The fire crackled in the bar, spitting as a few walnut shells flew in. It was a warm summer's evening, so the warband stretched leisurely in front of it on different sized chairs rather than outside with the locals. Various creatures sat round, discussing the day's business, some wore variously bright and colourful uniforms of foreign uniforms matching their Germanic accents, slightly soiled and others very bloody in some cases. "Cheers all, a good day," a grey mouse grinned. The leader of the group, Hannibal, habitually chewed a large liquorice stick. Including him, several of the warband had fresh cuts and bruises, but most looked fresh and unscathed. "Being hired to guard six points in the town, great for funding." "Well, that was a tight one!" Aimee, a small shrew, propped her drink back onto the table. "It's alright for you, Hazel, you spent the day guarding the windmill with no-one bothering you, while some of us have nothing to sho...