„Lady Isolde, just before being exiled by her brother to Stags Rest, during her last plea for mercy. It was granted, but her crown remained in the capital city.”

---

Lady Isolde had opted to throw a big celebratory feast to 'celebrate the forgivefulness and rationality of the grace, her brother, king Godwin the Free' or in other words, to celebrate the hiring of the Iron Company. The feast was grand, servants and slaves walking on and off with new plates full of food -- mostly meat with dressings of lettuce and apples. They sat in the long hall which usually held the throne, but there'd been tables put over the red carpet, 5 tables in total to hold 100 warriors and servants, slaves and whomever the Iron Company found important enough to invite with them. It turned out that this was mostly whores. The Queen would excuse their unnoblemanlike behavior, the 'knights' of the Queens guard having been inaugurated mere days ago and not yet having received any proper etiquette training.

The order of the tables was mostly based on hierarchy, the Bear and Stag sitting closest to the queen. Then queen had chosen to not sit amongst the men and women of the Iron Company, distancing herself behind the royal table per custom, sitting with her relatively small circle of family and closest servants, observing the behavior of these men. And while she maintained a neat and royalty befitting composure, one was able to a slight smile on her lips, revealing that she was somewhat amused by the antics of these men whom were unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Behind the Bear and Stag sat the more calm members of the Company, eating in relative peace and enjoying some small talk, battle gloating and boasting and a few jokes. Behind them the lines of rowdy men started, bearded and all for the most part, and wenches on their laps, enjoying the change of diet. And after this, likely the change of men. And according to the grimaces on these mens' faces they were okay with that. They were mostly chewing on the remains of the last plate, the servants already running into the hall again to replace these.

At this moment something pierced the deafening laughter, music and talking. The Bear, Jorrick or otherwise known as Gnarl, had stood up and taken up position behind the row of tables, facing his men. In his hands laid a ceremonial sword, jeweled and golden plated, but useless in battle. „As you all know, we're no longer the Iron Company that we once were, but we've become knights, guards of a very important and special lady. One that we must protect at all costs, even if it costs us our life. I'm certain that this is what the Steel Man had in mind for us when he smithed the first Iron Companies soldier out of pure Iron.” The men cheered and stomped their feet on the floor, but were soon quiet when Gnarl raised his hand again. „Yet there are dangers that we cannot fight alone, my brothers and sisters of war, because these dangers lie far to the west, at the capital city. It's king Godwin the Free and his treacherous band of noblemen that think they are holier than us. Maybe they are right.” He grinned as he looked each of the newly appointed Queens Guards in their face, a grin spelling out his next words. „But here we are, as noble as they are.”

He turned around and walked up the wooden stairs, approaching the wooden table that the queen was seated on, bowing his head and lightly bending his knees as he extended the sword to her with both hands. She tilted her head slightly, surprised by Gnarls understandings of the working of these traditional oath swearing customs. She stood up straight, and took the sword from his hands. As he looked up, she gave him a slight nod, before she would sit down again and place the sword next to her, the tip on the floor and the handle leaning against the wooden chair. Gnarl bowed lightly again and she'd nod, once again, before Gnarl was on his way back down the stairs and would sit down again.

After a slight silence, the party resumed again, and the music continued playing. The tune was a famous one, as were the lyrics, describing the deeds of the Iron Company the decade before, and some of the veterans smiled with glee as they were reminded of their famous deeds. They sung along slowly but before long the entire company would join in. After that, many of the drunken men went to their barracks, wench and Queens' servants under their arms. And with them, the rest of the crowd followed, some going to the barracks to sleep, others continueing to have fun outside by a fire. Regardless of what they chose to do, they'd fall asleep soon enough.

---

„ALARM! Sir Jorrick, alarm!” Gnarl was rushed from his bed and some of the queens servants had even rushed over to help him get dressed. He was amongs the only ones of the entire group to have his own room in the barracks, the rest of them sharing a single large hall with beds and crates for their items. Gnarl quickly got dressed and took his sword and spear from the wall, quickly putting his belt on and sliding the sword into it's scabbard. He rushed out, waking the rest of the crew that were still asleep. „Joachim, Theodore, Guinand and Wren! Get your ass out of bed and get in gear! Rand and Astrid, that goes for you too!” He'd shout these orders as he passed through before walking past Rudolfo's bed, kicking it on one of the legs that held it up. „Get up you old bastard!” he'd yell into his ears as he hunched over to get as close as he could. Damn, Rudolfo stunk of alcohol. Finally he passed Sikarthis and Atl, the two strangest people in the entire group, both from entirely different places. „Don't make me use your foreign languages, you pieces of horsedung, get up, ya heard me! Get to the gatehouse as soon as you can.”

Gnarl rushed ahead among with the guards captain, who'd been the one to wake him. In the heat of the moment Gnarl hadn't realised, but now that he saw more clearly he could attempt to get a grip on what was going on. „Captain, what is going on?” The captain continued his stern walk and reached the stone stairs, walking up them with two steps at a time. He must be in a hurry. „We've spotted three scouts on white horses, whom all had the kings' emblem emblazoned on their capes. We fear an attack, sir, but we haven't had any reports that would indicate that they'd been moving here!” It was all nonsense until Gnarl could get to the gatehouse and observe the surroundings from there himself, because the captain didn't seem to know what was going on. All that he could really tell Gnarl is that he had vomited onto his tabard the night before and that there were three scouts. God, this guys puke stunk.

As Gnarl reached the top of the gatehouse he looked over the edge, peering into the treeline ahead where he could see faint movement of horses galloping away. It'd been too late and likely the crew he had called upon would be pissed about having to wake up for no reason. Gnarl gritted his teeth as he thought of a 'mission' for them to keep them from complaining. Training? That was too boring for these guys, especially after a feast. Perhaps they'd be able to go to the local inn at the village near Stags Rest, which was also property of the queen and ask around if they'd seen or heard anything about troop movements. Yeah, that sounded alright. Get a feel for the local populace while Gnarl and the Queen decided on how to deal with these threats. Gnarl would even let them go by horseback if they wished, because he doubted the company felt like marching after such a nice night.

---

Joachim was floating through the sky, atop a golden dragon. Ahead of him lay a castle in the clouds, a tower white as the Queens hair. As he flew the dragon towards the tower, another dragon appeared. „Raaagh! To battle, my steed!” Joachim shouted, pointing his sharp blade of steel, gold and copper at the other dragon. As they closed in he swung back his sword and got rudely awoken by Gnarl. He awoke with his arm drawn back as if he was about to strike, but it looked awkward and uncomfortable in bed. Joachim turned around and decided to go back to sleep as he processed the message in his brain. Once he completed that, he'd realize he was a fool if he were to stay in bed and go back to sleep. He switched from passive to active and swung his feet out of bed, and starting to dress himself. Once that was done he'd wait at the door for Astrid, in an attempt to make up for some stupid things he said last night.

As he'd walk alongside Astrid, whether she wanted or not, he'd talk to her. „A-Astrid, look, I wish to apologize for saying that your hair smells of blood. That wasn't very kind of me and I realize now that it was wrong of me to say it, regardless of whether or not it's true. Actually, um, I guess it's kind of true since you're a fierce warrior and all. So maybe it's a compliment.. I don't know, look, I'm just sorry I said it okay?” His words came out uncertain and as if he didn't know whether she was angry or not. Then again, he wasn't quite sure if saying that someones hair smells like blood is offensive at all.. it would certainly not stand if it was said to a nobleman, but Astrid was by no means a nobleman.

He slowed down once he'd said his lines and waited for Wren to catch up to him, someone who he was sure he'd be more comfortable with. They were from mixed backgrounds and as such were an unlikely friendship, but never the less they 'made it work' somewhat. Joachim hadn't known her father, however it didn't seem to matter much. Also, on that notice.. making it work with Wren was more about 'don't annoy the shit out of Wren and you'll survive' rather than being actual friends. He'd walk alongside her quietly, wondering if Astrid was actually angry at him or not. Normally it wouldn't bother him much, but Astrid was a woman, and women made him uncomfortable sometimes because they were so unpredictable in their emotions. And everyone knew that noble or royal women were much, much different from commoners like Astrid and Wren, who often openly displayed their emotions, or played into them. Not something that Joachim was used to at all, as he was used to the scene where women were to shut their mouths and listen to the head of the family, keeping their emotions to themselves and the chambermaid. He sighed as they started walking up the stone stairs to the wall, wondering what Gnarl had them get up for this early in the morning anyway.

