Laeris' eyes had shot open at the shuffling he heard all around him. How disgusting, he thought to himself. He had slipped out of reverie and into the less aware sleep where dreams could take him. Thankfully, none had decided to leave their mark upon his conscience. Slowly, he sat up and looked disdainfully to his pile of brass armor that was slowly losing its sheen; though it still gleamed he lamented, and with that, began calmly strapping the armor on as it belonged.
There was no need to be worrying too much about the state of his own equipment. He doubted his companions were faring as well as he in the efforts to remain clean shaven and well kept. But that wasn't a thought for now. Going through his morning ritual, he stood once everything was buckled in its place; including that light weight, fancy sword of his, and raised a hand to tip his helmet as it should be, before he knelt and began rolling up his bedroll; which was like him, barely even ruffled in the night's passing. Laeris didn't particularly
like this whole heroic crusading thing, under the nose of the enemy; former allies. It made for an increasingly dirtying soldier, with no servant to polish his leather boots, or shine that brass armor... Of course, those were laments he passed without a flicker of further thought or emotion as he finished packing up his part of the supplies and looked to the others.
He kept silent, and didn't survey for long; for in short order, not being one to converse; or even let his precious supplies go neglected, he sat upon his rolled up bedroll after drawing his sword and began steadily polishing it while he waited for the others to rouse. Ah, he didn't like carrying all this stuff on his shoulders either. That's what his good horse had been for! A fine, muscled steed; swift and strong; but alas, he had lost that as well when he fled as a refugee. A glance at the camp made him wonder if he had truly picked the winning side after all.
Regardless, he had picked the righteous side. Or at least, that's what he had told to himself.
Remaining silent and to himself, as he always seemed to do, he focused his full attention upon the length of the sword. Like Jakob, he was also the type of person who didn't like to break silences; but that was due to years of discipline.
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[assuming you're on Valcenz's side... the profile didn't really say]
The guards parted as readily for him as they did for the drow currently prowling the bowls of the dungeon. Of course they would, Valcenz thought to himself. They wouldn't dare displease the one who so proved his ownership over them. Yes... he liked the sound of that. He didn't rule these people, or these lands. He owned them, and they were quite verily his. He had spent a long time to wrest these wretched lands from the hands of the so called goodly. He had every right to
own his winnings.
But of course, though the thoughts were ultimately pleasing, they were not his concern. "Now now my dear little butcher," the figure purred, throwing back robes that seemed more smoke, than actual material as the hem of it roiled away, licking at the floor in translucent puffiness. The only patch of skin that was shown was his smooth, angular face; taking up the form of that of a young elf, perhaps no older than fifty or sixty, for surely he liked to appear handsome. Either way, malice glittered in a jet gaze as he studied the latest victim being cleared away. Where the guards showed disgust, his eyes gleamed in clear approval which showed in the way of a cruel smirk.
"You're going through them so fast." he purred, his voice a soothing, low growl; with undertones of something deeper, and possessed of malicious intentions. "What must I do to keep you sated? Kidnap maidens from the street? I hear those of the brothel type are truly hardened. You might like that," he offered with a small flourish, but the material that was flourished vanished away in a puff of smoke like debris. "I do try to keep my favourite torturer happy. I may need you for an upcoming job" With that, the figure turned away from the room; gesturing for the butcher to follow him.
"Come, we must speak business"