It was freezing cold night in the Northern Tribal settlement of Falkreach, with a blizzard so ferocious that the icy hale cut into your skin. It was hard to see beyond a few metres and most were trapped inside their homes… if they were lucky. Indeed the far North was always cold, but this night was enough to strike woe into the heartiest of men. The more superstitious of the tribe had begun to call it an omen; a sign that their warriors would not return from battle with a nearby enemy war band. And if the men did not return home then who would protect them?

In one of the frozen town’s tiny huts sat a young boy, no older than nine, and his withered old grandfather. It was a quaint home made of wood and stone, and had little to fill it save for a few pots and some crude bedding. A small fire limped on in the corner, its dying embers barely enough to light the room. The two of them were on the edge of falling into a deep sleep, their bodies giving into the cold, when the grandfather suddenly sprung up and rushed to the door. Amongst the howling of the wind he could hear a faint sound that made his wiry grey hair stand on end. He shut his eyes to focus whilst his grandson looked on nervously. It was screaming. “Rhol, stay here!” barked the old man as he took grip of his staff. His grandson reached forward as if to stop him, but it was in vain as a moment later he was marching out of the door and into the frozen hell.

Rhol sat shivering with his wide blue eyes fixed on the door, hoping that his Grandfather would come back. The wind felt sharper now and he could feel the cold on his very bones. Minutes dragged on and to the young boy it felt like an eternity. The screams slowly became louder and orange glows began to pierce the icy veil. Rhol could tell it was fire from the way it danced, and his gut told him that he should run. He pushed himself up against the wall, his back rubbing against the crude wooden wall as his legs extended. He took a deep shaky breathe then, running as fast as his legs could take him, Rhol burst from his hut and to the South, away from the growing flames. The snow went up past he knees and it took all his strength to keep moving at a pace, especially with the blizzard pushing him back. All around him the screams continued to grow, until he could hear them so vividly that his ears began to ring. He looked frantically about as he ran and could see silhouettes dashing around, taking each other down. An abrupt flash of arcane magic went off to his right, and for a second he could see five men kneeling down and tearing something apart. Tears began to stream down from his eyes but froze to his skin before they even reached his jawline.

Suddenly there was a roar to his rear, a man’s shout so loud and strained that it sounded almost inhuman. Rhol tried to spin in reaction, but he lost his footing and fell into the deep snow. “No! Please!” he cried out as he begun to flail in the snow, desperately trying to get away. But when Rhol looked up at the shadow he became frozen in fear. Slowly it creeped towards him, becoming more and more visible with each step, until a bearded man in chainmail could be clearly seen. “Daddy?!” Rhol exclaimed… but this was no longer his father. The young boy locked eyes with the thing that stood before him, and before he could even let out another scream his world turned to black.

---

“And what would you have us do instead? Take our armies North to die and leave our shores defenseless against Dawn?!”

“If Dawn wanted to launch a counter-attack they would have done so before now!”

“Or maybe they’ve been waiting for the right time to strike!”

“It’s been nine-fucking years! Have they been waiting for us to grow old and die? Besides, why would they want to invade us now that this plague sweeps over the land?”

Lady Buxton could hear the heated discussion from down the large hall that she marched along, and she expected that many of the guards were probably having a cheeky listen. The dark hall in which she was currently walking down was one that most did not even know existed, for it sat beneath the palace’s main hall. It was wider than it was tall, with bare grey stone walls that contrasted heavily against the glamour present throughout the rest of the Giant’s Crown. The only objects were the low sitting braziers that were placed at every other weight bearing pillar, and in their dim light one could just about see the guards that stood like statues along the very edges of the room. It would have been a very eerie place were not it not for the shouting coming from the end of the hall, behind the large oak doors. Opening these revealed a smaller circular room with a massive black onyx table, The Knight’s Table. This room was warmer and better lit, with purple carpets and silk banners adorning the walls. Around the edges were crates of food and barrels of wine, as well as doors to small bedrooms. This was more a bunker than a cellar and in the case of a dragon attack, this is where one would find the Royal Family.

“Ah! Katrina! I’m glad that you have arrived!” boomed King Barius with open arms. The large heavy set man stood as his niece entered which caused the shine of his gold-trimmed steel plate armour to almost blind her. Despite his warm smile his face was pale and tired, and more grey streaks adorned his hair and beard than ever before.

“Yes, better late than never.” Grumbled Sir Mercury, one of the five knights sat around the table with the King.

“My King.” Replied Lady Buxton with nod and her fist clenched to her chest, ignoring the comment of her other colleague. “Where are the others?” she asked, noticing that even with her arrival that eight of the fourteen knights were missing.

The man to the King’s left rose then, the renowned Sir Chester. The ruggedly handsome man stood with excellent posture that was clearly the result of discipline. “Lady Sax and Sir Tro are still unaccounted for; we believe they may have fallen victim to the plague. Sir Varris and Sir Aldi are still in Dawn, but they have few men and no way to return. The others are all assembling or moving forces.” His voice was low-pitched but clear, and he had developed a posher accent over the years since Lady Buxton first met him. ‘No longer the gruff soldier’ she thought to herself as he spoke.

“If they were here they would all have the guts to agree with me!” barked Sir Mercury as he thumped his gauntlet down on the table. Lady Buxton rolled her eyes and took a seat as the argument inevitably resumed.