It was parties like these that drove Rudolfo to drinking. Pretending he was enjoying himself, Rudolfo attempted to filter out what was going on around him. He only smiled as he slowly ate his meal of some kind of meat, with some kind of dressing. "This food sucks" he thought. "I want to go home. I miss my wife. My servants cook better than this. I wish I were outside, raping and pillaging."

Finished with his food and on his way to acquiring respite in the form of a hard alcoholic beverage, Rudolfo looked at the princess. "Why the hell were we hired to help this lady? Surely she doesn't trust us not to rape her in her sleep right?" Rudolfo wondered as he scratched his beard, which was worn nicer than he normally did. It was a low bar.

"Oh brandy. You're the only thing that understands me" he grumbled, uncorking a bottle of brown liquid and pouring it down his throat as if it were divine nectar.

---

Rudolfo grumbled as he slowly rolled out of bed. "Damn youngsters" he complained as he slowly threw off his sheets and got out of bed. Rudolfo was chilly in his sleeping clothes, primarily because he war little to none. The old man shambled to put on his suit of armor. With his armor on, the old man stretched out, his spine cracking in the process. Whatever spiel had happened the night before had woken Rudolfo from a pleasant dream. He was roaming down the fields, plowing through hordes of enemies clad in nothing but a codpiece and wielding a steel tipped spear. Through his beard, Rudolfo smiled.

Slowly, the grizzled veteran made his way to meet with the Bear. His platoon-mates and fellow mercenaries rushed besides and around him, too impatient to stop and smell the fresh morning air. Rudolfo, still hung over, could barely smell. He was angry, thirsty, and disappointed. Anger and thirst were probably just side-effects of his hang-over. His disappointment must have also been from the same source; but it surely was a genuine and deep sense of disappointment. Rudolfo looked sternly straight forward- or at least as straight ahead as he could.

The old stag stood at attention as he awaited a signal from Jorrick, as well as any orders the man might have. Rudolfo hated taking orders from those younger than he was, but had slowly become accustomed to it as there became less and less people older.

Rand looked around at his new comrades, he didn't fit in with a big chunk of him. While some took whores any whore who took an interest in the young knight was sent away with a bored hand wave, while some drank ale he drank nothing. He waited through Gnarl's speech and then got up with two plates, a plate full of food, and another full of apples and walked out of the dining hall. Outside the wind gently rustled his gray cloak and the night seemed to hold a peacefully at ease. "Beautiful night." He muttered to nobody in particular. He crossed the courtyard and entered the stables and sat on a bale of hay next to Steppers stall, upon sight of his master the horse snorted and stamped his feet, "Good to see you too buddy." He said and gave the stallion the plate of apples.

Rand and horse ate their meal in silence, then when they were finished Rand began to talk to the horse who stuck it's head out of the stall almost as if he was listening intently to the knight. "A fresh start for the both of us it seems, it feels like a million years since we left home." The knight said the horse whinnied as if to say "Go on." So Rand went on, "You know we used to be heroes, living legends. I remember children running alongside us as we entered towns, flower pedals raining down on us from balconies as we freed cities." The knight scoffed and continued talking. "Then we were told to kill those people, children ran from us as we entered their towns and round them up like cattle to be burned in their homes, as we entered cities they would rain rocks down on us, people couldn't believe what I've become. Even my former home closed it's gates to us." The knight picked crumbs off his plate and then looked down at it. "But we aren't anything now friend, i don't doubt who we work for now. But our enemy has an entire nation at his back, all the queen has creator watch over her soul is a bunch of mercenaries, despots, and thieves this is probably our last fight my friend." With that the knight finished his tale and walked away.

---

Rand didn't sleep that night, the ghosts of the dead floated about in his thoughts. He found himself thinking about home, about his estate not far from the capital, about a bed that is way better than this one, and the name he had made for himself. Now here he was in a barracks with his new comrades, as some snored away into the night. Then it happened Gnarl came rushing through the barracks hollering and waking everyone up. Rand hopped out of bed, clasped his cloak on and grabbed his sword and belted it on. Following Gnarl as he walked down the rows of beds and out onto the walls.

The guard captain straightened upon the sight of the new knightly order, the stink of vomit overpowering everything in the proximity. "Go clean up good man." Rand said patting the guard on the shoulders after he finished his explanation of the nights events, then he pulled up next to Gnarl. "You want me to ride out there and meet them sir?" He asked the bear.

Astrid

Astrid sat at the end of the long table, legs propped up on it. Leaning back in her chair she watched the men fondle whores and drink themselves silly. What more could you expect from men, they were all the same. From her seat at the very end of the table, she could see everyone sitting along the table, ranking from lowest to highest, all the way up to the Queen. She was sitting at her own table, apparently convinced that she was better than any one of them. The stuck-up rich bitch. The sooner she got her money and was done with this place the better. In the mean time Astrid was going to sit here and enjoy the roasted pheasant with blackberry sauce. One thing she did have to admit, the food here was certainly better than anything she could get on the outside.

Jorrick stood up and gave a speech to the Iron Company. For the most part Astrid ignored it, she was here for the money, not the mislead ideas of religion heroism. She noticed it was done when the men around her began to shout and cheer, spilling alcohol everywhere. Wine from the man next to her flew into the air spraying all over her hair, turning the white-blonde hair red. Anger flared up in her stomach and she stood up suddenly, her chair sliding back, The man that had spilled the wine, hadnt even noticed her get up. Pulling back her fist she launched it into the man's nose causing blood to spray out and his eyes to water.

His deep laugh was cutoff suddenly as he fell from his chair onto the hard ground. Through the combination of the punch and his massive intake of alcohol the man did not get up. He would be fine in the morning, except for his broken nose. Taking a deep breath as she stared the the sleeping body, Astrid reached up and swept back the hair on the right side of her head. It came away sticky and red. "Fuckin' drunk." The men around her had seen her knock the men out. Instead of what she expect to happen, fear to shine in their eyes and conversation to dip down, the men began to howl in laughter at the man who was now unconscious by a woman. Astrid nose crinkled in anger and disgust at the men, but did nothing except sit back in the chair she had thrown back.

--

'Joachim, Theodore, Guinand and Wren! Get your ass out of bed and get in gear! Rand and Astrid, that goes for you too!” Eyes snapping open Astrid quickly rose from the hard bed she had been sleeping in, wondering why she was being woken up in such a hurry. She wasn't too bad after last night, but she could imagine that some of the others, especially the men, would not be happy about the rude awakening. Getting dressed, Astrid noticed an unusual amount of attention focused on her. Turning around she saw that some of the men were staring at her semi-nude figure. It wasn't like she was intentionally exposing herself. Face wrinkled in disgust, she hurried on her pants and shrugged herself into the shirt designed for a man.

Walking down the hallway, Astrid noticed Joachim walking unusually close to her. She turned to him practically growling, " 'Something you want?" Finally he spoke stuttering over his words in a sort of apology, "A-Astrid, look, I wish to apologize for saying that your hair smells of blood. That wasn't very kind of me and I realize now that it was wrong of me to say it, regardless of whether or not it's true. Actually, um, I guess it's kind of true since you're a fierce warrior and all. So maybe it's a compliment.. I don't know, look, I'm just sorry I said it okay?” She was shocked at first by the mans outright apology. In this time of age, it was rare for something like this to happen. Thinking back to when the comment had taken place, Astrid could remember him stumbling over to him, half drunk, though not as bad as some of the other men. Blood and wine was in her hair from the man she had knocked out, so it was a fair comment to say that she probably looked and smelled like blood at the time. Not sure how to reply all she grumbled out was "Shut up."

--Sorry double post--

Wren’s light fingers picked up a turkey leg, turning it over in her hand before beginning to gnaw on it with sharp teeth and pink lips. Her hazel eyes glanced ahead of her to the table where the Bear and Stag sat near the queen, before pulling back the meat from bone, chewing it lazily while the men around her spoke. Most near her were speaking of political alliances, how things were going to change, what they truly thought of the queen. Chewing & swallowing the wad of meat, Wren looked behind her, seeing the rougher men chatting up their harlots with overly embellished tales of blood and gore. She smirked a bit at that, finding the scene rather amusing. The way the girls giggled and seemed fascinated, but would only put out at a price. It was like a game, an act.

