Bundle of Steel
Twenty-Fifth Day of the Twelfth Month 292 AC
After some thought and conferring with Ser Richard you decide that for your purposes most if not all warm bodies could serve. Even the very worst of the sellswords could die for some purpose at least, and the best of them might eventually be inducted into the legions you aim to create. Uthero seems startled though not disapproving of the decision that would see him roughly five thousand marks poorer. You shall have to keep in mind to assure him a particularly impressive keep for his efforts, perhaps with servitors wrought of fantastical shapes.
The men ushered into the chamber could not have been more different. First there was "Brick-Wall" Bradyn, captain of the Wolf's Teeth, a stout man wearing a garish red cloak over equally garish Tyroshi armor yet with what you can only describe as a
turban of white fox fur on his head. Thankfully he spares you the 'authentic northerner' act you suspect most of his customers get and speaks in a rolling accent that seemingly draws from all of the Three Daughters equally.
Then there is Marco of the company of the same name, a sharp-eyed Myrman who walks with his arms bare save for the heavy gold armbands studded with small rubies. A short conversation with him is enough to assure you that while he might give one bent copper for the lives of his 'auxiliaries' he certainly does not give
two, seeing them more as a stumbling block for cavalry, though one he would rather have under the command of men he trusts than not.
Lastly there is Jorn Nir, captain of the Long Axes, broad of chest and shoulder but standing perhaps a hair over five feet, hair and beard dyed bright blue and woven into intricate braids. He wears a full set of plate of a kind you have rarely seen in Essos with a hand axe at his belt and boiled leather shield slung on his back. Unlike his companions he speaks little and makes no attempt to draw attention to himself, though he is quick to answer any question posed to him.
As to their men you discover that they are not near Braavos as you had half-assumed, for the Sealord would not allow such a close associations between your efforts and the city. Instead they are currently quartered more than two hundred miles south along the Braavosi coastline near the borderlands of Pentos. Thus as they gathered the sellswords served as a minor reminder to that city of the might of Braavos which made them kneel in centuries past, while at the same time being eminently deniable assets about which Pentos cannot grumble about too loudly for it is far from the first time 'stray' sellswords gathered in the borderlands, from north and south.
Still Uthero is clear that you should take them away within the next month before they grow too restless in their camps, and so you do. Bidding farewell to your friend, you ride on steeds of shadow over the sea for hours into early afternoon until you come upon the nameless town where three small companies and smaller bands of soldiers of fortune gather.
Looking down on the chaos among the ramshackle buildings Ser Richard grumbles, "Bastards did not even gather information."
"And what good would a phalanx do against flying foes?" you ask.
"It would keep the men from running every which way at the first sign of danger. Half of drilling is making men eat, sleep, and fucking dream in formation so that when things go to shit, and things almost always go to shit somehow in a fight, they don't think, they just
do," he answers.
You look at him curiously.
"I've been listening to the Ghiscari train up the armsmen," he explains, giving you one more reason among myriad of others for that chance meting in Braavos more than three years past.
What do you say to the men?
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OOC: At the end there was the fluff for the knowledge war ranks you gave Ser Richard on his last level up.