United Kingdoms

— So, recently, the Captain started assembling a new squad, — Wigg explained, emptying his glass, — we weren't the first, and we won't be the last.
— Yeah, — Mekriy agreed, — they pay peanuts, and the conditions are terrible, who in their right mind would agree to such a life?
— Well, you're wrong, brother. — Wigg put a friendly arm around the healer, which made the latter feel somewhat uncomfortable. — We're all just commoners in the same boat, whether you're a peasant or a soldier. Or maybe a dinghy?...
— That's right, — Gale nodded, — unless your father didn't spread his seed in some noble mare, you'll be floundering around like crap in an ice hole for the rest of your life.
— Come on, there are plenty of good things in life, why think about the bad? — Wigg pointed with his hand towards one of the waitresses. — Check out the melons on that chick. I'd love to squeeze them in my hands, mm.

— Yes, she's quite the peasant girl. But keep in mind, — your next stunt will land you straight on the gallows. Or whatever you guys use for executions here, biting off the… thing? And what will we do without you then?
The soldier finished his mug and reached for a new one.
— Nothing, guys. Your misery is about to end because I... — Helmut burped. — ...know exactly how we're going to work. You'll be rolling in dough. That bitch will jump into your arms, hoping to marry you; those bastards will kiss your boots, Mek; that hag will beg you to bite her… whatever she has; and you, kid, will write a book about dragons, or dictate it, or someone will write it for you, whatever, if you're not good with letters...
He proclaimed a second toast:
— To the squad, guys! We need a name, but I haven't come up with one yet. We'll buy a dog or a wolf, rent a cool Castle with Towers and catapults, yeah... — Helmut took a sip of his second mug and muttered angrily into the table. — And I... I'll get to those bastards... I'll flay them, sew boots from their skin...