Squad Games — A Mercenary Company Turn-Based/Tactical LitRPG

Jaelin

Name

Jaelin Topolski

Nickname

None

Race/Nationality

Human/Livanian

Age

26

Daily Wage

7 pence

Action Stats

EXP Level

3

Action Points

4

Hit Points

19

Core Stats

Might

6

Agility

10

Grit

10

Intellect

8

Skills

Scouting, Bows (competent), Knives (competent)

Equipment

Weapons

Shortbow (damage 2-12), Knife (damage 2-8)

Armour

None

Other

Wilson Turk

Name

Wilson Turk

Nickname

None

Race/Nationality

Gnome

Age

50

Daily Wage

7 pence

Action Stats

EXP Level

3

Action Points

4

Hit Points

21

Core Stats

Might

14

Agility

6

Grit

4

Intellect

10

Skills

Ambidextrous, axes (proficient)

Equipment

Weapons

Hand axe (damage 3-18), Hand axe (damage 3-18)

Armour

Breastplate, helmet

Other

‘Stocksby lies due south of Eisenberg,’ Jaelin told Wilson.

‘You’ve been there?’ the gnome asked him.

‘Just the once. Not much there, but it serves as a focal point for the farms in the neighbourhood. They’re small, and isolated. It’s pastoral land, not much good for growink crops.’

Jaelin could see the stress in Wilson’s disposition ease when he realised Jaelin knew the way. He sensed he had misjudged the gnome’s irascibility from the previous mission.

They travelled west by foot. Horses weren’t native to Gal’azu, and were extremely expensive to transport over here. Their short supply made them far too expensive for the likes of Jaelin. Not that he minded. Walking gave him more peace than anything else. He matched his pace to Wilson’s, whose legs were significantly shorter. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence with chatter, and Jaelin’s remaining concerns about his companion evaporated.

The ground began to rise and fall. It was the beginnings of the rocky landscape that lay out west, beyond the reach of even the boldest settlers.

As evening came, Jaelin stopped at the top of a rise. Above, reds and yellows were pushing the blue from the sky. Below them was a sheer drop down to rocks below. Ahead, they could see all the way to the murky swamp that stretched out to the ocean. ‘Some view. Eh, Wilson?’ The question had come unbidden, without stopping to think whether the gnome had any interest.

But Wilson stopped, dropped his pack, and gazed out for some time. ‘This is why you came to Gal’azu?’ he asked after a while.

‘I suppose so. It’s freedom I value more than anything. I was born a slave, you see. My mother was a slave. But at night she would tell me stories all about the most fantastical places. Most of them were made up, and she had seen none of them herself. Yet she painted such a picture with only her words, that I imagined I was there. When I got the chance to, I left—determined to visit such places for myself. Now, when I awake, my time is my own. I can go where I like; see the world for myself.’

Wilson nodded in understanding. ‘Perhaps we could make a camp here, and watch the sun set.’

‘I would like that.’

‘Why did you come to Gal’azu?’ Jaelin asked the gnome, as they sat in their blankets, waiting for nightfall.

‘I was always different. Gnomes might be explorers, like yourself. But crafting, and tinkering, is in our blood. I always wanted to be a warrior. There were no role models for me, only disapproval. When I left my people and travelled the world, that disapproval turned to scorn. A puny gnome, become a warrior? My ambitions were a joke. I was a joke.’

‘You thought it might be different here?’

‘I thought, in a land where everyone is making a fresh start, there might be more acceptance. Of who I am, not what I am. But The Golden Blades would have nothing to do with me. Stiff never judged me in that way. Even when I messed up. I’m grateful for that.’

‘He seems alright,’ Jaelin admitted. ‘But unlike you, I’m not one for fightink and killink. It darkens my soul. I don’t understand people who want to make that their life.’

‘A true warrior makes a choice who and what he fights for,’ Wilson said. ‘But I don’t believe I made a choice to take the warrior’s path. It is what I am.’

It was market day in Stocksby. All the neighbouring farmers had come, and most had a story about wargs. The beasts came at night. No fence was tall or thick enough to stop them. Sheep were their usual target. Some they killed for food. Others, it seemed, for pleasure.

‘If it goes on like this, I’ll have to leave,’ was the common refrain. ‘I can’t sustain such losses any longer.’

One farmer had gone out with his family to confront them. ‘They weren’t scared of us in the slightest. Just looked at me with those black, devil eyes. Daring me to try and stop them, it seemed.’ He looked at the ground. ‘I wasn’t going to risk the lives of my wife and sons. I took us back inside the house.’

‘Where do you think their den could be?’ Jaelin asked.

‘Out west, beyond our farms. I heard a theory that they escaped from a goblin camp, and made a home for themselves in this area. But they can’t be that far away, because they range across these lands now. It’s the lucky few who haven’t had an incident with them. That’s why we all got together and came up with the money. Something needs to be done.’

Having collected all the information they could, Jaelin and Wilson left the village to explore the territory out west. Once they passed the last farm, they shared a nervous energy. It was just the two of them out in the wilds—and somewhere, there was a warg den.

‘What kind of place do you think such creatures would choose?’ Wilson asked him.

In a group, the gnome had been determined to take charge. Now it was just the two of them, he seemed content to defer to Jaelin.

‘Somewhere safe for their pups. Somewhere remote.’

‘That makes our task a lot harder,’ Wilson ventured.

‘There are ways to find them.’

Jaelin kept to the high ground. It allowed him to get a feel for the territory. He knew where the wargs who passed through were heading. He needed to work out what route they were likely to take.

‘Down here, Wilson,’ he said when he finally spotted what he was looking for. He led the gnome off the ridge, and down a steep slope. A depression in the ground had formed a pool.

‘You’re thinking the wargs come here to drink?’ Wilson asked him.

‘Certainly possible. After a hunt, and after eating a big meal, they can get thirsty.’ Jaelin crouched on the muddy edge of the water. ‘See here?’

Wilson took a look. ‘I see. Paw print. Pretty big one at that.’

‘Aye. Adult wargs are a fearsome size. Powerful in the back, shoulder, and limbs—strong enough to carry the weight of a goblin rider.’

Wilson looked less than enthused at Jaelin’s description.

Jaelin moved on to examine the patches of grass and bush that dotted the area. It didn’t take long for him to find scat. It was dry; a few days old. From the accounts of the farmers he’d heard in Stocksby, he reckoned the creatures ventured out on raids every five days or so—taking enough meat on each raid to keep them satisfied for long periods.

With increasing confidence, Jaelin circled the pool and continued west, charting a likely route the wargs might have taken. He spied grey cliffs to the north. At the top of them was a jumble of rocks on thin grass that made the surface uneven.

‘I think we may have found it,’ he said.

Wilson looked up. ‘I don’t like the look of it, that’s for sure. You think there could be caves up there?’

‘If not caves, crevices and overhangs that would serve their purpose. Sometimes, our instincts tell us what we need to know, if we listen to them. Mine are telling me not to go up there.’

‘Mine too. I suppose that means we have to?’