[IRP] When Strength is All You Have Left, Is That Strength All You Need?

[Andy]

Ambrose leaned with his back on an alley wall near the city's main square, smoking his short pipe. He'd closed his eyes, listening for anything unusual. Or, rather, anything usual aside from the city's men-at-arms marching around. It was unusually sparse. The city, by its size, should normally be a bustling hive of activity, a roar of activity going through its streets at each square. Now, however, it seemed to hold a halved population, as though there was too much city for the amount of people. The roar for the squares was a mere undercurrent of background noise and the people were quieter and more wide-eyed.

Something was unusual. Something was about to happen. He wasn't sure he was supposed to be here for it. He thought of the fortress hidden in the mountains between Lycia and Etruria. He wished he were there. He'd furnished a room there for himself as a home. He'd intended on using it as a base for a mercenary company, but no one had taken him up on his offer as yet. He was here looking for volunteers or, more practically, a job. Now, however, he wasn't quite sure there were any to be had.

Wait and see, wait and see, he reminded himself, taking a pull on the pipe and blowing the smoke out. Once his head cleared, he dumped the pipe and shook the rest of the ashes and embers out for good measure, before stuffing it into his belt pouch and heading deeper into the alley.