31st Autumn’s Feast, ?. 1792

  A large and sprawling camp—practically a settlement of tents contained within a guarded perimeter. A forward operating ‘base’, in essence, located in the depths of the County of Middleberry—also known as thus ‘Midberry’. Logistics, field command and control, and onwards; everything was facilitated by and through here. Thousands of soldiers, officers, mercenaries, and helpers from each of the major supporters, backers, and signatories of the United Central Company… All stationed in a single concise locale.

  This grand assembly of a field camp was located in what New Wellington had deemed a ‘most optimal’ position, being in close range to the documented heart-zone of the Fallen’s attributed activity—the Guild’s provided intelligence having proved accurate in this regard. Despite being close to the demarcation between firmly Loyalist realms and contested territory, it was distant enough.

  Intermixed, however, with the sounds of marching boots, turning wheels, and regimenetal drums were the coughs of the sickly, the groans of the injured, and the screams of the ‘treated’. Accompanying the Company’s military campaigns always was a detachment of the Wandering Green Frogs Society, who handled medical needs and established their own zones within the camp.

  Officially, there were no ‘casualties’ of the Company’s campaign against the Fallen—that was, of course, if one construed ‘casualty’ as meaning only ‘deaths’. No soldiers had yet perished in combat, but a few too many had indeed become buried from infection and failed treatments—not ‘war deaths’ in New Wellington’s ledgers, but merely the natural elements and consequences of camp life.

  Even so, things seemed to be going beyond well, no thanks in part due to the information provided by…enigmatic sources the Company’s field camp preferred to keep…discrete. There was a high degree of confidence amongst the epauletted that the retaliation against the Fallen would be a decisive success. The glory of prestige and career advancement shined so bright indeed—perhaps…blindingly so.

  ?[Ugh.]? A certain Sergeant-Major Hathway, however, was not so bright. ?[They aren’t here yet, then?]?

  ?[No. I confirmed with entry and the depot.]?

  Walking beside him was one of his free troop’s own subordinate commandants, a fellow ‘non-commissioned officer’—a ‘corporal-major’ to be precise, a unique Exiled Legion rank equivalent to a ‘sergeant’ in the Company’s regular structure. The reasons for utilizing corporal-major in lieu of sergeant were largely traditional and ceremonial, being specific to free troops.

  ?[Trinity’s damnation.]? Hathway sighed. ?[They should’ve been back already…]?

  ?[Want me and my group to go and find them?]? the corporal-major offered.

  Yet Hathway shook his head. ?[No. I would rather not split our troop, with current Loyalist activities… I’ll consider it if they aren’t back here by mid-noon.]?

  The two traversed a dirt-paved road, left sticky and muddy after an unfortunate accident involving the incoming transportation of water barrels—a mass spillage. Much water having been absorbed, this frustratingly mud-turned dirt was going to remain so for…who even knew how long.

  Wheels were already getting stuck, though; as evident by a hapless Provencian olive-coat desperately attempting to dig out a lodged wheel to the annoyed eyes of the half-platoon situated on the evidently ‘has-not-moved-for-an-hour’ wagon, whom the two simply passed by.

  So sticky was this mud, sometimes it was as if it would snatch one’s boot off.

  ?[If I may inquire, sir,]? the corporal-major started to inquire, ?[any word on our reinforcements?]?

  ?[As a matter of fact, I did receive an advance.]? Hathway answered; ?[Two more groups will be joining with our troop; should be arriving by the ‘morrow.]?

  ?[Tomorrow or overmorrow?]?

  ?[They didn’t specify.]?

  ?[Two groups, then?]? the corporal-major mused; ?[That’ll bolster us to forty?]? That sounded quite the management, indeed. ?[By this point, they might as well commission you.]?

  ?[Truly…]? Hathway so replied; although, of course, a free troop managed by enlisted personnel had its benefits and added room for wiggling around technicalities. ?[I specified we needed at least a proper engineering platoon, but Faulkner couldn’t spare the men it seems—or exert any more effort navigating the bureaucracy.]?

  ?[Makes sense, with what the colonel has planned in the Bulge.]?

