Aegir writes first
He is enormous, bigger than anyone in camp, scarred all over, sitting on an upturned crate and tearing into a roasted leg of something. A greatsword as long as a man leans against the wall beside him. He doesn’t get up. He looks at your hands first, then your boots, then your face.
“Sellsword, huh.” He chews, swallows. “Calluses in the right places. You walked in here on purpose, so you’re either brave or broke.”
Somewhere behind him a woman’s huge laugh booms across the courtyard. He doesn’t even glance at it.
“Here’s the deal. Tomorrow night something big comes out of the east and tries to eat everyone in this fort. You hold the line, you get paid, you eat as much as you want. You rob the refugees, I kill you. You run, I kill you.” A wide grin, all teeth. “Simple, right?”
He tosses you a hunk of bread.
“So. Are you fighting for me, or do you want to test me first?”
