Grubby hands dug into the dune, pulling its owner up and allowing his bedraggled hair to rise over the arch of the earth like some dingy and dilapidated sun. A tawny tangled mess surrounded a surprisingly hardened face, green gaze peering out and sweeping up over the scene of the battle field. With a sigh and a foul grumble, the scavenger seated himself atop the dune and pulled out a pipe. Lighting it and giving a few stern huffs, he watched as his fellow vultures took to turning bodies and pulling apart piles that once were ones.<br/><br/>"Well...shit."<br/><br/>Pickings had been so very slim as of late and he should have expected such a rush but his contact had been certain that no one would be around to see this fight coming. The man was normally right, but this time he'd been a bit off. Couldn't win them all, could ya? Still, he let his trained gaze wander over the various figures shambling about, scrutinizing their actions and watching what they took. Ah, amateurs. Good. Means that they would be going for the less valuable things, focusing on baubles and what-not. Engrim, however, was an experienced scavenger and he knew where the the true coin came from.<br/><br/>One hand flipped behind him, moving into a pack that wasn't so much a bag but rather a confusing and highly optimized conglomeration of compartments. Knowing it better than he knew himself, he instantly located a set of worn yet thick leather gloves. Slipping his calloused hands into them, he made a few fists before they were on properly. Then, with a hefting sigh, he grunted and stood before slowly descending upon the job.<br/><br/>He, like the others, seemed to skirt around the bodies as he searched. Occasionally he'd dip down on a knee and riffle next to a body, push it around a bit to give the illusion of motion but he never actually took anything off the corpses. Oh, no. Instead, he was pulling pieces of the battered earth up, hasily shoving them into his pack. Once or twice the man grinned as he found the solidified spikes, fulgurites of pure magic induced strikes. These were the pieces that were worth a shine or two. Rival lords were always on the lookout for what magic their fellow mages were using, though they'd never stoop to asking or looking. Oh, heavens no. That would make them look like they were intimidated, like they cared. Instead, Engrim had found his way into a nice niche job of bringing back various tainted relics or items that were imbued with magic in order to sell them to the highest bidders. Sure, it wasn't what you'd call the  most honorable of lives, but he made out alright and it paid for some much needed comforts when he did strike himself lucky and have time to settle in a town.<br/><br/>The man snickered to himself as he dug out shard of metal, the remnants of a blade that had been struck with enough raw magic to make it explode. The thing hummed with magic, the steel showing a soft ethereal blue glow. That would be a nice sample for those bastards! He quickly stuffed it down into a separate compartment, pulling the tie on it tightly closed and sealing it away. Didn't want too many of these pieces touching, or else you were liable to end up causing a reaction and ending up no more than a streak and a pile of cinders.<br/><br/>He was on route to his next treasure when the cry of the elderly woman reached him. In this line of work, you had to be quick to run from either pissed soldiers or magic gone awry, leaving him with reflexes that would make a cat blush. Straightening up from his slightly stooped walk, he took several steps forwards before the massive hand suddenly started to pull itself upwards. Engrim had been doing this for a long while, and you saw a lot of strange things, but this one was taking the cake. While others were cautious, the man held his ground and his head tilted a little to the side, gaze locked on.<br/><br/>Some might have seen it for what it was, a mysterious danger that was rising from the earth. Others would be in wonder of its creation. Engrim? He was direly hoping that the thing would somehow become a walking payday.<br/><br/>A big one.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Three-hundred and forty-two miles to the west</span>...<br/><br/><br/>"-but I wanna work, Caine," came the nearly apathetic tone, a dry and dull chord for such a feminine voice. The cadence of it was slow but meaningful, pointedly struck like the thudding of impending war drums.<br/><br/>"Of course you wanna work, and I wanna get paid what that work is worth. Now, just trust me and we'll hold out a little longer. They'll show," replied a voice as deep as an ocean but as smooth as silver. "Besides, it always works out well, doesn't it? I always end up getting paid what I want and you always end up getting to do your end of the deed. Never given you reason to question me like you do, have I?" One dark brow rose as he crossed his arms, gazing down at the warrior who sat with her shoulders slouched forwards. She was always so impatient behind that placid facade, though only those who knew her so well were able to to tell.<br/><br/>A pale brown hue looked up to him, blinking a few times before she gave a nod. "Of course, Caine. I'm sorry." Her gaze moved slowly back to the fire, watching the small thing crack and fizzle over some green twigs that they'd scrapped together for most of the kindling. The little bramble patch they'd chosen to hold up in held little in resources, but Caine had swore it was the perfect place. Visible enough from the outside of the encampment and yet far enough to allow people to assume that they were just stopping before they'd head on their way. He'd swore it would work out, and it normally did but she had been bored to tears. There last job hadn't been for nearly a week and a half and she could feel the tension in her muscles as they ached to be tested. Still, her questioning was as far as he complaining went.<br/><br/>Reaching out, she moved to turn one of the piked coney carcasses. They were pitiful little things, barely a few bites on them each but they'd do while they waited and the annoying little flea bags were overpopulated in this area of 'The Waste'. A forsaken little strip of land that had once been home to notoriously violent mage wars, there were only a few inhabitable places that rested in the shadows of high hills like their current location. The rest of the land was corrupted, having been touched by magic so foul and potent that lingering lashes still erupted here and there. Some open rifts where foul things either came out or sucked the unsuspecting victims in, and others just left streaks of fire, ice, and even bolts of lightning lashing the ground around them. In all, it was an inhospitable land but not without its inhabitants who always seemed in search of someone to go fetch such-in-such or stop whats-it's-called. Thanks to that, it had become sort of a common stop for mercenaries and other sell swords who went between the more stable and fertile lands on either side of it. And that was exactly what had brought the pair there today.<br/><br/>The onyx haired Caine sat down by the fire, long legs cross beneath him as he settled into the dirt. They really shouldn't be much longer now. He'd given them the usual treatment, sneering at a price cut and walking his cash cow away while they wondered if they'd really made the right choice. If a few more gold coins was all it took to stand between them and their desired outcome. Usually worked on those who actually had the coin to spare but were being stingy, and these fellows stank of pinching their coppers while having a hand out as beggars. His icy gaze cut over his shoulder, looking back towards the gates.<br/><br/>A smile carved slowly across his features, widening into the Cheshire expression that so often graced his sharp features.<br/><br/>Ahhh, right on time.<br/><br/>"Gentleman!" he called as he pushed himself back up off the ground, flicking a bit of dirt off his black attire. Carrying back towards the familiar set of men, Caine set himself to the task of securing their negotiated price.