The Black Bull Inn was not the best establishment Mustafa had ever been in but it certainly wasn't the worst. At least it didn't have the usual smell of human excrement and stale vomit that most of these rundown inns had. His nose still crinkled at the smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies, however. Compared to the cold and dark outside, the inn felt like heaven. Bright candles light up all corners, leaving no dark corners and a merry fire crackled in a fireplace. The barman gave a smile as Mustafa and his companions entered the inn. 'Evening gents and, not so gents. Whata'ya having?' he asked, rubbing a dirty glass with a rag. Mustafa licked his lips. It had been a long night, so he settled on a glass of water. The barman gave him a strange look while pouring and handing him the water, as if he had never been asked for something non-alcoholic by a customer before.

He had received a few looks while in Persk. Most were curious but a few had been suspicious and even hostile. As he drained the glass quickly, he leaned onto the bar and glanced around the inn. Many were working men, in after a long day to get drunk and have a good time with their mates. They drank heartily and loudly from large glasses and could be seen constantly stumbling up to the bar for another round. A few were shady looking characters, who did not speak but sat at their tables, sipping on small glasses of something that was no doubt stronger than beer. Then there were his companions. He hadn't spoken to any of them yet and he hadn't yet caught their names. One thing was for sure. He didn't like the look of any of them. His right hand occasionally snaked down and clutched the hilt of his scimitar. It was a nervous habit he possessed, as if expecting a fight to break out at any moment.

But no one took him any mind apart from the barman who asked if he would like some more water. He nodded and was soon draining another glass. Water in his homeland was almost as rare as gold, so he took every opportunity to drink as much as possible. Mustafa began to realise he was overwhelmingly tired while drinking his next glass - he hadn't slept in over 24 hours. So he dragged his tired bones over to an empty table near the wall and flung his bag under the chair. He collapsed on the chair and could of slept then. But he didn't.

He was curious yet weary of his new companions, who were complete strangers and undeniably dangerous. It was perfectly possible he could awake one morning to find his possessions stolen or even that his life had been taken. In which case, he wouldn't wake at all. This thought kept him awake, if just barely. He watched his companions lazily, making note of each one of them. The tall, lanky man with the slouch looked to be the most dangerous. He also took note of the slim, taller woman who had an air of confidence about her. The shorter woman (if she wasn't just a girl!) looked rather innocent to him but looks could be deceiving. The older/oldest mercenary, who completed the line up of his companions, looked to be the hardest to kill. If it ever came to it, Mustafa would rather risk his payment and run rather than kill these four at once. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. They would be all be essential in this quest.

'Evening gents and, not so gents. Whata'ya having?' the barman asked, rubbing a dirty glass with a rag. After the turbaned foreigner asked for water, Blake stepped up to the bar and said, "I will have the same, sir. A water, but would you mind pouring it into my mug?" Blake proffered a leather mug from his backpack as he spoke. "Thank you, my good man. I would hate for you to needlessly clean another glass on my account." He drank the mug of water in one go, a little bit slipping out and down his cheek. Blake then rubbed his cheek on his shoulder, cleaning off the water. "One more thing, sir. Where is our room? Or would it be rooms?"

"You and your 'panions get the large suite at the top 'o the stairs. Yer patron's payin' for it. You get one meal, whether it be tonight or breakfast in the 'morn," the rotund bartender replied. He then leaned forward, handed Blake a key, and whispered, "An' I be suggesting that you get yer meal tonight, 'cause breakfast is cold dinner." As Blake began to open his mouth to ask another question, the barman raised up a finger, "There's stew and bread. Might even be gettin' yous a piece of meat in the stew with your patron payin'. Go grab yerselves a table and I'll get a wench out to serve yas." With that, the bartender stuck his head into the back room and shouted, "TRISH! Five specials at the big table. Get a move on!"