“Why are so eager to retreat from this foe?” asked the King with a sly smile, “I thought the great Sir Mercury feared no one? That’s why I made you a knight after all!”

Sir Mercury scoffed and spat out some of his mead as he did so. “With all due respect my King…” he begun with an uncharacteristically polite voice, “Go fuck yourself!”

Whilst the comment made the King chuckle, the other knights were clearly not so impressed by the insult and a couple even found their hands grasping the hilts of their blades. Sir Chester himself found himself ready to lunge forward if his fellow knight was stupid enough to try anything. Lady Buxton on the other hand simply sat back and put her feet on the table. “That’s enough.” Came the cold voice of General Picard, the king’s brother and third in line to the throne. Picard was the opposite of his brother with his skinny (although surprisingly muscular) frame, no hair, and austere personality. It was clear that this man had seen war and he had an air of authority about him that few dared to challenge. “You would all be wise to show respect, both to your king and your fellow knights. We have not got the time to sit here bickering like a bunch of fucking southern girls. We’re at war on both sides, we’ve lost contact with Titus, we’ve got civil unrest, and I’m having to tell my men to burn alive our own citizens if they show any signs of infection. We need to agree on a plan.” As he spoke he looked to each chair in turn, his intimidating glare showing that he was in no mood to screw about.

“As much as I hate to say this… I agree with Sir Mercury.” Came the voice of the pretty Sir Marcus, the baby faced cousin of the King. He was clearly a lover, not a fighter, and his long brown hair and soft features often resulted in him being the buck of the palace guard’s jokes. ‘The Meat Sheathe’ they called him, despite him being one of the King’s most trusted advisors. “As you know, I have always thought that the invasion of Dawn was in our best interests and I believe it still is. Even if Dawn chooses not to launch a counter-attack, leading our armies North will result in our annihilation. We have no idea where the plague is coming from nor how to stop it. Sending our armies against the horde will only cause it to increase in size. I think that we should devote our armies into protecting the cities and invading Dawn to provide us with a safe passage away from the infected.”

“And if the hordes surround the cities then how will our people escape across the sea?” asked Lady Elta, “Fight their way out? Would it not be better to devote all our forces into sweeping North and eliminating the threat? No more infected, no more infection right?”

Sir Mercury was getting visibly angry at her argument, and she barely finished speaking before he began shouting. “But then what is there to protect us from Dawn? From monsters? From-”

“Dragons.” Interrupted Lady Buxton. “My father told me that Dragons learned to stay away from the cities because they knew the armies of men could defeat them. If we drain our cities of troops then it’s possible that the dragons might take notice and return. Even if they don’t, it only takes one infected person to get into a city and create another horde. We need to keep the cities defended.”

“So you agree with me too?” beamed Sir Mercury.

“No. I still think there must be another way. We can’t just run from this plague, we need to destroy its source. Otherwise what’s to stop it from simply following us to the edge of Olympus?” Lady Buxton muttered with her head down, letting her thoughts effortlessly drip out of her mouth.

“Then what would you suggest?” Asked King Barius, his eyebrows raised.

Lady Buxton took her feet off the table and sat up straight, looking the King directly in the eyes. “My investigation into the Temple of Sol Massacre has reached a dead-end, especially with this plague. Why not let me start a new investigation? Give me an elite force and I will find the source of the scourge myself.”

---

“When I asked for an ‘elite force’ I meant like the first and second legions…” Lady Buxton looked miserably around the dank old inn in which they sat, “Not a dozen old drunken veterans.”

“These men are fine. We just need more of them.” Sighed Sir Chester as he himself raised a wooden mug of mead to his lips. The two of them were sat in an inn called ‘The Kevil Arms’ in the middle of The Cross Roads. It was a large wooden place, well lit with a few fireplaces, that was usually one of the busiest places in the town. However the dozens of old wooden chairs and tables now sat empty, as the inn served as the temporary base of the King’s own private investigators, the Consano. Lady Buxton counted 11 men, not including the landlord, that supposedly served under Sir Chester during his military days. On paper they seemed capable enough, but they were far from what she thought the Consano needed.

“Do you think more will turn up? We’re due to leave in the morning and we’ve already extended our stay longer than expected.” Lady Buxton groaned.

“Well, the sign’s there.” Sir Chester replied, nodding to the chalk board that was erected against the open doorframe. In truth it looked more like a messy inn menu than an advertisement to join the King’s own private force, but the Consano was more than a little strapped for resources, despite the multiple investors that had immediately sprung up once the word got out. “At this point we’d be foolish to turn anyone away. Conscription begins in two days, and after that every able hand is being drafted into the military anyway.” Chester took another sip of his mead as he finished speaking, not knowing what else to say. Conscription was a smart move; not only did it provide the King with a bigger army, but it was a good excuse to move people south and away from the approaching horde.

“Then I suppose we just wait.”

So. I lost my (nearly finished) sheet because I had been keeping it open and forgot to save it. Which sucks.

On the bright side I found character art.

EDIT: I did foolish things. This should get deleted. I was tired. I'm sorry.

