The Mercenary's Miscalculation

Aethel nursed a lukewarm mug of unidentified, vaguely green liquid in his cramped quarters aboard the sputtering freighter. Rain lashed against the hull, drumming a monotonous rhythm. This wasn't quite the high life he'd envisioned after leaving the Chapter. He craved the camaraderie, the purpose, the roar of bolter fire. Here, he was just another weathered mercenary, another cog in the mercenary machine.

(The Ordinary World)

He'd left the Nova Legion a decade ago, disillusioned by the endless cycle of bloodshed. Now, he chased credits wherever the stink of conflict led him. He missed the brotherhood, the unwavering certainty of his purpose, but mostly, he missed the power. His cybernetic augmetics still hummed beneath his scarred skin, a constant reminder of what he'd left behind.

A sudden chime startled him out of his reverie. A holographic image flickered to life, revealing a woman with sharp green eyes and a bored expression. "Aethel," she said, her voice clipped, "got a job for you. High risk, high reward. You interested?"

(The Call to Adventure)

This was different from the usual "shoot things, get paid" jobs. This one reeked of something more… shadowy. The details were sketchy - retrieve an artifact from a newly discovered jungle planet, something called the "Eye of Xar'kath." The risk of planetary wildlife was mentioned, along with… "other forces." The reward, however, was enough to make him reconsider his lukewarm green beverage. Aethel grunted, "Details?"

(Refusal of the Call)

The woman smirked. "You know the drill, no questions asked. Take it or leave it." Aethel studied her, his eyes narrowed. He knew the risks, the unofficial code of silence amongst mercenaries. But the glint in her eyes spoke of something more… personal.

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