Blake shook his head at the uncouth bartender and walked over to the one big table in the room. It was situated near the fireplace, and occupied by two gentlemen. Blake leaned over, resting his hands on the table, "Excuse me, gentlemen." The two men briefly glanced around, wondering who Blake was talking to, then looked at him after realizing it was themselves he was talking to. "I've got a rather large group of people with me," Blake glanced back at the trio by the bar and the foreigner. "My friends and I would like this table to rest our well worn bodies and weapons at. Would you kindly move to a smaller table?" The two men looked at the well armed group, then got up and moved, not wanting trouble when it comes to look you in the eye.

Blake then waved his hand over the table, beckoning his companions to sit. While they drifted in his direction, he pulled out two of the chairs, for he had two ladies with him. After the women sat down, he set his own bottom in a chair. "Now, I think we should begin with introductions. Call me Blake." He then looked to the rest of the companions sitting at the table.

Jagred stepped into the welcoming warmth of the inn, his tattered cloak draped over one arm, while he kept his backpack in the other. The stench hit him as he crossed the threshold, but after years drifting from places to places without a home, he had been less picky about where he slept. Along with the others in the group, he stopped at the bar first thing, glancing at the various bottles behind the barman. Despite just having returned to Persk after a two-month campaign up North, Jagred found himself in especially high spirit today. After all, he had just found one tempting assignment. It was a proper manhunt. He couldn’t remember the last time he took on any bounty. Most of the ones he came across either didn’t pay enough to pique his interest or had had too many takers already, so it had been just boring campaign or bodyguard duties for him all year long. Hopefully, this job would be worth the wait.

There was still one thing that kept bothering though. It was the team. Jagred worked alone, it had been his way for a long time. Even when temporary serving with other mercenaries in some lord’s army or bodyguarding one, he had always enjoyed a sense of freedom. He would finish his assignment, yes, but under his own terms and in his own time. While there were certain drawbacks, which he fully-aware of, he still preferred solitude. However, it was too late to walk away from this now. Not that he would, since jobs like these didn’t just drop into your lap now and then. He could work with other people when asked for, as long as they stayed out of his way. And from their looks, they appeared to be quite competent themselves.

Once the friendly gentleman and the dark-skinned foreigner had ordered their drinks, Jagred raised his hand slightly to get the barman’s attention. “Your least watered-down wine here, please.”- He spoke, loud enough for the barman to hear over the noises, and soon enough, a mug of dark red liquid was shoved into his waiting hands. He took a slip, then grimaced. Still too watered down for his taste, but he supposed he would take what he could get. Just at that moment, the older mercenary decided to go get them a table after a brief chat with the barman, and when beckoned, he walked over, mug in hand. The middle aged mercenary was quite keen on impressing the two women in their group, pulling out chairs for them and all. Not an usual thing for a sellsword to do, but he was sure it was just because of the horrible company he often kept.

As he sat down at the table along with the others, the older man once again proposed that they introduce themselves. Jagred took a long swig from his mug first, before speaking up, a half smile tugging at his lips –“Name’s Jagred. Pleasure to meet you all.”

Admittedly, Espen wasn't one for making conversation. Though after what she had heard from the old man, she was wary of attempting such a mission on her own. She entered the inn just behind the group, her steps practiced and precise. Her posture was gracefully stoic, even considering her lack of sleep she refused to give up her good form. Cat green eyes scanned her simple surroundings, wincing as the many sights and sounds assaulted her all at once. She hadn't been in such a lively place in a long time. Seeing the many laughing, drunken faces, she scrunched up her face. Espen was never one to like a drink, maybe a light cider now and again, but never anything hard. It risked her most vital organ being clouded, something she just wouldn't allow to happen.

She let out a soft sigh, watching with slight disappointment in her gaze, as her fellow hired souls headed straight for the bar. She could head up to her designated room, leave all noise behind and do the one thing her body screamed for her to do: sleep. She took a few small steps, only to find herself beside her newly found companions near the bar. Judging by the differences between all of them, she could only guess this would be the beginning of a path riddled with surprises. Starting tonight.

