"Come on, then, Rook!" Karthas bellowed, that damn rictus grin of his splitting his head from ear to ear. Rook was panting, bleeding and bent over, one finely-honed edge of a ketra blade dragging along the ground. This was a stupid idea and it was going to get him killed. Did you really think you could take on Karthas one-on-one? No time to answer that question as the psychopathic mercenary swung for him again. Feeling like every movement took tremendous effort, Rook swung his blades up, parried the strike and danced away. Ignore the pain, ignore it, stuff it away, you're good, you're great, you're the wind, he's a rock, and the wind always wins. Rook repeated that mantra in his head as he dodged a few more swings from Karthas's halberd. What a damn difficult weapon to disarm. When Karthas spoke again, he suddenly looked scared, and he spoke with a woman's voice. "I-I don't think I'm ready for this," he said. Rook, taking pity, dropped his swords and approached Karthas, who looked scared and overwhelmed. "It's okay... we don't have to do this," Rook said. With a start, Rook suddenly awoke as one of the mercenaries, obviously massively hungover from the night before, half-fell, half-climbed out of his bunkbed. What had he been dreaming about? The duel, of course. He dreamed about that all the time. Trying to remember the dream was like trying to carry water in his hands -- the harder he tried, the more it slipped through his fingers. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he stopped trying and sat up straight. Then he remembered what happened the night before. Oh man... Rook thought to himself. They were bound to travel together for the next few weeks and that just became a lot more awkward. Deciding that was a problem he'd deal with when the time came, he clambered out of bed and freshened himself up. He realized he was already late, but by the great gods of nowhere, Rook wasn't going on a journey like this without feeling as clean as possible first. The city was very much alive when he made his way through the streets. Rook contemplated going to the market but he decided against it. He also thought about visiting the Scarlet Ravens one last time. He knew where they'd be -- guard duty on the city walls. Dull, hot, boring, warm, and uneventful is how they usually described that shift. Rook decided against this also. Gauging the time by the position of the sun, he headed for the Westgate clearing, whistling an old whaler's shanty to himself. "Cover your ears, boys and men, When you see the great whale breach! For you know it is then, She will bellow the screech! Nothing will save you all, From the depths below! Once you hear that call, You awaken in heaven's meadow." The more he thought about these songs, the more Rook realized they were very, very poor compositions. He had long ago determined that whalers made for terrible poets. As usual, the site of a gathering caravan looked like absolute chaos. Rook wasn't even phased by that anymore. Both hands on the pommels of his ketra blades, he weaved through the bustling servants and other mercenaries doing some last-minute prepwork. Rook stuffed the slim backpack he'd taken with him into the White Guard's cart and looked around for any members of the detail he recognized from last night. Especially the girl. While he felt bad for her, she had some explaining to do. He eventually spotted her, Marcel and Silhainlé, the Lessir creature. Rook had only seen one before his in life, a hilarious rascal who ran a portside store somewhere east of Montgarde. What was that place called? He couldn't remember. Even from a distance, and from what Rook had seen of Silhainlé last night, this specimen was more in line with the race's usual attitude; timid and alert. Rook approached slowly, leisurely greeting them all at once. "Morning, chaps," he said, and curtsied at Adele. "Madame," he added, smiling gently. He didn't want to give her the idea he was all that upset with her.

As the attendants and servants of Hemming busied themselves with preparations for the imminent journey to Paolou, Silhainlé rested on his haunches. While one of his ears was relaxed by the side of his head the other was up, turning and taking in the sounds around him; a dispute about the packing of a wagon, gossip about the towns folk, complaints about the amount of pay, and may other typical human matters. There was nothing giving him cause to worry, nor anything particularly interesting for that matter, but he was happy to sit there quietly and enjoy his breakfast. He was developing a slight pain in one of his front teeth, it was in need of some wearing down. He made note to himself to find something to gnaw on for a while once they set out. A good, tough piece of bark ought to do the trick. For now it was nothing urgent, just an occasional, mild discomfort. He hopped out of the way as they brought another horse in for one of the wagons, quite a large, imposing beast of a thing. He didn't mind horses, but he certainly wouldn't want to be charged at by one. He had finished his breakfast by the time more White Guard started arriving. He recognised a few of the faces as they gathered nearby. He kept his head down, not yet the most bold in conversation. Human customs were a little strange and sometimes he feared offending someone, and considering what a violent race they could sometimes be he wanted to avoid doing anything of the sort. Luckily none of the White Guard seemed too unpersonable, some were a little rowdy but that was the worst of it, at least from what he could see. Silhainlé saw a man approaching, he recognised his face quite vividly compared to the others, and had some vague memory of the name Marcel. He didn't want to be rude so he sheepishly raised a hand and gave a small wave in return as he came closer. He found that the man smelled a little peculiar. Under the pleasant smell of baked wheat and sweet somethings there was a hint of... something. It was stale and old, like something burnt long ago. He didn't have time to think on it further. He would have spoken to Marcel and greeted him but before he could the woman – Adele – joined them. She seemed cheerful, smiling as she joined them. Before he spoke his nose twitched a little, catching the scent coming off of her. Peonies, pears and juniper berries, sweet and calming smells to his sensitive senses. He managed a small smile and said hello. "I'm afraid I have little experience with caravans myself." He admitted, his slight Lessir accent lilting in his voice. "I am not the most experienced of guardsmen." That was a considerable amount for him to say to acquaintances, but the pleasant smell from Adele had put him in a more relaxed mindset. Such natural scents often did. This part of human culture where the women would adorn themselves with fruit and flower smells was something he was becoming very fond of. He wondered why it was not something the men partook in. The man called Rook arrived and greeted them all. Silhainlé gave a small nod in return but little else.

“Morning, chaps.” The voice from behind triggered a thousand volt jolt that blazed down her spine. Her body was so tense that she struggled to turn her head, but she managed to do so just in time to see Rook curtsey. Had she not been trying to calm the goosebumps along her arms, she would have rolled her eyes. This was definitely the Rook she’d met the night before—a tease whose intensity made it impossible to tell exactly what he was thinking at any given time. And she really would have liked to know what he was thinking because she was about to spend the entire day walking within speaking distance to him. Should she apologize as soon as possible? Pretend to be mad? Play aloof until she knew what his feelings were? Crunch. A new wave of nervous sweat rolled over Adele as she felt the trinket in her hand snap. Crap, crap, crap! It broke before I could even—noooooo! Gods, why hadn’t she paid more attention to the tension in her hands? That was where she always put her tension and now she wanted to release that tension by punching something. Don’t look at it. Just don’t. As subtly as possible, Adele snuck the broken trinket in her hand into one of the pouches of her belt. She forced a smile as she did so, dipping her head towards Rook. “Did you get enough beauty sleep? I was just telling these two about I need someone to show me the ropes of caravan guarding. Apparently, Fluffy here is in the same boat, too.” At this, Adele finally did what she’d wanted to try since seeing Hain’s bobbly ears: she poked them. Really, how did it feel to have ears like that? Was it bothersome when the wind was blowing really hard? Was his sense of hearing super sensitive, and if it was, how did he deal with loud sounds up close? Was she already talking too loud? And seriously, why didn’t he have more fur on his body? Science needed to know! Even so, she softened her face to look as innocent as possible as she smiled down at the Lessir. “Do you mind if I call you that? It just seems to suit you.”