Still smirking a bit, Wren pushed some blonde strands of hair from her cheeks, looking towards the Bear as he stood and began a speech. The longer he spoke, the more serious her gaze became. She knew she had no reason to dislike Gnarl, and yet there was something about him that just irked her. It wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t one to ignore her emotions. She stomped and let out a yea with the others at the appropriate times, but her facial expression remained the same, simply watching until he bowed before the queen and everyone went back to what they were doing. Wren just kept watching Gnarl, drinking a goblet of wine swiftly and leaving the table as the singing began. She went out by the fire and drank a bit more, but when that became crowded, she turned to leave it too. She was called back to it by some of the men but she smiled and waved them off, telling them to get some sleep, to which they called her a name or two and caused her to laugh with them. She smiled to herself, sleepy and hoping the buzz in her mind would lull her to a dreamless sleep. She barely got into her night gown, which was just one of her father’s old shirts, before crawling under a blanket and falling asleep quickly. The sound of men shouting and smell of fires and dirt like home.

---

Wren snorted awake, her delicate face looking contorted and sleepy as Gnarl yelled. Groaning from the sudden wake up call, she rubbed her eyes, slapping her cheeks, and sitting up. She yawned, running a hand through her locks and crawling from the covers, before dressing appropriately and beginning to follow in the direction Gnarl had gone. Ahead of her were a few of the others already, but Joachim began hanging back as if waiting for her. She gave him a slight eyebrow raise, but said nothing about it, as he rarely bothered her at all and she could relax around him a bit more than some of the others. She knew she should say something, but she just wasn’t as good at making conversation anymore. Perhaps because she found it harder to care.

”Morning,” she spoke. Her voice was soft and kind, not one that matched the hardened shell she displayed. No one had pissed her off yet today, and so she stood quietly when reaching Gnarl, awaiting his words.

These tribes have strange customs Atl thought to himself as he glanced inside a small cup which contained some elixir of a brown nature. He placed his nose in it as he smelt it, earning him the many stares of those who were from these tribes, and who knew these strange customs. Atl was eating a small rabbit that he had caught, and Slayer was drinking from a small saucer of milk that some tribal woman made out for him. "Slayer!" The cat was too busy lapping up the drink to pay attention to his master. That is when Atl decided to use his right thumb and index finger to pluck Slayer by the back of his neck. He held the cat up, "...Did you hunt that?" The cat just stared at him with dilated pupils, and ears flattened back. Atl placed the cat back on the ground as he glanced again at the cup. He then proceeded to ignore it as he ate the rabbit he had cooked earlier, chewing on its haunch, dripping with some juices.

All the while he made his intentions known to the Tribal Women, that the tribe referred to as 'whores'. "I pick." He yelled out to the individual who eyed him with an incredibly worry, after all a Jungle Savage was a Savage. He quickly glared at a member of the tribe who was glaring at him. "He-" Atl glared, "I said. I pick. You no pick. I pick." and the man backed down, not wanting to get engaged with the savage. He returned his glance back to the tribal maiden, "I show you real man. He not real man. I real man." Pointing out the fact that he disengaged from the situation instead of fighting to win the whore. The whore managed to find herself amused by that statement, and looked slightly more comfortable with the savage. But it was still mostly fear.

He glanced down and noticed Slayer was low on his drinking material. Atl slammed his hand on the bench, "Slayer thirsts." And after the serving wench brought the cat another saucer, and Slayer had lapped up a little more milk before meowing, Atl glanced at the tribal maiden and gave a single nod.

---

Back in the marshes, Atl trudged through the thick pools of dirty and fetid waters. He was waist high, and he felt his feet sloshing through the surface of the floor, as the muck crawled up between his toes. The ferns were tall, quite tall, and Atl was lost. Then suddenly, there was a bubble, a large bubble was produced, right below his nose. It grew, and grew, and grew until it was the size of his hand, before it popped.

Atl rolled around in the bed, rather uncomfortable with this strange device, though it was soft, it wasn't right.. And... The tribal maiden was not there. She left before him? It was a good sign. During this line of thought is when he heard the yelling of the Man-Bear, Atl's eyes fully flung open as he glanced at his cat who was sleeping on his chest. Atl kept his head up as he glanced at his cat, "Slayer. We hunt. Tone strong, hunt now." He said, recognizing that by the tone of Man-Bear, that he was needed immediately. He threw off the blankets of the bed, revealing his body that was ready for war. He glanced at the crate, and pondered on whether or not he needed his loin-cloth. Atl pondered on the matter, before deciding, that yes, he should grab his loincloth. Atl quickly changed into the loincloth, made from the leather of the jungle cats, as he glanced through the weaponry. He paused as he decided upon a single hatched forged from stone. Atl glanced at his pet, who had its head cocked up at him and meowed. Atl used his left hand as he grabbed Slayer and placed him upon his shoulder. Atl raised his stone axe, "CRUSH! KILL! MAIM! BLEED! BLEED! FOR THE CHEIFTAIN!" He shouted as he rushed out of the barracks and stood ready for what Man-Bear, and possibly Deer-Sage would speak of.

Slayer kept resting upon Atl's shoulder, as Atl was swinging his axe in all directions, ready to hunt something.

"Too hot...."

It was always too hot for Sikarthis. The food was too hot, the wine was too hot, even the candles lighting the hall were too hot. He hadn't been allowed to strip down to just his pants as he always did during the Off-Winter season. 'Rude' they called it, saying it would offend the Queen. That annoyed Sikarthis of course. A true ruler would hardly care what others wore and even if they did they would make a point of saying so themselves instead of having others do it for them. In the end he had relented, but only after Gnarl had spent the better part of an hour distracting him from his martial practice about it.

At least it had been easy to separate himself from the rest of the men and women of the Company during the feast. The slaves and servants had hardly cared when he cleared a cluttered bench near the main doors, though he received no end of odd looks concerning his appearance. Sikarthis didn't fault them for their curiosity, after all most of the Southerners were rather plain to look at and even he had difficulty putting a name to faces he had spent the past two Winters not conversing with. With his intricate body piercing, dark blue tattoos, and the Ustynian clothing wore he stood out like a frostbitten limb. Thankfully with drink flowing like a freshly thawed river and the bedmaids giving their favors away to most of the men Sikarthis went largely unnoticed after those initial glances.

Observing his fellow mercenaries (or perhaps that would be ex-mercenaries now that they had officially joined with the Queen), Sikarthis made little effort to partake in the feast. After his first glass of wine (too hot) and a mouthful of some foul tasting Southern bird (too hot) he had elected to ignore any trays offered his way, turning away servants and slaves with a disinterested stare until they went on to more receptive members of the Company. By the time Gnarl decided that it was time for a speech Sikarthis had grown tired and irritable. He was out of the hall and halfway to his bed before that ridiculously hideous golden sword had entered the Queen's hands.

---

It had, of course, been too hot to sleep properly. For several hours before his companions had wandered into the hall that housed their beds, each in various states of inebriation (these Southerners could hardly hold their drinks he was reminded yet again), Sikarthis had lain awake atop his bare cot, naked as the day he was born and still sweating more than he liked. He could never understand how these Southerners could craft bedsheets that were too thin to keep out a breeze and yet too hot all at the same time. No matter the position or how deeply he meditated sleep eluded Sikarthis, the hunger in his stomach and the heat driving away all hope of getting a decent nights rest. Even after his companions had arrived and passed out, one after another, Sikarthis lay awake and irritated.

'Perhaps I should go make use of the training yard while it is empty', he thought to himself after the night had all but passed, dawn rearing it's ugly head. This would mark the sixth night in a month that he had gained no sleep. He made a mental note to see the Company physician before noon about a sleeping remedy. 'But first', he mused, 'the practice yard.'

Just as he was about to rise and retrieve his longsword and shield from the crates next to his cot however, Gnarl burst into the hall, calling his Companions by name and rousing them from their (no doubt enjoyable) dreams. By the time Gnarl had arrived at his bed Sikarthis was already pulling on his pants and shirt, kicking open the lid of the crate that held his ancestral armour. It seemed he might be getting his practice after all, albeit with an actual opponent as opposed to several strawmen on sticks. Despite having been awake long before his companions it took far longer to slide into his armour than was necessary. Spying a young pageboy, he had enlisted the lads help with a barked order. Unfortunately the lad's fingers were clumsy and attaching piece after piece of the unique armour took twice as long as it should have. Eventually though the lad finished, Sikarthis looking over the bindings until he was satisfied that he would not find himself suddenly naked in the middle of a melee.