Upon nearing her group, who had just begun to find their seats. She was the only one who hadn't yet ordered a drink, save for the other woman. Who was smallest out of their rag-tag group. Espen knew though, that size was definitely not the only thing that could win a fight. The best fighters, were prepared not just with a sharpened sword, but with a brave heart, and a trained mind. Bearing that in mind, she asked for a small glass of light wine, taking it gingerly into her hands and whispering a quick and polite "Thank you, sir" To the bartender, she moved to sit down alongside her companions.

She raised a brow in confusion when her chair was pulled out for her, something she wasn't used too in her line of work. Giving a small nod of acknowledgment, she sat down into her chair, crossing her legs at the heel. Upon hearing the introductions, she waited with healthy pause before speaking, her diplomatic voice coming into play. Her voice spilled from her two supple lips with ease, melting through her throat and out into the air like sweet honey, silky and smooth. "My name, is Espen." She glanced over each member again, green eyes filled with something unrecognizable, leaving a glint. She didn't continue, rather, she leaned slightly back in her seat, nursing down her wine. Should the opportunity once more arise, she would speak again, but for now, she wanted to hear a little more about those she would be traveling with.

Just once, Alice would like to feel the novelty of staring down at someone who wasn’t still growing. Even the attendant wasn’t shorter than her. They were eye to eye, with him perhaps having an inch or so on her. It was an unlikely hope, but one that she never quite let die. After all, one must be realistic, but you can’t go through the world without a hope. Suicide would have been preferable to that life. Unabashedly, she gawked at the home of their patron. It was, without a doubt, the wealthiest display she had ever seen. Typically her travels as a mercenary had been for those who couldn’t afford anyone else, or didn’t have any other choices. Those type of patrons that didn’t have wealthy houses and needed soldiers as fast as possible. Few men were willing to hire a woman, much less hire one as short as she was. Regardless, she made do with what jobs she could, and took advantage of the ability to gawk at wealth she would likely never attain while she could. She was caught by surprise as the old serf shoved an envelope in her hand with surprising quickness, and then more or less shoved her out of the building. Before she could read the letter, however, the group was already heading towards an inn. The Black Bull.

Walking into the tavern (being careful not to bang her spear on the doorway.) and being assaulted by the smell, light, and laughter, Alice was forcefully reminded of one thing. I would kill for a bath. The last time she had felt clean was a while ago, and she would have happily paid an unnecessarily expensive amount to be able to bathe in peace. Alas, inns didn’t provide this service. Hopefully they would camp by a river or a spring on their way to search for both the Tome and the thief. While her other companions ordered drinks she took the opportunity to open the envelope given to her before she forgot about it. A quick scan of the contents brought a smile to her face. Well, if they were starting off by getting gold and a free horse, things were certainly looking up. A shadow fell across the letter and she looked up at a clearly drunk patron, smiling benignly at her. “How much?” Alice blinked in confusion for a second, then it clicked into place what he was suggesting. Revulsion rose up in her, and she kept a calm tone only barely. “Oh, no. I’m not in that line of work. Besides, I’m not even that good, if past lovers are to be believed. A tavern girl might be better for you to got…bother.” Much to her surprise, the man shrugged well naturedly, and stumbled off back towards his friends. How the man thought she was a whore was beyond her. She didn’t look anything like one, she wasn’t even attractive enough to be one, and she was carrying a spear (the blade of said spear had a cheap sheathe she could easily remove. She didn’t want to accidentally stab anyone after all) with her. “That is the least pushiest drunk I’ve ever met.” She muttered under her breath, before pushing the envelope into her armor and following her companions.

She got water as well, and smiled slightly at the barman’s expression. Three waters in one night must have been unheard of before now. She couldn’t speak for her nameless companions, who were no doubt continuing to size herself and each other up while she was busy with the barman, but drinking any amount of alcohol was a risk for her. Her small stature tended to turn the lightest amounts into something that could very easily turn her into a stumbling drunk like the rest of the crowd. When she arrived at the table, she was pleasantly surprised to have a seat pulled out for her. Smiling, she said, “And here I thought chivalry was dead amongst mercenaries. Thank you.” Sitting down, she leaned her spear against the nearby wall, within easy reach if things got violent. And besides, even if she couldn’t reach her spear in time, she had a knife on her hip.

