So, recently I've reviewed an old writing project of mine, a fantasy story that I worked on on and off for since last year and I figure I could share it with you fine folks of RPA. It's not finished, will probably continued to be tinkered with as time goes on. Critique and feed back is welcome and appreciated.




A Tale of the Stray Company

Path of Hardships

Premise: Men of a broken nation take on the mantle of mercenaries to find a new life. Tough and doomdriven, they will do what they must to survive. But what must they do to fend off deadly tomorrows? How steep will the blood price be?

People often wondered if the Iron Satrapies would see better days. Just a year after the ill-waged war against the Kingdom of Autzberg, the great realms of the Iron Brigand fell into ruin. A failed nation in all but name. Even with its collapse, Fate did not seem content with simply letting the people of the Satrapies languish in their defeat and the death of their beloved warlord; a plague swept through the fertile farmlands of Yohnsbad and withered the crops. The farmers who toiled for years to feed kin and country watched helplessly as their season long labors shriveled into worthless piles of black rot. With its agriculture fallen and its coffers already drained from pointless warring, the rest of the Iron Satrapies fell like domino tiles.

Otzgard, Pfeffielstadt, Mordapest, and the dozen other realms of the Iron Brigand saw its people turn to the sword to fill their bellies. But rather than earn their keep with a soldier's pay, they took what they wanted as marauders. Whole villages became raider camps, families warred with each other over petty resources, and chaos ruled within the failed domain of the Iron Brigand. Though no one outside the borders thought any different of it, because it has happened before. After all, when a land is ruled by bandits for generations, what is to be expected other than chaos and suffering?


Kars knew little of the Iron Satrapies' history, knowing only for certain that whatever the realms' history maybe, his fellow Ironborn likened it to that of a brackish well. Dark, murky, and certainly nothing any sane man would reach into. The little he knew came from his own family's history. His father's father plied the trade of a marauder for almost his whole life, serving as a soldier only briefly before. The last Iron Brigand's predecessor died by the hands of that age old foe, Autzberg, at the zenith of his reign, slain without even an heir to his name. Without a central leader to march behind, his generals turned on each other, leading what remained of his loyal soldiers while those who deserted returned home to penniless and starving families. Among so many other desperate men, his grandfather joined the ranks of freebooters.

It was in a raid on the border villages of Otzgard and his own native Yohnsbad that Kars' grandfather found his wife-to-be and brought her home in iron chains, just as the splintered army butchered itself to a man. The last lieutenant standing, the toughest and most cunning of them all, taking the empty throne. It explains why his father was never a happy man and certainly explains why Kars himself never grew a happy man as well. No love came about from that union, only a child who would only know careless parents, who grew up to be a careless parent too.

"Gods damn the departed..."

Like his grandfather before him, an ill-waged war left Kars with nothing, and desperate enough to join other desperate men in looting the land for whatever is left. But Kars and his fellows did not have it in themselves to raid their fellow Ironborn, and could not find the courage to try the borders of the age old enemy. So they tried the borders of an easier target, and so Kars found himself waiting atop of a sun bleached palisade of a ruined border fort, eyes lazily searching for anything to come with crossbow range. Hopefully something tasty.

"Kars, spot anything yet?"

The question came on the raspy growl of Kars' closest friend, Blada. Shared a childhood together on the farmlands with him, now they share the same pang of hunger running through their guts. He was a scrawny and scabby man compared to Kars' burly, hairy figure, but a life of hard labor made him as tough as they come.

Kars shook his head, saying, "Nothing yet. Damnable Goths haven't shown up all morning, no caravan. No patrol. Hell, not even a scouts."

He cursed his luck but not the people to the South. He hardly could, the people of the so-called "Holy Empire of Goth" were a meek and timid people united under a faith for the weak. They would pray to their Maker all day, but a god that promises nothing but forgiveness and love will not invoke courage in the face of adversity anytime soon. Then again, the old gods rarely show any favor to today's people. Not since the days of the first Iron Brigand.