“Just a little bit more Aslan, just a little bit more and we will arrive.” Karen said to her horse and patted him on the head. It was already night and the temperatures had dropped drastically. The woman wasn’t cold though, her clothing consisted mainly of furs, leathers and linen. Not to mention she had a good thick cloak with a hood that additionally protected her from the elements. The horse made what sounded like an angry sound, but continued to move forward. She was pushing the animal to it’s very limits ever since they left Southarbour. Her orders to move out north was unexpected, but she hardly minded it really. After all only the most insane people would join the suicidal mission and luckily she was one of them.”Hold it…” She said suddenly and pulled the reigns to stop the stallion from continuing forward. In the distance one could see the lights from the Cross Roads, with a smile she once again rushed the horse towards the lights.
With tired sounds, her horse finally stopped in front of ‘The Kevil Arms’ inn. With a soft thud, she jumped from the horse on the ground. “Here, take care of him well. He deserved it.” Karen said to the boy responsible for the horses and threw him a coin as a reward.
With her horse taken care of, the olive skinned woman, made her way into the inn. With strong move of her arm, she pushed away the wooden door and entered the building. It was a fine place, but somewhat empty at the moment. With a quick glance, the former assassin counted 14 people inside the spacious room: 13 men and a woman. The man and the woman that sat on a table together must be Lady Buxton and Sir Chester, the assassin concluded. The rest of the men were armed, but overall Karen expected greater numbers than this… Taking off her hood, she proceeded into the inn. She wasn’t sure how the people here would react to her being from a foreign lands, but to prove she was from the Vasili army, she bore the crest of the kingdom forged from steel on her shoulder, attached to her fur clohes. Normally such thing would be carried on the armor of the soldier, but as she used no metal armor to speak of, her commander made her have on the shoulder of her clothes. With seemingly weightless and confident walk, the exotic woman made her way to the table of her two new commanders.”Lady Buxton and Sir Chester, I presume?” She asked.” My name is Karen ibn Nahal. I was send over from Southarbour to join the Consano. My commander regrets he couldn’t send anyone else with me. Here is a letter of recommendation from my commander.”She said and pulled out a small envelope from her bag.”I served as advanced scout and infiltrator, my abilities and skills should already be described in the letter.” The assassin said with a smile. She personally was dying for a drink right now, but she still had just arrived.

Another thirty minutes passed whilst Lady Buxton and Sir Chester sat idly waiting in the Inn, and both of them were struggling to provide small talk. Although they had contrasting personalities, the two of them got along well enough, but not so well that they could comfortably talk for hours on end. Buxton found herself taking one of the knives for her boot, a small bronze dagger with a leather wrapped grip. It was as sharp as it could be, but nevertheless she couldn’t help pulling out a whetstone and begun grinding along its edge.

“Who’s this?” asked Chester, giving his colleague a quick nudge with his elbow. He did not so much as blink whilst he let his eyes glide over the olive skinned beauty, appreciating most her enthralling amber eyes and her soft facial features. Even though she was draped in furs and linen, he could tell that beneath she probably boasted some attractive curves. He had always had a thing for ‘exotic’ girls from the far south, and on the rare occasion that he saw one he became uncharacteristically smitten and dirty minded. Buxton herself looked up in response and saw the graceful figure that was now walking towards them. She was not as impressed as her colleague, although she was happy to see a recruit that wasn’t some brainless brute of a man.

“Lady Buxton and Sir Chester, I presume? My name is Karen ibn Nahal. I was send over from Southarbour to join the Consano. My commander regrets he couldn’t send anyone else with me. Here is a letter of recommendation from my commander.” She said and pulled out a small envelope from her bag. “I served as advanced scout and infiltrator, my abilities and skills should already be described in the letter.” Chester reached forward with a smile and received the letter, immediately opening it and examining its contents.

“You presume correctly.” Buxton replied with a hearty smile, and with her hand she signaled for the recruit to take a seat. “I am Lady Buxton, Knight of the King’s Table and leader of the Consano.” She continued, “And this gawking gentleman is Sir Chester.”

“Pleasure.” He smiled. “The letter seems legitimate, the Commander seems to think quite highly of you. “Excellent fighter”, “A marksman with knives”, “Skilled infiltrator” - I’m sure you’ll make an excellent addition to our little band of merry men. We will be conducting a full brief tomorrow morning at dawn, but before then is there any questions that you wish to ask?”

Boots stepped in the mud, leaving both a muddy trail as they lifted again, as well as a firm and deep imprint on the mud. For a large town, the Crossroads had a very lousy logistical construction. Or perhaps it was just because the Wonderman had found himself in a lousy, poor part of town, as always. After all, the rich wouldn't take kindly to some Church of Light fellow, moping around and walking the streets whilst looking for “The Kevil Arms”. Besides, he had been carrying his two handed sword on his back the entire time, which might give them reason to grow wary of the man, who might not look like a criminal, but certainly looked like a sword-for-hire to anyone who was worried for their purse. It didn't help that he had pulled a black hood over his hair, covering it and showing only his face, ears and neck. Many would ignore that he had done this for the rain, and simply see him a criminal, because it was easier to be simpleminded and stupid. However, from this you could conclude that, while he was a man of the faith, he had since long lost his robes of the church and instead had donned his adventurer like apparel.