As her companions, all but the silent ever so slightly hostile foreigner, introduced themselves Alice relaxed and idly waited. Blake, the polite one. Jagred, the tall one. Espen, the only other female, which had been a surprise. That just left her, since the foreigner didn’t look like he was going to leap up and begin making speeches anytime soon. “I’m Alice, spearwoman extrodanaire” She gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding the water at her spear, “and apparently, message carrier for the Baron.” She drew out the slightly crumpled letter and set on the table within easy reach of anyone who wished to look at it. “He’s going to give us all horses, gold, and what little information he has on the thief. We’re expected to leave in the morning, after his retainer gives us all of this. He wants the Tome returned quickly, and the thief killed as soon as we find them.” Distaste entered her tone at the final nine words. She didn’t like to kill someone without at least the semblance of a trial, but a contract was a contract. She’d try and make it quick.

The foreigner watched as his companions crowded around a table and decided he might need to introduce himself soon. He strained his ears above the noise of the inn and just about heard the names as they each announced it. He drunk his fifth glass of water while doing so and then stood to his feet, clutching his bag in one hand. He walked to the group but didn't sit down, instead listening to the conversation around him. The smaller woman, who was carrying a spear he hadn't noticed earlier, spoke of the plans for the next morning from a note she had received from the Baron and Mustafa listened quietly. Gold and a horse seemed almost too good to be true. This tome must of been truly important for his employer to be so desperate for it to return. Mustafa was quite good with horses but rarely rode them outside the desert regions due to the cost and upkeep of them. Desert horses were scrawny but well suited to the sand while the horses around Persk were stronger yet required more food.

He pulled up a chair and slid in under the table, placing himself at an empty spot near the shorter girl. His bag dropped to the side of his chair and he looked around at everyone. 'Mustafa al-Everi' he said gruffly. He didn't offer his hand to anyone and scowled slightly. A part of him wanted to waltz upstairs and go to bed. But he was curious of his companions and the plan for the morning after. Most of all, he wanted to gauge their true strength and see how useful they would be in battle. He ordered another glass of water for himself and when it came, sipped it thoughtfully with his elbows on the table. He needed to make something clear.

'I shall be leaving tomorrow morning at dawn. I'm presuming some of you will want us to travel as a group but I will not wait for anyone' he said, his cold eyes flickering to each person. 'I'd expect you all to do the same. If any of us are killed, I will not stop to mourn. If we are injured, I will not wait behind. This man...this thief will no doubt be sly. If we miss him because we're putting bandages on, we might never catch him. And I'd rather not spend the rest of my life chasing a thief who could be anywhere'. With his rather blunt statement over, he leaned back in his chair and began draining his water. His Common was accented and stilted, as if he was hesitant speaking it but his message was made clear. He wouldn't wait for anyone - no matter who they were.

Blake tried to roll the foreigner's name around his tongue, "First off, Muta....Must....Mustafa. Yes, Mustafa. As I was saying, First off, we will be leaving when the lord's retainer decides to show up, and then shortly after that. We weren't given specifics, other than 'morning'. Then we will be given the information, maybe a bit of breakfast, and THEN I think we should leave, sir." Blake took a break from speaking as a serving wench came out of the back with a large tray of steaming bowls.

Trish, the serving wench, was a pale skinned redhead with too many freckles across the parts of skin that she was showing. Her long hair was pulled into a pony tail and her uniform was ragged and worn, but semi-clean. The bowl steamed as it warmed up the surrounding air. She then placed a chunk of fresh-baked-this-morning bread on the side of the bowl. She did this while smiling a yellow-toothed smile at each person. Afterwards, she refilled each person's drink. In a surprisingly gentle voice, "Is there anything else I can get you folks?"

