Fifty Four
Robyn, the Wetlands
Robyn and her master Fenris, hatched a plan back in Snowdrift Village.
Fenris's sources had informed him that a battalion of Mammon's soldiers were rampaging through The Wetlands heading west.
Robyn had insisted they hunt down Lady Crow's other apprentice, Micah, but Fenris saw the Troll Band as a more immediate threat.
As the Crimson Hunter and her teacher slashed through the thick brush with their swords. They were on route to cut off The Troll Band's march west.
Under the oppressive humidity of the everglades, the two slayers argued.
"There isn't even a bounty on their heads," Robyn protested in vain.
She was eager to hunt down Micah but her teacher was just as stubborn.
The aged slayer, Fenris, no longer took contracts, but instead lived a peaceful retirement, passing along information to other slayers that sought him.
Fenris had accumulated quite the sophisticated network of spies, allies and messenger ravens over his long career.
Fenris had clashed with Mammon's beasts in the past and knew just how relentless and far-reaching the Demon Lord's plans were.
"Unchecked, these swarms could devastate the isolated towns around here. We can't just let that happen," Fenris lectured his student.
Robyn knew he was right, but her pride was hurt from her recent failures.
"Humility and service," Fenris reminded her.
In her youth Robyn had aspired to her master's virtues but had later grown tired of his endless tasks.
Time and time again before Fenris finally retired she had followed him on his voluntary missions, living off the charity of the down-trodden.
Finally, one night after a huge argument she had left Snowdrift Village in search of lucrative assignments, leaving only the hateful words. "We are slayers not vagrants."
She regretted her harshness, but she developed her skills far faster on her own with her isolation training and challenging contracts.
She had learned a lot on her solo travels. She had fought alongside the Dwarves of The True North, studied magical defenses with the High Elven Sage of Gu Maireannach and even with the Crop Guards of The Golden Fields.
The Frost dwarves named her "Den Karm Osinröda jägaren", but Fenris would always call her "Robyn, the little bird"
Robyn kicked a snake off her boot. The cacophonous chorus of tropical birds, jaguars and insects was endless.
Robyn hated The Wetlands, she could already feel the bug bites all over her exposed flesh.
"We'll hunt these misfit minions then I swear we'll track down that maleficus," Fenris promised. He was a man of his word and Robyn was satisfied with the compromise.
"Their war path will make tracking the warband simple." Robyn could see trees rustling and smoke rising in the distance already.
Let's get this over with.