Sinette was slightly horrified as the man charged her. Not because of the audacity of the charge, but because when the man opened his arms up to set up his tackle, she realized he was completely naked under the cloaks he wore. Sinette acted quickly, and ran towards the man, getting two steps before sticking her blade into the ground in front of her, and pole vaulting over the man. If Sinette wasn't as light as she was, it was doubtful she'd be able to pull this maneuver off. When she landed on the other side, she turned towards Adrian, and lifted her flamberge at him, taking a few steps forward. "Try that, again, and I'll hurt your friend here." Sinette said, with venom lacing every word she spoke. She was pissed now. The charge from the shaggy, naked man was completely uncalled for in her eyes.

Adrian was surprised in the quickness the girl moved, and within a blink, a sword was level at Adrian. Adrian shifted uncomfortably, refusing to drop his dagger or raise his hands. She wouldn't be able to stop both of them from attacking her, if it came to it, but Adrian wasn't about to act before Soah. Adrian could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he gazed on the sharpness of the sword. Adrian looked at the girl, wondering if she would really use her sword against someone as unassuming as Adrian. Adrian closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what Soah would do in such a situation. When Adrian opened his eyes, a newfound purpose was in his eyes. Adrian, carefully shifted his family's dagger in his hand, til he held the blade in his fingers. In a flourish, as to take the girl off guard, he reared back and threw it point-blank at the girl's head. Even if he completely missed, he was confident that Soah could take advantage of the opening.

Soah cursed as the girl pole vaulted over his head, slightly surprised at how well she could use her sword. As Soah whiffed, he instantly though about how Adrian was now in danger. Soah whipped around to see the girl's sword leveled at Adrian's face. Soah stood absolutely still for a moment, pondering his actions. Soah could see Adrian changing his handle on his knife. Soah realized what Adrian was planning. Soah was surprised at Adrian's abrupt action, certainly taking the initiative in what would otherwise be a very tense situation. As soon as Adrian acted, Soah charged forward, once again aiming to tackle the girl at the waist, and drive her into the ground. Soah was no longer messing around, if he got a hold of the girl, it's likely she was going to take a few punches for attempting to hostage Adrian.

Griff smirked, finding it funny how Soah had been right. It looked like there was a catch to their 'free' ride. "I'm in." He said after a moment, not as concerned about the nature of work like Crom was. He was sure what ever it would entail wouldn't be anything vastly different to what he was used to, plus it had the added advantage of giving him a better cover. Caravan guard would be a much less suspicious way to get around, guards tended to always be wary of wanderers. "Crom does bring up some good questions though." He added, hoping for some answers, he never liked being completely in the dark on things and this woman did have an air of something about her that Griff couldn't quite put his finger on. Something definitely seemed off.

John sat back and waited for an answer. Crom was right to question the nature of the deal, although she had promised to see Crom attended immediately. So long as they weren't hurting anyone, he'd skirted the line between legality and illegality, sometimes unintentionally, before and didn't so much mind it. The woman clearly wasn't interested in his help in particular anyway, so he figured if anything he wouldn't be the one doing anything particularly awful. At face value, what she was proposing wasn't so bad. They do this for that, and everyone walks away happy. That was setting things right, alright, but there was something simply wrong with the whole affair. At any rate, he didn't have much more to say, and consigned his time to watching the trees go by as the cart raced along towards Loenn.

The woman canted her head and smiled brightly as Griff accepted. A cheery gesture devoid of spirit or enthusiasm in her case. That smile snapped away as soon as Crom took hold of his weapon. She didn't think he was going to draw on her on the back of a moving wagon in his state, but the audacity of it all gave her pause. No, no, this was something to overlook for the money, she reminded herself, glaring back at the wounded soldier in silence for a moment as she prepared her answers. "I want friends. The sort of people who can hold a sword with the stomach to use it as I require. If everything goes well, you need merely watch over these crates lest they take legs. Everything will go well if you work for me." A less affected and more felt smile crossed her face at that. A reputation little known but spotless was hers, and she had no qualms with pronouncing the operative details to the world. In answer to Crom's second question something moved underneath her cloak, and out came a white gloved hand holding a ragged looking log book. She tossed it gingerly on the floor of crates in front of the group, open to the first page listing dozens of entries that she felt were perhaps better voiced. "Star charts, maps, observation books and miscellaneous copied documents I was told are integral to some Arcarti scheme or another, that were supposed to be moved to Erschald or Lieda and destroyed post-haste. That's what brings me to Loenn. Most of these crates are filler items that are absolutely inefficient to just be lugging around, but such is the nature of the game." She sighed with regret, looking over the ponderous cargo that made up their seats.