Snatching his full helm from the unresisting hands of the boy he strode out of the hall towards the gatehouse, his armour hardly clinking as he made his way forward as gracefully as his prized snowcats moved through the deepest snowbanks. Along the way he passed several of his companions, some of the few he had made an effort to recognize in his time with the Company. There was Astrid, the fiery younger woman who always reminded him of a Snowcat that was seconds away from fight or flight. Speaking to her was the one called Joachim whom Sikarthis had often sparred with. He was promising swordsman though he had yet to land more than grazing blows against Sikarthis in all of their practicing. Wren he came upon a few moments later, his eyes lingering on her longer than the two before. She had always raised curiosity inside Sikarthis, though he could not tell why. He often felt that she was being somehow false with him in the few conversations he had had with her. He had become annoyingly good at noticing such things after his role in the Company had come to include being a receptacle for complaining and things that needed saying but never repeating.

Eventually arriving at the gatehouse, Sikarthis took up a position in a corner, out of the way of the rising bustle and unlikely to be bothered by anyone passing by. Halfheartedly examining the 'death mask' visage of his helm and waiting patiently for orders, Sikarthis felt the all too familiar dampness begin to rise on the back of his neck.

"Too hot..."

Theodore

It had been a while since there had been a feast. Theo wasn't all too keen on remembering it now though. Why live in the past when there was ale in your cup and meat in your hand. He secured himself and some of his boys a good spot at one of the tables. Lars and Owen were boasting past victories and Liam was trying his luck with the ladies. Theo was still sharp enough to wait for the others to get really drunk, because by then they would be equally stupid. He had already laid his eyes on the one that would warm his bed tonight. The most important thing was that his boys were enjoying themselves.

When the speech came Theo hushed his boys down and when it ended he leaded them in a heartfelt cheer. Lars, ever the one to try and best the others, got a little carried away and spilled his whine on the person next to him. Moments later he was out cold on the floor. Looking up Theo recognized Astrid and couldn't help himself but laugh even louder than before. He had seen the girl fell Big Pete and knew Lars had gotten off lucky. Theo quickly took advantage of the situation and stole poor Lars' plate, then gestured to Liam to take Lars to his cot. The boy would feel sore in the morning, but at least he would feel something.

Surveying the hall Theodore took in some of the people he had fought alongside. He looked at Jorrick and at Rudolfo, then traced towards the foreigners Atl, but couldn't see Sikarthis. Theo met the gazes of several others before he turned to look where Wren was seated, a spark of guilt stirred in his chest for a brief moment. If only I had been there a moment sooner. Your father would've given that speech. Theo had always respected Paris for his charismatic leadership, Jorrick was a good man, but Paris had simply been better, somehow. The knightly boy; Rand, he seemed to be missing too, Theo noticed as he continued on observing the hall. There were still some that he hadn't met yet and so Theo couldn't name everyone here, he was confused at some of the younger attendants for they could've been either servants or fresh recruits.

---

The awakening was crude. He rolled out of bed and ended on top of the woman that had previously occupied the bed with him. She slapped him and screeched a curse to get him off of her. You weren't this difficult last night. Theo mumbled as he grabbed hold of the bed to help himself up. He was getting old, but not yet as old as Rudolfo. Being gallant enough to help the girl on her feet too he took hold of her hips and pulled in for a kiss. Theo was awarded with another slap across the face. Fiery, I like that. he told her before dumping her back on the bed.

Theodore was the last one to arrive at the top of the stone stairs. His head still pounding and gunk still in his eyes. At the least he was dressed for trouble.

Godwin the Free. Why that title? Baldric had wondered about this ever since the usurper ascended to the throne. There were many potential titles out there. So why had "the Free" been decided upon? It had this tint of irony about it, what with being the kind of title usually used by commoners with aspirations to power. Rebels and the like. He doubted that Godwin had chosen it for that reason. That boy had never really been fond of jokes made at his expense and would probably sooner be caught dead than actually making one himself. At this Baldric felt himself smiling a little. Neither of those two siblings had ever had much respect or patience for his jests. They always had seemed most like brother and sister when their faces went red with rage or shame at inappropriate jokes that he brought to the opulent halls of their palace from the rough folk of his Blackwood. Luckily his father had taught him the skill of dodging spontaneously thrown household goods before dying. Then again, if he had been struck down by Godwin back then, perhaps the backlash of that would have prevented him from gaining as much backing from the court as he did. Rulers that killed nobles in fits of rage never did live long.

Before the thoughts of how else he could have prevented the coup took overhand and turned his smile into a frown, a polite cough woke him from them. Looking to his left, he saw one of his guards look at him with some concern: "Your lordship, perhaps it would be better if you returned to the hall?" The man had the characteristic look of a resident of the Blackwood. The heavy build of his people was a source of pride for him. No other barony in the land had such enduring workers. Without them, he would never have been able to make full use of the resources of his lands the way he did. Though finding guards that were handsome enough to bring to the royal court was a bit of an issue. The man in front of him was the perhaps biggest problem in that regard. One might have called him grandfatherly if not for the indentation upon his forehead. After meeting his captain's wife he had decided that the story of a bandit raid he had been told as a child was a lie to preserve the man's honour. Whether the chosen tool was a mace like in the story he would probably never find out. His smile became heartier at this. "Your lordship, perhaps it would be better if you returned to the hall?" That brought forth a laugh. This man knew him well.

"Gerdric, I cannot go back in yet, you and I both know that." Baldric glanced back at the lit windows of the palace. It was strange how serene it all looked from out here. Not that he was referring to the coup. It had all gone over so smoothly, there was no need for anyone to miss a step. What bothered him, and always had, was how different the inside was from the outside. An outsider would gaze upon the palace and think of the nobility, moving through the corridors, untouched by the world outside as a god would be untouched by the mortal realm. A calm quiet as footsteps are barely heard upon the stone, voices rarely ever raised above a whisper, only the wind sometimes daring to disturb the sanctity of the aged architecture. But in the end even this grand structure only contained mortals. It was filled to the brim with them in fact. Finding some peace and quiet was impossible as servants rushed through the corridors to fulfill the demands of the masters. The courtyard rang with the rythmical clashes of steel that announced training from sunrise to sunset. In a way, the palace reminded him of a lake. Gazing upon it, one would never dream of the amount of fish that swam beneath the surface.

Setting his gaze back at the sky, so brightly lit by moon and stars, he continued speaking: "I assure you I am sufficiently warm to sleep out here if I should decide to and with such a beautiful sky I just might." Gerdric nodded at this, Baldric did not need to look at him to know that. Hearing the crunching of boots upon the path, he waved his guard away. His eyes remained on the sky, inspecting a star that seemed strangely close to the moon. Had it always been like that? He could not tell and studying the stars was not all that widely done. Perhaps he could find an interested scholar to sponsor? Before he could entirely weigh up the amount of money invested compared to the enjoyment he might derive from hearing more about the celestial bodies, the footsteps stopped behind him. He turned to face the arrival and bowed deeply: "Your majesty, I am glad to see you managed to find the time to meet me." There was a chuckle: "Do you never tire of these meeting in the gardens Baldric? Especially in the middle of the night." Straightening, Baldric smiled at Godwin: "I fear I will never quite get over it, no. My flair for the dramatic acting up perhaps, though judging by your inauguration, I would say that we share this flair. It takes effort to impress the way you did, though perhaps it just comes naturally." The figure in front of him was standing in the shadows, preventing Baldric from making out the expression his king wore but there was another chuckle: "I must make an impression. I will be the pillar this country stands upon from now on. There cannot be any doubt about that."

A moment of silence, then he stepped out into the moonlight, his face worried, appearing almost shy to speak now: "I assume you and my sister are still close? She trusts you?" Baldric kept his expression carefully neutral as he answered: "I do believe so." Godwin began pacing back and forth, his unhappiness showing clearly now. The sword at his hip caught Baldric's gaze as he watched the man before him struggling to continue the conversation. He spoke quietly now, giving the usurper a reassuring smile: "Godwin, you are not only my king, you are among my closest friends. You can speak freely with me. Whatever you require of me, I shall do my best to supply it, be it a sharp sword or good advice." His words had the effect he had hoped. The king took a deep breath and stood up straight, once more exhibiting the royal aura that he so easily wore about him at other times. Baldric suddenly felt reminded of how he had watched this man duel three of his very own royal guards with such ease that it seemed as if he was merely warming up. Godwin placed his hands on his vassal's shoulders, speaking in a strong yet conspirative voice: "My friend, I fear this time I will require all that and more. You know I granted my sister mercy. Stag's Rest was given to her when I could have taken everything. Some among the court may perceive this as weakness, but I do not care for the whispering of cowards. But now I must find they may be right! She has hired mercenaries. Mercenaries! I want to trust her, trust that she will do what is best for Arlon but how can I after she did that?"

