BL3 Rook - Private thread for Skopa

[Stik]

Rook grumbled around his bread, musing on the day. These caravan folk were not a bad group of people, friendly, perhaps overly so, and somewhat generous, at least with food and drink, but their lack of discipline was surely a hindrance to their success. It had taken him several days to work out the relationships of the family running the caravan; a father, his daughter and her husband, and his brother; the rest were hirelings, although a couple had been there awhile, and one of them may or may not have been a cousin. The passengers were decent folk as well. The veteran dwarf is a bit grumpy, and the priestess is loud, but tolerable.

Being a guard was honest work, at least. Things had been difficult since he’d resigned from the Legions. He didn’t have enough in his purse to get him home. Not that going home was an option, anyway. Although he had served a full term, and was therefore eligible to be muster out as a full citizen, he had signed up for a second, and returning home before that term was up, particularly when his legion was still in the field, would have been scandalous. And the legion armor he still wore gave people the impression that he might be a deserter, although anyone mentioning that out loud would, and indeed had, spend quite a bit of time piking up their teeth from the gutter.

The Mercenaries’ Guild was a saving grace; a place where nobody asked questions and nobody make him turn on friends for worshipping as they had their whole lives. That had been worse than the few times they’d had to fight against other legionnaires because their commander was a traitor. Besides, caravan guarding was a lot like the legion lifestyle, anyway.

This run has been fairly quiet, so far. Until this morning, when the son-in-law spotted a man on horseback, giving the caravan much too hard a look, and rushed back with the news of bandits. Two hours later, with the village in sight, the “bandits” arrived from the northeast. But they were IV Legion light cavalry and infantry, maybe half a century. Village bells began ringing, villagers began coming out, weapons in hand, even a few real swords and shields. Then it got worse for everyone: local cavalry from the south, and the village and the caravan caught between them.

Well, time to earn that coin.