1. The Final Contract

It was not a good day to die. The heavy rain somewhat drowned the screams of the dying, making it all the more difficult to find any mangled survivors among the bodies strewn across the battlefield. The rain also had the charming side-effect of accentuating the smells of a recently fought skirmish. Several hands and bloody stumps were raised to the air, seeking mercy - in one form or another.
Among the two dozen unfortunates, a single armoured figure walked with an axe by his side. As stumbled across a squirming casualty, or a body showing signs of life, he would reach out to survivors with his hands, providing healing and respite. Sometimes, he would provide relief with his axe. The figure walked among the bodies with purpose, yet casually, as if he had done this many times. “Too many,” Marik whispered.
As Marik was about his grim duty, a dragonnel-rider approached the old mercenary. The rider, a human seemingly in his seventh decade, was dressed in flamboyant clothes, yet did not mind the smells or sights around him. His riding posture was upright, without any sign of squeamishness or hesitation. The rider approached Marik at a slow trot and the dragonell loud sniffed at the blood-tinged air.
“Bloody Marik Schwarzdorf, I presume?” the rider asked in a strong voice which did not fit his noble attire at all. A former military man it seems. And not one of those foolish noble progeny who were afraid of sharp swords and pointed sticks.
Marik was standing near a mortally wounded lad with most of his face missing. Healing was out of the picture, so he would give the boy peace. Marik swung his axe, and with one quick swoop released the boy from his painful last moments. Blood sprayed Marik’s arm.
“How did you know?” asked Marik sarcastically and without looking at the rider.
“Old soldiers never really leave the battlefield.” answered the rider unperturbed by the mercenary’s unwelcoming demeanour or the scene in front of him. He was used to it, missed it, even.
Marik was intrigued now, so he had to take a look at the newcomer. On the rider’s chest was an amulet with a familiar crest.
“A de Rais? If you’re looking to hire, the ‘cap is back at the camp,” pointed Marik to a nearby wood.
“I am looking to hire, yes, and your commander gave her consent. All that is left is to ask you.”
“I don’t get involved in making contracts. I just fulfill ‘em,” answered Marik with only a speck of confusion detected by the de Rais noble.
The noble replied, “This contract would be just between me, Leon de Rais, and you, a single mercenary.”
Leon de Rais was the head of house de Rais. A legendary imperial commander known as much for his bellicose character as his skill at leading his house troops, the Lestrec Lancers. Marik’s mercenary company served alongside de Rais troops in several campaigns against bandits and rebels. They were one of the few units who earned his respect. Marik ceased his work and continued to listen to the old noble, but this time with rapport owed to a fellow Valorian soldier.

“The upheavings in Dezaria will affect us all sooner or later, and I have a vested interest there right now. A wayward progeny of house de Rais managed to gather several survivors in an abandoned temple. I need you to go there, and introduce some professionalism to him and his band of… colleagues.” Leon de Rais explained.
Marik’s surprise was now visible. The old noble made no sense. There’s more to this contract than he’s letting Marik on. “Sounds like your kinsman needs an army of mercenaries, not just one tired old man.”
“I have covered Dezaria’s costs for the Red Death Legion and the Brazen Bulls contracts. They will buy some time in the coming weeks. But it is you who will buy us salvation. I need a true soldier to accompany the party which is at the heart of the calamity. In a way, I am paying for assurance.”
The Legion and the Brazen Bulls are the two strongest mercenary companies in Valoris, an empire held together by mercenary contracts and pulled apart by scheming. Usually they are paid to win wars, draining entire war chests in the process. If their purpose is to just buy time, then this must be a crisis bigger than most are aware of. And also, the de Rais are hiding how wealthy they truly are. Smart.
“So, escort mission, then? Alright, and what might the payment be?” asked Marik.

“This would be your last contract, so a worthy one.” the de Rais surprised Marik again. “I know what you seek, mercenary. You long for peace, yet you look for it on a battlefield of all places. You are a fine soldier, but make for a poor seeker. Luckily, I have taken the liberty of resolving this quest for you.”
The rider reached for his knapsack, pulling out a potion of glowing, blue liquid, “A Potion of False Memories, alongside a deed to good land and enough gold for comfort. You will find peace either in death, or a good life - at least what’s left of it.”
“Peace…” Marik wandered off in his thoughts, grasping at his amulet of Eldath, remembering his inner revelation in the temple of the goddess, the temple he decided to try the road to redemption. It led him to the arts of healing, a purpose which kept him going down that road, and now a potential destination was in sight. Could it be so? Peace?
Marik lowered his head in contemplation. Leon de Rais knew of the struggle Marik was going through within him and left him be in quiet for a moment. On the way here, the de Rais mused on whether he would accept the same offer. Alas, he was too far gone.
De Rais was a soldier like Marik. Few words were needed, even for a fateful offer such as this. Both knew the risks, and the true value of the reward. Had it been anyone else offering these terms, Marik would have walked away at this moment. But he did not. It might be a simple way out, a false promise, or Eldath sending him the gift he longed for.
“I accept your contract.” With Marik’s words any notions of doubt were dispelled from him. The contract was accepted. It was business from here until its completion.
Leon de Rais dismounted and approached the old veteran. They clasped hands, soldier to soldier. A promise stronger than any signature.
“Oh, there is one more thing though…” smirked de Rais.
He knew Marik was going to like this.

^{Written by Igor P, edit by Cailus.}