The Renegades.

***Boots***

"The Lord-Mayor?" Eric raised an eyebrow, "You've not heard of him? Lord Cavendish his name is."

Boots placed his flagon down and leaned forward on his stool, "I've heard the name, just not anything else."

Boots shrugged noncommittally, "I was just surprised he was so quick to kick the King's men out of town."

"Ha!" Yorick sneered, "He couldn't give a frog's arse about the King or his men!"

The rest of the Lancing Bulls nodded along in agreement.

"The King only put him out here as a punishment, or so I heard." Eric said flatly.

Boots looked curiously at him across the table, "Punishment for what?

Eric chuckled, swilling the last few drops of mead around in his flagon, "Oh, you hear all sorts of answers to that one. Somebody told me he tried to court the Kings daughter."

"I heard he got caught sniffing her socks!" Yorick chortled.

Floki laughed, "There was the one about him stealing a pig. Oh! And that one about him burning churches!"

Eric interjected before they got too carried away, "Whatever it was, it displeased the king enough for him to be sent here. In all honesty he doesn't seem like such a bad guy."

"You've met him?" Maria said with genuine interest.

"Only once, he came to the guild hall to congratulate us on a job well done. He'd put an anonymous job up on the board for Witherfang removal." Eric said, shifting in his seat, "They'd been tearing up some of the farmers' fields. I was pretty surprised when it turned out to be him posting the job."

"Yeah, so was I!" Floki chipped in,

Yorick twirled the goatee on his chin, "I wonder why he put it up anonymously in the first place, if he was planning on coming down to congratulate whoever did the quest."

"Who knows, nobles are an odd sort," Eric took another swig of his mead, "Nice guy though, strong handshake too.

Boots's interests were piqued, Lord Cavendish didn't seem like such a bad fellow according to the Lancing Bulls, who didn't seem like disagreeable chaps either.

He'd have to assess the merits of the man for himself of course. The fact that he was in some kind of exile or punishment could work quite strongly in Boots's favour too.

He'd also have to look up Witherfang's, whatever they were, they sounded dangerous.

His path was clear; he'd have to arrange a meeting. That could be difficult though, although he was a Lord by Fenniton's standards, he doubted Lord Cavendish would recognise his title.

Boots mulled over his drink, "Is there any way to meet the Lord-Mayor? He sounds like an interesting fellow."

"Well, he doesn't get out much, unless it's to preside over the town court." Eric stroked his chin, "I doubt you could get a meeting with him, no offense but he doesn't just accept commoners like us into his home. Why do you want to see him anyway?

Oswald opened his mouth to speak but Boots nudged him with an elbow.

Eric caught the slight movement and fixed Boots with a curious stare, "It's none of my business, I suppose, but if you really want to see him, your best bet will probably be at his estate in the central district. It's pretty easy to find. It's the place with all the guards opposite the town hall.

"If you're lucky you might catch him heading back from court tonight," Floki interjected, "that murderer is on trial today, isn't he? Legorias Finch."

"I hope he rots. The savage." Yorick grunted.

Floki had a look of disgust on his face, "Aye, what he did to them women was just plain evil."

"Legorias Finch? Why do I know that name?" Simeon thought out loud.

"He was a Lieutenant in the Town Guard, up until recently." Eric explained.

Simeon nodded, that was most likely where their paths had crossed.

"Word has it he's the one who's been grabbing women off the street in the middle of the night." Eric continued.

Maria looked slightly shocked, "A kidnapper?"

"Worse, much worse, my friend." Eric said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, he'd nab them off the street and commit atrocities to them," Floki said with a bitter look, "his victims always turn up eventually."

"In pieces!" Yorick exclaimed.

"The evidence is pretty damning too, no way he didn't do it," Floki continued, "he's been identified by one of the women who got abducted, she managed to get away from him.

"Not before he'd cut her tail off though." Eric added with a distasteful grimace.

"Poor lady." Oswald said with a sad look.

Boots's expression darkened severely.

He harboured true, unbridled hatred for anyone that would use their position to bring pain and suffering to others.

Worse still, this man was in the Guard. He was supposed to protect people!

Instead, he was using that position to inflict misery on innocents.

"Unacceptable." Boots said through clenched teeth.

A brief silence passed across the table, that was noticeable even with the surrounding ruckus of the tavern.

"What will his punishment be?" Oswald asked.

"Well, normally murder will get you beheaded, but for something like this, I expect he'll get the Well." Eric said decisively to the resounding nods of his companions.

"The Well?" Boots said with a curious look.

"Aye, the Well of Rot." Floki said with a crooked smile, "There's a well, just before you get to the northern district. It's got a fancy cage that can be lowered and raised."

"They chuck you in, lower you down so your toes are dipping in the water. Then they just leave you there." Floki accompanied his description with some hand gestures.

"Folks chuck rotten food, crap, piss, anything they want to really, down on top of the convict." Eric added.

