Worlds Apart: Fables of Edea

The Mercenary

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"What is the point of life? Is it merely to suffer? Or is there a deeper meaning to everything that humans ever live for?"

A simple question was found on the engraving of a mysterious tomb on a solo island in the middle of the void. No one knows whose body was laid to rest on that grave.

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It was nighttime in the deep chasms of the dark, and there was a group of mercenaries huddled around a campfire. In the distance, there were unfamiliar and inhumane noises that seemed to come out of nowhere. Chirping and creeping noises here and there. The mercenaries paid no attention to them, simply looking at the fire as they waited for their meals to finish cooking in the campfire. It was hunted shaivas. Each of them looked into the warm orange light of the fire as they waited. None of them spoke as the food kept cooking. They were all hungry and tired from the long trek and were stationed here for the night.

When it was ready, one of them went up and grabbed the pan on top of the fire. He grabbed the handle and put it on top of a wooden stub. He used his hand to cool off the food a little bit. A gust of wind gently touched past the food, cooling it a little bit so that the mercenaries wouldn't burn their tongues as they ate their grub. Once the man felt like it was good enough, he grabbed a knife and chopped it up to pieces. Another man grabbed a pot near the fire and grabbed a ladle. As the food was being prepared, the others grabbed bowls and passed one to each of them in the group as they anticipated their food. When the last bowl was handed to the Mercenary, he nodded to the person who gave it to him and continued to look into the fire. The orange fire was interesting to look at. It was giving off light that the Mercenary often did not see in his line of work.

The mercenary next to him gave him some meat. He grabbed it and put it into his mouth, slowly chewing it before swallowing. When he put it down, he almost choked. The burnt meat was overcooked and didn't have a lot of flavor in it. He could feel the flavor reflecting back and forth on his tongue. He grabbed some water next to him and drank it down to wash out the meat. As his body processed the meat, he could feel his stomach feeling a little bit oozy. He forced himself to hold it in. Supplies were low and the mercenaries were forced to hunt for their food. Plus, it wasn't the worst food he tasted. The person who cooked the meat was bad at heating things, but the Mercenary was too tired to care.

The mercenary with the ladle came up to him and poured the soup into the bowl. As the liquid dropped into his bowl, the Mercenary looked into it. It was brown slush with a couple of soggy vegetables floating on top. He shrugged and drank the soup down from the bowl. As he finished, he could feel his body relax. The soup was at least decent.

As the Mercenary was minding his own business, some of the other mercenaries started to talk, finally breaking the silence among the mercenaries.

"Hey, Zurn! Nice grub tonight! The soup wasn't too bad!"

The mercenary who put the ladle in the soup bowl gave a small grin. "Thanks. It was a recipe that I learned from my mother."

"Rasul! How the heck did you screw up the meat so badly?"

The mercenary who was cleaning the fire protested. "What do you mean?? The meat wasn't undercooked, wasn't it?"

"It was the exact opposite problem! It was overcooked!"

"Stop complaining! At least you could eat!"

"You could have at least put more effort into it!"

"Shut up! Could you do better?"

"I helped gather our meals, so I did my part! You had one job, and you sucked at it!"

The other mercenaries who were spectating laughed at the little argument between those two. The Mercenary tried to ignore them, but they eventually approached him.