Otherworld Squad

The afternoon had arrived with little fanfare as the quiet, comfortable routines of the Crestvigil townsfolk provided a gentle background of noise and movement. Low and scattered clouds had begun their slow intrusion from the north. Their colours slowly shifting, bank by bank, towards the dull grey of showers. These increasingly frequent patches of shade did little to dampen Alter’s spirits, in fact being from the UK made them seem quite homely as he meandered through the winding streets. The sudden arrival and subsequent departure of the Auserre knighthood had sent waves of puzzled excitement rippling through the local population, rumours were well and truly abuzz in the yard work chatter and doorway gossip. Fortunately, none of the theories included neither him nor his friends, as such the speculation was a source of light amusement. The public’s collective imagination can always be relied upon for free entertainment no matter what world you found yourself in.

As Alter walked, the plan for their imminent journey played over in his mind. It would take two full days to travel by carriage to the border between the lands of Auserre and Masserlind. Their final destination was the city of Jestriff, which roughly translated to ‘Snowline’ in some abandoned tongue. Situated in the northern province of Grenveine, it had begun life as a border fortress which eventually swelled into a city of pale grey stone and dark blue slate roofs. Ordinarily, their journey would see them cut diagonally through Auserre and straight into the capital province. However, Oliver was quick to inform him that Victor, in his anger, would have left orders to deny them passage deeper into his family's territory. As such their only option was to head straight north towards the other Masserlind owned province of Cereloss. A much wilder and unkept stretch of land as Oliver told it, thick with pine forests and placid lakes. The foreseen problem was that Cereloss was under the firm control of Oliver’s power-grabbing uncle, and that there would be multiple opportunities for bandits and ruffians under the man’s thumb to interfere. So, two days of relative peace, then muzzles trained on wood lines the rest of the way. Five days of travel in total. Here’s hoping the packed provisions would be good.

The aftermath of Victor’s immediate departure had provided the squad with an unexpected boon. Lunch had been magnificent. All concerns that Alter had held in regards to this new world’s catering ability had been blown out of the water. Though he had to admit they skewed a little too heavily towards the salad side of things. Also the local cheese could use a bit more work. Minor criticisms though, easily offset by the rest of the spread. The meal had been punctuated by Vaulter who, having demolished half a bottle of wine, had proceeded to launch into a colourful menagerie of heroic tales from his youth. Alter had tried to follow the stories to the best of his abilities but had quickly found himself bogged down in an unwinnable battle against missing context. Late mediaeval combat doctrine seemed rife with error and egregious personal misjudgements to his more modern standpoint. However, this was all being presented to him through the biassed and tipsy focal point of the Marshal, he could forgive the scattergun narrative. Once the meal had concluded Vaulter was quick to return to his duties and had disappeared. There were still some hours before their transport was due to arrive, Oliver had urged them all to use the time wisely. If they were to be cooped up for a full working week then Alter was going to stretch his legs as much as possible. A gentle wander through the streets before the weather turned was his occupation of choice.

His path had led him to the far side of Crestvigil where a subtle change in architecture made him pause. The structures here were older, more established. But instead of the appreciation of history Alter felt a certain sense of unease. These were tired, hardened buildings with windows that regarded him with distrust and doors unquestionably closed in silent disdain. Even the people walking along the weathered cobbles of the street seemed distant in comparison to the eager patter of the market side residents.

“You look as if you have half the weight of the world on your shoulders.” A voice spoke out from over his shoulder, familiar but not well known enough for Alter to immediately recall its owner.

Alter quickly twisted his torso around and offered a polite smile to the pair of men approaching him. “Good afternoon to you too Huntmaster, Mister Pendle. I was just pondering why this corner of Crestvigil feels so cold.”

Huntmaster Raymond returned the gesture as he moved to stand next to him, his lieutenant, Pendle, whom Alter had almost pulled a gun on at the top of the Riverfield’s stairwell nodded politely but remained silent.

“This is ‘Bitter Street’.” Raymond explained. “The family homes of those who have been here the longest, seen the most change, and secretly wish half of the good folk of this town would go back to wherever they came from.” He scowled.

“Ahh.” Alter murmured as he scanned his surroundings with fresh eyes. “Then how about you? You’re just as much an outsider to these people as I.” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Business, unfortunately. Seeing as our previous contract ended prematurely thanks to a certain someone, we’ve decided to pick up some extra work before moving on. One of the families squirrelled away in here have had a pair of houseworkers abscond with a sack of valuables. They’ve put out a bounty for their return, the two of us are off to get some more details.” Raymond explained quietly, keen to prevent the sparse passersby from overhearing and starting any rumours.