His earplugs caused many heads to turn, and if someone didn't turn for his earplugs, they turned their heads for his large nose ring, which bounced back and forth with every step he took. But he didn't pay much mind to either the people or his bouncing nose-ring. Instead, he was focussed on the lady in front of him, who had a somewhat curved figure, although Gawain couldn't easily tell with her many furs, linens and cloak covering most of it. He had no doubt she was attractive, however. The small show of skin he caught with his eyes showed her olive skin, a color that Gawain had come to appreciate during his travels on the shores of Vahili, where many olive colored people had come to live. She was riding horseback, but the many people in the street, even at night time, gave her reason to ride cautiously, allowing Gawain to follow on foot with relative ease. He had a determined look in his stride, his eyes focussed and his face contorted in a serious expression. Mud released it's grip on Gawain's boots as he stomped them into the ground, and a sigh of relief was made. He'd found the Kevils Arms. Well, she had found the Kevil Arms, but he had found her. And that was good enough.

While the lady dismounted her horse, Gawain turned around to pretend he wasn't tailing her. He hadn't a clue who this woman was or what her dealings were in this inn, but a woman clad in cloak, furs and linnens was most likely not your average woman. Especially considering that this inn was refurbished into the recruiting point for the Consano. While she'd enter the building, Gawain would breathe in heavily before turning around and approaching the door. He'd breathe in again, deeper this time, and open it. This is it. He swung the door back and stepped into the room, which was.. hardly lit. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness for a second before stepping in further. He walked all the way up until he was right next to the table, close to the lady that had also entered before him, boots clunking heavily as clasps clunked against hardened leather.

Without warning, he pulled the large two handed sword from it's sheath on his back somewhat clumsily, something that might cause any armed men, and likely the two women and sir Chester themselves too, to be alarmed by his sudden movements with the weapon. But it'd become apparent what his plan was soon, as he kneeled before the table and placed the sword into the ground before him, the point plunking itself into the wooden floor. He bowed his head slightly, before speaking up. “I, Gawain Rochilde, Wonderman of Vahili, hereby pledge my life and soul to the Consano to avenge my fallen father, fallen mother and.. presumedly plague-gripped sister, may the old gods and God of Light, whichever is true, save their souls. My sword is yours, lady Buxton, sir Chester.” He would remain on the floor until he was given an answer, making it all a very blown up scene, since others had gotten off with their voluntary partaking in the Consano a bit easier.

As he stood up, he added a slightly funny remark while sheathing his sword again. “I might pledge my sword, but it is not a sharp one, and I'm not a sharp swordsman. Ha-ha..” He'd laugh slightly, although it was obviously fake laughter. He knew he wasn't funny but he had to pretend that he was cheerful and happy to fight for the Consano. In reality, he'd rather be in the Kingdom of Dawn, away from this evil plague. But then again, wouldn't any man in this room want the same for themselves and their families? Well, if they had any. No doubt many men were here, motivated by the exact same reason as Gawain - avenging fallen family. “Well, my sword is near useless, but I am a man of God. Well, actually.. I am a man of Gods. But I can explain later, if you'd have me in the Consano. I used to be a priest-in-training, but I decided the live of the robes wasn't for me, so instead I took it upon myself to travel the lands and spread the word of God, or the Gods. Regardless of religion, people can find conciliation in superior powers. There's a plan for everything, and that's why I believe I should be here, fighting the right fight with you. Or alteast, I should do my duty to Vahili and atleast try to be accepted by you.” He looked at the two knights before him, hopeful but with a serious gaze in his eyes. It was clear he wasn't leaving unless he was accepted, or he got kicked out.

The young woman pulled the hood of her wool cloak further over her pale face as the frigid rain sprinkled like needles from above. Her skinny figure left her perpetually cold in the harsh climate of Vasili, and Sarah longed for the mild summers of home. Now more than ever she wished to charter passage south, back toward Lion’s Keep, and leave this brutal world behind. Instead, she rode west to The Cross Roads, where it was rumored that King Barius was assembling a team of champions to put an end to the scourge which she and her temporary companions were now fleeing.

Sarah could faintly see her copper stallion’s breath coming in puffs as he trotted along to keep up with the other horses in the small group of refugees. He was a fine animal with a hardy disposition, Cavil had always said so. It was for this reason Sarah had sold off her own mare at only a slight loss to some villagers she had established a rapport with. She had begged them, and any other villager who would listen to accompany her south to safety. She knew that this plague would spread quickly, and next to none was prepared to withstand it. Her own husband, Cavil, had been exposed to and overcome by the sickness within hours. Sarah had never seen anything like it. It was downright unnatural. Alas, only a handful of men and women had decided to follow the healer away from their homes which were not far south of Titus. Where they would settle once they reached The Cross Roads, Sarah didn’t know. She was only sure of one thing, the plague must be stopped, and she, Sarah Mane, would see it done.

The woman’s eyes were barely open when someone in the procession shouted that they could see the fires of The Cross Roads. With that, the entire group pressed forward with renewed strength. The town was of average size and wealth for a Vasili settlement. To Sarah, everything North of Southarbour looked about the same. Lots of mud, and lots of ancient wooden buildings. As they neared the heart of the settlement, Sarah’s group began to split apart, each man going his separate way. A few raised their hands in respect to her as the departed, several more ignored her entirely. Sarah acknowledged those who acknowledged her with a nod of her head before leaving to locate “The Kevil Arms”.