"You're fortunate to receive this opportunity, for this operation is blessed. The ship my man brings me all of this wondrous cargo aboard was burnt to embers only mere hours after our transaction. Good timing is on my side." Perhaps others might not have seen it that way, but there was a vast quantity of money in the air here and the risk of failure wasn't a thought she could tolerate. She cleared her throat, preparing to cover the unpleasantries. "And if you refuse, as is the natural price now that you've asked too many questions, I can't let you walk free. Killing is such a dreadful business so I would prefer to simply deposit you on the outskirts of town. If you would impede my business, however, then you would be forcing my hand. I reiterate, you will be comfortably accommodated for a simpleton's work." She pulled a folded parasol from under her cloak and laid it across her lap as the caravan found its way onto less rugged, more open roads. The three other strangers aboard the caravan remained still and silent, calmly watching over the surroundings as good sentries did.

Crom looked over at Griff. The man accepted the agreement with no questions asked. Maybe the Esterlian was being too difficult. The woman answered his questions, though he still felt off about the whole situation. He looked down at the book she had tossed in front of him, but shook his head. Her explanation had been enough. He didn't appreciate the implied threat at the end of her explanation, but he was in no condition to instigate a showdown in the back of a wagon, especially not when he was outnumbered. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, bringing his hands to his sides. His wounds had closed for the most part, but they still hurt quite a bit, and he felt a headache rushing upon him as his sobriety intensified. He answered the woman, in a more relaxed tone. "No need for threats. I just like to know what I'm doing before I agree to it. I appreciate your help." Crom still didn't fully trust the woman, and felt there was a great deal more to the job than what she had said, but he was in no position to turn down medical care. Crom brushed his hair from his face with his hand and looked up at the woman. "I'll do it, but I have one request." The soldier pulled the empty flask from his belt and turned it upside down. "You'll find I'm much easier to work with if I've had something to drink."

Sinette could see the swift motion by Adrian, and leaned back, narrowly missing the knife throw. Then, as she turned to looked at Adrian, a sudden and strong force slammed her into the ground. Sinette who it was, instantly. Air rushed out of her chest, and she was left with the wind knocked completely out of her. It dazed her for a moment, leaving her entire word spinning. With the man in such close proximity to her, she didn't have enough room to swing her flamberge. "Get off over me!" Sinette shouted, as she let go of the sword, and starting trying to push down on Soah's head, and wiggle free.

Soah held onto the girl tightly, until she let go of her sword. As she released the sword, and attempted to start writhing out of his hold. Soah rolled over, picking up the sword as he did. Before the girl could get to her feet, Soah leveled the sword at her head, holding onto the sword tightly with both hands. Despite it's size, Soah was surprised at the lightness of the manopener. Soah glanced over the girl's body for a second, searching for signs that she possessed another weapon. After a moment's searching, Soah was confident that the girl had no other weapon on her. "Adrian, grab your dagger and let's go." Soah said, curtly, as he turned on his heel, wrapping the cloak around himself, tightly, as he carried the flamberge at his side. The girl had nothing to fight them with, giving Soah enough confidence to go ahead and leave.

Sinette huffed as Soah stepped off of her, and grabbed her sword. She stood up abruptly. "Hey, you can't take that!" Sinette said, raising her voice. Sinette's face was reddening, angry that Soah thought he could just take her sword and leave. "You're just a bandit!" Sinette added. She trailed behind Soah, as Soah walked away. "You better give it back! I swear, I'll kick your ass if you don't give it to me right now!" Sinette said, as her face got redder, and her voice rose even louder. It was obvious that she was getting quite mad. "That sword is worth more than everything you own, naked man!" Sinette shouted, this time reaching out and grabbing Soah's shoulder, in order to turn him around to shout at him.

