The mercenary leader of Ketil's farm. A tempered man, sharp and cunning, with secrets as enigmatic as his blade.

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~ A summer's afternoon in the year 1015 CE. ~

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The heavens above were cloudless, with the only reprieve from the sun being the shade offered by the occasional trees that lined the fields. Heat waves blurred the horizon where the sky met the seas of wheat, and the breeze - usually arid - was heavy and humid.

But that all meant nothing to the patriarch of the farm, overripe with age, as he swung his hoe in routine and regular arcs, down into the earth. He took occasional breaks, only to wipe the sweat from his wrinkled brow and lock his knees before bending over once again.

The grids of wheat fields of Master Ketil's farm were outlined with trails, and every so often, a wagon or two passed by. On one of the trails, a horse clopped along, upturning settled dirt and kicking up gravel. The old gentleman glanced up just long enough for his balding head to be spotted amidst the rows of dry yellow crop.

"Sverkel! Come on, old man - get your ass inside! Workin' in this heat is death!" Shouted the rider of that horse as he kicked up to a steady trot, his tone rounded with begrudging consideration.

The old man managed a scoff before coughing into his handkerchief. "I don't wanna hear it from you, Snake!" He croaked, but Sverkel was upwind and his voice hardly carried. By that time, Snake was out of earshot, the thundering of hooves punctuating his swift pass-through.

Mercenaries were both a comforting sight to the farmhands, and an insurmountable obstacle to outside threats. Ketil's farm patrol happened in a systemic fashion. Guards rotated every week and rode through their assigned zones four times every 24 hours - twice in the day and twice at night at random intervals - unpredictable to any potential burglars. 1500 square acres of farmland was a lot of ground to cover, but order made it manageable. Snake - the man who had plotted the meticulous and effective schedule - was on duty himself today.

The mercenary leader had guiltlessly woken up about three hours late, then proceeded to assign himself the most scenic trail on the outermost edge of the property. It ran along the river and was lined with trees, providing ample shade as he made his rounds.

With a light kick of his heels on the animal's stomach, Snake's horse worked up to a canter. The breeze picked up, and all was peaceful for the next few minutes. Snake ran a hand through his tousled hair and even managed a yawn. But the ride he had meant to enjoy in solitude was all too soon cut short. With an irked scoff, his gaze leveled on a strange figure by the riverbank. He almost didn't spot them, their form nigh indiscernible amongst the foliage some 30 yards away. With a furrow of his brow, he tugged on the reins, slowing to a trot.

The line that demarcated where Ketil's property ended and the unowned sanctity of the wilderness began, was arbitrary and vague at best. As such, it wasn't too uncommon for a foreign traveler to mistakenly cross over into his boss's territory.

The stranger - friendly or troublesome, he wasn't quite sure yet - was kneeling on the gravelly shoreline, polishing something whose wettened sheen glimmered in the sunlight. Was it a sword? Was it jewelry?

"Hey, you there!" Snake called out as he ambled closer. His tone was impassive as his hand went down to rest on the hilt of his sword. His voice carried across the rolling breeze and over the fronds and cattails along the shoreline. "You're on private property! Either identify yourself, or take your leave, stranger!"

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