As the sunlight flooding the room began to reach his face, Zacharias’ eyelid began to open, while the bronze “eye” started to light up. Both did so slowly, falteringly at first, but when Zacharias remembered what he was supposed to be doing that very day, the Totem became fully illuminated. “Crap!” he shouted at no one in particular, as he slowly stood up. With his healthy eye still not fully open, he shambled towards his sword, which he had foolishly left on a desk, a couple of meters from his bunk bed. As soon as he grasped his weapon, he felt as though a great burden was lifted from his body. He dashed toward the bathroom, sword in hand, and splashed his face with cold water. He returned inside the room, and put on his armor as fast as he could. When he sheathed the Lightningblade sword, the weight returned to his body, but it was much more bearable now. He grabbed his sack, containing all the food and money he’d need on his journey, and rushed into the streets. I need to take the shortest path, which would be… Through the marketplace, he thought, and quickly ran towards it. He didn’t have the time to buy anything, so instead, he turned his mind towards the previous night. As soon as he’d reached his home, he had taken out his notebooks, and began to look over them. First, he updated his expenses notebook, in which he also made the calculations to decide how much money he would need to take on the trip, adding, of course, some extra for emergencies, a little bit for pleasure, and a huge chunk for aids to his research. After closing that one, he went over to the other one, detailing his theoretical prototypes, different rules he had discovered, and the many Totems he had encountered during his life. After rereading it whole, a process which took some time, he began to scribble and add things and make corrections and specifications, which took what seemed to be minutes, but were most likely hours. Finally, when his eyelid had become heavy, and he was too tired to properly concentrate, he closed the book, and prepared his bag. Zacharias continued to think about every little detail he could have added, had he not needed to sleep. In fact, he was so focused on them that he didn’t notice the hooded figure in front of him until he had already crashed against it. “I’m sorry!” he said, helping the other person up. “It’s just that I’m in a hurry, ‘cause I’m running late, and… Wait… Are you…” He peered at the other person intently, and closed his right eye. Indeed, when he looked at the man through his Totem, many little splotches of colour appeared all over his body. “Rupert, is that you?” he asked, now excited. “It’s you, isn’t it? What are you doing here?” “Shh!” Rupert hushed. “Yes, it’s me,” he whispered. “But I don’t want to be found. How did you recognize me?” Rupert Woodsman was one of the finest Totem crafters Zacharias had ever met, as well as one of his best friends. They had met at the Academy, where Rupert was one of the main suppliers of Totems, and offered his services to craft many experimental Totems. Surprisingly enough, this hadn’t left him with any gross disfiguration. When the barbarians attacked, he was the one who had called for the White Guard. Zach hadn’t seen him ever since. “Please. You always carry so many of those little Totems around,” Zacharias replied. “It’s a wonder I didn’t see you before. And, what do you mean you don’t want to be found? What are you doing, Rupes?” “Well…” He hesitated. “I really shouldn’t tell you this, but… Oh, what the hell. I’m in the Black Market.” “You what?!” “I know, I know how it sounds like, but I didn’t really have a choice. I haven’t had nearly as much business ever since the Academy got destroyed. Sure, I managed to live on my own for a while, off of my savings and the little income I got, but now I’ve got a family to maintain, and-” “Wait, a fa- You got married? And you didn’t even send me a letter?” “I’m telling you, it’s been hard! Money spent on a letter meant less money for food and shelter. But the Black Market, it helps a lot. There’s always demand, and customers pay a lot.” “Yeah, but- You shouldn’t- Tell you what,” Zacharias offered. “I’m about to go on a mission for a couple of weeks now, escorting a caravan, nothing dangerous enough to keep me from making promises. When I return, I’m gonna try and talk to the higher ups, see if I can get them interested in hiring you as a Totem supplier.” “Wait, really? Would you actually do that for me?” “Of course! You’re my best friend, and I don’t really have anything to lose by doing it. But you have to get away from this Black Market thing. Promise?” “Promise. And if you ever think of a way I can repay you…” “Don’t bother. Now, I really have to go. I’m already a bit late, and I won’t be able to help you much if I’m fired for tardiness.” “Oh, Okay. Goodbye, then!” Rupert said, but Zacharias had already left. He had dashed into the Marketplace’s crowd, dodging people left and right. In no time, he had left the Marketplace, and soon enough, he was at the White Guard’s meeting point. He headed towards the group he had met the previous night, and asked, “Hello, guys, did I miss anything important?”

"Morning, chaps," the rogue had said, before offering a curtsy to Adele. Marcel thought that a little strange but said nothing; he wasn't very well versed in formalities so he had no right to judge. Heard he had been head of another mercenary company born from some place called Montgarde- wherever that was. Marcel came to the realization that this escort mission would be his first significant time spent away from Belencrest- sure, during the missions involving the greyskin barbarians he had been outside of the city plenty of times, though rarely would he be gone but a few days. "Lad," Marcel offered the single word in reply. He had no idea how old Rook actually was, but he assumed he was younger than he. In a way, the red-sashed swordsman reminded him of the tales he heard of duelists from some far-off land (Perhaps that was Montgarde?) whose bard-like acting abilities and use of totems accentuated their swordplay to create a style that was as flashy as it was deadly. Marcel's mind began to wander until Hain's voice brought him back. "I'm afraid I have little experience with caravans myself. I am not the most experienced of guardsmen." Don't worry, Hain, escorts are easy. 'Sides, I'm here to make sure all eyes stay on me. He referred to combat, where that was the role he preferred, and from the looks of it, the only one suited to such. Many of the other guardsmen- at least, those standing around him- were lightly armored, so if Marcel was to act as the anchor from which their blades danced, then so be it. If an attack slipped through their speed, he'd make sure Weaponward was there first. He heard a small crunch. Woad! Marcel feared the worst- how had it broken? Had something heavy in his pack put too much weight onto the small vase? Marcel's hand fumbled as he unclasped the bag and out tumbled the vase- he was able to catch it, but with his bad hand. He cleared his throat as he inspected the urn and was pleasantly surprised to find no crack. Then what had made the noise? Marcel carefully returned the pot to it's place in his bag and took a quick and timid glance to see if anyone had seen his deformity. Adele was busy inquiring Hain about calling him 'Fluffy' as well as questioning caravan guarding itself, all the while poking fun at Rook. She was quick. Before closing his bag Marcel retrieved one of Miss Creedey's rolls. "The lass' got a point," he smiled and stroked one prong of his beard with his good hand before taking a bite of bread. As was expected, it was delicious, he just wished Creedey made them bigger. As it was, the poor thing wouldn't survive the second bite. "As for caravan guarding, it's pretty simple," he said between bites of roll, "I've never been the guard, but I used to run deliveries of a sort. This caravan just seems to be on a bigger scale. I won't speak for Djonn, but if I had to guess, it'll be mostly walking, stopping to eat and sleep, and then more walking. We're all gonna' get real friendly with each other by the time this is over." Just then, Zacharias appeared. “Hello, guys, did I miss anything important?” "Nothin' too bad. Djonn's probably gettin' the details on what we're going to be doing." Marcel couldn't help but notice his burns again, which formed around that eye. That totem, rather.