The reassuring smile turned into a predatory grin: "I understand your majesty. I will watch over your sister."

Isolde found herself smiling through her teeth as the raucous bunch partied away their meal. Though she herself did enjoy celebration, she'd just recently lost her crown, her home, and hired only a meager defense of fifty people for garrison against the entire royal army. This wasn't a time for celebration before she'd even made certain she wouldn't wake to find an army at her doorstep.

For God's sake, they'd even brought their own personal bards.

She made a mental note to have guards escort the prostitutes off the premises in the morning. After this, she'd probably have to get rid of extra servants as well, unfortunate but necessary expenditures as they were. She only hoped the mercs she'd hired were actual professionals.
In the meantime, she eyed over her bodyguards for any noteworthy members. The one that stood out most was arguably the stark naked savage. Isolde wasn't actually sure whether he was a soldier at first. She'd read stories of mad warriors who were brave enough to fight with exposed loins, but this was her first time seeing one. He was probably their strongest warrior. An excellent champion, should the need arise.
The second one to catch her eye was an especially old man with a snowy white beard. He seemed rather disgruntled, perhaps a little depressed, not speaking with anyone. Still, to have fought as long as him without dying or retiring meant he must have easily been the most experienced warrior. She wondered why he wasn't this army's commander. He still had enough of an air about him to be worth talking to later, at least.
And then there was their leader, a man introduced to her as "Gnarl". Isolde noted him as a haughty man. Of course she'd knighted none of them, and working for her did not equate to knighthood. That wasn't an honor she'd freely pass away. His speeches could have used some work as well.
The rest of their band were a collection of gritty, metal covered men and women. In all, they appeared to be an ornery band of ruffians intent on blowing their money before marching to their deaths at her brother's hands. But they were her ruffians now, and she wouldn't allow that. Isolde leaned back, and entwined her fingers. By God she'd find a way to get her crown back, and she'd do it with the sweat, blood, and plenty of tears from these men.
Isolde spent the rest of the evening in silence, watching the party with a soft, if troubled smile.

---

The queen picked her head up off the desk in her quarters, one strewed with ledgers, papers, notes and books. She pulled a piece of parchments off her face, and recognized it by the list of staff cuts she'd written down the night before. She'd have to announce them that afternoon. Isolde leaned back in her chair, and put on a pair of reading glasses. She supposed there'd be time to alter it with reason, but doubted anything notable would happen by then.
Still, she thought, the remaining staff might be disheartened by learning they were being fired for being lazy and promiscuous. She just couldn't afford poor workers at this rate however; her coffers were finite.
Steadying her resolve, Isolde stood up, and gave a big smile as she pounded a fist in her palm. Every day from now would be a scramble to get keep this castle in perfect shape!

Gnarl waited for the rag-tag squad he had summoned, nodding at them all as they walked up to the gatehouse. The gatehouse itself was gigantic, and a fall from the top would likely break all the bones in your body and spell a gruesome ending to your life. None of that seemed to matter. Gnarl waved away Rand's suggestion -- they were simply too far ahead and by the time Rand had saddled up they'd be long gone past the Terian river, which ran wild and bucked wildly like a steed who had been slapped on the ass. „Captain Gregor, you are excused. Please tell a serf to ready a set of horses.” The fat guards' captain nodded and hurried down the stairs, his head obviously still heavy from the night before. Gnarl oversaw the group of mercenaries, missing one person. „Where the hell is Guinan? Theodore, you oaf, you were the last one up. You go back down and fetch that would-be marksman. Meet me at the queens chambers in an hour or so, you and Guinan are her personal guards today. Consider it punishment for being late. Now go!” he'd yell as he waved him away, commanding a certain respect from Theodore and the others.

As he'd watch Theodore do his bidding he'd turn his attention to the rest. „We just saw three riders of the king outside, testing our mettle. Now, they probably know by now that the queen has hired us to be her new guard, so I estimate they're here for that. Never the less..” Gnarl turned around and faced the forests that were so plentiful in these regions. He leaned on the stone short wall that edged the gatehouses' roof, taking a look at the area. „Today you will go to the local village and ask for any rumors or such about a local enemy warband. I doubt there's any here because the villagers would've come here for protection, but go anyway. Take the horses, cross the Terian river and follow the road eastbound, until you cross onto a large hill. From there you will see the village. These villagers are that of the queen, so make sure you treat them with the required respect. They are not our enemies.” He turned around and directed his eyes towards Atl. „No fighting.” he said sternly, looking deep into Atl's eyes. The savage would likely ignore the orders anyway but he couldn't say nobody told him not to fight.

He dismissed the band of soldiers, and headed down the stairs to look for Guinan and Theodore. While the soldiers would no doubt leave right away, Guinan and Theodore had other matters to attend to with Gnarl. His boots sounded heavy on the stone steps leading up to the keep, several guards passing by Gnarl to reinforce the walls. They seemed somewhat excited to finally 'see some action' although Gnarl knew they wouldn't see action today. Passing through the thronehall, he headed for the gigantic circular stairs and headed up towards the floor which held the queens room, expecting to find Guinan and Theodore both outside it waiting for him. „There you are, you lazy rats. Come on.” he said, his heavy voice no doubt resounding to within the queens chambers. He walked closer and gave some firm knocks onto the queens chambers' doors, before walking in. He would bow before the queen, expecting the fellow royal guards to do so as well.

„My lady, we have spotted several of your brothers' spies, no doubt scouting the premises of your castle after finding out you hired us. They carried the kings emblem on their cloaks and rode the white steeds that are that of his advanced riders. If I may be so free, I'd suggest you allow my two companions here to track them down, to at the very least see what they are up to. What are your orders, m'lady?” he'd say, his voice suddenly shrinking and befitting that of speaking to a royalty. He'd look over at Guinan and Theodore for a moment, attempting to see their reactions, but he was sure they'd retain their composure as that would befit the mercenaries. After that he'd look over to the queen, bowing slightly and bending his knees a little bit as he'd receive her orders.

---

Joachim was surprised to hear Wren say words, let alone kind words of sorts. He glanced over to his right as he stepped over an exceptionally large puddle of rainwater. „I guess this morning is as good as any other. Any idea why we were summoned?” he'd ask for the sake of making small talk. No doubt they were being sent off to collect firewood, a task he had completed many times before as a newcomer to the Company. Behind them trudged the savage and the northernling, Atl and Sikarthis. They were interesting individuals, and Joachim, being one of the few in the company that was able to write, had taken to attempting to learn Atl to write. Not that he was any good at it, the feather being squished to an unworking state almost instantly. Sikarthis was also quite extraordinary, though he fit in better with the Arlonians, his wish to always undress himself was always quite funny to Joachim. He seemed to suffer from an unrelenting heatstroke, or so it appeared.

They arrived at the top of the gatehouse, overviewing the forests ahead. Joachim listened closely to the Bear, not wishing to offend him in any way. Apparently, three of the kings riders had passed by. This could mean a few things, most likely that they were scouting ahead for an attack or to see what the queen was up to. But they weren't to give chase. Gnarl was probably right in that aspect, by the time they had saddled up now they'd be long gone past the river and towards their encampment, which was no doubt well concealed. Besides, they had no reason to do anything about the riders. The queen and her brother were not at war -- not yet. And riding in these lands wasn't an offense to the queen. This made the situation delicate, because everyone knew why the riders were there, but there was not much they could do about it.

Joachim watched Gnarl walk off before he walked over to the edge of the gatehouses' roof, leaning on the same short wall that Gnarl had leaned on, overlooking the treeline. He couldn't see much, except the rustling of the trees. He smiled, however, and turned around to face Sikarthis. „Northernling, you will be delighted. Cold is in the air, can you feel it? It will be a period of crossing beforehand, but the snow will soon settle onto the lands. Give it a few months.” He smiled at Sikarthis before walking down the stairs of the gatehouse, raising his hand at the guardsman that was on duty to control the gates. Two of the queens' slaves were sitting in the corner of the gatehouse, their linnen clothes stained with dirt and other dirty substances, waiting for orders to raise the portcullis and to open the heavy wooden gate. Joachim looked at them closely, their eyes spelling defeat and sadness, but at the same time a certain gratitude to be alive still. Their lives weren't bad, and to be frank they had it better than some of the Iron Companies' slaves, who mostly spent their days cleaning shoes, swords and armor. Barely got anything to eat, either.