  Hathway paused and gave the corporal-major a calm glare. ?[Corporal-major, you’ve dirtied your coat with us enough to know better than to specify what was left intentionally unspecified.]?

  ?[Right, sir.]? The corporal-major straightened himself. ?[Apologies.]? He quieted himself. Indeed, this one was a relatively recent replacement—his coat evidently still ‘too clean’, so to speak.

  Nevertheless, with all other ears preoccupied, the two carried on. They passed by a marching platoon of skirt-wearing and tall-hatted heavy men in Pikelander green, one of whom proceeded to provide the two passerbys a warm highland greeting: a spit towards the shoe followed by a chuckle.

  Neither of the two paid these Pikelander grenadiers any mind, however; it was not truly malicious.

  This field camp was organized, obviously, and had two sanctioned openings or entry points through their barricaded perimeter. They were, or at least Hathway specifically was, making way to one of such permitted entrances: the very way those particular two—that adventurer and freelancer mage—had exited from and would no doubt return through.

  -||-

  Ugh… Hathway was staring up at a large cloud shaped analogous to a horned equine—as if Heaven’s Almighty Father above was taunting him. It was drifting ever closer to noon. The corporal-major was now accompanied by three other men from his group, the four total playing a game of cards it seemed—passing time. The stationed entrance guards—two Provencians—were doing their jobs well, their attention sharp and stature firm; experts at hiding their…utter boredom.

  The sergeant-major really was beginning to reconsider his earlier decision; maybe he should send his troop out to find them… Or rather, really, he was already drifting closer to that decision; the primary question now was whether to do so with or without Manuel’s direct approval.

  Truly… Adventurers, working with those sorts was always a plague of delays—constantly finding ways to become distracted by frivolous side-ventures.

  Several more tens of minutes would pass before, at long last, emerging in the distance afar was a bright and almost sparkle-flaking equine; attached to it was a specific wagon on the driver’s spot of which was a rather particular man—an adventurer.

  ?Voustres avenduriers rétornan, Hadway!? a Provencian shouted, and Hathway’s attention turned quick.

  He saw them too, ?[Finally!]? And he promptly lanced himself upright.

  Ever the magnificent abomination, the unicorn so graciously galloped forth; yet as if sensing the sergeant-major’s own anticipation, it so abruptly slowed its forward stride as though deliberately. In reality, of course, it was probably…just fatigued from the journey.

  Regardless, the arriving unicorn took its time to clop its hooves forth before, in a sudden burst of speed, it galloped on and through—perhaps too fast.

  “Woah!” And, indeed, Red wrangled the harness as he tried to manage. “The fuck are you doing? Steady!”

  The unicorn puffed its lips before ultimately accepting the mandates of its would-be overlord. Its hooves skidded to a halt; a myriad of eyes gawked their way, having been momentarily alarmed. Almost immediately after, Hathway and his men descended upon them.

  “Hey, hello!!” Popping her head out, however, from the wagon’s crammed back with rather the smile and wave was Blue. “~Handsome…” She had taken a liking to his face, suffice it to say.

  And as if customary Far Western protocols had been activated, Hathway slowed, fast paused, and ahemed. “Miss Iceweaver.” He nodded with a quick and respectful tip of his hat before immediately refocusing.

  Red meanwhile had hopped himself off from his driver’s spot, stomping his own way to Hathway. The two met with equally stern glares.

  “I know what you’re about to say, Sergeant Bathtub,” Red was the first to speak, however; “but can it wait? I need to—”

  “You are late.” Hathway, however, cut him off; “We didn’t even send you two that far. What happened?”

  Red so pointed at the wagon behind, nudging his head. “That happened.” he plainly said.

  Blue had hopped herself out from the wagon’s edge and proceeded to assist their other passenger out. Indeed, a shadowy black-cloaked woman who kept her yellow-amber eyes down, her hood up, and her mouth fixed shut.

  “Who is that…?” Hathway promptly asked, though his nose then began to sniff out… “And that smell…”

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  “Yeah. That smell. The reason why I’d prefer to make this quick.” Red so stated.