“Will you have to go far to find them?” Alter dropped his voice to match the conspiratory tone.

Raymond shook his head. “In these types of situations, the thieves never travel too far. They’re farmer’s or dayworker’s daughters from the outlying hamlets who travel here in search of better wages and a better life. Home is the first place they’ll run to.”

“And if they are indeed where you think they are, what will you do then?” Alter’s voice darkened; he was certainly not a fan of where this was going.

To his credit, Raymond took his more threatening stance well. “Then we ask them to return what was stolen without causing anyone any pain. These families don’t care about their arrest or any punishments, they just want their oh so precious heirlooms back. I’m not going to go marching into a lonely farmstead, sword drawn and ready to end some poor girl’s life.” He chuckled.

Alter tried to relax the knot of hardened muscle that had formed in his chest and sighed. “Apologies, Raymond. I made a snap judgement against you for a moment there.”

“No need to be concerned, when you’re in this line of work you get used to the assumptions.” He offered Alter a reassuring smile.

“I understand. Out of curiosity, where will you go after this? I imagine there’s meagre pickings in such well protected territory.” Alter asked as a means to change the topic.

“I figure we’ll try our luck up in Grenveine for a spell. After all, it's not every day you get a chance to be formally introduced to a nobleman, let alone one of the dukes.” Raymond beamed, a mischievous twinkle passing across his eyes.

Alter was struck with the sudden realisation that he might have made a promise he both couldn’t remember and likely couldn’t keep. “Ermm.” He managed.

“Well either way, I’d better not keep my prospective client waiting. Doubtless we shall be stuck there for hours listening to some old would-be patriarch tell us all about how they would’ve surely been elevated nobility by now were it not for some rival family down the street. Until we meet again!” Raymond surged into motion, hurrying further along the street with a jaunty wave. Pendle offered a nod and a quick grunt before striding after him.

Alter stood mutely in the centre of the street, watching the two men disappear around a conveniently placed corner. With a huff he pushed the frustrated thoughts from the forefront of his mind and raised his face to the sky as the first raindrops began to fill the air. Another decision made, another chance at making a mistake. Uncertainty continued to nibble at the exposed corners of his mind, he felt like an athlete competing in a sport whose rules he didn’t know. The damp impact of water hitting his eyeballs made him shake his head and return to the present, this isolated shower would be heavier than he’d thought. Surrendering to the fact that wetness was inevitable, he slowly turned around and commenced his steady trudging back to the Marshal’s house.

By the time he made it back he had absorbed enough water to be denied entry, the health of the carpets far outweighing that of his own. Instead, he made his way around the outside of the building and sought shelter under the short porch of the attached stable. Next to Pinecone. Who still didn’t like him. After what seemed like an eternity of blowing water droplets off the bottom of his nose and avoiding Pinecone’s insistent headbutting, the clouds decided he’d suffered enough and moved on. Alter was no fool though, he could see the next shower eagerly awaiting his departure from his choice of cover. The infernal horse would get to keep his new punching bag for a while longer.

Nothing lasts forever, the band of rain abated just as the now familiar rumble of an approaching carriage pricked his ears. As the much more modest constructs clattered into the yard the house’s rear door opened and the rest of the squad filed out looking smug in their dryness. Riptide marched over, lugging Alter’s equipment with him before depositing it in a pile at his feet and giving him his best motherly ‘and where have you been?’ expression. Alter rolled his eyes and picked up his gear. Vaulter and Oliver followed the others out of the house, the pair enraptured in quiet conversation.

“These carriages are fitted for six occupants each, so we’ll at least have a little space left over for the bulkier weapons.” Riptide told him as he petted Pinecone’s neck easily.

“More than that. I want one of us up with the drivers in shifts, especially once we’re approaching the border.” Alter glared at the now placid and content equine demon.

“Understood.” Riptide answered flatly.

“Captain, you and your lieutenants are riding with me!” Oliver called as he climbed into the lead carriage.

“Those are our marching orders, I suppose.” Alter commented.

“SItting orders, more like. I’ll ride up top first.” Riptide ambled off and clambered up to sit on the driver’s bench.

Alter chuckled to himself before following Oliver’s lead, sitting opposite the young lord with an audible squelch. Much to his disappointment he spotted a stable hand leading Pinecone out of the stable and attaching him to the rear carriage. Boozehound levered himself up and closed the door behind him, seconds later the sound of the driver’s whip cracked and the carriage groaned into motion. Vaulter stood alone in the yard, hand placed across his breast in salute. The three men sat quietly as they moved through the town and out the same gate they had arrived at. It was a long way to Jestriff. The heavy silence told Alter that they all knew it wouldn’t be simple.