As Joachims boots felt the dirt under them again, instead of heading for the stables, where three serfs held onto the horses for the band, he headed for the barracks once again. If they were riding, he'd need a lance. Not a flimsy, uncomfortable jousting lance, but one that would last more than a second in a real fight. He opened the doors and looked around, finding a lance resting onto the wall in a corner. He slowly jogged over, grabbing the lance and jogged back outside the doors, headed for the serfs. No doubt the others had saddled up by now. „My apologies for having you wait.” he'd say as he approached the rest, eyeing the skill with which some mounted their horses. He wondered how the northernling and the savage would fare with their horses. Joachim himself took to the saddle with a proper level of skill, easily managing to get onto the horse with no troubles while holding onto the lance.

He'd let his horse trot up to the portcullis which was slowly being opened by the two slaves which would've jumped into action by now. As soon as he could, Joachim would ride underneath the portcullis and through the large wooden gates, greeting the guard that was outside with a simple nod and smile as he trotted his horse past him. The man seemed unimpressed. Or rather, seemed to be asleep, leaning on his glaive, eyes closed. Joachim couldn't help but feel some pity for the man, being stationed outside all day, forced to deal with every peasant requesting an audience with the queen. He'd look behind him and beckon for Wren to ride next to him. There was some sort of unspoken understanding that Wren would have to lead the group in some parts due to being the daughter of the Bear, and Joachim made sure to heed this understanding. Rudolfo, however, was also a proper candidate for these kind of tasks, so naturally Joachim expected there to be some confusion as to whom should lead the band during their travels. However, Rudolfo was an old rot and wasn't fit for battle anymore, much more befitting a tactical oversight type of role. Some form of commander would suit him, though he was quite sure Rudolfo would disagree.

Joachim looked to his lower left, and put his lances' end into a pouch that was sewn into all the saddles, so that he didn't have to lift it all the time. Somehow the lance, the armor and the brown horse made him look like a proper rider of the queen, though the others also looked the part. Well, except for barely naked Atl, but he looked like a slave of sorts so it'd fit the image quite well. And it would cause some laughs when someone dared call Atl a slave. „Have you ever been to these lands, Wren? When my lord was still alive and held his keep, he had sent me here once. These lands are bountiful, which is why the Queen most likely took to these lands herself. To the east, where we are headed, lies the land of the Ewain family. They have proper iron mines, though not as many as that of the Blackwood estate. However, the Ewains' have their own personal army and used to support the queen. They were amongst the last to give in to the king to swear the oath, holding true to their oath of support to the queen. But naturally, they had to give in or face an army.” He'd look at Wren to see if she even cared at all, but regardless he'd continue, finding himself remembering small details that didn't really matter but were enjoyable to him none the less. He'd look around over his shoulder to direct the story more towards the entire group.

„Directly to the west, however, is the Howel family, led by the famous Jaufre Howel himself. They say he was the one to build the castle, brick by brick. I doubt he actually did that, but that's how the story goes. Their castle is big, built on a hill like Stags' rest, but a much steeper hill. It is quite a genius construction if you ask me, as the edges of the hill are so steep that you cannot possible use siege equipment. It is the perfect location for a fortress. The only way in is to use a battering ram, push it all the way up the road leading up to the gate. I can tell you the tales of the sieges of the Wolfs' Castle, as they call it, but you'd find yourself bored. Just know that many men have died pushing battering rams up that hill.” He laughed as he said the words, the politics of this region were by far the most interesting, atleast in regards to the capital city. „The person that owned Stags' Rest before the queen used to gain an advantage through the everlasting wars between the Howels and the Ewains, and demanded payment for every army of theirs that had to march through their lands. Well, there is only one other way and that is to take a one month journey around these lands. Needless to say, Ewain and Haufre were unhappy with this constant request of payment, so they stopped their wars and decided to rather end the man that owned th-”

Joachim was cut short by the sight of black smoke in the distance, where the village was supposed to be. He looked over to Wren, then Rudolfo, and then everyone else. „M-maybe it's not the kings men, maybe it's just bandits raiding the village for slaves.” It was obvious that he was unsure of what to do, after all they were sent here to ask for rumors about any of the kings warband, not to fight off the kings men. And if they were really just bandits or ruffians, they would be allowed, no, expected to help. But slaying a soldier of the king would be a declaration of war.. well, burning a village would be too, but they had no orders to attack and there's no saying what Gnarl would expect them to do. It was up to the rest of them to decide what to do, ride forth and deal with the attackers, or ride back to bring a report.

Isolde opened the door to her chambers. Her eyes widened as she received the news of several riders.
She squinted, and bit her finger in thought. There was no way these were scouts for a war band. She wouldn't be alive if her brother had desired to kill her.

Unless he'd learned about the mercenaries. The news spreading so quickly was alarming enough, but if her brother so much as smelled a rebellion, he'd send more than enough soldiers to crush them. Still, her troop was small. If she was careful, she could send them away without alarm. Cogs turned in her head, and she removed her finger, adopting a kind smile.

"You are to send one man to approach these riders. They are emissaries of my brother, the king, and should be invited inside as guests. I will speak to them personally, and assure my little brother of my safety. Your duty is to decide who greets them." she said, speaking in her soft, gentle voice.
"Oh, one more thing. Under no circumstances are you to discuss your employment, or any employees of the castle, for that matter. Should they ask any questions, tell them only that you are but a servant, but that I would be glad to answer any questions they have." her eyes narrowed.
"We have nothing to hide, so we will send them away thinking we're happy in our little woodland cottage. I ask only that you remember that even the finest sword can be crushed by a thousand rusted spears. Choose your rider carefully; he must show greater humility than even you display before me."

She turned, and nodded to Theodore and Guinan, giving her cheeriest smile.
"You two seem like a disciplined sort. Kind sirs, would you help me make sure the castle is ready for our guests? I need your men awake, and presentable. Armors polished, standing at attention. We also need to get rid of the, er.... guests you invited last night, and also have food and wine for three men prepared."

As Wren awaited Gnarl’s mission, she glanced behind her as others arrived, ignoring Joachim’s question. She had no idea why they were summoned more than he did after all. She stifled a bit of a smile at Atl’s half naked form, learning not to blush at the sight of a naked man long ago. It was still funny, seeing the savage with his cat wrapped around his shoulders. Her eyes then flickered to Sikarthis. She really had no problems with him. And she herself preferred the cold. But she had a feeling even snow could be hot to him if it didn’t stick to his neck in the process of falling. Either way, she didn’t see his disposition as one that was as brutal as some of the others. Some of the men in their company were always in a warring mood, arrogant stance, etc. She would find it simply exhausting. She smiled and nodded a bit at Theo, as she’d known him since childhood pretty much, him being good friends with her father.

She tapped her fingers on her arm in an impatient manner until Gnarl finally spoke and sent Theo away. She frowned a bit, chewing her bottom lip and listening as he spoke of the riders. She stepped forward closer, trying to see if they were still in sight over Gnarl’s shoulder, but they were not. She didn’t say anything in response to Gnarl’s charge of taking horses to the Queen’s village and asking questions, but she did roll her eyes a bit when he said no fighting. That would be… difficult.

Wren sighed and headed down and away from where their meeting had taken place, feet moving lithely towards the stables. She picked out her favorite of the horses, one that dipped its head when she reached out her hand, and had a lovely dark chocolate color to it. She saddled him and ascended, still not addressing any of the others as of yet while awaiting them to join her. When those of the company called had assembled, she trotted off towards the village at a leisurely pace, eyes half open in apparent boredom. It didn’t help when Joachim strode his horse up next to hers. She looked over at him and shook her head when he asked if she knew the lands, only look at him with vague interest for the first few lines of his spiel. After that she just tuned him out. Making a ‘mm’ sound or nodding at times when it seemed appropriate, rolling her eyes after a while because it seemed like he just wouldn’t shut up.

When the man finally did, she whispered ”Thank God,” under her breath, until she glanced over to the smoke. Her eyes widened, and it took all of 2 seconds before a ”H’yah!” left her lips and she was galloping with speed towards the village. She was never one to think much before acting, and it was in her blood to slay. Whoever had caused this, would taste her blade.

