The next morning, Fredra rose early to fetch water and groom horses, determined to prove her vigor. By midday, a neighbor came with word - Old Dort sought her at the pasture.
After packing her belongings, she found both her foster father and adoptive brother Mensile waiting by the grazing fields, the latter already holding travel bags.
"Must you leave in such haste?" the old man fretted.
Fredra shot Mensile an imploring look. The ever-reliable brother responded, "The opportunity won't wait. We must seize it."
"But the marriage prospects..." Old Dort began, making Fredra shiver. She tugged Mensile's sleeve urgently.
"Wasn't Fredra still unwell?"
"Completely recovered!" She straightened proudly. "This morning's chores proved it - even Hammer Uncle witnessed."
After enduring more paternal warnings about slavers and proper conduct, the siblings finally escaped under Old Dort's misty-eyed gaze.
The rickety wagon couldn't dampen Fredra's excitement as it creaked towards Mercenary City Oksai. Her eyes burned with anticipation - the world beyond Thunder Peaks awaited.
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Living under Duke Vordan's protection at Thunder Peaks' southwestern foothills, the siblings headed for the nearest hub of mercenary activity. Oksai's warriors worshipped courage over gods, their annual Festival of Sacred Flames approaching in two days.
Fredra marveled at Mensile's connections. Securing a coveted delivery mission during the pre-festival bounty week spoke volumes about her brother's growing influence.
The city gates buzzed with the raw energy of life-hardened warriors. Mensile navigated the chaotic Mercenary Guild with practiced ease, stationing them near registration counters where:
A harried team shouted potential guild names at a disinterested dwarven clerk. His verification wand pulsed red with each rejected suggestion.
"Natto!"
"Giant Earthworm!"
"Haricot-Papapah!"
"Ancameros!"
The last resplendent name made Fredra twirl her hair absently. "What's happening?"
"New recruits naming their guild," Mensile explained. "Red light means the name's taken."
As desperate applicants resorted to singing the Mercenary Ballad for inspiration, laughter erupted around them. A crimson-haired figure doubled over near their corner.
The mirthful stranger suddenly gripped Mensile's arm. "This must be Fredra!" His roguish charm paled beside Mensile's stoic handsomeness. "I'm Cien, leader of Stormfire Mercenaries - current task coordinator."
Fredra's estimation rose until Mensile deflated the boast: "He won the assignment lottery. The guild name's his great-grandfather's legacy."
Their newly "expanded" guild now numbered three. Fredra's gaze drifted between a golden-armored female knight and their scruffy new companion, feeling the weight of her life's sudden turn.
At the assembly point, seasoned mercenaries mingled with obvious dilettantes. Guildmaster Charmain of Tiger's Roar addressed the gathering: "We deliver provisions to Thunder Peaks' southwest outpost. Keep pace or surrender your task tokens."
The journey revealed stark contrasts - weathered professionals versus lace-clad nobles struggling with the terrain. When the latter lagged dangerously behind at noon rest, Charmain's envoy returned empty-handed from negotiations.
"Guild rules," Cien explained with uncharacteristic gravity. "Weak links forfeit their stake." His sharp expression momentarily revealed the veteran beneath the rogue's facade.
As preparations resumed, Charmain's approving nod towards Fredra made her flush with pride. The aging warrior's compliment carried weight, even as his gaze lingered on her calloused hands - a horse-tamer's badge of honor.