Jax

Jax opened his eyes and breathed deeply. A wave of heat and a pungent stench assaulted his nose. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and rose from his bed, another sleepless night.Jax stood relatively tall at a few inches over 6 feet. His hair is dark and straight, like a mop of fine black straw.

Tonight was the big night. He was finally going to get into the elusive city of Claycall. Perhaps the only refuge from the desert heat he suffered since his childhood.

Oh to experience the cool. Sure, Up north, beyond an ocean or two there was cool. And perhaps further south? Past the great ocean?

But heat was all he had known. The idea of a great city underground where everyday was a pleasant temperature and there was no scorching sun seemed like a fantasy. And in a sense; it was.

Jax met up with some of the other mercenaries in the camp. While a dream of his, this whole plan wasn’t really his idea after all. His outfit was hired to get in and indeed they would. Turnus, the leader of the group, was a little vague about the person that hired them. But no matter, “his coin was good.”

As Jax entered the room, he saw mercenaries in the final stages of preparation, sharpening an ax, assembling tools.

Cora, one of the party members, nodded at him. Her auburn hair was held up in a ponytail. Her face was tan from years in the hot sun, but only perhaps 20 years of age.

Jax nodded back.

Jax donned his armor, which was green, an heirloom from his family. The armor mostly fit his slim muscular frame, the result of much manual labor and not quite enough nutrition. The armor was perhaps his only memory of his family, that and his sword, a simple, but well-made bastard sword.

Turnus pulled out a map. He was older compared to most of the mercenaries, perhaps in his mid 30s, not quite in the prime of youth, his hair had just the inklings of a few gray patches forming. His age lent him wisdom and skill.

“Let’s review the plan one last time.” Turnus commanded, his eyes piercing in intensity.