"Well, hello there. The name's Refract. That's Mr. Refract to you, unless you plan on getting lucky tonight, in which case it's 'My Lord'. Yeah, I've been following the army for ages... good money while it lasted, but now the cowardly snakes have turned on us. Killed the few friends I'd ever admit to having, and a lot of good fighters besides. Greedy bastards probably didn't want to pay the dues. Well, they're going to pay for that - every last one of 'em if I have anything to say about it.
What? Those poor dumb kids killing each other on the battlefield? Well, that's up to them, ain't it. They asked me to join up a couple of times when I was younger, but I'm buggered if I'm going to put my arse on the line to shovel blood money into someone else's pockets. No sympathy at all for those goons. Now, being a Merc, that's different. More honest, right? It's killing, yeah, but lots of people kill for a living, and least I do it quick and honourable. Tax collectors... they'll live you a long, slow death and relish it. Good honest job in fact, this one, you can choose who you work for if you're morally inclined, and you get a decent cut of the profits either way. Loyalty's all money in the end anyway, unless you're fighting for what you love, and in that case, government's got sod all to do with it. When you have friends, real friends, not just acquaintances of convenience, you watch their backs because you love the bastards. But you never tell them you've got their back, or they're going to get complacent. That's love, right?
My name? Nobody cares about my name. There's no hiding in this world, and I wouldn't even try. These guys, they don't know what they're doing. War is just fools against fools, and you know what they say about fools and their money. And, well, it's not just foolishness, it's greed, it's oppression... they're the real bastards in all this. They don't deserve respite. It's our turn to line our pockets now. And the name is Refract. Don't let anybody tell you any different. It's a patronymic system 'round here right? You know, you take your Dad's name? Well, that's it then.
The way I see it, half-elves like myself are way more than the sum of our parts. We ain't just watered down elves, or humans who take tea without milk. We've got the edge over 'em all. Humans? They're easy; it's all about greed with those guys. Flash 'em some gold and they're yours. Elves, well, they're even easier 'cos they're arrogant, see? They think they've got your number as soon as look at you, but if you're smart you'll fool them every time. With Dwarves... you'd think it was gold again, wouldn't you? But they aren't that stupid. In order to get those guys on side you've got to talk about honour, about redressing balances and settling old scores. They eat that stuff up like anything. It's almost too easy now. If you really want to be in the big leagues, you've got to test your charms on a dragon.
Me? Well, no. Not yet. But I'm still alive, right? That's got to count for something. I mean, talking one round's one thing, sure; but trying to chat one up, failing, then getting out of there without so much as a burnt arse, well, that's almost more impressive isn't it?
What, you want to know about halflings now? Oh, I'll TELL you about halflings..."
Transcript generously donated by Trixie Dunward, extracted from her meticulously kept journals, recently published under the title "The Secret Life of a Buxom Wench". We wish her the best of luck with the book, but fear that many may be unhappily misled by the title. Extract is undated, but we are assured as to its accuracy.
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