"Plenty of beauty sleep, thanks," Rook replied to Adele. He kept his voice calm and pleasant, though he had to admit to himself that he was a little annoyed she seemed to be treating him like nothing was wrong. Rook wasn't about to demand an apology, but he would have liked... something. Anything, really, but Adele didn't mention it at all. Instead, she started talking about how they needed caravan guard duty instructions. Rook let Marcel do the explaining. In Rook's experience, the older man was right; a lot of walking. As observant as the rogue usually was, he completely missed Adele breaking the trinket in her hand as he looked around the bustling scene of the caravan preparing itself. He spotted Djonn a little way off talking to a man he recognized as Thorpe, a lieutenant in the White Guard. The two were too far away for Rook to hear what was being discussed, but Rook would wager Marcel was right. When he turned around, Adele was poking Hain's ears and Zacharias finally joined them. "You just missed the greatest fireworks display this side of the Stygian Chasm," Rook said sarcastically. "It was amazing. Women sank to the ground and spread their legs in ecstasy, children grew up to be men in the span of minutes and the great angel Ezekyle descended from heaven to anoint Marcel here as Arch-Curate of the Narrow Maze." The rogue clapped Zach on the shoulder and added: "So no, nothing important." Speaking to Hain, Rook jabbed a thumb in Djonn's direction. "You, long-ears, can you hear what they're talking about?"

It wasn't difficult for Silhainlé to catch onto the somewhat awkward atmosphere between Adele and the man called Rook. He didn't want to say anything of it though, he felt it was likely none of his business, so he kept his head down. His ears both pricked up when he heard a crunch, his head rising with them. He gazed around, looking for the source of the sound. He was about to look in Adeles direction when Marcels frantic movement caught his attention instead. He supposed he must have been carrying something fragile in his pack and now feared the worst. Everything seemed to be in order though, no harm done to whatever it was he was storing in there. Silhainlé was still curious about that old, ashen smell he was detecting from Marcels pack. It was odd. Silhainlé was interrupted in his thoughts by a fingertip lightly grazing the skin of his ear. His instinct caused his to flinch away from Adeles hand, sinking his head to his shoulders, and his ears flicked downwards for a moment. Realising that she was just curious and clearly meant him no harm, one ear came back up again, but the one she touched stayed firmly put, fixed in place by the side of his head. He tilted his head a little when she questioned him. He was having difficulty understanding why she would want to call him 'Fluffy'. He knew what it meant - they had a similar word in Lessari, 'thlayli' – but he was completely lacking in any kind of fur, as all Lessir were. So, why did she think it appropriate? He supposed he didn't really mind, after all it wasn't anything nasty. “I... don't.” He said slowly, not quite managing to sound very certain in his decision. He tired not to worry himself over something as minuscule as her choice in nickname for him, he doubted she meant anything mean or malicious by it. All the same, he nervously scratched the ear she touched, not sure how he felt about the contact. He was less pleased with the name Rook decided to bestow upon him. His ears flicked up and he turned his head slightly, looking up at the man from the corner of his narrowed eye. Silhainlés body language instinctively turning wary of the human. His nose twitched and he glanced over towards Djonn. “Yes.” He admitted quietly. He turned back towards Rook. “Perhaps it is not my business to share the details of what they speak.” He added, making his stance on the matter clear. He knew it was neither polite nor always smart to share the personal conversations of others. Another man arrived, one who Silhainlé was unfamiliar with. He gazed curiously at him, particularly that striking totem of his. Oh how those still fascinated him.

Soooooo… what had she learned about caravan duty so far? Nothing, absolutely nothing, aside from the fact that some mercenaries apparently liked carrying around fragile jars while guarding caravans. Her face was cynical as she gazed at Marcel, having hoped for something more. As near as she could tell, their little group was far from being elite—apparently nearly all of them were inexperienced with the most basic of duties for hire-on mercenaries. Sure, they were just going to walk alongside a line of wagons, but wasn’t there a little more to it? And what about that big obi wagon? Doesn’t it just scream ‘rob me?’ Did they run out of normal wagons, or is there actually something big in there? If so, what could they possibly be selling? Adele resisted the temptation to poke Fluffy’s ear that managed to stay upright and gave the caravan another glance-over. It sure would be nice to know about group formations before going in. That Obi is probably going to be the slowest, and thus the weakest point of the caravan. Does that mean the most muscle will be stationed there? It would make sense for the lighter soldiers to be kept on the fringes, where they can both scout and react the fastest to counter-attack any point we may be targeted from. Adele sighed and ran a hand over her hair. Why am I even bothering? It’s Djonn’s job to worry about that, not mine. Hopefully he has a better idea of what he’s doing than the rest of us. And speaking of the rest of them, who needed sarcasm when Rook was there to lay it down? She’d given him an appreciative smirk when he greeted Zach, but didn’t actually risk saying anything. Hopefully there would be a time again when it was just the two of them—then she could try and make up for her behavior. In the meantime, she’d have to work on fixing up the stupid trinket that was supposed to have been her apology. “Now, now, Fluffy, don’t be a spoilsport.” Adele leaned closer, one arm resting against the top of her cannon while the other recoiled behind her back. “You’ve been eavesdropping this whole time, so isn’t it fair that the rest of us should hear? Otherwise, I might have to tell Djonn to be a little more careful about having chats with the higher-ups when a certain someone is around.”

