Dentiet Hansa was ready to leave about three hours ago. His black hair was capped by a somewhat elegant hat- it was obvious that although he was not a king, the merchant certainly was in the money. His jacket was surprisingly practical, having very little flourish. It was thick, and the seal skin covering it made it waterproof. His blue eyes scanned the carts, looking over the donkeys and other things, ensuring that everything was ready to leave for the fiftieth time. For the fiftieth time, everything was perfectly fine for leaving.
The merchant's wagon train was located by the furthest reaching tavern of the Republic. A few of the mercenaries had already arrived, others were on their way. There were about four wagons in all - one carrying gold, one carrying seeds, one carrying personal artifacts and the last one carrying mostly food for the journey. He sighed, waiting outside to give a final interview for those chosen. Then they would leave immediately.
The plan currently was to head north, cross the great plain in the center of Pentia, then head southeast across the mountains to a port owned by the King of Levant. The only thing between them and his goal was a few hundred miles, a few seasons, and a city of orcs, bandits, and possibly other things. Dentiet was worried about success of course, but this was the only realistic way he could possibly make a name for himself. There wasn't really a chance for glory or wealth to occur for him otherwise.
Hansa decided it would be an investment to relax before heading off on a long journey. He headed into the bar to meet the mercenaries who had already arrived for him.