Zephyrus sat alone at the Guild meeting table, a fire crackled lazily at the far end of the longhouse. He stared absentmindedly into the flames, strolling memory lane. In his minds eye he saw the longhouse under construction, and then completed. That was eight years ago when he had just set up the guild. It had taken him and his fifteen men three months to build the camp, including this longhouse, a collection of huts and stables. Since then it had grown as more mercenaries came and went, more huts had been erected, and even a smithy and workshop was built in the camp.
Zephyrus looked up at the ceiling, it was a maze of beams and supports, the outer layer; the only protection between himself and the infinite night sky, was thatch. The walls were made of peat blocks, with pine planks on the inside to keep the warmth in. Peat blocks allowed not only a lot of insulation, but also a surprising amount of support.
The largest beam that supported the roof ran the entire length of the longhouse and was made of oak. The grain was thick, and darkly coloured knots littered the piece of wood. It was a sturdy beam though. He remembered the day he had chopped down that very oak, it had been but fifty yards from where the longhouse now stood. But what stood out mostly clearly in his memory was the rough touch of its bark and the torturous creak it made as it fell back to the floor, the same floor from which it had sprouted a few hundred years before. It had taken all fifteen men to carry and manoeuvre the log into place; it had been a feat of brotherhood and cooperation. It was these traits that had led The Mercenary Guild to victory so many times before.
Back in the here and now he was sat alone with a pint of ale, a burning fire, and his memories to keep him company? It was well past midnight and the other three remaining guild members had long since retired to their beds, but tonight was special to Zeph; it marked the anniversary of the death of a special friend; Oren.
It was because of Oren that it had started, it was because of Oren this guild came to exist?
Zephyrus?s childhood had been tough and complicated. At the age of twenty he met a man named Oren. Oren was sixty-one at the time and was entering the sunset of his epic, adventurous life. Oren had hired Zephyrus as a guard in his retinue, but as they got to know one another it became apparent their relationship was more than purely employer-employee. To Oren Zephyrus was like the son he had never had yet always wanted. To Zephyrus Oren was like the father he had never had.
They truly were kindred spirits. Both men enjoyed hunting, drinking, women, and, most especially, the thrill of a good fight. It was this adrenaline fuelled bloodlust that brought them together as close as father and son. Oren himself had once been a guild master, and he imparted much of his hard earned experience and wisdom to Zephyrus. Zeph, in turn, learnt much, how to be a good leader and a strong fighter, how to establish a guild with a reputation that made it both recognised and respected. Finally, Zephyrus learnt from Oren the most important lesson of all. How to create not only such a guild, but also to forge it into a true brotherhood.
However what Oren taught was more than just simple guild management techniques, he also taught Zephyrus a set of doctrines and philosophies by which to lead his life. He taught that in this world honour, justice, and dignity mean nothing; only a fool follows such principles. The true driving powers of the world, the true assets that decide a good man from a mediocre one are; wealth, power, and fame. But above all what makes a great man is no attachments. Lose your attachment to your possessions and you will not fear their loss, lose your attachment to your morals and you can do anything without remorse, and lose attachment to the concept of self; well then you need never fear death again.
The five years in which he had known Oren were a turning point in Zephyrus?s life. But sadly at the age of sixty-six Oren died. He gave so much to Zephyrus; and hence every year on the anniversary of his death, he would mourn his lost master.
After the funereal Zephyrus wasted little time, he arranged some of the other guards and friends he had made over the years and formed his own band of brothers, fifteen men. Together they created the camp in which he found himself just then. Back then they were simply another band of warriors who would fight for the highest bidder. But as they gained more acclaim the also gained the title: The Mercenary Guild.
In the very beginning they had only been capable of taking smallish jobs, escorting and body-guarding for the most part. Usually for middle class merchants, but slowly they built their reputation. And with reputation came more members and better employers. After two years of smallish jobs turned into more prestigious ones. Their employers changed from petty merchants to guild masters and nobility. This brought wealth to the group, and with wealth came more members. After another year of these jobs the fame of the Mercenary Guild reached even the far-flung parts of Yliakum. It also brought them power and almost a status of invincibility. Never before had there been a single, unified group of mercenaries, and nobody wanted to mess with them.
When they had thirty members they were capable of taking very large jobs, garrisoning for royalty and warlords. They even managed minor military skirmishes such as small guild wars. However, it was only when they reached seventy members that the guild reached its peak of fame and power. This was but one year ago. It had consumed seven years of Zephyrus? life, but finally he had done it. Finally he had made The Mercenary Guild into a great power. They now had the power to create and destroy empires, for the right price. It was a fool who did not make sure to have the Guild on his side.
Unfortunately this was not to last?
Only a single season ago the shady-looking Lemur had approached the guild asking for its services. He had promised great riches in return for an attack on the castle of a certain Octarch. It seemed a straightforward job, however, things had not gone according to plan. The mission should have been relatively easy, he knew the layout of the castle, they had also known that the Octarch only had twenty-seven men garrisoned inside the walls. Besides the pay was good. So, overall Zephyrus was eager to take the job.
After a week of planning and preparation the mercenaries made their move. It was an early Saturday morning, dew clung to the grass and the mist had not yet dissipated, a fresh breeze blew across the plain and chilled Zephyrus to the bone. He had taken all seventy of his men and had set-up near the castle, ready to lay siege. Zeph ordered the preparation of the siege engines, the castle had not woken up yet and, oddly, the three guards that were on duty had not spotted them yet. But Zephyrus was not overly suspicious. Instead he assumed the mist had concealed them from view. He still had the element of surprise and hopeful they could take the castle by storm before the garrison was truly aware of what was going on.
However this did not happen.
?AMBUSH!? he heard screamed from the back of his ranks. Zephyrus turned to see the commotion, and surely enough they were being ambushed, mounted knights were charging down on them. They had been flanked on both sides, Zephyrus quickly estimated that there were five hundred opponents, more than seven vs. one; he knew this was a fight he couldn?t win.
?RETREAT! RETREAT!? Zephyrus hollered as hard as he could, all around his men were dying. ?That bastard Lemur, this was a trap? Zeph thought to himself.
Approximately half his men survived that day. The other half were slain on that battlefield. His brothers, his comrades, his friends had died on that fateful day and it was his fault. He could never forgive himself. He still did not know why they had been attacked, he had made a lot of enemies over the past eight years, and he could not be sure which grudge had led to this amount of bloodshed. But they had not attacked again, besides the location of the camp was fairly secret; they were safe, for now at least.
After the battle most of the survivors had left the guild, the amount of blood spilled in that battle had been too much for them, others were scared they would be attacked again, and Zephyrus could not blame them. The guild had been left with only four members, but it still had its reputation. And the name: The Mercenary Guild could still strike fear into many a heart in Yliakum.
Zephyrus swore an oath on the name of Oren that he would rebuild the guild. They would be respected as a power in Yliakum again, all he wanted was to be a great man. As his lost master had taught him he had nothing to fear, not even death itself. Besides they still had their reputation, rebuilding the guild would not take as long, he felt certain.
Back in the present, the fire was dying out and turning to ashes. He took the final swig of his ale, briefly remembered his lost master, extinguished the fire, and went to bed.
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Ok, any feedback? Please? good or bad?
Edit: added more enemies at the end, dont want to seem too weak