Rook narrowed his eyes right back at Hain. To be fair, the rabbit creature had a point, but Rook still didn't like getting snubbed like that. He was about to speak up when Adele beat him to the punch as she playfully tried to convince Hain to share whatever juicy details he'd picked up. Rook's eyes briefly turned to Adele as she spoke before focusing back on Hain. Wait, what? Rook did a double take, staring at the cannon Adele was leaning on. He'd noticed it, of course, when he first walked up, but now that he looked at it a litle closer he realised he had never seen anything quite like it before. His curiosity peaked and he had to resist the urge to ask Adele how it worked. She seemed like the type to go on a tangent when asked a question like that, and while Rook wasn't opposed to the idea, this probably wasn't the moment for it. He resigned himself to asking the question later. "Yeah, what she said," Rook said, nodding his head at Adele. "We're supposed to be a team, right? That means sharing everything you overhear and collectively undermining the authority of your commanding officer," he added with a smirk. He wasn't particularly fond of that thing called chain-of-command, especially since he'd gotten quite used to being the leader of his own outfit before submitting his crew to become a chapter of the White Guard. It was financially definitely the best choice and provided an immense amount of job security, but Rook wasn't going to become a subordinate again without at least a little mutinious behavior.

Zach looked at Rook, completely deadpan. "Well, it's only fair," he said, shrugging. "Since you missed the great fight between angels and demons over on the other side of town. There was hellfire, lightning everywhere and a freaking mountain burst out of the ground. History books will remember it." He stepped away from him and looked around at the group. Djonn was separated from them, speaking to Lt. Thorpe. His gaze then went over Rook, who looked like a walking armory, with all those daggers and the two blades, Adele, who in combat would probably be staying at the back, blasting at foes with that machine of hers, and Rook, the only one who was actually carrying a shield, and who looked huge besides everyone else. He stopped on Sillhainlé. The rabbit-man intrigued him. Sure enough, he'd heard of the Lessir, but he had never actually seen one before. He continued to look at him for a while, particularly examining his long ears and animalistic feet. Then, he closed his right eye, and scanned the group again. Djonn had one on his Glaive, probably for use while fighting. Rook, meanwhile had one on his chest, hanging from a chain, hidden behind his leather armour. Zacharias could not know what it's use was. It could be a portable light source, a poison nullifier, or a thousand other things. A similar thing happened with Marcel's. For whatever reason, instead of hanging it on a chain, or putting it in his pocket, he held it in his left hand. To each their own, I suppose, Zach thought. Meanwhile, Adele's- Wait, what? So Adele's machine is Totem-powered? And it's a very powerful one, if I can see it through metal. I wonder... His curiosity got the better of him. He completely ignored everyone asking Sillhainlé to tell them what Djonn was talking about, as well as the conversation about what guarding caravans involved, walked up to Adele, and asked, while pointing at the machine, "So... What sort of Totem's inside that thing?"

Oh come on! He had to ask that now? Adele’s gaze swiveled over to Zach. She didn’t answer immediately, torn between being polite and getting Haine to crack, but she finally decided against putting more pressure on the shy guy. She’d just have to remember that his exceptional hearing could be useful later—all the more reason to get on his good side. Rook was getting more intriguing by the second, too: who’d have thought he was just as happy to spy on his commanding officers? “This must be your first time seeing Oester tech.” Adele turned, a smug smirk on her face. It was about time the White Guard learned exactly how much they’d gained in recruiting her. “The best machines we’ve been able to put together are those based on totemic crystals—synthetic gems created by flame fusion. Most processes use what we call a “totem extension” to activate and control the crystals: these ‘extensions’ are glyphs based on the crystal’s matrix that connect crystal to machine. In short, the crystals and the patterns used to control them make up one totem composed of two significant parts—hence it being called a totemic machine. Back home, they simply call it cryst-power.” Had anyone followed her thus far? Probably not, which was all the more reason to go on. “Of course, my little friend here doesn’t use the same totem extension despite using the same crystals, although the basic theories are very similar. You’ll see what I mean if you’re lucky enough to see me in action.”

Djonn felt like Thorpe wasn't being completely forward with him, but he thought it best not to press the Lieutenant too hard on the matter. He had hoped for more direct information on the Estates but he supposed that that would just have to come later, not that he was looking forward to getting back in touch with certain parts of his life. Djonn noticed out of the corner of his eye that several more guardsmen had arrived and were making conversation. He recognized all of them, though he did not remember all of their names. The majority of the group had been part of their little outdoor powwow outside of the Tavern last night. Two in particular, Adele and Rook, seemed to be pestering the Lessir whose name escaped him about something. Given the bunny man's large ears and their not so subtle gesticulation and gazing, he had an inkling of what it was. "No sir, that will be all. But really Thorpe, you need to cool down. Take some vacation days after this, I'm sure the Captain wouldn't mind. You're so strung up right now I'm half expecting you to snap in half while you're standing here. It isn't healthy to let things get you so worked up." The irony of Djonn's statement was lost on himself Grabbing the maps and other relevant information he bid Thorpe farewell and made his way over to the group. He caught the tale-end of Adele's mountain of technical jargon as he arrived, maps in one hand, glaive in the other. "Well alright boys, girls, and Marcel; we've just been given our marching orders. I'm sure Adele will be happy to know that we won't be staying in any ratty inns or Taverns for the duration. In order to keep prices low for our wonderful Robber Baron benefactors, The White Guard has called in some favors and instead we will be staying at the Cossler, Reminar, and Baelin estates. For those out of the loop these three are some of the larger land owners in the region, well over ten thousand acres between the lot of them and they have graciously prepared rooms in their estates for Mister Hemming's men and ourselves." He paused to give them time to process the information. "However, the only one of us who gets to shack up in the estates themselves is me. The rest of you will be sleeping in the barns and stables with Hemming's men. Mister Hemming found it more cost effective if he did not have to pay Room and Board for the rabble. Because of this I have a proposition for you all. I am not exactly thrilled to be in contact with high society again and therefore I will be giving my room to whichever one of you proves themselves to be the most deserving of it at each of our three stops. Whatever that means is subject entirely to my whim so don't go seeking glory or get yourself killed so that you don't have to sleep in a stable or barn."

Everyone moves in the frenzied tempo of a costly operation running behind schedule.

The hired hands of Hemming’s people shift the crates hurriedly into the wagon beds, securing them with lengths of rope and calling out inventory to a young woman carrying parchments flattened against a thin tablet of wood. Her auburn hair is braided into an updo that cascades down into a low chignon, and her fine clothes are immaculate, proper. She moves from cart to cart in a brisk, calculated gait, double-checking every crate and parcel. Chests, packages, barrels, baskets - she seems to have her eyes on everything and everyone; more than once you notice her looking over towards your group, though she does not approach.

