The priest of Wee-Jas shook his head in disbelief as the ships drew nearer. Here they were, mere days into the occupation of a cursed city with unknown numbers of enemies a couple of bowshots away, and the civilians were pouring in, like lambs to the slaughter. It was hard enough to keep the mercenaries in line, but a bunch of refugees, likely to wander off into the city looking for treasure to pawn off?
It was only last night that a force of Hobgoblins had attacked Sokol Keep and his own forces. He smiled at the thought of being glad that the Keep was haunted – the Hobgoblins would have extracted a much higher price from his men otherwise.
As the ships drew nearer, he could see some gaudily dressed fop standing on the bow of the ship, smiling inanely down at the Contessa DiMarichi. By the look on her face, it appeared that she was not looking forward to the reunion.
The two started exchanging pleasantries as the ships docked and the unwashed masses started pouring out. Most of them were refugees, owning nothing more than the clothes on their backs. What the Contessa was expected to do with them was anyone’s guess.
“…but anyway, orders are orders, I’m afraid my dear,” said the fop to the Contessa. The priest glanced over to his commander with a questioning look in his eyes.
“Marching orders,” whispered Gwyan. “The Marines are moving out. Their replacements are on the ship pulling up now.” A bunch of Keoland regulars started disembarking in a steady stream. Most looked green, though there were some that looked very promising indeed.
“Excuse me, but I think I’ll make myself acquainted with some potential recruits,” said the priest. He bowed briefly and casually made his way over to the edge of the docks.
“The name’s Wirran. Might I ask your name, priest?”
“My name’s not important, though what I have to ask is. How would you like to double your income right now? Before registering with the garrison over there, you’ve got a chance to join our mercenary company. What do you say?”