First Target: The Unbeliever

[Godhand]

It was a couple of days ago in Radasanth when the order came down. After that Red Forest thing, Godhand was happy to let Raieaera sink into the ruin it had brought upon itself. But, of course, someone up on top had a soft spot for the elves. Isn't that always the way? Those old guys sat in their ivory towers, sucking down pasta alfredo and fuckin' chitlins, you know, the worst part of the pig all fried up? And sending Godhand out to die for a cause and people he didn't even believe in. Terrible. But what could he do? They were on top and he was on the bottom. If he didn't follow orders he was back out on his ass, possibly worse if they thought he might turn fed.

One of the old dons, Gaggi, had given him a list. On it were basically the worst criminals in the war; some group calling itself the Necrosition. The list detailed each of their abilities, or at least the abilities the surviving scouts had managed to discern. Each one of them was absolutely lethal in his own way, but one in particular caught his eye. Sir Anderson Maxwell, alias The Unbeliever. He was causing the Bladesingers quite a bit of trouble; apparently his special ability consisted in canceling out all magic. Godhand ran his hand over his sheath thoughtfully; a fellow after his own heart.

Well, no matter how dangerous he might've been to a mage, Godhand was not impressed. From what he read, there was absolutely nothing the wizard-killer would be able to do against him if he managed to catch him away from his friends. The mercenary packed up that afternoon after studying the list, packing a wagon with every weapon he thought might be useful. He left the Magnums behind, though; they were no use in that God forsaken land. Something to do with old curses.