A few more members of the White Guard approach the scene from behind you, briefly joining your party. “You think she’s taking inventory of us, eh?” jokes the guardsmen, Darl Sison, a Belencrest native with a copper beard and gleaming bald head. “Wouldn’t mind being a tick off her list.”

“Ugh,” cuts in Aikka. “You’re nauseating.” She rests her spear against her shoulder, sweeping back her raven black curls from her freckled face, twisting them behind her into a tousled bun. “Though in truth,” she adds, her emerald eyes following Sison’s gaze, “neither would I.”

“Ho-ho, you think she prefers your type to me?” Darl challenges, incredulous.

Aikka’s lips curl into smirk. “They always do, Sison.”

Some of the other guard laugh as Sison’s face turns pink. “Twice isn’t always,” he grumbles to himself.

One of the officers orders you all to make your way down to the caravan to load your gear, informing you that the last wagon in the caravan is reserved for your company. Though the limited storage only provides enough room for your group's equipment, a bench at the back of the wagon might allow enough space for a few to sit and rest while the others march. It seems there are no horses for the Guard other than those hitched to the wagon, a realization that leads some of the guardsmen to quietly complain amongst themselves.

Other members of the White Guard have decided to help with the packing: Belencrest locals Marten Url and Olsen; the chulregs Jardai and Obadashet Tun; and perhaps most conspicuous of them all, Burata Oong. Though his aquamarine fur, amber eyes and towering frame visibly discomforts some of the workers at first, their apprehension quickly dissolves into gratitude when they witness the aaula lifting a massive armload into one wagon bed that would have required four others. It isn’t long before the last of the cargo is loaded and accounted for.

When a foreman shouts out a count, the auburn-haired woman briefly confers with Hemming. He nods and disappears within the opulent carriage, which you notice remains curiously unyoked from any beast. A dim, pink glow emanates from somewhere within the frame. A driver climbs on top of the carriage and begins pulling and twisting a dozen curious golden levers that sprout out of the flooring at odd angles. Moments later, the carriage seems to shudder into life, creaking slowly forward. A few Belencrest urchins who have gathered by the street corner to watch begin to point and shout excitedly to each other at the marvel of it.

Finally, an hour since you first arrived in the city square this morning, the caravan passes through the Westgate and into the open country.

---

The Western Way leading out of Belencrest makes for pleasant travel. Farmland stretches out every direction in gentle undulations. To the far north, visible just beyond the green foothills lapping against the horizon are the Andasse Mountains, appearing through the distant haze as violet ghosts.

Built upon a reconstructed ancient Caiteran highway, the Western Way connects several cities of the Verloren inland with the Althaus ocean, and as such is a thriving conduit for trade and travel. Indeed, you pass by several merchants and traders along the way. While the horseless, living carriage draws stares, your morning is otherwise uneventful. Few fear to travel the Western Way, for every mile of the road lies within the presence the emerald watchtowers, erected at intervals just a few hundred yards distance from the road. Manned by the sentinels of Ru, it is said that not even the shadows lies outside their vision, and that at the first sign of danger a contingent of the king’s footmen will be called to bear down upon any who threaten the safety of Verloren travelers.

For miles, the persistent sounds of travel serenade you; the clack of wagon wheels and horseshoes clicking on stones; the squeaking of axles and stretching leather harnesses; the jingling chainmail and horse reins; the idle singing of songs both familiar and foreign.

---

Hours later, the caravan veers left at a junction on the Western Way, the smooth stone of the Caiteran highway giving way to the uneven, packed earth of a south western road that leads towards the Cossler borders. The trees that line the road begin to grow more dense, the rise and fall of the terrain more dramatic. It isn’t long before even the watchtowers are hidden from view.

Another hour passes as you make your way through the wooded road, when rounding a bend, you find yourselves unable to move forward, as several trees have fallen over across the path, blocking the way forward. Though perhaps this was a natural occurrence, most of you recognize a common trick bandits employ to stage ambushes when you see one. As a few work to move the trees off the road, the rest position themselves defensively around the caravan, keeping watchful eyes on the surrounding area for any signs of movement within the foliage. Minutes pass slowly as the trees are removed, one by one. The surrounding forest is quiet, ominous, inscrutable. When the way is finally cleared without incident, the caravan resumes its pace, and a palpable unease begins to spread amongst Hemming’s men and a few of the Guard.

You hear them speaking amongst themselves: Maybe it was a natural accident, or maybe the bandits who set this trap were not here to see it sprung, or maybe they were wise enough to allow this group with two dozen armed soldiers pass unmolested.

---

When the sun reaches its zenith, the caravan comes to a stop in a small clearing by the road beside a gentle stream. The horses are released from their harnesses and allowed to rest and cool themselves. Sidling beside them, the great obi laps the chilled stream water with its paddle-sized tongue.

Some of the men and women of the caravan begin to distribute food – nuts, dried fruits, vegetables, cured meats – until everyone has had their fill. Some stretch their legs and ease their aching muscles, while others sprawl out in the grass by the stream.

“Excuse my intrusion,” says a voice in the gentle, exotic accent of the southern islands. Emerging from behind a wagon is the woman with the auburn hair. “My name is Gisele Margot, steward to master Hemming. If I may speak with you for a moment,” she ask hesitantly, her voice dropping into a hushed tone. “I do not know what it is that Gaivus has told you or your superiors, and as such I am loathe to speak in this manner so… Surreptitious. But I fear that Gaivus underestimates, or perhaps even deliberately ignores whatever power it is that moves against us,” she says, a look of concern passing over her face. “I believe we are in danger. What you may not know is that two attempts have been made on Gaivus’s life since we first undertook this journey several weeks ago,” she says, glancing furtively over her shoulder as some of the servants lead a couple horses back the wagons. “And I am unable to ignore the feeling of dread gnawing at my heart that it will happen again.”

