Lynesse

Small Jobs - The End and New Beginnings

I am not soft.

That being said I am also not heartless. I knew what my actions would do to the people of the Golden Thorn after Imriel’s death. When you challenge a leader of a company, if you set the terms for all of their assets, that company becomes yours. I was their Captain now, their leader. It was up to me to see that they prospered, or they could do what I’d done same as I did it.

There was a lot of “hurry up and wait” after. Allegiances were sworn. Gold changed hands. A pyre was built. You never get used to the smell, it doesn’t matter how many you’re around. His Second pulled his documented last wishes out of one of their lockboxes; Imriel had no living family. He wanted to be burned immediately; He’d seen what had happened to our people during the Third War. He’d been in Northrend just like I had. We’d drank together, once. Him, Ysirien, and I all seated around a table up at the Tournament grounds and we laughed and laughed until well past sundown.

He’d told me then, “You’re dangerous.” I wonder if he’d known that I’d be what ended him. He’d been jealous of us. My company. He’d thrown countless treaties at my feet, promises of unity and greater spoils than we could imagine if only we’d just “join our houses”. Ysirien warned me that he was a snake; Ysirien who knew more about the world of Mercenaries than I did, who did his best to give the best advice. They’d been lovers, once. Who knew best about a person? I trusted Ys.

Every job I’d taken and won, every scrap of gossip about me and my reliability and reputation, drove us to this point. With Imriel smouldering on a heap of scrap wood as the Shaman he’d once employed made sure the fire was hot enough to reduce him to naught but ash and fragments.

The pyre burned for three days, just to be sure. I spent the time checking the books, talking with my people in the camp, hearing their grievances, listening to what they enjoyed, trying to understand what they wanted to see changed. I asked around about people I’d known who had used to be in the roster. Zal’jir was out on a mission, but would be back soon. The Shadowhunter had always been an invaluable resource to me when dealing with the Thorn and I had worried when I hadn’t seen him at the… Well, execution. That’s what it had been, really.

He popped up in the big tent that was now mine shortly after sundown on the fourth day, when his band had returned. Snuck in, I guess, like the shadow he emulated. Frankly, he startled the fuck out of me when he rumbled his raspy chuckle. “Evenin’ Tigah. O’ boss. Can’t decide which ta use. Imriel tumblin’ in tha breeze eh?”

Once I’d settled back into my skin I smiled at the big troll and laughed back; I had to. How else do you brush off something like that? “Evening, Bat. And stars and stones don’t call me Boss. Or Captain. People have been doing that for days. I can’t handle it.”

His amber eyes stared at me unblinking, new, painted etchings ringing one of his long tusks, “Yeh’d be a fair boss an’ fine Captain. Loa seen you do it before.”

“Ah, well, they’re not wrong. Let me tell you what I’ve heard the last few days and I’ll see if you can’t help me with it, yeah? You know the people here better than I do. Tell me what will work, and what won’t work,” I smiled at him and we got down to the nitty gritty of improving a company.

The first thing we overhauled was the pay system. Imriel was taking a straight 30% cut off the top of any jobs that came in. We altered that and brought it down to 10%, as the Captain often went on jobs himself and it honestly wasn’t fair to be making that much profit off of the rest of your team; In return, 10% of the Captain’s hauls would be put into a pool for Company use. Something to help the wounded if they couldn’t work themselves, or if someone’s family fell on a hard time.

Imriel hadn’t been a bad leader. Most of the grievances or nagging annoyances were purely slice of life; Things that would change when the camp changed, if someone left, or died. That being said, it seemed like everyone wanted more transparency. More say in the choices being placed ahead of them, and above all, everyone wanted more work.

ZJ looked over the papers we’d altered and laid out, one of his three fingered hands smoothing over blue fur and white paint on his bicep as he calculated how well the changes would set in and he smiled after a while, “These good. Everybody be happy with dis. I been here for years an’ I know ‘em.”

I looked up at him, his blaze of orange hair standing straight up in a fierce mohawk, his long sideburns braided and tied up with twine and a few little trinkets. He looked back at me and reached out to ruffle my hair, “Ya Light is gone, Tigah. You dun glow like ya used ta. …An’ you dun want this.”

He was right. Good ol’ Zal’jir. “It’s still hard, you know? I don’t trust myself with taking care of all these people. Making sure they survive. Make it back to their wives, husbands… kids.  I was going to ask you if you’d do it. You know them, they know you. Respect you.”

“I’d do right by ‘em, yeh. Dey my bruddahs an’ sistahs, same as you. What happened with Ysirien an’ yah Silverhawks was… Well, it wasn’t yah fault. Believe that or not.” He shrugged and took the paper I offered him, signing the line that turned the company over to him faster than a duel would. He pulled out a little knife made of carved bone and pricked his thumb, smearing it over the line before drawing a few marks in Zandali with the tip of his knife. Zal'jir, Captain of the Golden Thorn. “Go home, Lyn. Ya heal bettah around ya family.”

So I did.