The First Whisper
“You askin’ about the Axes? Careful where you toss that name around.”
“They say Mere’s black market beats to one rhythm — the sound of cleaved bone. That’d be the Black Axes. Used to be just another merc band, carving paths through the wilds with real axes, clearing land for coin. Mikhail led ‘em then too. Back when his hands were only half as red.”
“But after The Red Raids, something twisted. Maybe it broke him, maybe it woke him. Now they deal in flesh. Not just muscle-for-hire — we’re talkin’ organs, slaves, rare beasts… anything with blood that bleeds and coin that clinks. You lose a friend in Mere, don’t waste time lookin’. Odds are the Axes already sold the pieces.”
“Biggest force in the city. Strongest, too. Not because they’re brave — but ‘cause they got no line they won’t cross. They still carry axes, yeah… but now it ain’t for trees.”
The Second Whisper
“Mikhail’s lot? They weren’t always monsters.”
“Back before the Red Raids, the Black Axes were something else. Mercs, sure — but the good kind. You needed land cleared from bandits or beasts, they swung their axes and made it yours. Didn’t cheat, didn’t steal. Hell, some folk called ‘em heroes. Built half the outer settlements of Mere with blood and iron.”
“But after the Raids? Something in Mikhail snapped — or maybe he saw the truth of things. Mercy don’t keep you alive in a burning world. So he started shifting — the Axes traded trees and beasts for people. Now they move flesh. Slaves, organs, exotic creatures for sick collectors. They don’t ask names, just weights and prices.”
“They say if someone disappears in Mere, odds are the Axes took ‘em — and if you do come back, you ain’t whole no more. They’ve got the biggest army, best gear, and no soul to weigh them down. You think you’re safe ‘cause you don’t cross them? Cute. The wind changes, and they’ll decide you are the coin.”