"I know your type," the soldier said, "First, yah'' do it for glory, then once you realize most of the scoundrels you put to the blade are cannon fodder, ya realize you might as well make a coin er'' two offa'' it, ya get into the mercenary business, and lemme tell ya, it ain''t no fun. You wage war people take <i>serious. </i>Hah! You going to the hall of warriors? Not on your contractor''s watch! You guard the goddamned treasure, not die on the battlefield, fop!" He scratched his nose, "Anywho, after you sell your  sword to the highest bidder, and get used to not throwin'' yourself into a phalanx like a crazy cunt, ya get to the vet stage, where you look at it all the time, and miss the olden days.”


    "Ah, that would explain it! You''re a bitter blade, aren''t you?" Granwyn stated.


    "Hey boy, I didn''t say <i>nuttin''</i> about being a swine on me ass all day whinin'' like some sows do! I merely wanna tell you some blades get dull... Not mine though, join a few skirmishes here and dere''. Y''know, to keep the juices flowing!”


    "That''s real nice. What do you do with that axe? Boar hunt?"


    "I hate boars. When I was a kid, me gramps was a vet too. He lost to a goddamned boar of all of them. Not even in the battle of Cransworth did he lose more than a finger, he lived to tell me dese'' tales. I remember the day too. He came and burst through the door of me home. He had a hole," The soldier made a gesture with his hands, "Across his stomach, and guess what, he was holdin his stomach and everythin'' in his arms. He coughed blood and shouted, <b><i>"It was de damn boars! The damn boars be the end of me!"</i></b><i>"</i>


    That got Granwyn''s attention. "Your grandfather was in the battle of Cransworth?"


    The soldier ignored Granwyn: "Me father was eatin dinner, I was in the family room near the fire. He yelled and shook the whole damn house! Thought we were under attack! I grabbed the fire poker in the corner too. My dad saw my gramps out there bleedin'' out, and he grabbed his table knife and went outside to duel. Sometimes the gods will turn a blind eye, ya never know. They had to know he’d been a man of honor.”Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    “Anyways, my dad won the fight and stabbed me grandad in his neck and killed him. My father told me he said gramps shouted <i>"Tis was a good fight!"</i>


    Granwyn rolled his eyes, giving up on the question. "You mind telling me your name?"


    "Why bother? Tis'' be the only time we ever cross paths."


    "Would help to have something to call you by," Granwyn asserted.


    The man laughed, "Why? It is only the two of us on this boat. I know you always speak to me, and I know you know I always speak to you."


    Granwyn had nothing to say to that. This man wasn''t just a warrior with an axe, he was a warrior with words too.


    “What’s your primary weapon?” Granwyn asked.


    The veteran chuckled. “Me hands mate. Me hands.”


    Granwyn looked at the man with disappointment, to which he sighed and responded, “Oh, you mean <i>weapons </i>weapons. Well then, I’d be safe to say I’m an expert in nearly all of ''em’. Ain’t one new-fangled tool escaped me hands since then.”


    Granwyn sighed.


    “Don’t let ya hopes down kiddo. I’m sure your fight in the… Uhh…”


    “Dead Crescent,” Granwyn answered, beginning to regret taking up this man on his offer.


    “Yeah, In the Dead Crescent is far from over. I’ve been there… fought… Trust me, they''re probably worried sick.”


    Granwyn didn’t respond. Instead, looking out into the featureless fog that nearly engulfed their boat. There was suddenly a wave that collided with the boat, causing it to nearly throw both of them off. “Whoa ho! That must be James Cransworth river! That old bastard still has an axe to grind!”


    Granwyn didn’t know how in the seven hells this man could know what river he was even on, but the old mercenary could have traveled this river a thousand times for all Granwyn knew.


    “If I don’t know your name, what shall I call you?” Granwyn asked.


    “I’ve had many aliae, call me whatever you want.”


    “Guy,” Granwyn decided.


    Guy nodded. “Seems you aren’t the senile men I’m used to talking with, nor are you a squeamish lady, so enough with the tame tales, and out with the wars that have graced me eyes ears and axe!”


    Granwyn sat up, intrigued. And so Guy decided to tell one of his many stories, one of glory, violence, and triumph.