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[Cal Hurst]

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Cal Hurst sat in the Blackmarsh Tavern and Inn contract room, tapping his fingers lightly against the stone table. Outside, a cool wind whistled against the windows of the room in a strangely rhythmic fashion. Across the room, a small journal lay upon a shelf. Cal held out his hand in the book's direction, "Ort Por Ylem!" The book immediately lifted itself up and flew over towards Cal, landing on the table in front of him.

"So many memories lay in this book..." he thumbed through the first few pages of the journal, reminiscing of the days of old. "Old businesses I ran, old friends, old lovers. How I've neglected to write about my life in the manner that I used to." Thumbing through a few more pages, he happened upon the start of a long line of blank pages. A small smile curled upon his lips as he reached for the pen.

So long it has been since I've graced these pages with my writing, journal of mine, and I do regret it. I've documented nearly every major event that has happened in my life, with the exception of these past few years. Oh, and how these past few years have been eventful. My last entry, for example, detailed a business venture with an old friend, John. He has since then fell from his high class standing, and is now but a simple provisioner. However, if his exhibitionist nature doesn't soon stop, he'll find himself to be a beggar, I'm sure.

But since that business venture, I've done quite a few things. Most surprising would have to be my former status as Mayor of Moonglow. My tenure there was quite eventful, having won a war against a barbaric group of unintelligent lifeforms who called themselves the "Legion of Honor." They attacked Moonglow soil, and then immediately soiled themselves as we responded in kind. Ever since that war, they've not been seen. I do wonder what became of them.

My term as Mayor ended abruptly, however, when GreyPawn, the Archmage of Moonglow, saw it best to unseat me and replace me with a mayor of his choosing. I personally believe this man had, at one point, Moonglow's best interest at heart. That is, when he ran it. The general consensus on this senile relic of years passed now, however, is that he should remain a hermit. At least, that is what most of us thought. Myself included. However, Moonglow is now in good hands under the leadership of Yasamin. She's quite the pole dancer. Quite the Mayor. Strange, isn't it? A bit naive, though, whether she admits it or not.

Now, I find myself selling my skills for money. A mix of both my ability to do combat, and my knack for good business deals. I've taken with me several men who are equally as good as I. Ragnar (previously of Sanctus), Sarian (previously of Moonglow), Gerard (previously of wenches), Nomack (previously of the Giovannis), Spawn (previously of Moonglow), and tentatively Ronin (previously of the Cappadocians). All of these men are of high quality, and well worth the high price we charge for our services.

Just recently I've met a certain someone who has definitely sparked my interest. She's cold, but yet at the same time I believe she holds a hidden warmth that will take some time to reach. She is highly intelligent and witty, and will speak her mind, given the opportunity. I wish to know more about her. She intrigues me, for reasons that I cannot fully comprehend. I'll have to spend more time with her to actually figure out why it is I feel the need to know her more. That is if she'll even see me again. She didn't quite like to be proven wrong when last we met. And if that is so, well, the hell with her anyway. But we'll see.

Also, I apparently have a fan club? Some crazy woman wrote a poem about watching me, and started running around shouting "Cal! Cal! Hi! HI CAL!" Now I'm fully aware that I'm kind of a big deal around here, but she's going to have to calm it down a notch. A fan club though. Hm. How many people can say they have one of those?

That's enough writing for now. I'm sure I'll be writing again.


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[Cal Hurst]

---

Well damn. I've found myself in quite a situation. The woman I mentioned in the previous entry had thought that I hexed her. She couldn't possibly be having any sort of affectionate or wanting feeling towards me. No. She thought I hexed her. So, to get rid of the hex, she had four plans. One, was to kiss me. Having there been some sort of curse on a large number of people before, the cure was a simple kiss. And well, she did just that. Didn't work. I then offered to perform a simple detect magic spell on her in an area where the concentration of magic is high. After collecting the reagents and doing it, it appeared she had no hex on her. She then seemed quite frustrated with herself. It was then I learned of the three other plans. The second plan was to bed me. If that didn't work, she was going to kill me. If, after my death, she still couldn't stop thinking about me, she was going to wash my corpse out with soap, ridding me of my 'alluring cologne.'