"Can you have the bartender make sure that we have five fresh baths placed in the main room of the suite, ma'am?" She nodded her head and took a step in the bar's direction, then turned back to Blake, "Um, we only have two. I'll have him put them both upstairs and we can fill them tonight. Tomorrow morning we can dump them and refresh them, if you wish." "Thank you," Blake replied. With that, she left to go back into the back with her large tray. Blake stirred his stew, examining what was basically a potato stew with onions, carrots, and a small chunk of chicken. He took a bite of stew, one of bread, and then chewed and swallowed. "Now, I know that we're all weary from travel and have the road's dust in the unmentionable places that only our lovers should ever see. But a hot meal," he motions to the stew, "a bath, and a decent night's rest will have to recharge us for a while. I doubt we'll be following this thief into any place that could be considered luxury."

Blake ate a few more bites, letting others speak in the mean time. After more than half his bowl was empty, "Oh, and I agree with Mustafa. If you get wounded, get yourself bandaged and try to follow us. The duty of the forward pack is to make sure that those of us who've lagged behind can follow us. Snap some twigs, leave some torn cloth on a bush, carve an arrow into a tree.....Something that we can follow. But leave a trail so we can catch up. We're in this together, let's make sure that we all get paid in the end." After speaking, Blake returned his attention to his meal and the conversations that follow.

After the conversations and meal have been had, Blake plodded his way upstairs and dropped his gear on a couch in the three-room suite. "Better than a barn. I'll take the couch." He then moved his gear to the floor next to the couch and stretched out on the couch, head facing away from the baths that had been placed in the room. He tossed his cloak over his head, to ensure the privacy of those taking baths, then proceeded to close his eyes and began to snore.

Well into the night, Blake woke up, relieved himself, and took a bath in the cleanest of the two baths, cold water and all. Then redressed himself and went back to sleep.

While others carried on with their conversation, Jagred watched subtly them over the brim of his mug, golden eyes half-lidded and glazed over, feigning boredom. Their little group of misfits appeared to be quite interesting, at least on the surface. Still, it was unlike any group he had ever worked with before. Probably because the women in this one was neither horribly deformed nor overly muscled, a striking contrast from the type of people he often ran into. The black-haired one, Espen , caught his eyes first. She was rather striking; fluid strides reminded him of a wolf prowling in its turf. His gaze lingered for a few moments, before turning toward the shorter one, Alice. Since the moment he noticed the spear, Jagred had decided to give this woman a wide berth. As a swordsman, spear fighters had been the bane of his existence ever since he started in this business, and he had scars to prove it. However, her harmless demeanor and playful tone had almost made him dismissed her at a threat. Almost.

Blake, the polite one, seemed to talk enough for all five of them, but while he was friendly enough, Jagred knew better than to lower his guard. He had seen men smiled all the same while killing and raiding. The other male of their group was a foreigner, who had just recently introduced himself at Mustafa. He was blunt and to-the-point, this one, but Jagred appreciated the efficient policy. After all, his mark was set; he didn’t want to wait around until the trail grew cold just because someone was bleeding a little. –“I’d have to agree with Mustafa on this one.”- With a light smile still lingered on his lip, Jagred finally voiced his opinion-“Can’t afford to botch such a nice job for anyone, I’m sure you understand. Besides, we are free to leave, so whenever you feel that you can’t keep up, leave. Won’t get you the gold, but you will be alive, and probably remain that way for a while.”

Soon after that, their food arrived at the behest of Blake, and Jagred found himself staring at a bowl of murky soup. It didn’t look like much, but at least it wasn’t cold. After a few tentative stirs to determine the ingredients of the stew, he dug in with fervor, suddenly aware of the roaring hunger in his stomach. The stew left much to be desired, still, Jagred made short work of his portion in mere minutes, before getting up to leave for their room. –“Well, good night folks. I will get some sleep now. Big hunt tomorrow.”-With that said, he turned and left, bringing the mug of wine with him.

Apparently, they had to share the room. Not really a bad deal, since he had had worse. At least there were beds. Jagred made a beeline for one of them, forsaking the baths. He could always rise early to take one later. For now, sleep came first. He lay down on the mattress, backpack and weapons at his side, the shortsword already smuggled under his pillow.