"Who isn't?" Griff laughed at Crom. As much as Griff was starting to like the man, Griff didn't think he'd seen him sober at any point in the day they'd known each other. Griff eyed the book the woman presented with suspicion. Either she too was an agent of the League or she had good contacts and was hoping for a rather large payment from someone. The chance of two agents running into each other on a sleepy mountain road made the former seem unlikely, if the latter were true, Griff would need to get his hands on the book and disappear West. "What's the plan with the book in Loenn?" He asked hoping to find out more information. "The more we know the better we'll be able to help." It was true in part, but knowing her plans would make it easier to get hold of the book and lose her.

"I'm pleased that we have come to such a complete understanding, friends," The woman said with a proper little laugh affixed to her speech. She stopped and looked over to Griff, figuring there wasn't such an easy way to avoid such a specific question. There was silence for a moment as she looked at the book, sizing it up for its value. "The book I was just going to keep and hand off to a collector or burn: It's hot enough already. The actual materials are all I want my client to know I had my hands in, and the book mentions some things that, oddly, were not aboard the ship when I got there. Unfortunate, but simply out of my hands if my shippers do not ship what they were bid to. They have their own well being to protect." Her disdain was purely whimsical; there was enough money in the deal without some anomalous logbooks. "I"m told that the buyer has the means to transport the surviving books and charts with him to wherever he hails from, so you understand my desire to appear equivalently armed. It's such a strange arrangement I would never believe it was true if I hadn't been paid in advance. Supposedly we are going to be signaled, if it's the deal itself you're curious about, so plenty of lounging and fraternizing to be done in the meantime if that's what you do."

Despite her relief to deviate from truthtelling, her voice became solemn as she acknowledged Crom's request, and if not for the subject matter it might have sounded like she was quoting something. "There is no greater tragedy than the death of merriment." Without being bid, one of the men at the back of the cart opened a small, decorated case different from the rest, sitting above the held in carts and not nailed shut. Inside were buckets of ice, not that the climate demanded it, and wine. The timing and the automation of the ceremony seemed to imply that this was the regular course of events for the hooded trader. "You'll have no need for flasks in my care," She said with unrestrained pride as she passed the box around. "Drink away the pain for now, and in a few minutes we will arrive in Loenn. Imagine that, no need for anesthetic!" A lurid grin punctuated her speech. "And after we're settled in we can conclude our business within the day, or perhaps night, and be gone from each other's lives forever. Unless you find yourself enjoying your adventure here."

John sighed and cracked a slight frown at the contents of the box he was handed. What I wouldn't give for some simple water, he thought, looking at the expensive looking label of the orange-ish looking beverage, named something unpronounceable to him even with (what little remained) of his formerly high born education. He handed it over to Crom, knowing the man had a far larger appetite for alcohol than he did. Maybe Griff would appreciate it too, taking up strange bargains was always a lot easier when drunk. For once that day, he had the time to sit and think. Idly, he fiddled with a patch and a needle as the woods around Loenn blew by in mottled shades of green and white. Their hosts seemed rather tense to be moving through the woods, and it may have been rubbing off on him but he felt distinctly uncomfortable where he sat, a rarity for a man familiar with bedding among rocks. Just my nerves, he decided, and embroidered on. "How's the wine?" He asked eventually, succumbing to a want for conversation.

Crom nodded as the woman spoke. If nothing else, she seemed marginally hospitable. A glow filled his eyes as the box of wine was opened. Johnathon passed the box to him. He pulled an orange-ish bottle from the ice and passed it on to Griff. He studied the label of the bottle carefully. The name was long, foreign, and difficult to pronounce. It seemed to be quite expensive. He popped the cork from the bottle with his knife and breathed in the aroma of the beverage. It smelled quite strong, though there was a slight sweetness to it's scent. Crom brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip from it. The wine was extremely strong, but the sweetness of the scent carried over to it's flavor. It tasted every bit as expensive as it looked. Crom took a larger drink from the bottle with a smile. "Quite good." He said, looking over to Johnathon, who seemed to be sewing. For a moment Crom watched as the young man's fingers ran the needle through the patch, embroidering it carefully. "So, what are you doing there?" He asked, curious as to just what his friend was doing. He knew very little about stitch work, there had been seamstresses in Esterl, but he had never really observed their work. They were nearing Loenn now. Crom took another swig of wine, unsure of what was yet to come.