Despite all of this insanity, I still find I enjoy my time with her. What, exactly, happens in my time with her is... well. Our time and our business. And if you've stumbled upon my journal and are reading up on me, you aren't going to find out what it is, exactly. Oh, also, if you've found this journal, please return it, I don't much like losing things.

Now it's time to talk business. We have recently been hired by another group, but this time it's not for the purpose of Umbra. It's a whole new purpose. One that will actually provide quite a challenge. While our current role in this campaign has not yet been determined, it is just known that we will be needed in some measure. We'll even be receiving a down payment for our loyalty, along with the obligatory contractual immunity.

Sarian taught me to squeeze a cow's teets. I'll end on that note.

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[Cal Hurst]

---

I seem to be drinking more heavily than usual, without rhyme or reason to my actions. I find this peculiar, in that I do not have any sorrows to drown, or any reason to turn to the bottle. Yet, often times, I'll find myself at the nearest tavern with a friend or two, ordering ale after ale. Perhaps I rely too much on the stuff. I guess I'm sort of like a chocoholic, only for booze instead of chocolate. But, at the least, it's at a manageable stage right now. I'll just have to watch where I pass out, as I woke up last night with some sort of drawn-on mustache. Was a little odd.

But moving on from that, the Infinitemen are fully ready for action. Gerard, our newest addition, has been rigorously training in a new specific set of skills that Sarian has instructed him in. The two have been working diligently together in order to not only perfect their individual skills, but to be able to work better as a team. We, the Infinitemen, are not individual mercenaries looking to be hired. We are a highly skilled entity whose services are, evidently, highly sought after.

I still await word from our new employees, and I believe they will be contacting me soon. It's been some time since I've received anything with a challenge. And the way she put these odds, this one will be an exciting obstacle to overcome.

I can't wait.

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[Cal Hurst]

---

It still remains nigh impossible for me to get her off of my mind. Her scent, her touch, her sarcastic remarks, the way she rolls her eyes at me when I talk about myself. It's all strangely alluring. Perhaps I am the one put in the hex? Perhaps she has hexed me? Oh, wouldn't that be an interesting twist. But even if I were hexed, I find such untainted happiness from her presence, even if she's just sifting through her Shelf of Many Things and talking to me. What is it? Why is it? Perhaps I am hexed. But this is a lie I do not mind living.

Look at me. In years passed, this was once a journal about ways to take over and shut down competitive business operations, as well as silencing anyone who was going to oust me on shady business practices. Now it's become pages filled with mushy tales of euphoria. Perhaps it's time I start drawing flowers and kittens on the bindings of the journal.

No, not going to happen.

Many things need done tonight, regardless of any distracted thoughts I may have about her. A man needs to eat. Time to take off the around-the-house longpants and cap and put on the "Great Cal Hurst" robe. Clients need to be impressed, and the bank needs to grow.

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[Cal Hurst]

---

Ah yes, it has been a short while since I have written in this thing. So much to recap. For one, Fiona and I, the woman who I have previously written about, have decided to go exclusive. I can see her smile each time I see her, and I'm sure she can see mine. These inner feelings that I've not felt in some time have taken over my heart and soul. It's a euphoric state of mind. Hrm... I'm beginning to sound ... quite unlike myself. So I shall switch topics before I begin drawing flowers and hearts.

Last night was a rough night. I walked into Stonegate Valley to visit Fiona and some of my friends there, when I was greeted by several of Darrien's lapdogs with blood in their eyes. If only everyone was prepared, we could have fended them off with relative ease. But they came in like barbarians, along with some of those Umbrans, and surprise attacked everyone. Shortly after, Gerard, Sarian, and I tried to ambush a small group of them, but we didn't account for shadow-walking lapdogs. Needless to say, it was a poor showing on our part. But nothing is learned from victory. You learn only from defeat. We have learned now how these lapdogs prefer to fight, and that is when they have the number advantage. Their skills are mediocre at best. Sarian himself was able to stay fighting a horde of them for a long time, and even managed to drop two of them. So once we get into the swing of things, we'll be able to take them on, no doubt.

Note that when I say lapdogs, I mean Orcs, as they are nothing more than Darrien's lapdogs now.

We, as the Infinite Mercenary Company, have also actively began recruiting, looking for people of specific talents and skills. Perhaps we'll find 1, or maybe even 2. I doubt that we will find much more than that, who are willing to abide by our rules.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find out how to replace all the damn livestock that we had here in Blackmarsh. Gerard and Sarian thought it'd be a good idea to unleash swarms of bees on unsuspecting intruders, only to have the bees devour every other living thing around here as well.

