" There was no answer. And my joy, was replaced by fear. Because...he was absolutely right. Nobody answered.
After that announcement, nobody cheered. Nobody spoke of their future. They just mindlessly shuffled down the mountain pass, or into carriages. The carriage was attended by the same man as before. His shorter, foul-tempered associate having died two years ago after swallowing his own nerve toxin. He greeted me by name, which was a suprise. I learned his name to be Ossic, though I never saw him again. Or maybe I did. It's hard to tell really, all mercenaries seem like faceless shadows. Which is exactly what they're taught to be. The ride in the carriage was just as sickening as the last time. I clutched my stomach, something Ossic scolded me for. "A sign of weakness. I thought they would've taught you better." he said, voice carrying the same apathetic tone I remembered. When the carriage finally stopped, he waved me out. He stayed inside. As I stepped out I covered my eyes from the harsh sunlight. I heard birds, a smell of spices and a sound of men arguing in the distance. It was a dock. Ossic leaned out, and smiled, "And now you choose your path. Best of luck child." I wasn't sure what to do. So while sailors were unloading cargo, I simply sneaked by on the vessel. I continued into the lower quarters. It was a trading ship, more than enough space for me. When the ship started to move, several hours later, I felt sick once more. Not from the motion, I was just anxious. And so began my journey. A tale of blood, betrayal and of course, glory. End of Chapter 1, Making a Mercenary.
I spent three days in that ship. Maybe more, it was hard to tell. I ate away at their supplies and drank their water. I hoped they would think it was rats. Which they may have, if one of the sailors hadn't found me while unloading the cargo. He didn't apprecaite my prescence. I ended up running on to the deck, trying my hardest to avoid the sailors. I felt something impact my shoulder, probably a rock, but I continued running. I could hear a sailor yelling at me, "Elisium doesn't accept your kind, thief!" Elisium, well at least I knew where I was now. There weren't too many homes in sight, my guess was that I had come into the trade district. Sadly I didn't have any money. All I had brought with me was a belt of knives, and a bow. The bow would be helpful if I had arrows. I continued through the streets and found the area to be quite pleasant. No merchants yelling, no beggars, just trade. Peaceful. Well, until I saw a man being mugged in a nearby alley. That's about when the peace ended. The man was older, not a senior but perhaps in his mid-fifties. His two tormentors wore ragged clothing, one carrying a dagger. The other just wouldn't shut up, "Just hand over the coin old man, we don't feel like painting these walls." "Paint the walls?" The thief placed his face into his palm before grabbing the man's wrist, "We'll kill you, clear enough?" Then I stepped in. Well, leaped. Well...kicked the unarmed thief in his back.
The thief hit the ground harshly, I was standing on his back. His friend with the dagger didn't move, he was a bit too awestruck. I took the opportunity to throw a knife into his ankle. His body twisted before collapsing, groaning the entire way down. I moved over to him and picked up the dagger. The thief I had attacked was slowly picking himself up, probably trying to understand the situation. He looked at me, then to his friend. And then he ran. The old man shook my hand violently, "Thank you sir, I shall not forget such a kindness!" I nodded before thinking...then I asked him one question, "Would you like to repay me?"
The old man was named Hassir, and he did repay me. He gave me temporary stay in his home. I thanked him, greeted his family, and locked myself away in a room. The room wasn't anything impressive. A desk against the right wall, bed on the left, two windows on the northern wall. I took this time to write in my archive. Hours later I heard a knock on the door. Hassir stood in the doorway, staring intently at his feet. He sighed, looked up, and began to speak, "Those thieves are not petty criminals. They're part of a much larger gang. As happy as I am you saved me, I'm also afraid you may have angered them. I don't want harm against my family," I picked up my bow and knife belt, ", so I'm hiring you. To kill them." I set my weapons back down.
I began planning how I would kill the men that night. Hassir told me where I could find them, a small bar in the slums. He said he wasn't positive on the number but there had to be at least fifteen men. Well, fourteen because of me. Hassir only had one weapon to offer me, a device of his own design. A small red sphere, it was wooden, and there was a crack going along it from the top. He called it a smoke bomb. I planned on showing it to the Guild soon. I awoke at dawn the next day. Hassir wasn't awake, nor his wife. But as I was leaving out the door, their son stopped me. He was around the age of six, and amazed by the sight of me. He asked about the weapons, my cloak, the smoke bomb, where I was from, and much more. I ignored him and walked outside. I hate children. I found the bar easily enough, two men stood outside. They weren't physically imposing but I'm sure they were agile. They weren't speaking, just staring out into the street. I drew a throwing knife and aimed at the guard on the right. I threw it, and missed. It landed by his head and with amazing reflexes pointed to me, "Furcifer!" Maybe that's why they weren't talking.