  Hathway pushed through, he and his men inspecting the wagon’s back as the cloaked figure trailed off to the side—Red keeping his eyes fixed on her.

  ?[Bodies?]? One of his men so astutely identified. ?[What horrible…conditions… What are these? Mummies?]?

  “Same dresswear as her, huh?” Hathway mumbled in local tongue. He turned his eyes back to Red, giving him a kind of stare. “I’ll ask again, adventurer. Who is she?”

  “She doesn’t talk.” Red was blunt. “But I know she’s gotta be with the Bureau—a Raven, maybe.”

  “A Raven?” Hathway glanced at the cloaked figure who held the tip of her hood, keeping it low.

  The survivor was quiet yet hardly inattentive; the moment she had spotted Hathway and his men, seeing those distinct blue bands amidst the black, she had identified them as members of the 13th Grand Regiment—the de-facto intelligence arm of the Exiled Legions, from the Guild’s understanding. Indeed, breaths tensing, she became even more cautious and watchful of her tongue. She was not expecting Dragon Slayer to have found himself involved with them.

  “We, uhm,” Blue meanwhile inserted herself, “found her as the only survivor of this…group. I’m certain Red shall detail the specifics,” good on her for making Red promise what he himself had not promised, “but she was injured—major bruising…”

  “She claims she doesn’t remember shit, though.” Red added; “She hasn’t specified or said anything since we found her yesterday.” He turned his head to the wagon. “But… We collected her whole group—they’ll need to be handled.”

  “I’m sure the Green Frogs can get them sorted…” Hathway spoke softly. Despite their sudden words, neither of the two had actually told any of the surrounding or preceding contexts—what happened, how they had discovered her, where they had discovered her, and so on. “Care to explain the full story of your discovery?”

  “Interrogate it out of her.” Red, however, simply stated; “We brought her back here. She’s your problem now.”

  “Oh, we shall send her for questioning; but you still need to explain to me.” Hathway replied, posture firm. “How did you find her? Where did you find her? And what distracted you into finding her.”

  Red, however, was…slow—hesitant—in replying. He was uncertain whether or not he should report this to the Company at all, let alone Hathway. This could very well be a Guild matter, and maybe he should keep it within the Guild—though, he did not quite trust the Guild either.

  Something rotting was in the air, however.

  “I want to talk to your boss.” he finally spoke; “I’ve helped you a lot by now, right? Also, as a representative of the Bureau’s assistance to the Company—”

  “Wait, what?” The survivor looked for a moment, caught by surprise… Dragon Slayer was working with the Bureau too? Or was he puffing himself up?

  “—not only did I do my part in rescuing her,” Red was continuing on, “my companion provided her spells to heal her, and we brought her here with her dead.” It was as if he were speaking a story to convey rather than genuine words his own. “I don’t know what she’s involved in, but I ask that you treat her well. She might still need medical eyes as well—she was bruised bad, still complains about pain.”

  “Ah… I see.” Hathway saw through him, however. “Quite the play you’re acting now. As I already said, we’ll send her for questioning; since you refuse to speak, her questioning comes first.” He turned his attention to his men, beckoning. ?[Corporal-major, take her for interrogation—I’ll sort this out with the highers later.]?

  His men acknowledged and proceeded to make their way to seize the survivor, who had opted to comply… Although she could potentially break her way out of here, the Bureau’s potential involvement here could complicate matters.

  Such was the calculus in her mind.

  Blue conversely had noticed that Red had not specified a particular detail that could have affected the outcome of his ‘talks’ with the sergeant-major. Thus, she took the courtesy of doing so before they could escort the survivor away. “Sergeant-Major, mind if I have your ear?” she respectfully asked.

  “Hm?” Hathway tilted his head, though complied; he leaned down and gave the ice mage his ear, Red simply eyeing.

  Blue began to whisper, informing him what her hardy adventurer had omitted…

  The nature of the survivor’s exact injuries.

  And Hathway’s eyes widened, his head very slightly recoiling. “Oh.” Indeed, he leaned away and immediately turned to his men. ?[On second consideration, take her to the Wandering Frogs first; let them evaluate her, and then take her for questioning…]?