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[Cal Hurst]

---

The difference in the lives of those who reside in Malas alone are quite ponderous.

There's Sanctus, an order of Paladins who seek to do good in the land by upholding all that is right and being guided by the virtues. A relatively strong order, but unfortunately oftentimes blinded by their own goals and the path that they lead.

Stonegate. An order based upon strength, where only those who are strong enough will survive. It is no coincidence that a group like this resides in the cold valley of northern Malas. Those who cannot bare the harsh winters will be casted outwards.

The undead in Umbra. Power thirsty and deceiving group that are seemingly hellbent on being general nuisances to everyone.

All of these orders exist within only a few minutes' walk of one another, and somehow that entire continent has managed to not blow itself apart into thousands of little pieces just yet. Ponderous indeed...


Another topic to bring up today is Necromancy, and me. I find myself using it less. While I believe the art to be inherently neutral, and not evil as some would believe, I find that using the art sometimes draws upon me. Perhaps this is just a personal thing, but I have halted my use of it, and am pursuing other forms of combat. I've watched Sarian and Gerard train, and have taken plenty of good notes. Perhaps I will attempt to teach myself this way of the "Aracnamarichan" or however it is spelled.


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[Cal Hurst]

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It all makes sense. All of these techniques developed by Sarian's mentor blend well together. But is it for me? On paper, it looks as if these magics combine to be an incredible power. But is it for me? I've known the art of Spellweaving for some time now, but my practice of it has been less than routine. Using weapons doesn't seem like a difficult task, especially after using my bare fists to fend off would-be attackers. I think I'll give this an earnest shot.

Fiona's belly is LARGE. Her belly button does this thing where it inverts itself. And I swear each and every time I try to get close to her, the baby inside tries to kick me. And nevermind any of that physical stuff. Oh no. Absolutely not. I want to, yeah. But the baby might know what's going on. And what if it kicks WHILE we're doing that? I think I would retreat to the nearest corner and curl up into a fetal position. ... Hrm. How ironic.

The worlds are oddly settled right now. The world is lacking conflict, but I believe this to only be the calm before the storm. We'll see what is to come in the future, but I smell piles of gold coming this way.

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[Cal Hurst]

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The art of jousting is an intricate one, but it takes someone with a steady hand and a lean body to be able to compete professionally in such a sport. It also takes someone who knows how to aim for the ankle. People laughed at me when I suggested this, but think about this for just a moment. The ankle is an unguarded area of the body while on horseback, and it is one of the last places you think you'd ever get hit. You hit someone in the ankle, and they will do a backflip and fall off of their mount. An added bonus is that it also gives the victim of your lance-thrust the opportunity to do several backflips and heroically land on his or her feet. No? You disagree? Then you are no jouster.

I saw Stonegate there, but I have not seen Fiona. She was about ready to give birth so I'm guessing she's on bed rest. I think I'll pay her a visit sometime soon. It's almost been a week since we last spoke, so it's about that time.

This "Way of the Arcanamach" thing isn't so bad. I've nailed it down pretty much, but have adjusted it to fit my own preferences.

I've finally moved into Blackmarsh, but there's still some things that need to be done to the building I've acquired to make it more "me." My crap is all over the place; it's so disorganized. I really need to hire a contractor to come in and help me re-draw the design of the house. It just simply won't work the way it is. I was thinking wall-to-wall sand. I know a great sand guy.


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[Cal Hurst]

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Here I sit in my new, beautiful home. Fully designed to be the loudest, messiest, most visited place in all of Blackmarsh. And my room is down here, in the basement. One floor above me, two men fight it out for their lives, ripping each others' flesh apart with their bladed weapons and screaming in agony as blood squirts across the stone walls of the arena. Yeah, I live in the basement of an arena.

I suppose it's not THAT bad. I mean, I do, after all, get to head upstairs to train whenever I feel. And it's not like the thing is ALWAYS in use. Just sometimes. We may have to do some sort of grand opening, encouraging people from all across the lands to come to Blackmarsh for some sort of large tournament. Entry fees? Perhaps. Perhaps some sort of large entry fee for fighters, around 100,000 gold or so, and a smaller one for spectators, about 5,000. Eighty-percent of the money taken in will go towards the winner. Twenty-percent goes to us, of course. Well, maybe it should be a seventy-thirty split instead. Either way, details can be worked out.