From the outside, the tavern looked like the last place Sarah would expect a mission of import to be headed. But there was no mistaking the sign which indicated that this hovel was indeed the place she had been searching for. Sarah scoffed under her breath, “As if the average person in this town could read”. One or two people entered the tavern ahead, and Sarah hoped this would make her own entrance a bit less noticeable. She wanted to gain a bit of insight as to the plan this “Consano” had formulated before committing herself to anything. Sliding off her horse, Sarah strained to stand up straight. Her hard working hands were far too calloused to be bothered by four days of holding reigns. However her hips had not been broken to a saddle in many months. She knew that when next she had a chance to undress, she would note impressive bruising along the inner aspects of her ivory thighs. Sarah cursed her bony figure. She unstrapped the large pack from her saddle and swung the strap over one shoulder, refusing the leave its precious contents unattended.

Waddling through the doors of the inn, Sarah stopped short and shuffled to the side. Lowering her hood and resting up against the wall, she took in the sight before her. A young blond man was kneeling before a panel of two, a knight and a lady. The prostrate man introduced himself as “Gawain Rochilde” and stretched his sword out before him as a profession of loyalty. Sarah raised an eyebrow at the theatrics of it all. “He must enjoy putting on a show” she thought to herself, noting the informal and relaxed posture of every other soul in the room. All except the older dark haired man sitting at the table, whom Gawain was kneeling before and addressed as “Sir Chester”. That particular man sat straight and stoic, he seemed astutely aware of his surroundings. This was a bit of a contrast to his female companion who was slouched in her own chair, lazily sharpening her knife. She seemed more interested in a tall dark woman standing nearby than she did in the thin blond man on the floor. The man and woman looked slightly out of place in their rich threads and fine armor. Their weapons were of a superior, heavy quality. Sarah wondered if this pair really was Sir Chester and Lady Buxton, whom it was rumored were to be the head of this new Consano. She would know soon enough.

I

Karen looked with a smile at her two new superiors and weighted them at the same time. While Lady Buxton seemed serious and responsible, Sir Chester on the other hand, his temperament changed the moment he saw her face. It was impossible not to notice what exactly was going on in his head. The olive skinned woman didn’t mind that one bit thoug.

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Karen greeted too and with a smile looked at Sir Chester.” I don’t mind stares, in my opinion they should be taken as form of a compliment. If a man stares, then he likes what he sees.” The assassin stated with playful smile. Who knew, maybe one of these nights it was this charming gentleman she was going to keep warm in the bed with. He certainly seemed smitten with her and she did need some relaxing from the long ride to this place.

“Ahh yeah, I would like to know, if provisions are going to be supplied or we will need to buy them ourselves. Also on that note I want to know if we will be given some money in advance to buy final preparations before our departure tomorrow or we will have to buy those too?. “ She asked with curious voice. It wasn’t that Karen didn’t have money to buy what she needed, but it was sure going to be nice to have the additional funds to buy some more luxury things with her money while at it.

Just as the assassin finished saying that, a man entered the inn. She recognized him, she had the feeling someone was following her outside and she did notice him when she reached the inn. With that said he certainly didn’t hit her a guy who was going to cause too much troubles. If nothing else he wasn’t an assassin… his ability to hide and blend with surroundings was too much nonexistent. Still when he pulled his sword, Karen’s fingers quickly touched the edge of one of the knives hidden in her sleeves. It was impossible to notice this subtle gesture without knowing what to look for specially, but even then it would be hard with her current clothing, as the cloak covered her arms. When he plunged himself to the floor however her fingers immediately relaxed and she smiled. For someone who looked so dangerous he certainly didn’t act the part. A former clergy man eh? Gwain certainly seemed serious about joining the Consano and going against the hordes of the dead.

“A dull sword is fine…” Karen spoke out of the sudden with confident voice. “ A dull sword can become as sharp as razor if taken care of properly.” She stated.” His physique isn’t bad, with some proper training he should be able to hold his ground.” Karen added with a confident nod.

“Hmm it seems all of us applicants arrived at the same time.” Karen said to Sir Chester and Lady Buxton, nodding her head in the direction of the newly entered the building. It was a woman and she looked rather petite and kind of cute in the dark skinned woman’s eyes. Well there was time for everything. While the former priest was still putting on the show, the petite woman standing near the door and waiting, Karen took off her cloak and hanged it on the chair she was sitting on. Then she took off the fox pelt she was using as a scarf, followed by untying the knots on the strings that kept the front part of the furs closed. Now that the front of the furs was open, you could see the linen shirt underneath. She quickly stood up and went to the innkeeper.” A plate of food and a jug of wine!” She gave him her order with a smile. Then she noticed another thing. She was sure there was someone in front of the door. With a wave of her hand to Lady Buxton and Sir Chester to catch their attention, she then pointed to the door. Moving quietly as if she wasn’t stepping on her wooden floor, without any noise, she went to the front door, passing by the new girl. She gave her a friendly smile before proceeding to open the door. Quickly pulling the wooden door she exposed the man who was there listening.” So… what do we have here? A rather big rat or did you per chance drop coin and now are searching for it?” She asked him with a smile.

“We will provide as much food and water as the group can carry, but after a certain point we’ll have to rely on scavenging and hunting. Horses will also be provided if you do not have your own, but the ones in the stable aren’t exactly the best bred. As for money in advance, that very much depends on our sponsor who, as of yet, has not arrived. All I can promise in terms of money is that King Barius will heavily reward you if we are successful.” Replied Sir Chester, who was trying his best to keep his professional and stoic demeanour in front of the dark haired vixen. At the mention of the sponsor, Buxton found herself scan the room for any sign of Orwen but instead was only able to spot a couple more people enter through the front door.