Loenn

---

John took a moment to look around and decide what Crom was referring to. It had become such a habit that he rarely thought anything of it except when he was missing out. Already, the images of Aldrun had begun to fade away and he worried that he wouldn't be able to create a decent likeness of the port town. "It's embroidery," He said, knowing the far less than masculine association of the word and hoping to have that out of the way early. "I do this to remember people and places, Most of my bag is full of these." He turned over the patch in his hands to show Crom. The forward side, needle still stuck in it with a thin strand of black line following, was covered in a rough, incomplete image of a werewolf, or at least the artist's impression of one. Before he could continue, the scenery changed around them. The cart rolled by the outer watch towers of Loenn, and Marcus waved up at the man in the wooden structure as they went. The gesture was not returned, and they seemed rather on-edge for being posted so close to town.

The wagon began to slow as they passed into the town proper, although they were still clearly hurried compared to the calm citizenry of Loenn. Old and worn, but dignified cobblestone roads saw them between neatly arranged rows of single story wooden buildings, steep roofed and clay shingled to keep the winter snows off. The hooded woman may have said she didn't know Loenn but her hired driver seemed to understand the streets well enough, and in no time they were stopped near an inn overlooking the town square, still crowded by merchants. Children played out in the roads, merchants and buyers haggled loudly in the open air, and a lone inn patron sat outside the building nursing a cup of tea and watching the scene unfold. It wasn't a very busy place. The hooded woman stood up and stretched her arms wide. "Rooms're paid tell him you're with Meredith," she said briskly, walking across the uneven load of crates and abandoning her usual speaking voice as she put negotiations behind her. She tapped one of the caravan sentries on the shoulder as she descended from the back of the wagon. The man, clean shaven but with a hard, blocky face that made him seem every bit hired thug that he was moved over towards Crom. He produced a bag from under his cloak protruding cutting instruments and gauze rolls, only one of which would actually be needed hopefully. "If you would come inside with me, sir," he implored with a slight bow, in a voice incongruously soft.

John nodded towards Crom, as if he were some authority on whether or not to trust their only viable doctor, and looked over at Griff. "Might be just us for a while," he said, shrugging. Company was nice, not something he was used to having that was for sure. The patch and needle went back into his bag and he stood up, taking the time to get a good look at the town. The roads were broad, strange for a place old enough to have sprung up around a fort, but it made for easier walking when things weren't continuously shoulder to shoulder. Every roof in the place seemed to be the same level, though, which made landmarks few and far between from within the town. Not very inspiring tourism prospects, but they had a day to make of it. "I'm not quite given to lounging and fraternizing but I suppose anything beats sitting on these crates all day. Either of you two have any ideas on what to do here?"

Lieda

---

The seat of of an empire, Lieda looked every bit the part. Large whitewashed stone shipyards dominated the coastline, wooden cranes and steel skeletons used for shipbuilding spanning endlessly. Inland, box buildings crafted predominantly in red bricks rose into the air and were arrayed around asphalt city roads, positively bustling with foot traffic and the occasional dark blue fatigues of an Arcarti constable. Above the clock towers decorating the town rose Keep Lieda, a modest and ancient squarish looking castle of grayed, deeply scarred stone lovingly repainted and plastered where possible. The air hung heavy in Lieda, humid from the sea and the sporadic marshes surrounding the city. The other thing Lieda, and most of the country had come to be known for was the nearly constant overbearing presence of dark, gray clouds bearing a threatening quantity of water that nature was content to mete out in a constant, slow drizzle that phased into utter downpours several times a day, it seemed.

The rain was light for the moment, as the uniform clad crew of a small military clipper pulled the vessel, boldly emblazoned Mackerel across its bow, into port and made it fast to the dock. The Mackerel's sails were run up with a haste only appropriate for when someone was around that needed to be shown off to. Ropes were run out and secured, and finally the gangplank was deployed with an ear rattling clatter of wood on stone as the hefty wooden assembly came down precisely within the finely painted guidelines of the military pier. Three men stood the pier already, individuals dressed in simple yet stately uniforms devoid of marking, and the current improvised guardians and guides for the diplomat they had been told would be coming aboard the Mackerel. Beside Milo, who stood at the head of the reception party, one of the two soldiers remarked dryly about their wet situation. "Well they sure did us a favor coming down from Erschald. The rain can get lighter here." Sea spray suddenly kicking up the side of the pier enunciated his point. The winds were starting up now, and it wouldn't be long before a downpour began.

