• The Casual Crusaders


    Prologue

    As he walked through the bustling streets of Salvador, through the winding pathways and alley’s of the Eastern suburb, Amal wondered what he would do once he arrived at his destination. Passing the never-ending market stalls, all with their own exotic kinds of fruits, meats and trinkets, no two stalls selling the same product, he stopped to marvel at the half-demolished statue near the fountain of Ladislas, called ‘There is Always Hope’, he could make out the figure of a woman standing next to a mounted horseman, holding up a bunch of Amaerilde flowers.
    Amal wondered what kind of master-mason made this work of art, now smashed beyond repair. Of course most of the Eastern, Western and Southern suburbs were like this. Once to be marvelled at by all races, with their twisting turrets and individual flags of peace and good times on-top of nearly every building, which themselves were covered in crystals which reflected sunlight in all colours imaginable , gold and silver lances resting around the Quadrants of Sanctuary, and the gates leading to each suburb and sector bathed in a magical aura, the streets paved with all the precious ores imaginable, now stolen, melted down and sold for a quick Lauristone or two. It made him sick to the very bottom of his heart to think who would do such a thing.
    Pulling his Innocenzio cloak further up his face, so that only his eyes were visible, Amal disappeared into the never ending crowds of the markets.

























    Chapter 1
    The Casual Crusaders

    An argument had broken out in the Rusty Axe, and the owners of the voices were beginning to get more aggressive.

    “How many did you manage?”

    “You mean you could still count yours?”

    Kamal rolled his eyes in the direction of the oak ceiling. Why did they always have to do this after a job?
    Braja cast a look in his direction and gave him a quick wink.

    “I asked how many!!” Kiana demanded, impatiently wishing to win this unwritten competition.

    “If I must be precise, then 212. 5 decapitations, 176 normals and 21 pushed off the edge.” Braja answered, looking rather more smug than required.

    “Is that all??” Kiana laughed “I managed….” her voice trailed off, her face became paler and she gave out a small moan.

    “I presume that is 5-0 to me then??” Braja asked, imitating interest.
    Kiana growled, cursed and ordered a large glass of Orestes, downed it in one, fell backwards off her chair, and promptly passed out.
    Braja and Kamal both burst out laughing.

    “She’ll feel that in the morning!!!”
    They had discovered the Rusty Axe two days ago, the wooden beamed, black and white pub was a cosy place, with its rusty sign hanging from it’s hinges, the regulars always welcoming newcomers and the barkeeper giving away small glasses of Orrin for free on a Friday night at exactly 7 o’clock, and on-top of all that it served the best and strongest beverages they had ever tasted, and they had tasted a lot of things.
    Braja had the strongest metabolism this side of the magma plains, so he too ordered a large Orestes, eager to test this new discovery.

    “Want a sip??” he asked Kamal.

    “If I have never drank a beverage, and swore never to do so, what does that mean???” he answered politely.
    Braja had to think for minute.

    “That you don’t want any?”

    “No…”

    Braja was really confused now. “What then?”

    “It means that I have been the most deluded, stupid and sober prat in Salvador!!” and with these words, Kamal grabbed the glass, took one sip, vomited, took another, rose from his chair and proceeded to do a Jig on-top of the table.

    “I’m all for that!!!” Braja cried, he then gulped down the rest of the maroon coloured Orestes, joined Kamal on-top of the table and sang drunkenly till his voice was sore and Kamal was unconscious on the floor.

    Then the stranger arrived.