Chester was too busy talking with Karen (and by extension, too focused on not drooling) to notice the man with the giant sword approach the table. Buxton on the other hand had trained her dark walnut eyes on the newcomer since the moment he appeared in the doorway. Like with the previous guest, she did not bother to sit up and instead kept her leather boots crossed comfortably on the rough wood table. She raised a curious eyebrow as the man got closer, noticing the strange dots on his head and the cattle-like ring on his nose. As the foolish man drew his sword Buxton felt her heart skip a beat and her fingers involuntarily spun the dagger for a better grip. She was no assassin, but she doubted she would miss a throw from that close. By this point even Chester noticed and he quickly half-drew his sword, ready to jump up and fight in the blink of a second. However when the man dropped to a kneel the tension faded enough for Buxton to let out a big exhale and a silent smirk.

“I, Gawain Rochilde, Wonderman of Vahili, hereby pledge my life and soul to the Consano to avenge my fallen father, fallen mother and.. presumably plague-gripped sister, may the old gods and God of Light, whichever is true, save their souls. My sword is yours, lady Buxton, sir Chester.”

It was a rather dramatic oath, one which was certainly not needed. Chester’s face seemed to show a mixture of anger and sheer bewilderment. He went to scold the man for being suicidal enough to draw his blade on them, but then ‘Gawain’ stood and carried on his rambling. “I’ll let you deal with this guy…” whispered Buxton under her breathe as she stood and begun to stretch. She probably whispered loud enough for all four people around the table to hear, but it didn’t stop Gawain from finishing his story.

“A dull sword is fine… A dull sword can become as sharp as razor if taken care of properly.” She stated. “His physique isn’t bad, with some proper training he should be able to hold his ground.” Karen added with a confident nod. “Hmm it seems all of us applicants arrived at the same time.”

“It would appear so.” Responded Chester, who was now hoping the others wouldn’t try the same sort of theatrics. He looked over to the other men near the bar and scowled, a small heat rising in his neck due to his annoyance at their obliviousness – someone just drew a sword at their superior officers and they were just sat there drinking merrily away. Turning his attention back to Gewain, Chester sheathed his sword and waved for Gewain to put his own down. “Firstly recruit: if you draw your sword on me again you will find it lodged in a very tight itchy sheathe.” He said in very flat matter-of-fact way, “As long as you can swing that thing at whatever monstrosities we come across, and as long as you show us trust and loyalty, you’re accepted. Besides, I’m sure the men will appreciate a priest when things get rough.”

Whilst Chester was dealing with Gewain, Buxton found herself following Karen over to the door, interested to see what she had found. She kept a few steps back, acutely aware that her own footsteps lacked the grace and lightness needed to keep silent on the old wooden boards. As she passed the young pale women she too gave a smile and lifted a single finger, a gesture that she hoped would indicate that the lass should wait a minute. ‘Probably not here to join’ thought Buxton, noting how skinny she was and how finely dressed the girl was in her thick wool and leather. Of course fine clothing was no true indicator of profession, as her own attire proved, but this girl didn’t strike her as a fighter. Brushing her thoughts of the girl aside, she refocused on the door where Karen was then exposing a short man.

“So… what do we have here? A rather big rat or did you per chance drop coin and now are searching for it?” Karen asked.

“I don’t think rats smell that bad,” Buxton interjected as she lent against the doorway.

Gawain carefully shifted his balance from one leg to the other as he sheathed his weapon, looking around for a moment. He seemed awfully out of place here - the soldiers, the two hard-ass commanders.. even the others whom he presumed to be here to apply were looking much like battle hardened individuals. He followed lady Buxton with his eyes, turning even to look at her. Following her with his eyes, he looked upon another woman. That's three. Three women were here, and Gawain could respect them for it. He also had noticed he had gotten some strange looks. Damnit, I messed it up. What line did I say wrong.. he thought to himself, recounting what he had said to the company. It would seem that Gawain was under the impression that a confession of loyalty was common place and that the others would also follow suit and profess loyalty. But this turned out to be untrue. He felt kind of stupid, mostly because he had already made a fool of himself.

His hands were shaky and sweaty, as was his forehead. It was obvious that Gawain was nervous, very nervous. Here he was, laying down his blade for some man and woman that called themselves sir and lady. He knew nothing of them, nothing. He was to battle some plague in name of some king he barely knew, in order to save people he barely knew. Why? Why was he here? He wished he could turn around and walk away, rethink it all. Instead he was nailed to the floor as he gazed upon a newcomer. A beautiful blonde lady, who was covered in furs and a woollen cloak. She was.. stunning, to say the least. For some reason he felt calmth as he gazed upon her, as if he could feel the God of Lights' calmth emanating from her. He knew this wasn't true, it couldn't be. There hadn't been new 'speakers' in ages, and only the kings could now claim to be speakers for God. And any man of the robe knew that to be a false claim, only accepted by the church due to the power basis the kings had.

