A series of delays

You are making good progress towards the city until you run into a group of a dozen or so irregulars blocking your path. It is impossible to determine if these are the first of the many pickets you expect guarding the approaches to the city, or just opportunistic bandits looking to make some easy money off of travelers. A careful scanning of the surrounding area for more hidden men reveals only a few Riders from the United Armies circling above in the darkening skies.

The small group blocking your path look up too, and are about to flee, but decide to attack you for your valuables before they make a break for the forest. Bad mistake. You unsheathe your swords and rush into the bandit group swinging like a hurricane of ****. The rabble barely have time to be surprised by the ferocity and fearlessness of your attack before they are butchered. You wipe the blood from your swords and sheathe them without even stopping to rest, as you seem to be getting stronger as you approach the city. There is something calling to you from within the city, something you somehow vaguely remember from the few short days you lived in Olympus before you were cast out. It's a part of you as you are a part of it, and you must claim it.

One of the Riders wheels away to report what he's seen but the others stay circling above. They too will have to leave you soon as darkness is falling rapidly, but they circle lower, no doubt curious to see what you're up to. You couldn't care less as long as they don't interfere with your current objective. You continue towards the city when you come up on a caravan of merchants has been detained by mercenaries under the contract to The United Armies. You doubt that the contract was intended to let this company harass merchants like these whose objective is clearly to pedal their wares among the various war camps. As you get closer you overhear the end of the conversation between the captain of the mercs, and the elderly merchant in charge of the caravan.

"Stop your whining, old man," the mercenary almost spits at the grey-beard merchant, "I don't care what you think. We are taking the wine and whatever else I like from your cargo." Even in the darkness you can see the glimmer of a gold tooth as he grins broadly. "As for your pretty granddaughters, they are going to spend the night with me and my boys serving the war effort like good little bitches and I think we'll try out the boy too." The merchant starts to protest, but the mercenary captain pushes him to the dirt. "There's nothing you can do about it, so shut the fuck up." Now that you know what to look for you see three young women and a boy struggling in the arms of more of the bastards behind one of the larger wagons, the youngest of the girls could be no older than twelve and your rage increases at this violation of not only the ceasefire but morality of the gods.

This is utter disregard of the rules of war; the small troop has no business harassing what is clearly a neutral faction here to trade with the Camps outside the city. It is all the justification you need. The first shaft enters the left eye of the scar-faced man groping one of the crying captives, the second kills the warrior holding the boy. The mercenary holding the youngest of the girls is aware enough of the attack to jerk to the side and the arrow that was aimed for his spine instead passes through the side of his neck slicing the artery as neatly as Alexia could have done with her blades. The fountain of blood spraying from his neck stains the white tunic of the girl as he sinks to his knees. Instead of firing at the last of the quartet who has pushed away the oldest of the girls as he stumbles for the cover of the wagon, the next arrow finds the heart of the gold-toothed leader of this scum before he can organize a response to the sudden attack.

Your eyesight is good enough that you are not handicapped by the lack of light, but the company of soldiers harassing the merchant's wagon train are unable to even see where the arrows are coming from. Before they even realize what's happening six more men are dead and the rest are fleeing from the road into the thick reeds that line the edge of the river. Only when you approach the caravan to retrieve your arrows from the corpses do the merchants finally see who has saved them.

The old merchant nervously approaches you. "Thank you, young man, I was sure these ruffians were going to rob us and **** my son's kids." He takes your hands in his shaking it eagerly as he drops to his knees. "I was asked to bring supplies the United Armies to support their just invasion of this Monstrosity of a city." You can't help but laugh at the old man's naivety. How could anyone bring his grandchildren into a war zone, especially into the camps of mercenaries and undisciplined thugs that the United Army has gathered to its ranks. Instead of berating the grey-haired man you offer him some advice.

"You may want to cross the river and go to the Kalion camp, Grandfather, to report this attack." Lifting the merchant to his feet you show him the badge of the United Armies on the collar of the mercenary captain. "These ruffians are almost certainly under contract to the same Lord Marshal that asked for you to bring these supplies." Slowly the merchant caravan is coming back together, the oldest of the girls helping calm her younger sisters and brother as the few guards pick up the weapons that they had dropped, and move sheepishly towards the merchant waiting for orders.

"Tell the sentries there that these mercenaries have violated the ceasefire, and that your family is under the protection of King Kalion." You look over the four sorry caravan guards that stand before you. "Also, Merchant, you should have hired better protection than these four. Those thugs could have easily decided to take your family for slaves after killing you." You see the dismay in the man's eyes. "You can submit a formal complaint with the High Command of the United Armies, but it is unlikely anyone would give a shit. The majority of them only care about pillaging and **** the city."

"Wait, Sir." The merchant, stops you as you continue to search for your arrows. "Stay here with us tonight. I will hire you to escort us to this camp of Kalion."

"I have business elsewhere." You decline not unkindly, "Tell your guards to be alert, but I doubt you will be bothered by those men tonight." Watching over these poor people would be the right thing to do, but you cannot ignore the sense that there is something calling you from the walled city. A minute later as you are pulling your arrow from the eye of the first man you shot, the dark-haired granddaughter of the merchant makes you an offer of her own.

"Sir," her hands flutter nervously by her slender waist as she leans close to you so only you can hear what she says. "Sir, stay with us tonight and I will come to you." She must sense your confusion as she stammers shyly, "to thank you, warrior, as a woman thanks a man - for saving me and my family." The young woman captures your hand in hers and presses it to her bosom; the sheer fabric of her tunic is so thin that you can feel her heart beating wildly and the warmth of her soft breast. "I mean it, Sir. You can do anything you like to me; I won't tell anyone."