Atl noticed the glance of one of the Tribal Women, Wren was the name of the woman. He noticed that she tried to hold back a smile and Atl simply glanced at her, square in the pupils and gave a single nod.

Atl continued to swing his stone axe with an incredible vigor, ready to kill any member of the enemy tribe who dare stood against him. He paused in his swinging as Gnarl, Man who Calls Himself Bear, angrily spoke to two of the tribe and said something about the Chieftain, guarding and punishment. He arched his right eyebrow as he thought of how it was an honor to defend the Chieftain back in his tribe. Atl quickly disregarded this thought as he returned to swinging his axe.

As he swung he listened to Man-Bear, who said something about three and King. He knew King meant Enemy Chieftain, and he raised his axe up as he smirked, while Slayer jumped off of his shoulder and stood near his feet. Man-Bear then talked of a village, and before Atl was ready to cry for a glorious war, Man-Bear mentioned the village belonged to the Chieftain. That is when he stared into his eyes, and Atl returned the stare, fixating his pupils on Man-Bear. "Fight. Got." He said, as Slayer brushed up against his leg.

Atl quickly plucked his companion up and placed him back on his shoulder. He swung his stone axe once more.
Waggling his toes in the dirt he glanced at Slayer, "We hunt." He raised his axe as he boisterously yelled out to the other warriors of the tribe, "HUNT WELL." He said, wishing them a good slaughter, as Atl knew he would have today. Atl charged forth to find what this Tribe called 'Stables', once he found it. He quickly got on the beast, holding onto his cat and axe, and nudged the creature to the village of the Chieftain.

Rand, listened to Gnarl as he gave out his orders and leave, he looked at the other assembled around and thought about how difficult, it was going to be to talk with this villagers with the savage Atl while the mans choice of clothing, made the knight feel a bit uncomfortable. He wouldn't want anyone else at his side in battle, moving through the assembled crowd of his fellows as needed. He walked back through the barracks, ignoring the help the slaves offered him as he grabbed his Glaive and unwound the Burlap sack tied around the blade. Giving it a few practice stabs and cuts, he left the barracks.

Entering the stable, he grabbed Steppers saddle of the hook and saddled the war horse who seemed to feed of his masters excitement, the entire time shaking his head and snorting as well as stamping his hooves. "Hold on buddy, i can't get you saddled with you moving around so much." He told the horse putting a reassuring hand on it's neck, finally the beast calmed enough to be saddled and lead out of the stable. The horse was impatient to get out and about, it had been awhile since both Knight and horse had gone on a ride. Rand could feel it's impatience, and it's need to get out onto the battlefield again.

The horse didn't react much to the knight climbing into the saddle, it was used to him being in heavy armor so he probably felt as light as a feather to the beast. Clicking his tongue twice made the horse move forward, and out the gates following the rest of his group, he pulled up next to Wren but did not say anything to her, it appeared the cat had caught his tongue, but he did say something to Joachim after his long winded explanation of the land. "Did you turn into a scholar, when we turned our backs Joachim?" He joked, he didn't hate the man. He was fair with a blade and had a good head about his shoulders, when he wasn't going off on tangents like this. Then Wren rode off, and Rand saw why. "My god." He muttered, and sped off after her.

Stepper sped after Wren kicking up clods of dirt and mud, as it kept up with the girl. Rand pulled the reigns back as he neared the edge of town, he could hear the shouts going on, Stepper stamped and shook his head eager to get into the thick of it. But Rand held the horse steady as he waited for the rest of his group readying himself for a charge he made sure his sword was within reach and his Glaive was ready, then he steeled himself his face becoming like a stone wall, both knight and steed were ready for battle.

Guinand's head throbbed. Did someone call his name? He wasn't sure. Guinand stalled, still laying there in his bed. He couldn't even remember what had happened, or even where he was. Hopefully, if someone did call his name, it wasn't anything urgent. Besides, if things had been quieter he would have been much more alert. The woods were much quieter and gentler than the cacophony of this... Iron Company. That's right, Guinand was in that one castle. Stag's Rest was it? He couldn't quite think straight, as dream and reality melted together, he couldn't tell quite what was what anymore. That didn't bother him at all...

... But nothing quite woke him up as a man shaking him violently. Guinand's body rattled helplessly as his head snapped into the present situation. The man mumbled something. He even knew him by name. Strange, Guinand thought, he didn't even remember meeting him before. The man barked something about a punishment too, but Guinand was still rather sleepy when he spoke to him. Guinand got down from his bed, gave a quick stretch. As he leaned to his right, he suddenly realized that something WAS happening. His mind suddenly became alarmed, but then he calmed down. If it was important it would probably find him sooner than he'd find it. He grabbed his white tunic, boots, belt, leather vambraces, and his deerskin hood and cloak. He made sure each was well-fastened to his body. Then he grabbed his quiver. He fastened it to the left side of his waist. He reached back down to his personal chest to grab his arrows. He took about twenty or so, and deposited them into his quiver. He took his hunting dagger, and strapped it to his right thigh. He closed the chest, and pulled his longbow from under the bed. He quickly strung it, and slung it over his shoulder.

Guinand realized that this man was still watching him. How rude, Guinand thought, who was accustomed to privacy from his solitary time. These people were stranger than he expected. Nevertheless, Guinand didn't let it get to him. Once ready, he followed the man. They walked down a series of halls and paths until they came upon someone he recognized better. Gnarl was it? Was he the bear? Guinand didn't think he looked much like a bear, not like that other.... thing he saw sporting a loincloth. Yes! There was a man with a loincloth! More was coming back from the previous night. Before Guinand could recall from the muddled mess of memories, Gnarl barked at him to follow him. Guinand still wasn't sure what he was doing. If the man who fetched him had told him, he didn't listen; but now he knew his name was Theodore.

As Gnarl briefed the Queen on the situation, Guinand realized something did happen while he slept. His eyes lit up a little, but he didn't show any emotion, they weren't really in danger he supposed. Seeing Gnarl bowing instantly instigated Guinand to bow too as if by reflex. Guinand hoped he wouldn't be the one to approach the riders. What good did a longbow do on a mounted beast? He couldn't hope to possibly stab someone on horseback. Not that he'd be inclined to. He'd sooner climb the nearest tree and hurl pinecones than attempt something so foolish. Maybe even take a nap up there and devise a plan. His head throbbed at the sound of a nap. Now the Queen told him and Theodore to ready the castle for guests. Guinand didn't know which was worse: dressing up mercenaries as princes or inviting armed men to a tea party. Guinand sighed softly. Maybe he'll be able to go out hunting later on today and relax in the silence. At this thought he smiled to himself. Guinand didn't particularly hate chores, but this day wasn't exactly turning out promising. The thought of doing something familiar relaxed his tense body.

"As you wish, your majesty," replied Guinand, returning to his present predicament. So it was up to him to choose whether he would ride to his death, or deal with whores and disgruntled men. He'd been met with a terrible fate indeed. He felt repulsed at this second choice. He had a special dislike reserved for this kind of debauchery. He turned to Theodore and said, "I suppose I'll ride out and invite these men, I trust you can do a little housekeeping, yes?"

Guinand would rather throw his lot with the pinecones.

Were he a lesser man (IE: a Southerner) Sikarthis might have complained or grumbled about the assignment he and the rest of his companions had been given. Standing atop the roof of that rather cramped gatehouse with the sweat building on the back of his neck, it had been more than a little irritating to find out that he had donned his battle dress for something as mundane and unimpressive as visiting a peaceful village. There was an itch growing in his sword arm of late that no amount of sparring and late night exercise could cure and he recognized it as an ache for battle. In the end though there was nothing he could do but grunt and make his way down to the stables where the Southerners kept their 'horses', animals Sikarthis did not care for in the slightest. Back in Ustynia yaks and Snowcats bred for mountain passing were the primary beasts of burden, neither of which allowed themselves to be so easily cowed as these long faced Southern beasts. There was something unnatural to Sikarthis about a creature that rarely offered even the slightest resistance. Also they stank.

And yet here he was, less than three minutes after being dismissed from the gatehouse, saddling one of the foul smelling creatures with all the grace of someone who's main experience with riding involved sitting astride armored cats and wooly yaks. It took longer than it probably should have but eventually Sikarthis managed to saddle the beast and hoist himself up into the hard leather seat. He was sweating more than before by then, much to his irritation. As he steered the horse towards the gate to join his companions he found himself mulling over the words Joachim had directed to him earlier. A few months may not have seemed like much to the younger sellsword but for Sikarthis, knowing that the only certain relief from the constant heat he felt beating down on him would not come for longer still did nothing to improve his mood.