Milo stood stoically on the pier, seemingly unphased by the light. Milo regretted not wearing the uniform cloak at this point, as he could feel his clothes starting to soak up the rain. As the gangplank slammed down on the plank, Milo's posture tightened, and he stood rigidly, ready to receiver their guest. "Look lively. Our esteemed guest is here." Milo said, sharply. He loathed giving dry orders like that, but he had a job to do, and that was to make the best possible impression on their new guest. However, Milo doubted three rain soaked Scouts would make much of a first impression. Milo had heard tales of the man that was on board the Mackerel. They called him the 'Vulture'. Milo retained his steel-like visage of indifference as he awaited their guest to exit the boat. Milo could hear the rumors of the man as if they were being whispered in his ear at this very moment, all the terrible things this man had accomplished in a short period of time. In his opinion, Milo cared not for the rumors of the man, nor did he care for how vicious the man had been made out to be. He was here to do a job for Arcartus, and Milo would help him along the way anyway he could.

Crom looked at the unfinished image of a werewolf on the patch as Johnathon explained his art form. The embroidery was quite well done, and seemed to be an interesting hobby. In Esterl, at least, people with artistic talents were generally valued quite highly. The artisans and painters of the island nation made a considerable amount of money by catering to the elite. Many times during his time as a knight Crom had marveled at the works of art constructed for his lord. A felt a faint pang of sadness. He would likely never look upon those works of art again. Crom nodded as Johnathon finished his explanation. "Ah, so you're an artist then. It's quite good. I'd much rather see him on a patch than coming for my throat." Crom laughed, motioning towards the image of the werewolf. He looked around him as they entered Loenn. It was a quaint town, but seemed nice. As the cart pulled up to the inn, a man with a bag of medical instruments offered to treat his wounds. Crom nodded, hoping the doctor knew what he was doing. He looked like he had caused more injuries than he had treated, but it wasn't the soldier's place to judge. "Aye mate, where to?" He said, rising to dismount the wagon. He waved to Griff and John. "I guess I'll see the two of you after this fellow patches me up."

Alec stood at the bow of the ship, his eyes scanning the capitol city that stood before him. The ship had set sail from the Reins a few days earlier, and though it had been a relatively calm voyage, Alec had grown tired of being at sea. The rain fell softly against his face and was forming droplets in the fur of his cloak's collar. He had been told very little of what exactly awaited him in Lieda. It had only been a few weeks since he had received word that Arcartus was looking into his 'services'. He wondered exactly what the Arcartis had in mind; not that it mattered. Numerous clients had sought him out throughout the years, and not one had ever been disappointed. That was, as long as the other party had kept up their end of the bargain. The city looked quite wealthy, and the black-clad noble had no doubt they would reward him quite handsomely for his assistance.

The ship came to a stop, and the sailors quickly set to work in lowering the gangplank. Alec turned towards the lowering bridge as it flopped down against the stone of the pier. Alec strode across the deck of the ship silently and walked down the gangplank, his boots clacking against the creaking wood. As he made his exit, he noticed a trio waiting for him on the pier. They appeared to be some sort of welcoming party, an escort to take him into the city no doubt. As his boots clacked down against the wet stone of the dock, he looked up towards the welcoming party. They all wore military uniforms. Alec stopped a few steps in front of the group and looked towards who he supposed was it's leader: a rather small young man, who unlike his company wore no cloak despite the rain. The Lord of the Reins stood silently for a moment, his long cloak swaying in the quickly-strengthening breeze. He looked to the young man who stood before him and spoke deliberately. "So, you'll be my escort I take it?" The man's voice was strong, but not loud. It had a certain smoothness to it. The lord's light pink eyes looked briefly towards the city before coming back to Milo as he awaited a response.

