Stranded

It looked like one of the old tales. An army of gold-thirsty mercenaries wrecked on some Shyish coast. With their men and supplies scattered or lost, a Lieutenant gathered the mercenaries and food he could, and ventured through the sands...

"Once you convince our Ogre friend that eating the cook isn't the right thing to do, things start to improve", the Lieutenant said.

And so, our ragtag group of mercenaries started their travel to find their comrades and the loot: A wounded Ogre, three angry northmen, a veteran swordsman, two halfling scouts, the dwarven miners, two crossbowmen, three of the Paymaster's Guard and the cook.

"I know it isn't right to force a Kossar to fire a crossbow instead of a bow, but I didn't ask for this promotion" said Constantin, "Please, stop complaining, Andrei. We are in need of horses and weapons too. You'll get your bow as soon as we find the other ships and their crew".

"Excuse me, Lieutenant" said one of the scouts, "Can we have some rest? I haven't eat since last night".
"Shut up and keep walking, shorty!" Constantin replied.

Hungry halflings and sand. By Sigmar, this was going to be a long, long journey...

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Wilbur Whateley

Wilbur Whateley

Untacremas de día, tuitero de noche, frikazo a tiempo completo. Manly beard working as intended.

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