Once the cursed one managed to get out that he would not attack, Atreides let his hand drop from his sword hilt. He knew the truth of things, then, and would not remain any more hostile to him than he was normally to everyone. But he kept his tone in check as the being stuttered and forced the truth of its words out between whatever the curse attempted to wring them into, a considerable effort no doubt. As it finished speaking, he responded in kind, returning his hands to the pockets of his coat as he did so.

[color=0072bc]"They don't swear fealty to me, soldier, though if this turns out to be one big band of people running around, I will at least try to talk sense into them before they run into bloody peril every five minutes. The red lady? Folks call her Crimson Streak, Sable to others, she's handy with the knives, enough so not to need magic to compensate. You got a name, or shall it remain cursed one or soldier?"[/color]

Atreides had pretty much dismissed the other people running around, being problematic and talking FAR too much, too fast, and too loud for his own tastes. Sable eventually wandered over, and he glanced her way briefly before returning his gaze to the cursed soldier and await his response, speaking an aside to Sable as he did so.

[color=0072bc]"Lot louder than planned, Meat. Got any suggestions for further planning? Can bet your arse at least one of that lot a raging murder desire for me now. Almost always happens."[/color]

Darkness was falling fast, the sun setting over the land, and it wouldn't be too long before folks would have to turn in at the town's local inn. Atreides wouldn't mind a good night's rest, though some preparations would be necessary prior to falling asleep of course. Never trust his surroundings to be safe got him a good ways.