"Don't be fooled by the Count of Brineyard's friendly and seemingly foolish personality."
"For while it is genuine behind his foolishness lies and intelligence only a few get a glimpse into."
"Many have fallen into the trap of underestimating the good count and forget that someone who can survive against the cunning Duke of Deterners schemes…."
"Is no ordinary man."
Darius Hartguard, Second Commander of the Pelican Guards and Captain of Sigismond Security Company
….
The oak door creaked open, a chilly wind bursting through the doorway before it was closed as two cloaked men entered. The glint of light mail could be caught by an observant man hidden beneath the black recesses of the men's cloaks. A sharp, well-cared steel sword lay hidden in a sheath on his hip, while the other wore nothing but a fine tunic, the wet hoods of the cloaks concealing the two men's identity.
A fire crackled in the corner. Its warmth combated the cold that constantly threatened to enter and permeate through the tavern, providing a refuge for the few weary travellers on their journeys during the dreary winter months.
The two men walked up to the bar. The one in the fine clothes ordered a beer while his armed friend ordered an ale while asking something of the innkeeper in a hushed tone, who pointed to a dark corner where 4 men sat waiting, happily enjoying their drinks and food these men looking no different from the average adventurer as they revelled in the delectable feast laden on plates on the table.
Walking over to this table, the familiar fragrance of roasted chicken wafted throughout the tavern, getting many a jealous look from its other patrons. A man sitting on the table's far side gnawed on a chicken drumstick and had a distinctive appearance despite his attempts to look low-key. But thanks to the many interracial marriages in Nathia, such beings were not uncommon, but one this exotic was truly a rarity.
The man's body was covered in a mixture of fur and feathers, which were violet and gold. His genes seemed unable to decide one colour or the other and, as a result, created this multi-coloured coat that acted as the man's skin. He had a human-like face and jaw, but opaque jet-black eyes made it seem like you were looking into an endless abyss instead of hair, the multi-coloured feathers and furs continued to enclose his skull in their protection as two pointed curved cream-coloured ivory horns stuck out from the left and right of his head insinuating his minotaur heritage.
Two large wings now folded into his back to help hide them under his coat could be discreetly seen; however, the firelight reflected a golden shine from one of them like that of the sun, giving them away despite meticulous attempts to hide them. When it came to being low-key, this creature struggled emphatically, which is why he faced all his enemies directly, for he was too noticeable and well-known to try to sneak around like halfling.
This exotic creature was, in fact, the Count of Brineyard, whose bloodline had features of three different distinct races: human, Iravien and Beastmen or, more specifically, the minitour subrace known for its physical strength and direct nature.
The Count was blessed, getting all the best bits from the race traits that make up his racially diverse bloodline, having the great strength of the minotaur's, the ability to fly from the Iraviens and the versatility and ability to procreate with other races of the human. Rarely was one given such a nice set of traits as usually, it's unpredictable what race traits appear when two people of different species decide to have children.
Some half-elves live the same amount of time as the other races, making them be looked down upon by some in pure-blooded elven societies, while some half-dwarves do not inherit the natural blacksmithing talent of their forefathers, making it well known that when it came to race traits, it was a lottery that depended very much on luck it just so happened that the gods blessed this particular count with a relatively large amount of it making him a powerhouse within the Kingdom of Nathia and a fierce force to be reckoned with.
A man of 35, he was 6 foot 9, towered over them and was considered middle-aged in a world where most die before the age of 65, with even grandmasters struggling to get past 100 unless they were elves, as no matter how much lifeforce they had, it was nothing compared to the ravages of time, that slowly sap their strength brittleing their bones and decaying their bodies.
He was a pleasant and joyful man with many friends within and without the Kingdom of Nathia, which made him a difficult person to fight as all his many friends were happy to defend the virtuous and friendly count.
"Ralston, my friend, come and sit down. We were just enjoying this delicious feast I have ordered! Come, come! Sit down! Try this roast potato and chicken! I can attest to its great quality!"
The count shouted, standing up and putting his arm around his friend before leading him to the table in a chair next to him that he had left open and taking a mighty swig from his tankard of mead, draining it in an instant, and slamming it on the table while cutting up some food for his merchant friend.
"Haeston, another!"
The count called out to the bartender, waving his tankard in the air, a man from the north who had migrated here nearly 10 years ago to start this tavern that quickly became a place for his liege lord to make merry with his friends.
Also sitting around the table were two household knights facepalming themselves at the count's antics at this supposedly secret meeting in low-key sellsword armour as swords lay hidden by their sides, a hand always on its hilt, ready to defend the count at a moment's notice.
The last person was a small goblin. His cunning yellowy-orange eyes stared at the newcomers, judging them, but most of his attention was not on the fine clothes merchant with whom he was acquainted but on the casual mail-clad man and the person responsible for setting up this meeting in the first place. His nose was long, his mouth seeming constantly to be graced with a scheming smile as a set of small fine clothes covered his green skin.
The outline of his proposal that the goblin had read himself showed a cunning and political ability that was rare and far beyond what a military man should have been capable of. So he had asked his lord, the count, to take him to this meeting so he could judge this mysterious mercenary captain who dared to act against the interests of a powerful duke for himself.
He was one of the few who knew the truth about the true mastermind behind this plot—a contingency plan for when the Duke of Deterner made his inevitable move against them.
Others would assume that it was Ralston, the merchant, who came up with this political scheme to ensnare the duke or even the goblin himself as they were known for their shrewd manoeuvring and negotiation skills, not this mercenary captain without this crucial piece of information.
