'What maddening course has taken this travel!'.-Moaned the lowsy would-be soldier, glearing past his shoulder to find the low caverns and looming walls of the valley.
The road ahead of 'em was an old one, already taken to the greave, massive block-stones forming a broken pathway and the abandoned signs of once-great cities. Everything in the desolate landscape was making 'em wish for home, a warm home, even when most of the mercenaries knew only the thrill of death for home was none, friends only to the sword, an oath to defy death every day, to challenge the winds of routine as they were a crazed lot, indeed, not the common folks of fields and low bargains for the price of corn. They coin was blood, an awful lot of blood. But now? Now the nervous grin on everybody made 'em forget of the must grievous of debts, betrayals and revenge. Even when the sage's pay was good and constant, even when the dangers to be were not so much something may 'em all uneasy, constantly picking on each other, calling the cowardness of other warbands and boasting on past victories.
'Silence, you chattering house-wives!.- Shouted Ruffus Volkung, the northlander Master of Arms.
'You make wish to be as soon as dead, would you stop your tongue before my blade does so?'.-
The pack of hardened men could only take advise of the threath, Volkung was know to be a bloody murderer, even if an educated one.
After they shut their mouths, the tall man walked up to the sage.
'How much 'till we catch glimpse of Traveler's Silver?'.- He asked.
The old man looked at him like a distant eagle watches his roaming prey, down there in the dirt.
'As much as we need to, the are works of foul nature here, i cannot abide to be distracted as i fought back the dark omens of the seers'.- Answered him, looking back to the little letters on his book.
Deep inside there was a voice, an angry voice that had a sound of time, of mourn, of corruption. He knew it too well to let himself rest, he could not let the fight take the best of him 'cause of some minor distraction. The poison was already in the wineskin of the warriors, even thought if first acted as a powerfurl sedative, within days their minds would be so weakened, so uncapable of rational thought that they would obey every word mustered with autority and power. Soon, the sage could have the right sacrifices to cast the demon out of his body.