Most of the ride to the village was spent in silence on Sikarthis' part, the empty air quickly filled by Joachim rambling off some small story or other about the history of this area of land that the Southerner Queen had chosen as her own. Tuning out the words of the younger man, Sikarthis rode on in a daze, his mind growing foggy as he felt the heat pounding down on him like a relentless hammer. So out of focus was he that he missed the sudden stop in conversation, only awoken from his stupor by the commotion caused when Wren suddenly took off down the road toward the village. His mind snapping back into focus, Sikarthis took one look at the rising smoke in the direction of the village and dug his heels into the flanks of his mount, racing off after Wren and Rand who had reacted quicker than he. Passing the latter along the edges of the town, Sikarthis continued to urge his horse towards the village, drawing a javelin from the sheath that hung from his saddle. Despite what Gnarl had said earlier, Sikarthis had come well prepared for a fight, longsword and shield hanging from one side of his saddle while two sheaths full of javelins hung from the other.

With his blood rising and the familiar sounds of shouting and screams growing louder the quicker he neared the town, Sikarthis could feel the itch in his arm beginning to fade. It was time to make some Southerners bleed.

-Double post because servers are dumb-

Gnarl bowed before the queen as she gave her orders, which weren't compliant with his opinion on the matter completely, but he'd have to follow through with them regardless. Guinand seemed compelled to go and ignore the queens orders, opting to go invite these men himself rather than letting Gnarl do it. He'd let him bring the torn of the queen upon himself, and not interfere, but the queen wouldn't be happy about him ignoring her direct orders. He turned to Theodore as the three of them walked out of the chamber, leaving the queen to her own devices. „Theodore, come with me. We have more important matters to attend to than stay around all day. Guess you're off the hook for guard duty.” he said as he walked past Theodore, down the circular stairs and into the throne hall. Servants were out and about cleaning the mess that the Iron Company had made the day before and at this moment the sounds of swords clattering could be heard from the courtyard as well. It'd sound like an actual fight if you disregarded the hung-over muttering of headaches and such. Gnarl would lead Theodore across the courtyard and towards the barracks, headed for his own bedroom which doubled as a small working room. He'd let Theodore in briefly as he'd need to collect some items -- papers, maps of the area and detailed orders.

The time Gnarl took gave Theodore some time to look around the bedroom, which was stylized by greatswords hanging crossed above the large bed, and a deers' head mounted above the doorway. A small candle on the working table lit the room slightly, the light flickering as the flames danced their little dance. In the corner stood a weaponsrack, loaded with a variety of weapons. Besides that there was little of notice in the room. By now Gnarl would be done and grab Theodore by the shoulder as he moved out of the room again, out of the barracks and into the courtyard. Once they got there he'd release Theodore, his brutish ways showing through after all. Gnarl walked over to the center of the courtyard, expecting Theodore to follow him. From there he hailed a guardsman, who hurried over in his plate armor. It was top quality, Gnarl had to agree, but the way these men looked, walked, ran and fought.. it was laughable. He'd have to organise some sort of training sooner or later. „Guardsman, go and ensure that the.. ladies of the beds are sent back to where ever they live. And tell a servant to ready a chamber with three beds, foodstuffs and wine. Queens orders, she told me to tell you directly. Remember your duty.” Well, that wasn't really true but Gnarl didn't feel like playing servant for the queen, and that wasn't why he was hired. The guardsman hurried off, or rather hobbled off, being untrained in plate armor and how to move in it. Gnarl just had to trust the job got done.

The papers he had brought along got rolled out and Gnarl inspected them closely, seemingly attempting to create a picture of what had been drawn and placing it into the real world. After about five minutes he'd look at Theodore, letting him have a look at the drawing. The drawing seemed to be of a bastion, though it was much too large to put in the courtyard. They'd have to build from the castle, connecting the new 'barracks' design that Gnarl held to the keep. This would be profitable for all those involved, even the queen, but Gnarl just had to convince her it was worth the money. The current barracks were simply a stables converted into a sleeping area for the men, and there was barely enough space. „What do you think? We'll have seperated dormitories, because there's not enough space in general for individual rooms, and then a hallway leading to the throne hall of the queen.”

After he'd receive an opinion on the new addition that Gnarl had planned, Gnarl would slap Theodore on the back hard and grin at him. „Perhaps the queen will be less stubborn and take my advice on this, atleast.” He'd push Theodore towards the training area and follow suit, calling over a group of five guards, and an Iron Company's soldier during the walk. „Right, Yorwen, get in the training ring. You too, guardsman.” He'd say to one of the guardsman, holding a glaive. Yorwen, a big man who was fully suited up in plate armor and had a bascinet on, stepped into the ring self assured. The guardsman wasn't so self assured, but stepped in none the less. „Yorwen, show them how to fight.” The guardman stood awkwardly, aiming his glaive at the man now that he knew he was gonna be fighting him. Yorwen simply lowered his sword forwards a bit and walked in a circle around the guardsman. Then, he stepped forward, as the guardsman stepped back in fear. He pushed his glaive forward and Yorwen used this moment to grab onto the glaive's wooden handle and pulled it out of his hands while stepping forwards and 'slitting his throat.' Ofcourse it was just a training, so he didn't actually draw blood. The sword slowly dragged over the mans neck before Yorwen gave the glaive back. You couldn't see, but inside his helmet he was grinning.

Now was Theodores' turn. Gnarl grabbed his shoulder and pushed him in before yelling at one of the guardsmen that he'd have to get into the ring as well. „Theodore, perhaps you can illustrate without so much showing off. After that, teach these five men some tricks and battle formations for use in small groups. See me at the end of the day, and tell me how it went. Get them ready for the visit of these scouts that the king sent here.” Gnarl didn't even bother to see how Theodore would fare in the fight -- he was certain that he'd win given the relative stupidity of the castle guards around here. The guard however didn't waste any time and, not wanting to suffer the same fate as the other guardsman, rushed forwards pointing his glaive at Theodores side. Perhaps 'training the guardsmen' was a better punishment than 'guarding the queen.'

---

Wren, Rand, Sikarthis and Atl wasted no time, riding for the burning village. Joachim reared his horse towards the village, too, and followed suit, giving his horse a few taps with his boot to catch up to them. They were headed straight into the thick and by now the heavily armored knights that were raiding the village could be seen. They wore no emblems, as even their shields were painted simply green. These knights drove through the village, a rope in one hand dragging slaves along, sword in the other hand to slay any stragglers. Some infantry could be seen in rugged leather outfits, with some steel parts here and there. They were dragging the women out of the houses, in order to rape them then slit their throats, or suffer the worse fate of being taken as a slave -- to serve until death by providing 'services' to these men.

However one of the knights noticed the riding band of mercenaries heading for the village and reared his horse, before alarming the rest of the knights and soldiers. All of them dropped what they were doing and turned to face the riders. The knights were the first to rush forward, passing the infantry and speeding towards the band of mercenaries. There were 7 of them, all heavily armored in full plate armor and elaborate helmets, some of them carrying swords and the others carrying maces. The infantry behind them started forming up rather quickly, and their force soon became known as it was clear that they had over 20 men. Joachim realized the mistake they had made by rushing to battle blindly, but it was too late to pull back. He yelled out to the others, screaming the battlecry of the Iron Company. „Steel-born! Oaken-skin! Glory in life and sacrifice in death!”

The knigts closed in quickly, and Joachim met one of the riders with his lance. Using proper jousting form, Joachim pulled the lance from it's pouch and couched it on his elbow, raising his left arm with his shield as well to catch any blows that the knight may throw to counter the lance. The lance crashed into the knights shield, the sheer speed at which the two of them had ridden causing the shield to be pierced by the lance. The lance went through the shield and grazed the knights shoulder, scoring a lucky early hit. However the lance broke after that, the tip of the lance snapping of. Joachim dropped the wooden handle of the lance and pulled on his sword, knowing that the knight had survived. Fighting on horseback was something he was good at, but he wasn't sure about the others and likely the others would fare better on foot. He tugged on the reins of the horse, forcing the horse to stop and turn around to face the knight that was still riding away from Joachim. He pushed his boots into the horses flanks, preferring the fight with the knight on horseback rather than charging headfirst into a group of infantry on horseback.