"It's a good way for the people to get their anger out." Floki continued, "Eventually they're just left there to stew in their own filth."

"It can take months to die. The smell in summer is horrendous. They have to bring a light mage out to purify it every once in a while." Eric said with a wince, "If starvation doesn't get them, some kind of infection will. Being wet and covered in filth all day and night does some pretty nasty stuff to a person."

"Oh yeah, there's normally a bidding war for the corpse, surgeons and doctors love that kind of thing." Floki said with a grim expression.

The thought of being cut up and studied after death did not sit well with any of the Lancing Bulls it seemed.

Not that Boots could blame them, as he too, found it rather distasteful.

Yorick shuddered, "Those folks give me the creeps."

"It must be a good opportunity for medical students to learn about infections." Boots thought out loud, hand on his chin.

"I suppose that's a fair assessment," Eric agreed, "still; pretty morbid stuff."

"Well, it seems we need to take a trip to your town hall," Boots said, rising to his feet, "gentlemen, thank you for your company, but we must be on our way."

"Of course, it was a pleasure to meet you." Eric said with sincerity, rising to shake Boots's hand, "If you ever find yourself at the adventurers guild, be sure to look us up."

"If you need our services, we'll do you a discount." Floki said with a wink.

"Well, not too much of a discount," Yorick said, scratching his head, "we still need to eat!"

"Pfft, look at the size of that gut! You eat well enough for three!" Maria said, poking him in the belly with a giggle.

A few more brief farewells were exchanged. Then rest of Boots's party followed suit, getting to their feet and preparing to leave.

'Time to get a Lord's attention.' Boots thought to himself with a smile.

***Roman***

Fenniton was slowly coming back to life under the direction of Roman. He was adjusting to his new role well, surprising even himself.

Maybe it was Boots's confidence in him, that allowed Roman to conduct himself to this degree. As a Sergeant in the town guard, he was so-so. But now, in charge of the town, he felt comfortable, like he was always meant for the task.

He was out doing his rounds, making sure things were running smoothly. One of the biggest draws on morale was inefficient organisation. It was also, normally, one of the easiest things to rectify.

People appreciate a streamlined process, anything unnecessary should be removed from the equation. Roman had been proactive in this area, his minor adjustments to rota's, reducing bureaucratic complications, and limiting meetings to one per day, would undoubtedly increase overall performance.

Things were progressing well, the town was gradually getting back on its feet, clean-up crews were working the streets, families were moving back into homes and the farmers were getting back to their fields.

Roman decided to pay a visit to the keep. Its training yard had been in a constant state of activity since Boots's departure. Captain Kibble had been drilling his soldiers non-stop. Practicing spear formations and archery.

To his credit, Kibble had remained professional with Roman. Despite the fact that he had been Roman's superior once upon a time. He reported to him without any hint of animosity.

Overall, he seemed far too preoccupied with forging a competent fighting force out of the recently recruited townsfolk, to bare much of a grudge towards anyone.

"Afternoon Captain, how goes it?" Roman said, descending the steps to the training pit.

"We'll make fighters of them yet," Kibble said over his shoulder, "It'll take some time, but the attitude is there, that's the main thing."

Roman nodded, motivation for self-improvement was the main crux of training in any discipline. The fact that doom was merely weeks away could really put the wind in peoples sails. Allowing them to push harder than they would in a more relaxed environment.

Boots had lectured Roman and Kibble at great length before his departure. He had laid out exactly how he wanted the training to be conducted.

He had told them that one of the key parts of militaristic basic training was the destruction of ego. Recruits would typically be broken down and have their will and morale shattered into dust. To hammer home how weak they were.

Then the build-up training would begin. Brick by brick you would be re-assembled into a competent fighting warrior. You would see progress where before you only saw failure. Victory where you only knew defeat.

Over time, your morale would harden until it was almost unbreakable. Your determination would increase. Your faith and trust in the competence of the men and women around you, who shared all your defeats and victories beside you, would also become an asset.

You would know each other's weaknesses and strengths, as well as you knew your own. Creating a bond as strong as family.

Boots had told them the one benefit the Crusaders had given them, was obliterating the morale of every citizen of Fenniton.

Because now they could be put back together stronger.

Roman and Kibble ere witnessing it now, on the first day of training. Everybody was motivated to succeed. More so than any town guard recruit had been in all the years previous.

With all that in mind, the focus now was on team building and unit cohesion. Something which Kibble was surprisingly apt in instructing.

Roman looked at the determined faces of the men and women holding thick wooden poles, repeating the spear drills they had been instructed in relentlessly. He felt an ebb of pride in his chest.

"I feel like they'll be ready in no time, have you decided on a name for them yet?"

Kibble gave him a sideways smile, "The 'Fenniton Renegades', or just 'The Renegades' for short."

"Ooh, catchy."

"I hope to burn it into the memories of our opponents." Kibble said with a sincere expression, "the catchier, the better."

Roman couldn't argue with that logic.