  The corporal-major, he and his men already having apprehended the survivor, looked at him with a tilt. ?[Nature for this change?]? He was not obtuse to the whispering mage.

  ?[Womanly injuries.]? Such was all Hathway said, which alone was enough to make the corporal-major understand.

  ?[Ah. Green Frogs it is, thus.]? Truly, what ‘gentlemen’ these Far Westerners were…

  The survivor was escorted away, leaving only the wagon of decaying cloaked bodies and the two adventurers.

  “Let me see your boss.” Red immediately restated; “Then I’ll talk. I want to tell him directly.” Ever since Red began his almost month-long assistance of the Company, he had been aiming for a meeting with the field commander above Hathway—always preferring to deal with bosses over underlings.

  Hathway tapped his foot, arms crossed; he cogitated… “I can’t just arrange a meeting between some mucky adventurer—no offense—with a field commander.” he thus stated; “Besides, you pretend to be obtuse but we both know you’re a schemer, Dragon Slayer. So, save me your play.” Indeed, his glare sharpened. “There’s a reason for your stubbornness, but I’ll demand one more time: tell me what you discovered. Then I’ll decide whether you should take this to the field commander.”

  Red did not immediately reply; the man fell into his own calculations. “You…just want to be the first one to know, huh? To tell your other boss or something?” He had him figured out. “I mean, come on: a possible Raven and six dead birdies… You’re sniffing out something.”

  “Hm.” Hathway kept his affect ambiguous. “A scent without form.” he simply remarked.

  There was a silent standoff.

  “Blue,” Red turned to his companion, “take the unicorn to the Wandering Frogs and get those bodies sorted out; I’ll meet you back there.”

  “…separating, are we?” Blue’s posture shrunk, her eyes falling down… “Uhm… Can we… I’d rather…” Despite her overt demeanor, Blue only barely tolerated being within these sorts of army camps; Red was her safety shield, truth be told.

  However, Red, to her utter surprise, did something he rarely did: patted her with his…dirty leather-gloved hand—but a pat, nonetheless. “You can do it. I know you can.” He winked.

  Blue felt warmer, a blush emerging on her cheeks alongside a slim smile. “…yeah, alrightly!” Indeed, she inhaled and exhaled, feeling suddenly more capable. “I shall manage… The Green Frogs aren’t…the bad sorts either.” They were not typically. “See you soon, then…beloved.” Aheming, she turned and hopped herself atop the same driver’s spot Red would normally occupy.

  The wagon and unicorn began to depart, the beast responding to her as it would him.

  Now that Blue was gone, “how about you start walking, I start following, and we have a nice chat—man to man.” Red immediately stated, voice low. “Quiet, casual, and just so happens to be in the direction of your boss’s tent… Because, and you’ve gotta trust me on this, once I tell you, you’ll understand my caution. Your boss is going to want to hear this, and we don’t know who is listening.”

  Indeed, he had the rest of yesterday to muse about this in spite of the survivor’s silence. He might have happened upon a conspiracy, and the Bureau’s web tended to thread its tendril weaves into…most places of interest.

  -||-

  ?Hmm…? A certain Field Commander Manuel was mulling, his chin pressed atop his interlocked knuckles. Standing before his desk was a certain notoriety of an adventurer and, of course, a particular sergeant-major. “Thou know, when thou was brought before me, I was hoping we would have cordial introductions and a casual first meeting, Dragon Slayer… But this? This is just…” He tapped his desk… “Something.”

  “Yeah. ‘Something’.” Red just replied, giving Manuel no more respect than he did Hathway. “And before you ask ‘are you sure it was the same cave’, yeah: I’m sure.”

  “So it seems.” Manuel so muttered, focused and contemplative.

  “I’m not sure if the lady we picked up is gonna talk; she seems trained—as I said, probably a Raven.” Red thus spoke on; “And, uh… If bodies are Ravens, just to add this as a helper of the Bureau and member of the Guild, I should remind you that you’ll need to—”

  “Oh, I am fully aware of their customary rites.” Manuel thus said; “I’ll see to it handled.” Speaking fast, his eyes remained sharply fixed on the regional map stretched over his desk, looking at that particular marked cavern of interest. “So, in summary… The Fallen had a secret…route through which you traversed and within which you discovered…possible Ravens from whom a single survivor, and alleged Greenfield crates potentially meant for hypothesized firearms.”