What an insufferable old twit! Hours upon hours into the journey, Adele was still glaring at Djonn's back and cursing both him and Thorpe for their paltry travelling arrangements. You'll be happy we won't be using dingy inns,' he says! We'd much rather you fight over a single room for our amusement, as everyone else will be sleeping in barns and stables like animals. The nerve! Are they going to be serving meals in the mangers, too? The heat of her broiling temper was such that most of the men had taken care to avoid her as much as possible. How the back of Djonn's shirt hadn't caught fire from her burning gaze was a wonder indeed. Most impressive of all, however, was the strength and duration of her righteous indignance--not once did her feet falter nor her pace slow on the long road. Her long legs were brisk, her gaze determined; were she to die then and there, she would undoubtedly become a peerless banshee destined to haunt Djonn for the remainder of his life and long after. Even when they had been forced to stop, Adele's features showed neither fear nor concern. She just stood there at the obi wagon's side, cracking her knuckles as she dared the shadows beneath the trees to come out and play target practice. It was rather disappointing that they never did. So it was that Adele finally showed a kink in her anger when she found herself soaking her feet while the company took a break. Her dusty boots lay at her side along with a pair of long stockings--anyone was free to stare at her legs when she stripped them off: well, they could if they wanted to die. Otherwise, she seemed content, wetting her handkerchief in the stream and using a dab of honeysuckle oil to refresh her sweaty arms, neck, and face. It was only then that she began to appreciate her natural surroundings. Other than the nearby chatter, the woods were quiet. There was plenty of shade to keep the worst of the sun off, and the slight breeze rustling through the trees was soothing. That, of course, was all the more reason to keep her cannon close. Even while paddling her feet in cold meadow water, the weapon remained on her lap. Two minutes into her little break, she tired of the freezing water and pulled her feet out. The grass, by comparison, felt heavenly running through her toes, so she simply carried her boots and stockings by her side as she went to grab a snack from her trunk. That was when she approached. In a flash, Adele's bad mood returned. Her eyes narrowed as the woman started to speak, and by the time she was finished, Adele's hands were clenched and trembling at her sides. "You've got some nerve." Adele stepped closer to the woman, green eyes flat as an icy plain. "First you treat us like animals, then you parade around in that gaudy carriage, and now you bastards have been withholding information imperative to your own safety? Do you have a death wish or do pushovers like you enjoy wearing targets on your backs?"

Zacharias didn't complain, vocally or otherwise, at the revelation that most of the Guardsmen would be sleeping in barns. He was used to it, after all, and it was better than sleeping on the floor. He also didn't care in the slightest about the "contest" to sleep in the estates. He would be striving to be amongst the best Guardsmen, of course, but because it usually came with a little perk called "being deemed too valuable to be left to die." As he marched through the woods, he couldn't help staring constantly towards the glow coming from the carriage. The Totem contained within must have been very powerful, or he wouldn't be able to notice it straight through solid wood. He spent most of his time walking wondering what it did. If anyone asked, he simply said he was trying to figure out how that carriage moved. It probably wasn't too far from the truth, anyways. When the caravan arrived to the blockade, Zach became really paranoid. He'd been through that scenario dozens of times. The caravan stops, people come out to move away the logs, then someone gets shot through the chest with a bow. He stood guard, while the stronger Guardsmen moved the logs from the path. Fortunately, nothing happened. It still left him feeling a little bit worried. He was idly scribling yet another theory into his Totems notebook, while eating a piece of bread with butter, when the lady came with the bad news. Predictably enough, Adele jumped right at her throat. Zach jumped behind her, ready to defuse the situation. "Woah, woah, woah," he said, stepping in between the women, looking at Adele. "Woah. Calm down. Sure, witholding vital information, which could cause grave injuries or death, is really, really wrong, but stabbing the client is never the right answer. After all," he whispered. "If they're dead, you can't milk any more money outta them." He then turned towards the lady, Gisele something-or-other, with a big, fake smile plastered onto his face. "I'm really sorry about that. However, she does have a tiny smidgen of a point. You hired the White Guard for a Caravan Guarding job, including, amongst other, smaller things, protection against bandits and wild animals. This falls under the category of General Protection. However, if what you are telling us is true, then you should have hired us for Protection Against a Known or Unknown enemy, which falls under Targeted Protection, a different, and, dare I say it, costlier category." Plus the fee for guarding a powerful Totem, but he wasn't about to explain how he knew about that. "Therefore, I should ask you to speak to your superiors about a change in category, or I may be forced to speak to my superiors about a, let's call it relocation, of our troops back to Belencrest."

It wasn't that Rook really minded walking, per se, it's just that he preferred not to have to do it across long distances. Montgarde was an archipelago nation; if you wanted to get anywhere, you were going to have to interrupt your afternoon stroll with a sailing trip sooner rather than later. As such, he wasn't used to marching, and it wore him down. Not physically, of course, but mentally. When the company stopped in front of the trees crossing their path, it took a few seconds for Rook to become fully alert. He reached into his shirt and clutched his totem, but it refused to twitch. It seemed that they weren't actually in danger. The situation was still shifty, of course, and Rook decided to wake himself up by helping to move the severed trunks off the road and out of their way. He was covered in sweat by the time they were done but at least his mind was no longer numb. He listened to the chatter of the other guards and caravan members and found he didn't really have anything to add. It wasn't unheard of for bandits to abandon traps they had set if no prey showed up for a long time. Rook didn't know the area well enough to know how often this road was used. Perhaps the bandits had indeed backed off, intimidated by the sight of a contingent of White Guard mercenaries. A nice thought, Rook thought to himself, amused, but a little vain, no? When they stopped to rest, Rook sat down in the shade of a tree near the stream. Employing his skills of stealth, Rook watched [color=FF66CC ]Adele[/color] bare her legs as she cooled her feet in the water. He felt a pang of longing and a sharp memory of the night they had almost shared the day before. She was a very beautiful woman, but... she had issues. When food was spread around, Rook got up and helped himself to some bread and strips of beef jerky. To his surprise, he heard a familiar accent -- the sing-song accent of the southern isles. Rook himself had lost that accent during his time as a whaler. He had no desire to return to Montgarde, but he immediately warmed a little to the woman regardless. She introduced herself as Gisele Margot and explained that two attempts had been made on master Hemming's life. This didn't really phase Rook. Nobody hired White Guard mercenaries for a trip like this unless they needed to. Now I'll be disappointed if we don't have to fend off assassins at least once, he thought to himself. And that's when Adele seemed to lose it. Rook raised his eyebrows in surprise. Was that woman honestly indignant that they might actually have to do some work to earn their pay? And being treated as animals? Hardly. It was relatively standard procedure that mercenaries, bodyguards and other hired swords slept in barns or the like during journeys. He stepped forward and gently -- gently -- grabbed hold of Adele's arm, tugging her away a little bit from Gisele. "Adele, please, calm down," he urged. "This steward here, uh, Gisele, was it? Gisele came to us on her own initiative to share information with us that she was probably ordered to withhold from us by her master. I think the least we can do is to be a little bit grateful, instead of taking out our frustration on her. Alright?" Zacharias also took it upon himself to defuse the situation, though he apparently found it necessary to bring money into the conversation immediately. Rook decided not to say anything about that -- if they could weasel some more pay out of this, good. "Yeah, right," Rook added, nodding. "So, you know, thank you for sharing this with us, but it does change the nature of the mission."

