After that disastrous mission, we traded jokes about what happened for at least a week. None of us missed an opportunity to recount to strangers and each other of the day we were paid to fuck around with the Archknight and his Avatar friends. It was an embarrassing day, sure, but I think a lot of us were just happy to be alive. If it weren't for our newest recruits being so well acquainted with them, we might have just wandered into a fight we couldn't win.
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Sure I am, and maybe Saayuko as well, but there was no way the others could have matched up to the people we would have had to get through. If we had gone through with that fight, we would have been humiliated even if we all survived. You know how strong I am, but I can't turn into a magic-wielding gorilla, fly, or summon fey spellcasters to do my bidding. I've only made it as long as I have by remaining aware of my limits and never taking any job that pushes me far beyond them.
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Surpassing your own limits is a romanticized ideal of the living. Often what happens when you do is you'll injure yourself. Now, for you people who have yet to die, that's fine because you'll heal and grow stronger from the experience. For sai'mul, there is no healing or growing. If I had done more of that before I died, I'd blow away anyone who calls themselves a warrior with my enhanced strength, but the strength I've shown you before is the maximum you'll be seeing from me.
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Consider yourself lucky I didn't climb to their level before I died, or I'd definitely be able to do that. I can't say whether or not I'd have become the kind of asshole who throws my strength around in that way, but after meeting guys like Roman and Mordecai, I can't say the idea appeals to me now.
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Well, once we stopped joking about our poor luck, we let the failure of it all sink into our morale. In our line of work, dropping a contract carries a heavy stigma. To the Restan people, one's word is their greatest treasure. Even if your client doesn't survive to execute a contract, a lot of our rivals contended that we should have carried it out anyway and report our success to the corpse. Bastards. If any of them had taken the same contract, they'd have taken their honor to their graves.
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Well, the one upside to it all was how they chose to go about it. How could a guild thrive in both combat and crafts? The only people who should do business with us are those who need a good pair of gloves, or an amulet, or weapons. What they didn't take into account was that there was plenty more demand in peacetime for gloves, jewelry, and signage. It was the best advertising we could ask for as craftsmen. We became the artisans who could defend our wares better than any of the other businesses that competed with us in the protection of material goods.
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So we expanded. We ended up hiring another guy that Saayuko knew from Heron who called himself Flint Brokamac. Apparently he fancied himself a modern descendant of an extinct Pyrisian clan. I always hoped that wasn't true, considering what my people had to do to the Brokamac all those centuries ago.
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No, you wouldn't have. You had your Piers men roving westward, but the Brokamac are the ones who decided that south was the way to go. Unlike you, however, when our ancestors wanted northlanders out of our territory, we killed them all. You could say Flint had a chip on his shoulder about that. To hear him talk, you'd think that Restans robbed him of his identity long before he--or Resta-- were ever thought of.
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Well, he only came to Resta because he was a journeyman smith who was looking to expand his skills. But there's only so much you can learn in Heron, apparently. So why not come to the land that's rich in everything, including metals? I think he fancied himself as a defender of his clan's legacy. To him, Northern Resta was Brokamac territory, therefore our home was rightfully his.
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Well everyone, including our Midanian immigrants, thought he was neat, but he had a tendency to annoy Eione and Bene, our other Restan-born members. Some old clan law tricked him into thinking he was better than us, but I didn't really care. For one thing, Saayuko--his fellow Heronite-- was skeptical of the whole thing.
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They had both grown up in the same part of Heron, and she thought that the chances of a surviving Brokamac living to breed in any other province were virtually nonexistent. They were friendly with the Piers, but too far away from their territory and the Karns and Crowmonts considered them enemies. Not that it mattered to me either way. He wasn't about to stage a new Brokamac occupation of everything north of the Pledge on his own. Whatever his cultural quirks, he was just a dim man with some talent for working metal who could be a little rude. For the most part, he worked just fine with everyone and the few who disliked him stayed out of his way.
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This acquisition wasn't enough to raise everyone's morale, especially since the only member of the guild less personable than Flint was me. That isn't to say I didn't care how my underlings were doing. As they toiled with their individual projects, I could tell that everyone was growing listless. Eione was the first to complain of being bored, but there was nothing I could tell her. Our most interesting jobs didn't come from nowhere. They were brought by clients who were lured in by word of our martial talents, but our reputation in that field was tarnished by our supposed lack of professionalism. We needed a win.
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Saayuko and I set out to find a big contract on our own. We focused on the weaker companies who bit off more than they could chew. We found that a rival mercenary guild called Silverfoot had sent two separate excursions into the abandoned Tomb of Maloran to drive out some necromancers who were defiling the corpses there. Apparently you can be ostracized for abandoning a contract you know is designed to get you killed, but taking one that's beyond your abilities and failing so predictably at it is okay as long as you still have bodies to throw at the problem.
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We went to the clients and offered to sell them our services instead. It was a hard sell with our reputation, especially considering the fact that Silverfoot had ten times our numbers, but I was comfortable vouching for the strength of my people. At least I've never hired a weakling. But Silverfoot didn't give up the contract with a fight. Literally. I had to beat up their guildmaster in front of the client to get the contract. My old Royal Army issue shield didn't make it through the fight, but Flint was waiting with something better when I mustered my team for the new mission.
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Look at this beauty. The phoenix emblem is wicked enough, but look! It's made from violium!
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Violium is a thick, heavy alloy made from locally-sourced, rare bluegold and fine red iron from Heron. Flint called it a blend of his Heronite pride and pure Restan decadence. Magic bounces right off of it and it's heavy enough to dent steel with a light jab. Most of you living folks would struggle to even pick it up, much less wield it effectively, but it's perfect for me! And it welcomes any paint you try to coat it with. You can tell its golden color is unnatural, but it's made from real gold after all!
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This shield was a huge part of our victory in the Tomb. With everyone behind me and my magic-repelling shield, all they could do was throw reanimated corpses at us. With Moruay and Oogura around to stop them with their shamanic and druidic spells, they couldn't stop Saayuko from flanking their leader and holding him hostage until the rest stood down. The spellwarriors revered the place too much to risk going in and damaging inside, but they were able to take care of things when we chased the necromancers out.
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When we cleared the Tomb, we were given a bonus for managing to take down the intruders without breaking anything. That was a huge point of pride for the guild. The forgotten contract was old news at that point. We had instead become known for efficiently cleaning up after the people who aren't good enough to get the job done.
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