But yet, he felt calm. It was amazing, euphoric almost. He was pulled back from his stare at this new lady and turned back around to his new commander. “Yes commander, sir Chester, sir.” Gawain had no idea what to say, how to say what he didn't know to say, Gawain had more or less no idea about anything. He noticed his hands trembling again, and he clenched his teeth, trying to force himself to stop trembling and man up. You're with the Consano now. Act like it. “I am a man of God and Gods, sir. If I ever betray you, I'd not only expect you to drive a knife into my heart, I expect my God and Gods to do the same.” Betrayal was low, although some Northerners didn't see this the same way, since tricking enemies was an art of battle and thus, betrayal was allowed. Gawain tended to agree as long as it was about battle, but the Consano was hardly an army. It wasn't even large enough to be seen as a militia. He had expected something grander, a group of knights, soldiers, true fighters. But here they were.

He turned away and started to walk the other way, wanting to take a seat - and a breather - and wait for more people to show up. But last second, he changed his mind and turned back. “Sir Chester, I-” “So… what do we have here? A rather big rat or did you per chance drop coin and now are searching for it?” Karen's voice rang through the inn, soon enough followed by lady Buxton's voice. “I don’t think rats smell that bad,”

Gawain was interrupted mid sentence and forced to look around, towards the door. It seems Karen had uncovered a man who was listening in, giving Gawain no doubt that this woman was more dangerous than she had made herself out to be. If she could tell that a man was hiding behind a door simply by .. listening, Gawain assumed, then that meant she had trained ears. Gawain's eyes shot out to Karen's hands, trying to discern if she'd killed men and women before. Sometimes you could tell, by cuts, bruises or old scars. Or sometimes you could just see, because killers usually had strong hands, like a smithy. Gawain was unable to discern as much. He switched his vision to the man that they had uncovered, and looked at him. He wore a bandana, much like Gawain himself, but he also looked rugged and battle ready. Not like the others, however.. but more casual. Like he knew what he was doing, so he decided that he didn't need armor. Gawain opened his mouth to interject and stop them from calling the man names. “I thin-..” He quickly remembered his place, and given that his commanders already seemed to hate his guts, he shut his mouth and walked closer to the wall, taking up a position near the beautiful blonde fur and wool-covered lady. As he approached her he gave her a short smile, wondering to himself if she was a woman of the old faith, or the new.

---

---

Heavy boots approached again from outside, a hand extended towards the blonde man in front of the door, followed by a swift, small push to the side to force a way through. A tall, bearded and handsome brown haired man stepped through, wearing a burgundy tunic with a dark, hard leather jerkin over it. He wore a brown pair of linen pants, with knee high leather boots strapped up nice and tight. Around the mans neck were a set of two necklaces, one with an image of a horse shoe attached to it, which was the sign of the desert people in the south, the other with a Nordic religious image on it. Along all that, he also wore a lot of rings. One, in specific, stood out. It was a ring that was flat on top, with the imprint of a hammer in it - a sign known to all as a slavers insignia. It was clear this man was well dressed, rich and certainly a slaver, or that he owned a bussiness in slavery.

His steps, posture and looks spoke of self assurance, a certain air of arrogance and even a hint of superiority. As he looked on, he took a good, hard look around the inn. He would put his hands folded behind his back, walking around a bit and approaching some soldiers. Without asking as much as a question, he grabbed one of their chins and turned his head, looking him up and down. It was obviously not appreciated, but the mans' rude approach and aggressive appearance, as well as the wealth of chains and rings, prevented the man whom was being checked up and down from doing anything. The rich man nodded a bit and looked at the other soldiers, before walking back to the door.

He would stand closely to lady Buxton and Karen, before repeating the process with Karen. He would grab her chin without asking any questions, using two fingers, his thumb and index finger. Afterwards, he'd rotate her head and give her a good look. He would then let go and nod again before looking past Karen and towards Gawain and Sarah. He would look at them confused, almost as if to say 'who are these two?' But not a word came from him. It was all.. very strange, a man walking in, looking all rich and dangerous with a flail hanging from a leather loop attached to the mans' belt.

After looking around some more, inspecting the building, again not saying anything, he finally looked at Sir Chester and Lady Buxton. “Sir Chester, lady Buxton, if I may be so free.. what a shithole.” He grinned heavily and looked towards Karen and then towards the soldiers. “And I thought I paid you all for amassing a company, a true soldiers esquadron. This is more like.. like a militia. No, it's not even that. A militia has uniforms.. hmm.. This is more like a band of robbers, waiting in the bushes for a lady like her-” Orwen pointed at Sarah, with no shame. “-to pass by and then beat her senseless, take her valuables, take her if she's unlucky and then possibly take her captive and enslave her.”

Gawain looked at the strange man with wide open eyes, following him around as he walked and inspecting everything. Was this.. another commander? A higher up than even sir Chester and lady Buxton? The man gripped Karen without asking, and Gawain felt for a moment that Karen would slit the man's throat. Then the man finally declared that this place was a shithole, and that he had paid sir Chester and lady Buxton.. an investor? And those chains.. a man from the south, or at the very least a man who spends a lot of time there. But a Nordic hanger? How peculiar. When the man pointed at Sarah, Gawain wished to step forwards and say some words to soothe the situation. It seemed like this man, who was thought to be an investor. But why the flail? Was he coming with the Consano? That could be.. interesting? More like a disaster. Gawain, however, held his tongue as he looked at Sarah, to see how she was affected by this investors' words, and then looked at lady Buxton, as if to say who is this man?