But the wise goblin, a close advisor to the count for 15 years, saw things differently. Knowing that neither his lord nor the cunning merchant Ralston was behind this scheme allowed him to sense something that most could not.
A hidden hand subtly moved in the background, moving them all like chess pieces on a board ready to deliver the decisive blow and checkmate to his opponent, and this man, whose intentions were unknown, scared the 36-year-old goblin.
'What did this person want? This hidden hand.'
'Was it that genius Crown Prince of Nathia who finally wanted to subdue the duke?'
'Or was it this mercenary captain who only wanted a payday?'
'Or was it someone else who wanted the duchy to be in chaos?'
The goblin thought, his mind jumping from one conclusion to the next. A thick cloud of fog seemed to have set over this matter, obscuring the perpetrator in its snow-white embrace as he sharpened his knife, ready to kill.
The goblin shook his head slightly, refocusing his mind on the task at hand as he sighed at his lord's actions.
"My lord, we are meant to be having a secret meeting."
"Secret meeting."
The goblin said in a reprimanding tone and coaxing tone, emphasising each word in his second sentence, having to rein in the count's childish actions, but make no mistake, underneath this friendly, carefree persona was a lord skilled with both the pen and sword with a brain as astute as you can find in the world.
While not as good as a genius' like Amulius Lunaris', it was more than enough for him to protect himself against the political schemes of his enemies and build up a formidable faction to the point where even the duke had to be wary of him.
"Yes, yes, of course I am sorry, it's hard to contain myself when I'm amongst friends."
The multicoloured count said cheerfully but in a much more hushed tone as he introduced himself to Sigsmond, the other man apart from Ralston, who had just entered as they removed their wet cloaks and rested them near the fire to dry.
"I am Count Nidor Parge. A pleasure to meet you, captain."
The count said casually reaching his hand out for a handshake the goblin cringed when he saw this, an unconscious fear-like trauma appearing, and as he expected Sigsmond firmly gripped his hand calmly as the count tightened his grip, putting pressure on the Pelican Guard commander's hand as it was known that he Count had a particularly strong handshake with some even having their hands unintentionally broken by the count due to his inability to control his strength at times.
But much to the surprise of everyone, Sigismond seemed not to mind it one bit as he replied to the overfriendly and excited count casually and calmly.
"Captain Sigismond of Sigismond's security service, the pleasure and honour is mine. Err my lord, and would you mind letting go? We have held this handshake for five seconds now."
Sigismond said in a playful tone and shook the muscles of his hand out as the count really did have a strong handshake. If he were not a master fighter and had fought against the orcs at Brunag, he would long have grunted in pain and potentially had his hand broken by the buff count.
'This is no ordinary person, at least at the peak of expert rank, but more likely a master fighter. I wonder why he hides his strength?'
The goblin thought what many people saw as nothing more than the friendly count playing a joke or just being his eccentric self was actually a way for them to test the people they meet as not only their personalities but hidden strengths could be identified from this action. The Count was near the peak of the master level. Within a year or two, it was likely that he would break through to the grandmaster realm, and it was known that only peak experts or master fighters could take the count's handshake without any sign of discomfort, meaning this captain had to at least be one or the other.
Laying against the foot of the table was a giant two-headed battleaxe, its blade honed to a fine crimson edge, the remains of dried blood that the count had not bothered to clean off and had dyed the steel blood red instead. Across the axes hilt and on its large blades were runes each shining a different suppressed colour unable to activate due to the anti-magic crystal that was present and activated in most towns in the world.
Because magic could be so destructive, anti-magic crystals are present in most towns and villages to stop evil mages from destroying them instantly like they did in the days of old.
"So I hear you want me to go on a hunting expedition?"
The count asked as he playfully twirled the empty tankard of mead in one of his hands, occupying himself while he talked.
"Yes, my lord, and to at least be present if we are attacked so you can testify on our behalf. If you don't want to, you don't have to commit troops to help us and men and should be more than adequate to deal with whatever thugs the duke can throw at us."
Sigismond said confidently, for he knew his men could take on regular bandits 3 to 1 if not 4 to 1 due to their incredible skill at arms and coordination with each other, but the count's presence was essential for their plan to hurt the duke.
"Hooh…. And what about The Red Blades? Do you have a plan to deal with them?"
The count asked with a slight smile.
"Will their leader be present?"
Sigismond asked. It was obvious that the count knew something that he did not bandits were one thing, but if The Red Blades, a large and skilled mercenary group appeared then they might in fact all die instead of asking where the count got his information he accepted it as truth for it made logical sense for them to take part in the duke's scheme against them after he humiliated them in public.
"No, he has not personally moved in years. He prefers to spend his time enjoying all the pleasures the world has to offer."
The count said confidently, having spies amongst both the duke's men and The Red Blades.
"Then there will be no problems."
Sigmund said, for if The Red Blades leader appeared, he would be forced to go all out to deal with him, leaving his subordinates outnumbered and outmatched as they slowly fell one by one. Even if Sigismond were happy to reveal his abilities as a master-level fighter to make this mission succeed, he would only do so to save his men and if the situation was urgent as he wanted to keep his true abilities a secret for as long as he could which is why he had Lucian deal with Captain Packard.
"So, my lord, what do you think? Want to go on a hunting trip?"
Sigismond said, chuckling slightly, but stopped once he heard the goblin say something that made his blood run cold.
"I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, but there is one thing I want to know before i agree….."
"Did you make this plan yourself?"
"Or is there a man pulling strings behind the scene?"