"Hmph, typical of them. It's probably their prayer day," Blada growled, shrugging his shoulders. "All nice and comfy in their churches, sipping wine and hard tack. Not baking in this sorry excuse for an outpost..."

Kars nodded to that. Hastily built by the now long-gone militia of the region, the fort had no stone walls or carved battlements, just a giant ring of raised packed earth, reinforced with a palisade of dried out logs and two rickety watchtowers flanking the fort's sole gate. It had been abandoned since the war's end, free for the taking.

"Well, hopefully something comes," Kars grunted. "If not, then the boss will be cutting rations again. Speaking of which, where's Haster's mob? They should be back by now." Haster was the camp's best outrider, having been an actual cavalry sergeant during the war. It would also make him the only veteran fighter in the whole camp.

Again Blada shrugged.

"Just haven't shown up yet. You know how that bastard is, always dragging his feet... Oi, see that?"

Kars turned to see where his friend had pointed. Riders far across the dirt valley, too far to discern what colors they wear or what beasts they ride. They were getting closer to the fort. He turned around and looked to the sparsely populated compound below.

"Hey, we got riders coming from the south! Someone get the peering glass!" He shouted. Men below scrambled, a few clambering up the walls and taking positions while others rushed for their weapons, strewn about the parade grounds. One man rushed over to Kars and Blada, dressed in dark clothing and chainmail, clutching a brass tube in his hand.

"Kars! Where the riders?!" The man growled through yellow rotted teeth.

"Directly south, there boss!" Kars jabbed a finger down the horizon at the encroaching figures. Boss was the usual name for Karl, who, by virtue of being the best equipped and meanest of this mob of looters, ruled the sparse border fort like a lordling.

Kars kept his eyes on the vague shapes in the distance as his leader peered through the peculiar brass tool. A useful tool for spotting things the naked eye could not find, though how a man like Karl came to possess a reportedly rare and fragile thing Kars will never know.

"Well? What is it, what do you see?" Kars asked with a rising urgency. He pulled a quarrel from the quiver leashed to his thigh and pressed it into his crossbow.

"Well?"

"Shut up, you dung pest!"

Karl hissed a cursed through gritted teeth and pulled the peering glass from his eye. "Gods count the dead..."

Kars noticed his boss draw a throwing axe from his belt loop and take a deep heaving breath. He shouted.

"Every man on the walls!! Autzberg raptor riders!!"

Autzbergers? Here? Kars could not believe what Karl said. He served no army nor did he keep news about the war close to his ears, but he knew that the Autzbergers never marched against his people from the south. Weak as the Goths were, their aging Emperor knew how to gather great war hosts and rally them into religious fervor, enough to cow even the drilled perfection that were the Cohorts of Autzberg. Kars voiced his opinions as much. Karl did not care.

"Shows what you know, you country fuck," The raider chief hissed. "I know when I see Autzberger riders. I can see their black uniforms from... Wait... They're not..."

The riders were now close enough to discern basic details if a man were to squint, and see that the riders were not soldiers of the age old enemy. The uniforms they wore were dark indeed, but not black like the tabard of an Autzberger soldier, but billowing cloaks of a dark shade of blue. Their shields bore no heraldry the Ironborn knew, though that brought relief to some. The Queen of Autzberg had her soldiers wave flags of a sanguine dragon set against a pitch black backdrop. To see that on the other side of the battlefield guaranteed only a long bloody slog. Or a swift and total massacre. The beasts they rode were not the iconic dagger mouthed hunters of Autzberg's namesake mountain, but giant birds, running with a gait that Kars would have thought comical if not for the tension.

All but one of the riders halted their birds just outside of quarrel range, the one still riding waving a white flag as they approached the gate. Karl barked an order in native Ironborn, and Kars and all the others trained their missiles at the lone rider, anxious to know if the order to fire would come. It did not come, at least not yet,

"Who dares parley with Karl the Bear and his warband?!" Karl shouted down at the rider, putting on his best "tough guy" face. His legs quivered, frightened like the rest.

