Chapter 3 - The White Marshal Death Squad

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Many hundreds of miles away from the river valley, in a fortress built into a grand mountain. With energy cannons and missile launchers on every wall built into the base of the mountain, in its grand hall, at a long table, where the leadership of the White Marshal Empire was meeting to discuss the issue of deserting officers. One of the older men, with a long scraggly beard, who wore worn, but high-quality formal attire stood up and spoke.

"You all know why we are here. Our officers keep deserting from our ranks. We need to deal with this."

Another man, this one dressed in a frontiersman outfit, stood and spoke.

"I say we send the elites in to hunt some, and execute them, a show of force."

The first man nodded, then yelled, "All in agreement, say 'aye'".

The sound of the ayes burst out of the keep and into the mountains, echoing downward. As this happened, the White Marshal Death Squad, their most elite killers, were being equipped for a hunt. They brandished finely crafted swords, wearing armor with the bones of their kills grafted on, carrying experimental rifles that could shoot several shots before needing to be reloaded.

Meanwhile, back at the trading company, Mackeroy and Lincoln were discussing their options.

"I think maybe we just use what the land offers us, at least for now. The hills could provide us with stones, the river with fish, the trees with lumber, and the soil is fertile enough for plants." Said Lincoln, smoking a cigar.

"I concur, but how will we transport our goods?" Asked Mackeroy.

"I suppose we will need to find a couple of pack animals. I seen glimpses of muffalo on the other side of the river." Responded Lincoln.

As the days passed, Lincoln and Mackeroy cut down trees, gathered and cut pieces of stone, and started to plant some ricebluff, a hardy, fast-growing plant that produces bushels. As they were doing this, they also tracked muffalo, searching for a pack of them. They did find them, leading into the end of summer, with September arriving, bringing with it wind.

They spent hours gaining their trust. Muffalo are peaceful creatures, but run when they feel threatened. They look like bison with very thick coats of fur. Eventually, they managed to get a rope on 3 of them, enough for a small trading caravan. As they began to load up the cargo, the matter of who would go and who would stay was brought up.

"Someone has to stay to defend our land." Said Lincoln as he loaded logs onto the back of one of the muffalo.

"I could stay. I can fight, but I might not last through a journey." Offered Mackeroy, packing a sack of food onto the saddle of the biggest muffalo.

"Can I trust you?" Asked Lincoln, stopping his work and looking at him.

"You can. You saved me." Responded Mackeroy, and they continued their work, finally finishing the convoy. With Mackeroy's goodbyes, Lincoln set off to Grenrolt as the sun rose over the horizon.

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