A/N: This is my first fan fiction, but i've been told i'm a relatively good writer, and after helping a couple friends with their fanfics as well as years of playing this game i thought to myself "Eh, why not?" Without further ado here it is, enjoy!
Chapter 1: Another Day in Paradise
I lay there, on the less than comfortable ground, staring up at the starry night sky. I could hear the fire crackling next to me, accompanied only by Ignos's snoring, Shaladur's blade sharpening, and the occasional cricket chirping away whistlessy.
I was tired, no doubt about that, it was a good raid today. But like usual I wouldn't sleep for a while. Especially with what was about to happen.
Before that, though, I suppose I should introduce myself, as well as my partners.
My name is Cheven, and I'm a mercenary. Me and my two friends are a group of wandering mercenaries, travelling for coin and killing for coin.
We're a well rounded bunch, first there's me, I lead the pack. I'm lean, average height at around 5' 6" with a light tan colored skin. I have long, dark brown hair, wound in a ponytail above my head. I wear tight, brown leather armor, allowing me mobility and decent protection. It consisted of long boots that came up to my knees, tight leather pants, a tight leather tunic with a sash slong it which held my throwing daggers and poisons, and gloves which had throwing knives conveniently placed on them, concealed, but ready to kill.
I wielded twin daggers. Both had blades a good 8 inches long. They were sharp enough the cut flesh like red butter. I also practiced in throwing knives, which i always carried several of. I'm not very physically strong, that's Shaladur's job, but I could win a brawl or six. I'm a rogue, wearing leather armor and an identity-veiling scarf around my mouth, trusting only the daggers in my hands and the coins in my pocket.
This life came naturally to me, I've always been a thief. If I wasn't a good thief by now I'd be a good casualty for one of the many thugs I've met in my journeys. I either sneak up behind my target and slit their throat before they realize i'm there or run across the battle field, slicing, dicing, and stabbing as I please; It depends on my mood.
Next, there was Ignos, a small lad. He seemed fairly innocent, and even to this day I've no idea how he managed to become a mercenary. Ignos is short at 5' 3" with skin pale enough to make snow jealous, and a body scrawny enough to make a skeleton cry.
Ignos wore a red robe, with a fire design around the rim above his feet and above his hands. He also had a hood to match, with fire around the rim of it.
His weapon of choice was a long red staff. The end of it was carved into the shape of a dragonskull. You could see the power in it.
His gleaming blonde hair was long and hung past his shoulders elegantly. His eyes were a magnificent bright blue color, and his young face always showed intelligence. You probably think he's the whimpiest human alive, which to be fair, he is. Physically, he is. Mentally he could outsmart you 10 times before you realized you were on fire with your entrails hanging out, all while he was enjoying a nice book. This was especially impressive when one considered his age. He was about 17, and yet he could say things the Shal and I wouldn't come close to comprehending.
His eyes shone with intelligence, and he was the most loyal of all of us. Loyalty aside, he could be dangerous as well, due to his obsession and inquisitive nature with fire magic. In the end, he would gladly put his life down for his friends.
Finally, there's Shaladur. If I had to describe him in one word it would either be menacing or insane. He stood at 6' tall, with bulging muscles, and scars all along his body.
He wore a brown cloth, patterned with what he said were roses, along his forehead and over his right eye, a small scar stretched out from under the brown rose patterned cloth, barely visible. He wore dark blue-green pants and boots. Covering his legs were two layers of cloth. One, red cloth that hung past his knees, on the inner part of his armor. The second was the same dark blue-green as before; this cloth was slightly longer than the red, and was daped down to his shins. He wore matching gloves, with little to no metal on them. He had no shirt, both showing his unafraid, berserk nature and his muscled chest, which was covered in scars and ink.
His weapons? In total he carried six. He had three katanas, all of which he named, hung from the left side of his belt; Two small curved blades hung down from the back of his belt; And one short sword which hung from the sash holding his belt and pants up.
His eyes had a crazy, wild look to them, with the fires of war constantly being stoked in his disturbed mind. He had dark tan skin, much like my own, with tattoos along his body to match his scars. Needless to say, neither he nor life had been kind to his body.
His place in the group? Crazy barbaric madman. Shal is a berserker. He can be kind and gentle, but set him off and you can wave goodbye to the land of the living because he won't rest until you're a puddle. He would sprint through the battlefield, hacking and cleaving through any living thing in his way. I'm not exaggerating, he once killed a farmer's cow for no reason. We ate well that night.
We all have our own reasons for becoming mercenaries. I did it because I've always lived hand to mouth, growing up in a poor, little orphanage in a poor, little town. I became fed up with being a peasant. I left one day, trained myself in the art of pickpocketing, and using knives as my weapons of choice,and began my lucrative journey into the world of mercenary work.
Ignos was my polar opposite. He grew up in a rich family, reading books and always getting fed a nice warm dinner each night before going to sleep in a warm cozy bed with blankets on it. He was different than his friends though. Although most of them were aspiring magi at the university, Ignos was fascinated by one thing, Fire. He grew up loving fire magic, both it's life and death giving propertires. He was intelligent, but could also be a bit too inquisitive and was reckless because of it, which caused him to be expelled after a certain incident involving a burnt down library and a small cackling arsonist. So, he set off, using his "talents" to both get paid and to learn ways to effectively burn things. Win, win as far as he was concerned.
Shaladur grew up in a harsh land and lived a harsh life. He grew up poor like me. Unlike me though, he could wield a blade by the age of 6. He grew up in a family of raiders and mercenaries in the sandsea, a brutal desert, with few resources in it aside from sand and the occasional cactus. He grew up eating little and murdering people, and it stuck with him. He decided he would venture out of the sandsea to new lands, for riches and for glory.
Back to the present. Today seemed like just another standard raid. Go in, kill, loot, set up camp a short distance away in a forest somewhere, sleep, and start over again the next day. This raid was unique however.
First of all, we were contacted anonymously by someone who went by "N" to raid an encampment in the Greenguard forest. This was odd, we were never contacted anonymously, but we went for it because of the hefty sum of gold we'd be rewarded.
Second, when we got there, we expected bandits. There was a relatively large camp bustling with undead soldiers. They wore black armor, decorated with skulls. Their eyes glowed in a haunting blue color.
I suggested we approach cautiously, so Shaladur charged in screaming and all but frothing at the mouth. Ignos blasted away several undead with his fireballs, and I approached cautiously. The only words I heard from the undead were "For Dage!" or "The sons shall fall!" I had no idea what either of these meant. If I did we'd all be okay right now, but like the rest of my life, this too would end in disaster.
A/N: hope you enjoyed, I realize this was all exposition, but stay tuned! From here on in it get's juicy, I swear.