Blackmarsh is coming along nicely. What was once a small village is now relatively bustling with activity. Sarian has done a good job at hiring farmers, bartenders, and such. We're turning into a bit of a City-State now. Perhaps the citizens will hold elections and elect amongst them some sort of Mayor, or Governor, or Tribal Leader, or some sort of Big Cheese; whatever label they wish to throw upon it is their business. We, Infinite Mercenary Company, will not delve into politics. We'll quite simply reside here in Blackmarsh as its permanent protectors. Say, perhaps we could make some gold out of this? All that would need to be done would be to encourage the current settlers to form some sort of government. After they are done, persuade them to hire us on as permanent guardians of the area. I like this idea.

I think someone just lost an arm upstairs. I heard a loud scream, and then someone yelled "HOLY CRAP HE JUST LOST AN ARM!" I totally have to see this.


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[Cal Hurst]

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Grown we have. Infinite has grown to roughly nine talented fighters in these past few weeks, with more and more people wanting to be part of it. Only the best, though. Only the best. We cannot take every Harry, Joe, and Eisenbert Filathium II that wants to apply. No, we must remain selective. Elite.

I have been contacted by an "outside source" for specific jobs to perform. The morality of these jobs is questionable, but the pay is abnormally high. This is something that I'm going to have to hear more on before I bring it up to the other men. In taking this job, though, things will change. Perhaps forever. I'm not so sure the world is ready for that kind of change.

I still have to draft up some rules for the tournament we're going to be hosting. We'll have to have something highly coveted and sought after as a prize. Something that everyone would want. Something people only dream of. A date with me, for example. We'll figure it out.

For now, I have to go help the barkeep clean up a mess of ale that I may or may not have aided in causing last night. You can't prove it was me.

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[Cal Hurst]

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It has come to my attention that the world is weak. Every entity in this world is weak, pathetic, and scared. Except for those in Umbra. Everyone sits around, huddled in their masses, safe in their homes, just waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Darrien to strike. And when he strikes, they react meekly and oftentimes inefficiently. They all want the same thing, they want Umbra to fall. They speak of "defense" and "what they will do if he does this." Where are the balls? Where are the men leading these people? It appears that today's leaders are merely children. No one will attack Darrien. Why? There's no logical explanation for it. Instead they sit around their long table, half of them asleep, and speak of needless topics. The leaders gathered, listening. At least those who are awake. And still, nothing gets done.

And that leads me to my next point. As a Mercenary, I go where the money is. Who will have use for us? Certainly not those who sit with tucked tails inside their homes, safe by their fires, sipping their wines. No. Only those who truly believe in their goals. Unfortunately for the world today, the only people acting upon their goals are already dead, and in Umbra. Oh how ironic it is that the UNDEAD are the only ones going towards their LIFE GOALS. Shame, really.

Well, should things continue on this path, we just might have to consider other contracts. I won't be paid to sit on my thumb and twist.


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[Cal Hurst]

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And so I find myself alone once again, without the company of a female. I am told that this is the way it will be forever; or atleast for as long as I choose this profession. It makes sense, I suppose. As I look around me, I'm surrounded by others who find themselves sleeping in beds alone as well. None of the other mercenaries have 'others.' Perhaps it is just the way it is to be. An unfortunate truth, a saddening reality.

But let us not dwell upon that for too long. There are a great many things happening as of late. One, in particular, is the new contract that we've picked up. I will present it to the guys tonight, but I imagine this will go off without a hitch. Finally, someone is doing something.

We hosted our tavern night the other night, and it went perfectly. A great deal of people showed up, and we gave out roughly fifty million gold. Some little pissant from the Blue Lotus, one of whom I can't remember his name (he's pretty insignificant, yet insulting), decided to litter upon our home. Rather than see the validity of my side of the story, the other Ninjas decided to dissect and question my accusations. It wasn't until one of them was levelheaded enough to pick up after their weak link that the situation calmed down. Good to know at least one of them has some sort of grasp on manners.

