Look at them. I mean... LOOK AT THEM! There's loads of 'em! When Furley had crested the hill to greet his new assistant, Daphnee, who'd been working hard on his behalf to secure the finer details of the operation, he couldn't believe how many had shown up. Nearly the entire employ was here.
Last time they'd escorted a caravan, it had been to the Company's ruin. Percyvael, his closest friend and business associate, had almost been bankrupted, but in utter, icy calmness, he merely tipped his feathered cap and started us over again. Since, our Company has grown and grown, with contracts from Trestlebridge secured, thin tendrils of a relationship with the northern tribes slowly being nurtured, a clothing supplier from Ered Luin organised, and a destination in the East to drop off at, with parties working on ways to push further beyond the mountains.
A few months ago, Furley had been a shell of his former self. His wife had left him, and he had lost his business. He had all-but-decided to go to the war again, though knowing if he did that he would likely not return this time (he'd only just survived last time round). Now, here he was, director of the Company, and about to help escort an armoured carvan rather than be paid to drag a horse for coin.
In that moment, he felt wholesome and complete, and almost forgot about the ring he'd still been carrying with him in his pocket, weighing him down. As they set forth, a grin spread wide across his face.
The Company has been revitalised today. And, maybe, just maybe, I have too.