Alice chuckled gently as Mustafa made his pronouncement, and the other two agreed with him. This was what she had been expecting. Money first, and if you get left behind, too bad. “And here I was, thinking that you three gentlemen would drop everything the minute one of us,” she indicated Espen with a nod of her head, “ got a scratch to help us bandage it. Silly me.” Her eyes grew brighter as the food was given to her, and she started eating it without even bothering to check what was inside of it. After all, food was food, and none of her companions seemed to be choking to death. At the mention of baths, her eyes positively gleamed in anticipation. So she wouldn’t have to wait for a cold river to come along after all! Blake was positively soaring in her regard. She hoped he wouldn’t die or try to kill her or have some other unpleasantness happen to him. That would be disappointing. The soup was better than some things she had had, and for the duration of the conversation, before Blake and Jagred both left for the rooms, she concentrated on her meal. After all, there would be plenty of time to get to know her companions while they were hunting down this thief. Plenty of time to know which she could trust, and which she should take care to keep in front of her. A small smile crossed her lips. No trust among sell-swords.

As Blake and Jagred both left for the rooms, she finished her meal and then stood to leave as well, picking up her spear along the way. A thought popped into her head. “You know,” she mused, “no one has thought to ask what makes the thief or the Tome so dangerous that the Baron felt the need to hire five mercenaries to track it down and kill the thief. It’s just someone with a book, right? So why send five mercanaries? You only need one to track him, two if you want to be safe, three if you want to be cautious. But five? That seems…excessive.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. As long as I don’t die and I get paid, I don’t care what his reasoning is for sending the five of us.”Thanking the serving maid with a cheerful call, she made her way up to the rooms and then a direct beeline to the bath. As soon as she was by one of them, she set her spear down next to it, and began to strip. There wasn’t anything to set up to block anyone who might be looking from seeing anything, and besides. She had very little shame. However, she kept her back to the other occupants of the rooms, until she was entering the water. And she kept her dagger on the edge of the tub. Just because she had little shame, didn’t mean she was going to encourage anything.

After luxuriating in the bath for perhaps longer than necessary, she got out and dried herself, dressing quickly and then finding the nearest sleeping spot. It didn’t matter where. Floor, couch, bed. Just as long as there was somewhere to sleep. Her knife went beneath her pillow, and her spear on the floor next to her. One could never be too careful.

The girls words left a lasting impression in Mustafa's mind. They swirled around his mind. 'But five? That seems...excessive. Perhaps this thief was a bit more dangerous than first thought. He had poked around his dinner and eaten most of it but the prospect of a bath didn't particularly excite him as much as some of the others at the table. Now, it was just him and Espen left at the table. They sat in silence for several minutes as Mustafa let his mind drift tiredly and then he suddenly pushed his chair out. 'I'm going to bed too' he announced to no one. He slung his bag over his shoulder and without a backward glance, walked to the top of the stairs and into the room.

He immediately went to a bed that wasn't yet claimed and dropped his bag beside the bed. He quickly prepared himself for bed, removing his boots and jacket revealing a light tunic underneath. His sword was laid down, sheathed, beside his bag and his clothes were neatly folded and placed into his bag. If he was on his own, he would of unwound his turban too. But he didn't feel completely comfortable showing his bare head to a group of strangers (as is tradition to cover your head in the deserts) and instead laid down in such a way it wouldn't fall off while he slept. The words of Alice resurfaced in his mind and for a few moments before he drifted to sleep, he did wonder. Five does seem excessive. It's a book. Just a book. A book.

His final thoughts before succumbing to sleep was that of a distant memory. One that included books. It was a memory he wouldn't see again for a long time.

An hour before dawn, Blake had woken up, splashed some cold water on his face, took off his tunic, and began to silently work out. Underneath his tunic lay a well tanned mass of muscles. He had a defined 6-pack and well defined muscular chest and arms. He wasn't the strongest man alive, but he certainly knew how to take care of his body. He began with menial push-ups, sit-ups, and the like for about 20 minutes, then tossed his tunic over his shoulder, grabbed his weapon belt and bag, and headed down the stairs.