Milo gave a quick Scouts' salute, as the imposing man walked off the gangplank, and unto the pier. "Yes, sir. I'm Lieutenant Ranier." Milo responded, crisply. Milo took a second to take in the man's appearance. It was definitely somewhat different. The man thing that caught Milo's attention was the man's face. The man's scars intrigued Milo, but Milo knew better than to ask about them. The eyes intrigued Milo most of all, though. The light pink tint of his eyes made Milo wonder just where this man had came from. Milo outstretched a hand to the man, "I assume you are Alec Cross?" Milo asked, his voice matching the indifference on his face quite well. The man seemed quite unaffected by the rain, as opposed to Milo, whereas the rain was starting to affect him. He could feel his clothes becoming completely soaked. He cursed himself again for arriving so early for their guests arrival. He made a mental note to change as soon as possible.

The leader of the trio introduced himself as a lieutenant, Alec had been right in his assumption that they were wearing military uniforms. The young man appeared to be getting quickly soaked by the rain, though his facial expression showed no sign that this was bothering him. He extended a hand to the lord, who looked down at it for a few moments before eventually returning the gesture. He gripped the young man's hand tightly and shook it before returning his arm to the folds of his cloak. The brief gesture had made his hand, and thus the spikes on his knuckles, quite visible, giving perhaps a faint hint as to just what kind of man Milo was dealing with. He nodded to the man as he mentioned his name before replying in the same smooth voice. "That I am, lieutenant." He looked behind Milo briefly, looking from one of his two companions to the other before turning towards the city. "Well then. Where are we headed?" The rain was beginning to come down harder, and the wind seemed to be getting stronger by the second.

As Milo shook the man's hand, he didn't need to look down to feel the cold metal on his palm. The man was armed, and obviously fairly dangerous, if he felt it enough to wear brass knuckles. Milo returned his hand to his side, as he responded to Alec's question. "I'll be taking you to the Capital Branch Office, to meet Marshal Boyd." Milo responded as he looked back at his two companions, and nodded to signify to them to prepare the carriage. "We'll be taking a carriage to the Office, if you'd be so kind to follow me, Mister Cross." Milo said, as he turned on his heel, and started down the dock. His two compatriots had already made it down to the other end of the dock, and were prepping the carriage for travel. Milo was on edge with Alec nearby. Maybe it was the man's appearance, of maybe it was the fact that under the man's cloak he likely had more weapons than Milo had. Despite this, Milo refused to let any emotion show on his face, besides that of a stoic man.

Alec was unsurprised to be meeting a military higher-up. Milo motioned for him to follow him to the carriage. "Certainly." the lord replied, following the lieutenant down the rain-soaked pier to the carriage. He didn't mind the rain so much, but a carriage would certainly be more comfortable than walking all the way through the city in the quickly-intensifying weather. Alec followed Milo to the carriage, scanning it from top to bottom. It was well constructed; a fitting vehicle for a lord. It was drawn by a pair of large bay horses. The animals looked well-fed and muscular, appearing to have been quite well looked after. Alec stood for a moment at the carriage before one of Milo's men opened the door. Alec motioned towards the carriage and looked towards Milo. "Shall we?" The lord climbed up the steps leading into the vehicle and sat down. The interior of the carriage was quite comfortable.

Milo nodded to his men, as they took their positions on top of the carriage, to manage the horses, before stepping inside the carriage. Milo turned and shut the door, as he sat down opposite of Alec. Milo remembered what his superior suggested to him, as he started to get comfortable in the carriage. Milo pulled down a small compartment, and it revealed a medium sized bottle of brandy, along with four glasses fitted perfectly in the compartment to prevent breaking. Milo retrieved one glass, and popped the brandy open. While Milo did not participate in drinking, he did feel that Alec would enjoy a drink, especially after such a long journey. Milo opened a bottom compartment, near his feet, which revealed a big ice bucket. Milo grabbed a few chips, putting them carefully in the glass, and then topping the glass off with brandy. Milo outstretched his hand to Alec, to hand him the glass of brandy. The higher ups had ensured that the brandy was of the highest quality, to impress their guest, and to ensure the guest felt comfortable. Milo was half-tempted to drink a glass of the brandy, but decided it'd be better to stay as alert and sober as possible.