Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29559990-20141227174339/@comment-29559990-20141227225236

As the other mercenaries started to load up the skins, Borskar began questioning the surviving soldiers.

"So" He said to one of them. "I'm betting you know something about these attacks happening around Riften, don't ya?"

The soldier replied by delivering a wad of spit onto the face of Borskar. The brute wiped it from his eyes and chuckled a bit, although he was actually trying desperately to not slit the man's throat. Instead, he settled for a hard right hook to the man's jaw. He hit the ground hard, unable to nurse his more-than-likely broken jaw due to the binds.

"Try spitting, now." Borskar put bluntly. He stepped up to the next man and whipped out a Nordic Dagger and put it to the man's throat. "I hope your bit more willing then your friend." He said with a voice as cold as northern Skyrim.

"Ok, Ok, Ok, don't do anything we might regret here." The soldier stammered, nearly shaking out of his boots.

"I don't have regrets." Borskar uttered.

The soldier thought of his choices, and sighed. "Look, I dunno his name, but he sends us messages every week; Trading Caravans that we are to raid and such. There's a ton of em over there." He pointed to a chest in the back corner of the room.

Borskar trudged over to the chest and searched it's contents. He wasn't wrong; there were tons of notes that told of the path's of caravans. All of them were signed by "B".

"You follow a man who hides behind messages?" Borskar questioned. The soldier replied with "We do what he says, we get a good amount of gold and early retirement. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

"Oh, theres many things wrong with that." Borskar put flatly. He called for Cidarus and told him to "off em", and he did just that with 3 bolts to 3 heads.

Once they had loaded up all the skins and a small sum of gold, Borskar sheathed his weapons and gave the order to move out.