Marcel felt relieved when they finally began their journey. He always had an increasing anxiety in the moments leading up to a mission that usually seemed to fade once action was being taken. About a mile in, Marcel was calm and collected with a determination that had been drilled into him over the years. However, he'd be lying to himself to think that he wasn't eager to arrive at their first destination, the first of the Estates they'd be stopping at. He mulled over Djonn's proposition occasionally but wasn't really on either side of the matter. If, somehow, he was to be rewarded with the extravagant room he would accept, a respectable commendation of Djonn's decision. On the other hand Marcel actually looked forward to stables- maybe not the structures themselves, but the horses. Oh, the horses! How Marcel dreamed of learning to ride and own one of the beautiful beasts. He used to be driven mad during deliveries of horseshoes- to forge such a piece for a fine animal only to not experience its use! Reality set in- surely the stables would be cleared of the mammals to make room for sleeping accommodations. In spite of that, Marcel let his mind wander; they'd be nearby, wouldn't they? Marcel's thoughts turned to what they usually did and he soon found himself pondering the relationship between a man and his horse. Caring for the creature dearly was expected of a man, at least more so than not caring enough for it, right? Marcel was reminded of an old horse breeder who was a frequent customer to Marcel's forge. He was a frail thing- used to wear women's makeup and clothing, but he was responsible for some of the most beautiful and well-kept steeds around Belencrest, yet he tended to be a bit of a target of the fork tongued and tricksters, often laughing that only a horse would marry him. He shook the thought away and tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. Their surroundings eventually gave way to the woods, however, and Marcel began to fantasize once again; couldn't really help it as a man alone with his thoughts, since he hadn't been partaking in much conversation. To live among the trees like the peoples of old always appealed to the bear-like man, the relation a convenient coincidence. He enjoyed smithy-work, had done it for over half of his life, but the smell of the wilds, the smell of the freshest air possible had always lit a spark in Marcel. It wasn't that he necessarily disliked civilization, either- Marcel knew no life outside of it- but the idea of living truly free in the wilds kindled a fire in his belly. To live life like a savage; a noble savage, that's what Marcel strove to be. To be entirely self-sufficient; To ride a great beast through the wilderness; to- The caravan came to a halt as trouble seemed to be brewing. It seemed some logs were blocking their path, many of the Guardsmen had their weapons unsheathed should the worse happen. Marcel cursed himself for being caught off guard while on duty as he was called to help remove the blockage, being one of the bigger and stronger Guardsmen. He joined Rook in removing the trap, but there was no conversation between the two. Marcel didn't take it personally- everyone was tired of walking. Eventually the caravan stopped and Marcel thanked what gods there be for a stream. He joined Adele in soaking bare feet but eventually waded out a little farther to allow him to stoop and dip his whole head in. Upon emerging he slicked his drenched hair back and wiped his face and beard with his good hand. He stared at his burnt hand for a moment- even after being submerged in water the lump of heat didn't seem to die down much. Marcel wondered if, given enough time in a smaller body of water, he could warm entire tubs or pales simply by dipping his hand in long enough. He waded back to shore in time to witness Adele's rant. There had been two attempts at Gaivus' life? Marcel's immediate thought was that he was somehow responsible and cursed himself silently for being absent-minded. But he began to doubt that such was so- they had been, after all, stationed at the back. 'And you're the one to decide that?' thought Marcel after Zacharias' counter. He gave the man a glare but held his tongue. Marcel sometimes forgot that he- or the White Guard, for that matter- was in this as a profession, and this was all for a business, so he should expect that there were many profit-centric sellswords, but Marcel could never shake his hatred of simply walking away from a contract based on small conditional changes. He tried not to think about what those they abandoned would think of them. Marcel halted his own thoughts, lest he become as angry as Adele. All this talk and negotiation isn't protecting Hemming, either. "How immediate do you think this threat is, Miss Gisele? Is there anything we could do right now to help stifle it?"

Gisele stares daggers back at Adele - blue eyes narrow and unblinking - though the pink flush blossoming across her cheeks and neck betray her attempt at composure. For the briefest moment it seems as if the tension will be dispelled when Zacharias steps between them and the Montgardian attempts to lead Adele back... That is, until the Zacharias turns towards her with his inhuman eye, a beaming smile, and a threat to abandon her and her people. Gisele's face flickers with revulsion, though before she finds the words to speak, Rook steps in. "... Thank you for sharing this with us, but it does change the nature of the mission." "Of course it changes the nature of the mission," she snaps back. "Why else would I... I shouldn’t even be..." She begins to shake, her blue eyes shimmering with emotion. Her layer of self-control begins to evaporate; she seems unsure, frustrated, conflicted, and for the moment it seems like she may just turn around and walk away, when Marcel approaches. "How immediate do you think this threat is, Miss Gisele? Is there anything we could do right now to help stifle it?" "I," she falters, shaken for the moment out of her anxiety by Marcel's presence. Hesitant, her eyes pass from Marcel, to the rest, back to Marcel. "I do not know,” she says finally, the quaver in her voice slowly receding. “At least, I am unable to say for certain.” She takes a deep breath. “Before we arrived in Belencrest, while we were staying in a Hopstead tavern, one of our number was found dead in the hallway outside of Gaivus’s room. At the time, I believed... We all believed it to be a run in with a burglar or some drunk, a tragic misfortune. However,” Gisele continues, “when we were sailing here, three of the ship’s crew were discovered breaking into the hold where Gaivus was sleeping, armed with daggers. When they were exposed they attempted to flee and were slain. I spoke with the captain, and he told me they were new hirelings with good references. It seemed inexplicable. And I cannot help but believe the two events are linked.” At this she glances over her shoulder as three of the caravan drivers walk past at that moment, speaking quietly amongst themselves. “And now, this road, that blockade, my fear is renewed... And I am unsure of who to trust: even my company,” she adds, glancing towards Adele and Zacharias, “even yours.”

