Comes With The Job

A worn-out carriage is being drawn through the forest by two meagre horses, flanked by towering trees with crimson leaves that block out most of the sunshine, leaving only a few slivers that pierce the forest canopy as if illuminating the path ahead. Six grubby mercenaries in a ragged mismatch of dirtied leather and chipped chainmail walk beside the carriage, with three on either side, focusing intently, keeping their breaths hushed to hear everything in this bustling forest. A mercenary at the rear decides to break the awkward silence, adjusting his loose helmet so he can see the other mercenary beside himself.

"I'm Garrick. Not seen any of you around the guild before; what city are you stationed in?" The mercenary doesn't respond, let alone acknowledge Garrick's existence. Perplexed, Garrick speaks louder, as if the faint forest somehow muffled his words. "I'm stationed in Volmyr. Been doing this work for a year now, and it pays well enough to get by."

The mercenary remains silent through Garrick's need for conversation to break the monotonous creak of wobbly carriage wheels through this forest. A menacing visage peers out from behind the mercenary's helmet, glancing at the surrounding shrubs and foliage where ambushers would skulk.

"Redwood is a beautiful place. Makes the boring journey worth it." Garrick isn't one to take a hint or give up easily, so he pushes the conversation even more, finally gaining the acknowledgement of the mercenary.

"Shut the fuck up and pay attention to the job at hand. I don't do chit-chat, so focus up." He breathes a heavy sigh as if releasing the built-up frustration, listening to Garrick stammer on, to remain calm and composed.

Garrick recoils, tilting his head, obviously taken aback by the mercenary's blunt words. He steps back and takes a mental note of the mercenaries, who all march with a rhythmic cadence.

"Hands on their weapons. Always focusing on the carriage and the forest. They're taking their jobs seriously, even though this is just a cargo delivery to a village. People don't act like this, let alone five at once... something feels off." Garrick taps his finger against his chin, thinking before deciding to chirp up again.

"So, where did you hear about-"

Garrick falls silent, gaining the attention of the annoyed mercenary, who turns his head toward him to understand why Garrick decided to shut up, but his menacing visage turns to abject horror, wide-eyed like he saw a ghost. Blood trickles down Garrick's neck as an arrow sticks halfway through, only being stopped from travelling all the way through by the feathers of the shaft.

"AMBUSH!!! GUARD THE CARGO!" The annoyed mercenary shouts with fervour, spit flying from his mouth.

Like a coordinated unit, they all unsheathe their swords in unison and stare intently at the trees, their eyes darting rapidly, looking for any indication of a target.

"Archnobles, Prepare yourselves! We will perish before they attain the artefact!" One of the mercenaries at the front roars with a proclamation of demise.

"Arch... nobles? The... royal... gua...rds?" Garrick collapses to his knees, clutching his throat as he coughs up blood, and it flows down, coating his armour and hands as his body begins to fail him. Through his fading consciousness, Garrick observes beings materialise from the shadows of the forest—clad in blackened armour with swords coated in a black, gloomy haze, almost smoke-like, that drips to the ground.

Helpless to act, Garrick watched a vicious fight ensue, something only a few would be gracious enough to witness. His intuition was correct—something was strange with these mercenaries. The Archnobles emanated pure might, effectively tearing down the hordes of shadowy figures, cleaving them in half with just a single sword swing, even with chipped and rusty swords, and despite being heavily outnumbered. Only a minute had elapsed since the battle began, but a few dozen corpses were lying in pieces on the ground, blood pooling underneath the Archnoble's boots.

Garrick slowly drags himself towards a nearby tree, propping himself up using what little strength he has left. Despite their combat prowess, he watches on as the Archnobles are slowly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of shadowy entities, leaving their mangled, gory corpses behind. A volley of fireballs erupts from behind the foliage, igniting it on its way past, striking one of the two remaining Archnobles in the chest, knocking them to the ground. The Archnoble's anguished scream echoes as their chest plate melts, dripping into their gaping wounds and scorching their organs. Finally, a shadowy figure jumps towards them and pierces their hearts, ending their misery.

The last Archnoble stood tall and proud, but his body was tired, his sword heavy as he panted heaved breath, gripping their cut-open stomach with their free hand to keep their intestines inside their body. A Dark Elf emerges from the dense foliage wearing lavish robes of red trimmed with gold embroidery, her long-pointed ears poking through her red hair. Her eyes glow a faint orange, and her hands glow bright orange before dimming to just the fingertips. She moves with purpose and confidence to the last remaining Archnoble, unaffected by the carnage of mutilated corpses that she treads over. With a pitiful attempt, the Archnoble swings their sword haphazardly towards the Dark Elf, but it melts before reaching her body.

"Quite a devious strategy using that low-life mercenary to hide in plain sight, and it almost worked, too. It took us a lot of effort to pinpoint your location," The Dark Elf spoke with a smirk, impressed by their plan but pleased knowing it failed anyway. "But, unfortunately, it only brought you a brief respite from us." Her face drops into a menacing stare as she places her palms forward, her thumbs and index fingers touching as she unleashes a stream of fire, engulfing the last Archnoble, who attempts to endure the pain, not willing to give her the satisfaction of his scream, but fails as he lets out a shallowed shriek and falls over dead. One of the mysterious shadowed beings approaches the Dark Elf.

"Prime Mage Xzeralaki, all the Archnobles have been eliminated." The shadowy beings' voices warble, altered by the masks they wear.

"Good," Xzeralaki responds as she takes a quick inventory of the finished battle. "Secure the Primordial Artefact and deliver it to Dovruun immediately, along with the remaining Shadowed Ones; we were expected back three days ago."

The shadowed ones strip the carriage bare until they retrieve a box with unique markings. Xzeralaki notices Garrick still alive, lying against a nearby tree with blood staining his clothes and the ground.

"The Archnobles used you for their gain, and now you'll die because of them." She kneels to Garrick's eyeline while speaking plainly. "You were completely out of your depth from the beginning."

"Comes...wi-with the...job." Garrick sputters weakly before bursting into a coughing fit, spattering blood all over Xzeralaki's robes. She grips the protruding arrow shaft from his neck and rips it through, staring into Garrick's eyes as he bleeds out and dies. The last thing he sees is her gleeful face.

Just as soon as his vision went black, his eyes shot open again, but rather than seeing Xzeralaki or Redwood forest, he saw iron bars and a stone brick wall. Garrick takes a moment to orient himself before reaching for his neck wound, which has been sewn shut. He glances about at his dreary, bitter surroundings before recognising he is wearing a chain around his ankle in a prison cell.

What feels like hours pass before the door at the far end of the room creaks, breaking through the monotony of a single raindrop. An old man enters, his body and face obscured by darkness and slumps himself down on a chair in front of where Garrick is imprisoned. With a slight flick of his wrist, torches inside the room alight, casting a menacing shadow across the old man. His white, straggly hair is long and unkempt, with a white beard to match. His skin is wrinkled and thin, and their clothes are unsurprisingly dirty. He speaks in an amicable tone, which only unsettles Garrick more.

"It was challenging bringing you back to life; you were nearly void of blood, but the spell succeeded, and you will prove essential to me in what is to come."