  “And, uh, a crate my companion said was associated with a ‘Dwarven Industries’.” Red added.

  “Dwarven Industries, did thou just say?” And, indeed, Manuel’s posture jerked upright, his blue eyes on Red. “That is information thou should have said earlier than later, adventurer.” Indeed, naturally he had saved it for post. “Generic question, but are thou for sure?”

  “As sure as my companion was. She’s a freelancer—contracted with merchant sorts for several years.” Red thus stated.

  And Manuel nodded, now stroking his fair chin. ?[Dwarven Industries… One-one translation… This is…problematic.]?

  ?[Word couldn’t have spread to the New World about the Company’s campaign yet. Even if it had—]? Hathway was speaking.

  ?[It would be absurd if somehow the West New World Company…materialized itself here,]? Manuel continued on his behalf, ?[let alone with knowledge about the Fallen and let alone the interest in supporting them against us.]?

  ?[Centralish dwarves, according to the Bureau, are known supporters. Maybe the New World dwarves have supporters too—for longer than we realize.]? Hathway speculated. Indeed, man had long ignored the world beneath; who knew how deep these connections went.

  ?[Sergeant-Major,]? Manuel’s eyes gave him a stern and authoritative stare, ?[for confirmation: did this adventurer tell you the same thing?]?

  ?[Yes sir.]? Hathway nodded. ?[Though, he was vaguer with me than with you.]?

  ?[Vaguer with me, huh?]? Manuel leaned back in his chair, mulling within… ?[Sergeant-Major, you and your free troop are to head out. I need definitive confirmation of these findings—provided that the evidence is still there.]?

  ?[We’ll head out first thing tomorrow.]?

  ?[No. Immediately. Your reinforcements can wait for you when they arrive.]? Manel simultaneously clarified and revealed that he was, indeed, fully aware of Hathway’s impending new arrivals from the 13th. Manuel, indeed, for everything he was, was still the appointed commander responsible for field intelligence.

  Hathway did not say a word. ?[Sir.]? he simply acknowledged.

  “Dragon Slayer,” Manuel then flipped his attention to Red, “mind if thou explained to the sergeant-major how thou accessed this…secret tunnel.”

  “Enter the cave; there’s only a single route; follow it until you reach the rubble blockage, and look around the walls for…” Red’s explanation slowed… “Uh, a kind of…shaped handle—pull it and a passage should open.”

  “…” Hathway just stared, an eyebrow raised. “A ‘shaped’ handle?” How specific…

  ?Heh, [Hathway you should have been in these lands long enough to know their…idiomatic ways.]? Manuel had a humored smirk. ?[He means it is shaped akin to a cock.]? Of course he would be aware of such a meaning.

  ?[Right…]? Hathway just replied.

  “You and your boys are smart,” Red meanwhile added his own words, “you can figure it out.”

  ?[There you have it.]? Manuel thus moved things along. ?[Sergeant-major, dismissed. I would like to have a chat with this adventurer myself.]?

  Hathway nodded and turned around, though glanced at Red. “I’ll need more details clarified before I leave.”

  “Yeah…” Red simply replied, glancing in kind.

  Hathway took his leave, leaving only him and him.

  “Alrightly,” and Manuel promptly clapped his hands together, “the renowned Dragon Slayer. I was in fact hoping to speak to thou and thy party. I am not certain if Hathway informed thou, but I have a…task I need handled, and since thou are at my face, I may as well brief thou directly.”

  “…you have a job? Alright. What is it?” Red gave him the bone, so to speak.

  “Yes… Though, first,” Manuel leaned his back in, his eyes sharpening; “Thou have been…working with the Bureau for…however long, rightly? Thou are experienced with thy Guild furthermore, surely?” He tapped on the map, that same marked cavern. “I have a strange feeling from thou, Dragon Slayer; thou have many a thought not spoken. So… Mind telling me more about these…Greenfield crates and weapons? What are thou thinking?”