"Feh." Adele wasn't overly fond of being manhandled, but the violent urge to return the gesture of her arm being grabbed with a punch was more shocking than enabling. It was certainly in her nature to be mouthy, but violent? Never. The society she'd lived in could forgive hot-headed insults, but not physical assaults. What makes it worse is the fact that all of them are right. I'm not grateful for this brat's sudden sense of conscience, but alienating our only informant isn't a smart move. Zach's apparently so confident that he already wants more money for our trouble, but Marcel's right to worry over the immediate threat this presents. Adele moved her free hand to muss over her hair--a calming gesture as she tried to keep her temper from getting the best of her again. "Look, I apologize for exploding like that. It's just--the moves Gaivus has been making defy any sense of caution. I'm sure you're obligated to follow orders and keep up appearances to hold your job, but look around you. Every person here has a name, friends and family. Your enemy is apparently targeting your Gaivus, but they've also shown no mercy to the people close to him. Protecting your company assets and your own personal wealth is mportant, sure, but don't forget that part of those assets are human beings. If you intend to be the steward of a company, you are also responsible for what happens to those people, so keep in mind that every action you take affects them and their future." Adele's tone had softened, but her gaze toward the woman was still stern. She needed to establish some trust, but she wasn't going to grovel for it. "There are some assumptions we can already make from what you've said. It's obvious hat you've been closely watched or infiltrated, which means the enemy is aware of your travelling routes and stops. The assassination attempts don't seem particularly professional, given the casualties that only drew attention, but they are able to set up well planned attacks all the same. They'd also need considerable wealth to hire multiple thugs across such a distance, so we're at least a little closer to understanding who's after your boss. I'd like to know why they want him dead, but discerning the identity of this 'mastermind' isn't important at the moment." Adele folded her arms, turning more thoughtful than stern. "Our best clue right now is that site of the tree trap. If we could determine roughly how recently it was made and if the thugs are still nearby, we could at least uncover whether we're dealing with a common band of thieves or the people after Gaivus. There's even a possibility that the assassins are seeking help from local rogue bands to tackle a group of mercenaries like us. "Given the nature of the former attacks, however, I don't think ambushing us in the wilderness would be their style. Taking out an entire band of White Guards would draw far too much attention to their goal, not to mention inflict the wrath of a multi-national group of active mercenaries. If they strike, I imagine it will be a precise and quick move while the majority of us are distracted. If we think along those lines and assume that they were the ones responsible for the trap, it may have simply been a way of gaging reaction time or even slowing us down. "Of course, if we make that assumption, we'd also have to assume that they knew about the route we'd take since this morning or sooner, which means someone close to Gaivus is currently feeding information. If they'd expected us to take the main road instead, it would make sense for them to have tried to scare us back to where they'd made plans for us to be. Maybe they were buying time to put a larger group together--who can say? "What I can say with complete confidence is that taking these merchants to the noble estates without informing them of our situation first is out of the question. If something were to happen to them or their serving staff because of the issues surrounding Gaivus, how could we possibly justify it? The safest strategy is to return immediately towards the main road and make our way from there. Even if we were attacked, the footing and visibility in addition to the towers' security would make any sort of ambush much less plausible."

Adele had not taken kindly to Djonn's sense of humor. Not kindly at all he thought. He clutched his glaive carefully as he marched along with the caravan, waiting for his body to react to the knife being driven into his back. In the end the only knives that dug into Djonn's back came from Adele's eyes. He'd have to talk to her about that temper at some point, he just hoped things wouldn't escalate. There were many days of journey ahead and he would very much prefer not to have any of his subordinates despise him for the entire duration. Djonn picked up his step and hoisted himself onto one of the open wagons, startling the two company men who were already aboard. "Don't worry gentlemen I'm the commander of your guard detail. I'm just trying to get a better look at things." Taking a moment to stabilize his footing on the rocking coach he reached into his pack and pulled out Lydia's totem and put it on. The brass was cold against his skin but his vision was suddenly enhanced and narrowed. He slowly panned his head around, scanning the treeline for signs of movement. There was nothing to be seen and he was thankful for it. He continued he doubled up on his vigil when the party was forced to a halt by the felled trees. Putting his glaive aside he drew Lydia's bow and prepared for the worst which also thankfully never came. When the caravan stopped to rest Djonn found himself a small tree to rest against after taking a fistful of dried fruit to nibble on. He scanned the caravan, observing his fellow guardsmen on their down time. His eyes wandered to the stream where he saw that Adele was taking the time to refresh herself, Rook was taking the time to observe Adele which caused Djonn to raise an eyebrow and shake his head, and Marcel had decided to submerge his entire titanic body into the stream which actually surprised Djonn with its depth. In general it was a relatively calming sight compared to the dull panic that had been all-pervasive since they set out on this trip. Thorpe's haggard demeanor still wore on Djonn who closed his eyes in thought. This is a normal caravan job, there's no way that these budget issues were what had Thorpe in such a state. I'll have to have a talk with Gavius when we make camp for the night and see if I can get any info out of him. His train of thought was derailed by the sound of an Adele gone completely ballistic. He opened his eyes to see her throwing a fit at Gavius's assistant. The situation quickly spiraled from there and he could have sworn he heard Zacharias mentioning something about this changing the rates for the mission. Oh gods no, the last thing I want is to get into an arguement with Hemming about money. He would gladly send the entire detachment back to Bellencrest if he thought it would cost him a shilling more to keep us there. Djonn began to rush over to the slowly growing group to defuse the tenuous situation when Rook stepped in and managed to reign things in a bit. He slowed his pace slightly and made a mental note to commend Rook for his initiative in defusing what could be a messy situation. He made another not to inform someone that it would not be the best idea to to bring up money in front of the Aide of a well known skinflint. As well as another note to have a chat with another someone to try to and smooth things out. He reached Gisele just as she explained the plight of Mister Hemming, and now their entire group. He almost spoke up but was beaten to the punch by Adele who had calmed herself a bit and began talking about a next move. He listened carefully, her plan did have merit, but something told him that it wouldn't go over well with his employers. When she finished he found his time to butt in. "Miss Gisele, I would like to assure you that your coin has paid for the utmost loyalty of the White Guard for the duration of this operation. All guardsmen assigned to this mission are veteran members of the Bellencrest garrison, some of us have been here since the Greyskin invasions and all of us have been handpicked by the Captain himself. None of us are recent additions who could have been compromised, I can assure you of that Ma'am. I would also like to assure you that while this does indeed change the situation a bit, we can hold off on talking about additional compensation until after we have seen you safely to your destination." he shot Zach a stern expression before turning his attention back to Gisele and lowering his voice, "Now Madam Gisele, why would anyone have reason to send assassins after Mister Hemming? I understand better than most that the wealthy and powerful are often the targets of rivals, does Mr. Hemming have any foes who may have the power and reach to continue to hunt him so fervently? This information is of the utmost importance for not only Mr. Hemming's life but all of ours as well." He awaited her response and turned his attention once more to Adele. "I also agree that its dangerous to forge on ahead more or less blind. It would not be unwise to heed your advice and get back on the highroad, though doing so depends entirely on Mr. Hemming's ability to listen to reason, which if what Ms. Gisele is saying is true, we may be doomed in that regard. I will speak to Mr. Hemming about adjusting our path, but for now we need to plan based on the assumption that we are continuing along as planned. It may even be ideal to seek refuge at the Cossler estate tonight as intended. People as powerful as the Cosslers will have at least a small group of armsmen to defend their home and property, and the added manpower would certainly help our odds."