The rider's billowing cloak hid his figure well, hiding any hint of weapons, devices, or trick that the rider could pull. It put Kars on edge, for someone to come parley alone with a band of thirty hungry and desperate criminals is either very faithful in men's honor, or a sorcerer with spell ready to pass his lips. Either was dangerous, but only one would lead to a terrible consequence for Kars and the others.

"I am Alexis Camberly of the Blue Jays free mercenaries!" The rider shouted, his voice high pitch and melodious. Too high to be any man's tone. "I've come to offer you all an opportunity!"

Kars' anxiousness turned to astonishment when the rider pulled back his hood, revealing flaxen hair and the fair skinned face of a girl. Piercing sky blue eyes met with his haggard green eyes briefly, turning away to look to all the other Ironborns before resting her gaze back on Karl.

"Men of the mighty Satrapies, hear me! Your nation of nations lies dead, but you all still live! You still bear your strength and your mantle as one of the toughest mountain warriors in all of the continent! I come to you now offering a chance to become more than mere brigands!"

"And what, become sellswords like you!?" Karl spat back, lips pulled back into an angry scowl. He never been much for words, he had been a bandit chief longer than Kars has been alive, preferring fear and violence to keep his men in line.

"Yes, and if you do, you will reap the reward of an adventurer's life!" The girl reached a hand into her cloak, produced a heavy sack the size of a man's head. What she pulled from it made men's jaws drop in awe. Pinched between her fingers was a single gold coin. Gold currency was not unheard of up North, but damned were they rare. And in this girl's fingers was rarest of them all.

An eight sided dollar of the Mamertines' Republic, richest nation in all of Makerdom.

Men turned to each other, whispering opinions and ideas. Minds were now pondering on the strange girl from nowhere and the sack of coin in her hand. A hundred thoughts passed through Kars' head. Where did she come from? How did she come by such a fortune? Just what exactly is she offering?

"Damn me, a man can eat for years with that coin..." Blada grumbled, eyes rapt to the coin shimmering in the sun. Kars would have voiced agreement, but Karl interrupted.

"Silence! All of you!" The raider shouted, his will obeyed but with great reluctance. The girl made a lofty proposition, too lofty for men such as the Ironborn, who knew the kind of hardship only an Ironborn could. But when she showed that coin, they were listening now. Such a powerful effect on his men had Karl sense a threat to everything he built. Dangerous men who would fight for him, on the promise of a warm meal every night, were now being lured away by the gleam of a golden piece.

He growled, like an angry wolf, “and where would you take us, girl? Some godforsaken battlefield on the other side of the world!?”

“Somewhere better than home,” Alexis shot back. Those words stung at the Ironborn. For some, it told a terrible truth, that the Iron Satropies could no longer be the home they wanted. For others, it is an insult, to even imply that the fatherland was worser off than the rest of the world. For Kars, safe to say he stood in the first camp.

“And what’s better than home?” He finally asked, after holding his silence for as long he had. Blada and Karl wheeled their heads to him; Blada, in shock, Karl, in anger.

“Damn it, Kars, hold your tongue!” Karl hissed.

“No!” Kars shouted back defiantly. It felt odd to defy a man who took him in, even if it meant fighting for him, but the promised something greater. At least, greater than Karl and his little fort.

Alexis smiled, her bait was bit, now to reel in the hook. She pointed to the southern horizon.

“Far south, to the land of Aisha. Where silk and gold flow like rivers, and glorious conquest awaits. The Sovereign King of Miranda has decreed that the savages of the far south have lived blind to the light of true civilization for long enough, and calls to all free lances to come and to join his armies in a great Crusade!”

The girl used fancy words to make her offer sound more impressive. It did not work, most of it going over simple men’s head. But Kars knew what she meant, and asked the important questions.

