#mercenaryposting

[cordaxmerc]

my victims #myvictims

[cordaxmerc]

Solivilla, two leguas to the East. A slight deviation from Bloodhaven. We will reach that when it is time. Right now, we approach this fief. I've heard the lord is fat like a pig. Hope he bleeds good.

The living section of the Company sleeps in the carts as we make our way. Pilgrims and miserable people who find us are spared from certain death, as we have a task. They will see the banners, flying high even in the night, the horses, the pikemen, the halberdiers, the arquebusiers. The carts, my officers riding besides me. We march as long as the Sun (damned be the Sun!) is down.

This miserable little fief holds a precious jewel that will grant me 2600 reales. And the fief is mine as soon as the attack is carried out. My men will feast themselves on stolen gold, on burning the little church, on living, warm, delicate flesh of victims to be.

But I am focused. I must hunt down this unicorn, I must bring to my employer this particular man. My own feasting can wait. Efficiency is everything.

My shock troops are like rabid dogs. They will begin the attack when we arrive. And the last thing many townspeople will see, waking up from their sleep, will be my banners flying over the burning village. How exciting.

[cordaxmerc]

i'm having 30 half-starved people from a recently unquarantined village build a dolmen in my name just to flex my money

[cordaxmerc]

THESE BOOTS ARE FROM MILAN

[cordaxmerc]

did you guys know killing people is free but I can pay you to do it too

[cordaxmerc]

fuck it, i ATE the pope

[cordaxmerc]

I watch my crows peck the eyes out of corpses. I watch my men, once dead and lost, drag the farmers out of the house. I watch them drag the soldiers defending the fief to the trees. I watch a cavalry man, elderly priest tied to his saddle, drag the bastard across the road. I watch the blood turn the grass a damp black, lit by moonlight.

I feel the weight of gold in my hands. My secretaries each give out their payment to my men. The smiles of the damned as they feel the weight of their pay. As they lick blood off their pale lips, as they rejoice in their violence.

I watch this one, head covered in a jousting helm, all armored like a funeral effigy, cloak blood stained, sword recently stolen off a Palskei knight, not partake in the celebrations of our kill. It merely looks sad.

Perhaps this one still loves life too much. How will I whip it out of them?

[cordaxmerc]

I pay my men extra if they find me a littol treat after we have completely looted a town