More and more people are moving into Blackmarsh. They seem to want to set up their own government over the city, which I really have no problem with, as long as I'm not running it. Tried that once in Moonglow. No thanks. But I'll gladly be hired on as protection for the city. That I don't mind.

Now I should go. I have attack plans to devise.

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[Cal Hurst]

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So I checked the tavern's mailbox today. The usual junk mail. A bottle. An exploding box. And then something quite unusual. Something that wasn't for me. At least, I don't think it was for me. I hope it wasn't for me.

There was a note in there left, I think Monday night, from someone named "Rotep." It reads:


"Thank you for your service.


...and anal."

I am quite confused and worried about this letter. Was it for me? Did I drink too much? Did I black out? Did I make friends with another male? Gods, I hope not. Or did I intercept this letter? Was it intended for one of the other mercenaries? If so, who? Sarian? He does walk a little funny. Gerard? He does fancy the longer weapon. Traziel? He does have a weird demeanor about him. Could it be Kali? But she is a female. But yet... oh GODS, DO NOT WANT TO THINK ABOUT THAT. What about Nomack? Could the manly, fiery mohawk and piercings hide something far less "manly man?" I know not. But I hope I never find out the answer to my questions.

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[Cal Hurst]

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What an eventful Protectorate meeting that was. Starfire's incompetence was shown yet again, in that they spoke more of mailboxes and insects than they did the impending armies of Umbra. But I'm just a mercenary, what do I know? It's not like I speak to those in Umbra and know of their plans or anything like that. No no. Incompetence runs thick in that group. Orelen is doing what he can I suppose, but he lacks a proper backing. And Willow, well. She was just defending him I guess. Can't fault someone for that. I'll hold off on increasing Stonegate's prices. For now.

Some man named Illadaw or something saw it fit to get into a little verbal joust with me. He feels very strongly against mercenaries. A lot of people do, apparently. It is evident that to save the world, the Protectorate wouldn't hire mercenaries, as it goes against their "moral fiber." However, they will befriend people within Umbra instead. Yes, that isn't hypocritical at all. Let us befriend those who have slain our citizens, our friends, our family, poisoned our towns, spread diseases across the world. But people who fight for gold? HEAVEN'S NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! This honestly doesn't bother me much. It's just a little unnerving that they don't see a problem with their hypocrisy. Such is the way of those who believe they are in the right all the time though, I suppose.

Regardless, we're already contracted for the upcoming battle. And we're contracted to do a few things in two weeks time. Stonegate seems to be the only entity that is taking an ACTIVE approach to the Umbran problem. I even inquired as to why the Protectorate took no action, and Starfire's response was "We are not heathens." This is the biggest no-brained response I've ever heard. How can one justify not attacking an entity solely based upon ending the living across the world with "But we aren't heathens!" Incompetence.

Regardless, despite all of this hate towards the mercenaries, we get paid. We will always get paid. We will be in every major fight. Why? Because in every fight, everyone wants to win. And those that truly want to win, will secure every avenue possible to ensure victory. Infinite Mercenary Company is a straight road to victory. It's a toll road, but it's a sure thing.

One last thing though, I must say. I looked and sounded DAMN good at that meeting. I love being me.

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[Cal Hurst]

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Last night was rather enjoyable. A costume party of sorts. I went as the Gods' Gift to Women and a Raging Arsehole all in one. Pretty much went as myself. I was probably the best dressed and best looking there. A close second being Madelyn's Minax costume. She looked pretty good in it. Yasamin went as some Sanctadin. And then some other people showed up with some bad costumes and pretended they were good. I didn't want to say anything, though. It's not nice to be told your costume sucks by the person who shows up with the best costume. Puts a damper on your day. Back to Maddy though, it was good to see her. She looked healthy. A good change from what she used to look like. Always sickly. Most likely from the drugs she was using. It's good that she's pulled herself away from that crap. Seems like her life is turning around.

This week, our temporary contract begins. We will be assaulting Umbra with all that we have one a couple of occasions, and scouting it for information and other such purposes on other nights. It'll be good to put all that we've been working on to good use. It'll also be good to smash the undead and whatever lapdogs they have at their disposal. And let's not forget, the gold. Either way, it'll be some good practice to dispose of the non-human lapdogs they have their. Weak-minded fools.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go walk down the streets of Britain and watch as the women stare in awe at all that is Cal Hurst.

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