The Inn's staff had barely started beginning their day as Blake headed out the back door and stepped into a small clearing between the Inn and the outhouses. His breath steamed the chilly morning air and his skin blossomed with goosebumps as he dropped his bag next to one of the outhouses, unsheathed his sword and deposited the sheath next to the bag, then walked into the clearing. His footsteps made the frosted over ground reveal the grass underneath. For the next 30-40 minutes, he practiced with his longsword. He wasn't doing any particular kata or maneuver, just what felt like needed to be done at those particular moments. His movements were all fluid, having used a blade for more than 25 years.

As he practiced, the frost around him receded due to his own body heat as well as the footsteps. By the time he finished practicing, the ground around where he began had been cleared of frost in a three foot radius, for he had kept his movements tight, expecting the upcoming fight with a thief. As the sun began to peak over the horizon, Blake finished up, sheathed his sword, tossed on his tunic and grabbed his bag, then headed inside. He went back upstairs and dunked his sweaty head in the cold bathwater and hand-washed a few choice areas of sweat. He then greeted anyone that was awake, and headed downstairs.

Shortly after everyone gathered downstairs (and yes, Blake did pull out the chairs again for the ladies), the large retainer of the lord ambled inside the Inn, gave his information out, and left. "Hmmm, that was short and to the point." Blake reached for the stack of notes and began to pour over them. As he read one page, he handed it to the next person, doing that with each page. "Anyone good with choosing horses? Not my specialty."

Alice, having trained herself to be a light sleeper, awoke to the sound of someone moving about the group’s rooms. She didn’t change her breathing, and she didn’t move. If there was an assassin or thief in the room, she didn’t want to give them any sign she was aware of their presence and lose her one chance at surprising them. She just opened her eyes a crack and carefully scanned the room, her hand gripping the hilt of her knife. When it was revealed to be nothing more than Blake exercising in the predawn hours, she relaxed and opened her eyes all the way. Sleep long since banished she decided to simply lay there and watch him. Maybe if she did that long enough, she’d be able to go to sleep. Alas, at the end of twenty minutes sleep was no closer than it had been when she woke up. Alice got up soon after Blake had left, and stretched. She glanced speculatively at the cold bathtubs, but decided against it. There would be plenty of time to have cold baths later. Right now, she just wanted to remember the warm bath, rather than ruin the memory with a cold one. She moved through the room as quietly as she was able, though she doubted any of her remaining allies were truly asleep, and collected her gear before heading down to the main room of the inn.

Once there, she sat down and waited. There wasn’t much else to do, as the barkeep and the waitresses were all asleep. So Alice sat down and waited, letting her mind idly wander. Her spear was leaning against the table, and her knife was on her hip again. Mercenaries, she had noted, never went anywhere unarmed and never assumed any situation was safe. Which was a private relief. Before noticing this little habit, she had just thought she was being unnaturally paranoid wherever she went. It was good to know that her paranoia wasn’t limited to just herself. One of the serving girls woke up early and, seeing Alice sitting alone at a table, seized her opportunity to talk to one of the female soldiers she had seen. Alice was happy to oblige, amused at the awed tone the girl had. She was called away to work before too much conversation could happen, however.

When the Baron’s retainer walked in, she had to hide her smile with a hand. After the man had left, she idly noted, “If that was the best the Baron had to offer, it’s no wonder he hired mercenaries rather than using his own men. That poor fellow looked like he could have possibly died of exhaustion before ever leaving the inn. As for horse, I only know enough to ride without getting thrown off. Truth be told, I prefer walking. But, I suppose we won’t be catching this thief on foot, will we?” She shrugged. She had never had any riding training beyond a short crash course once, long ago. Alice personally thought it a small miracle every time she didn’t die when riding a horse. Reading the information handed to her, she gave it to the next person down the table. “After we’ve finished reading what little there is to know about this thief, shall we go? I know Mustafa wants to leave as soon as possible, but what do the rest of you say?”