“How well will we be paid? Will we be treated fair, by the Soldier’s Ideal?”

Mild surprise filled the young girl’s eyes, but she composed herself quickly, after some remembering. The Soldier’s Ideal, the North’s answer to the South’s code of Chivalry. The North had no knights, not since the first Iron Brigand destroyed the old mountain kingdoms in his conquest and the first Queen of Autzberg returned her armies to the ways of the ancient ones. The Ideal was born from the need for a code of conduct among soldiers cut from common cloth. From the Soldier’s Ideal, a culture of professional soldiering spread across the North and stayed wholly in the North. The North belonged to the common man, their rulers' power born from no divine diction, but military might.


"Perhaps we can discuss that inside, where we don't have to shout at each other," Alexis said. Her voice dripping of confidence and heaped of ego.

Eyes turned to Kars and Karl expectantly. Karl glared hatefully at Kars, he wanted to strangle the man for opening his mouth. Kars held his ground, glaring back at the bandit chief just as hard. Men were expecting a fight to break out, started choosing sides.

"Fine..." Karl said through gritted teeth, eyes still fixated on Kars. "...You may enter, your riders too."

Karl pulled his eyes from Kars and climbed down the wall, shouting orders. Men retreated from the walls, making their way to a bonfire sight in front of the center barracks.

“Where’d you find balls to do that just now?” Blada whispered, leaning in close to Kars. He never seen his friend act so bravely.

“I don’t know…” His hands shook terribly, so badly that his crossbow threatened to fall out of his grip. Karl was old, bitter, and dumb, but the cruelest fighter Kars has ever known. The last man to challenge the chief died with a hatchet stuck in his gullet. He did not died instantly.

“Well, it looks like you got things going for us,” Blada said with a shrug. “If you hadn’t spoke up, I’m sure Karl would have tried to kill the girl.”

“Yeah…”

Kars and Blada walked down the wall and went to the gate. Karl picked them that week as gate men, to keep an eye out for anyone coming down the roads the fort stood vigil over, so they had to be the ones to open the gate for the girl and her riders. They shoved the bar off the gate and gave it a shove. The gates now wide open, Kars got a good look at the girl and her beast. From his spot on the wall, Kars could tell the girl was pretty, but up close he thought she was beautiful. How could someone so fair take part in a business so bloody, he wondered. Alexis strode past him, riding in like a conqueror. She seemed to ignore him, making him suspect if she even knew he was the one who encouraged her to speak more.

"Watch yourself, girl, Karl the Bear does not suffer those with witty words well," Blada said when she rode past him.

She smirked, looking to him and Kars, who had a solemn and knowing look that confirmed his friend's warning.

"Don't worry for my safety, Ironborn, a Blue Jay always has a plan," Again her words dripped with confidence and ego. She looked back and waved to her allies still in the distance, and on that signal they rode for the fort.

Fifteen riders in the same dark blue cloaks rode in the same kind of squawking bird that Alexis rode in with. “You won’t regret signing up with us, our Captain treat all his men well,” One of them said to Kars as he lead them to the stables. Again, the voice under the cloak was feminine and sonorous, but did not elicit the same surprise as Alexis had on Kars. Fighting women were not a rare thing in the North, where the Soldier’s Ideal was concerned every warm body had the potential for fighting. Men and women. The surprise Kars got from Alexis came from his notion that the South did not expect women to fight. For supposedly advanced civilisations, the South seemed more rooted in old way thinkings.

“If you say so,” Grunted Kars, not taking rider’s word to heart. The riders dismounted and pulled back their cloaks, revealing handsome young faces of either sex, all looking no older than twenty. Kars was hardly past his prime, having lived to thirty three, but nonetheless he thought it odd for them to be so young and working as sellswords. When young Ironborns went to war, they often had no choice.

Everyone who had a voice in Karl’s band gathered at the bonfire, sitting opposite of the Blue Jays.



End part 1...