Orwen continued, talking to sir Chester and lady Buxton in specific. “Speaking of enslavement, do you two know how much slaves I had to sell to rent this place for the time you required it?” he said it with a grin, as if it was funny, as if slavery was some joke. “Two, my lady, good sir. Two slaves. I sold my best two slaves, strong men who can work the land. I hope this is worth it. I have more funds at the ready, but at the moment you'll have to make due with this.”

He pulled a heavy leather sack, tied with some string. He tossed it towards sir Chester, who would find that inside the bag was a lot of coin. A lot. Now, Orwen wasn't throwing around money just to show off, although that was part of the act ofcourse, he was also giving them money to afford the rations, the uniforms and any other expenses that had to be made for these new recruits. He turned around again, facing towards lady Buxton and Karen, smiling at the both of them. “It's good to finally be able to do something other than sit in my castle-keep, drink wine and fuck slaves.. I mean, maids. Maids, ofcourse. Although I do miss my oceanview, nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing my fleet with new.. maids.. arrive at my docks. Do you know what I mean, lady Buxton?” He smiled again, a dark, eerie smile than proved that Orwen really didn't care about things normal people considered bad or vulgar.

I

Sarah watched the taller women pass her by, and she took a step aside to make more room. They had both smiled warmly at her, yet Sarah did not return the gesture. She hadn’t smiled in days. The young healer only hoped that the red tear streaks under her eyes had faded. After all, she had been too exhausted to weep for a while now.

Lady Buxton had held a finger up to Sarah, politely asking her to wait a minute. Sarah took a look at Buxton, and then at Sir Chester, wondering which of the two was the appointed leader of this mission. She wanted to speak to as few people as possible and thus hasten the moment she could fall into a decent bed for the first time in days. The realization that there would be no warm husband there to comfort her felt like a knife to the chest. But she was still too tired to cry.

The young priest had plucked himself off the ground after receiving a verbal lashing from Sir Chester. When Gawain turned toward her, Sarah recognized she had been wrong in her assumption that the man enjoyed the attention his little sword stunt had afforded him. Rather, he seemed hopelessly lost, and it was obvious he was trying too hard. Sarah felt a twinge of pity, knowing all too well the humiliation of striving and failing to get things “just right”. As she was thinking this, she became acutely aware of the young priest’s gaze. Sarah stiffened a bit, and quickly looked away, hoping he had not been offended by her own stare.

“I am a man of God and Gods, sir. If I ever betray you, I'd not only expect you to drive a knife into my heart, I expect my God and Gods to do the same.”

“God and Gods?” Sarah cringed to herself, she felt irritation well up inside of her. “Good, another indecisive teacher spreading his doctrine of ‘whatever’ wherever he goes”. It was men like this that confused uneducated souls who had not the ability to read the scriptures for themselves. Sarah was convinced that the hypocrisy of claiming a singular god and also a pantheon of deities was one of many reasons why people disdained men and women of faith as fair-weathered do-gooders. “How can one expect to convict another without conviction of self?” Sarah wondered.

Gawain smiled as he approached, and took up a position next to Sarah. Sarah tried to return the courtesy but failed. Instead she gave a slight nod and turned her focus to the short young man who had been discovered at the door. He was obviously taken by surprise but seemed more amused by the attention that he was receiving than he did uncomfortable. His audience was short lived however as he was unceremoniously shoved to the side.

In strode a man whom Sarah would have believed to be the owner of this tavern, had he not been clad in extravagant finery. He took long a deliberate strides about the room and sized up each occupant as though they were for sale. His heavy boots thudded on the plank floor as Orwen approached the dark woman standing nearby and placed his jewelry ribbed fingers on her face. Sarah winced at the sight of such shameless nerve. She was half prepared for a fight to break loose as a dangerous glare filled the exotic woman’s eyes.
“Sir Chester, lady Buxton, if I may be so free.. what a shithole.” Orwen grinned heavily and looked towards Karen and then towards the soldiers. “And I thought I paid you all for amassing a company, a true soldiers esquadron. This is more like.. like a militia. No, it's not even that. A militia has uniforms.. hmm.. This is more like a band of robbers, waiting in the bushes for a lady like her-” Orwen pointed at Sarah, with no shame. “-to pass by and then beat her senseless, take her valuables, take her if she's unlucky and then possibly take her captive and enslave her.”

Sarah stiffened when the man pointed at her, and smoothly she stood up straight with as much dignity as she could muster. She locked eyes with this Orwen and gave no expression save for the slightest tilt of her chin toward the ceiling. “Women like me don’t travel alone” she thought defiantly to herself. But she would say nothing to this obscene man, whom she guessed would enjoy nothing more than a clumsy objection to his provocative scenario.

“Speaking of enslavement, do you two know how much slaves I had to sell to rent this place for the time you required it?” Orwen said a grin, as if it was funny, as if slavery was some joke. “Two, my lady, good sir. Two slaves. I sold my best two slaves, strong men who can work the land. I hope this is worth it. I have more funds at the ready, but at the moment you'll have to make due with this.”

Sarah was not terribly surprised to learn that the man was in fact a slave trader. Still, the young healer had never met a slave trader and she could hardly believe that such a brigand was standing before her now. Surely Sir Chester and Lady Buxton would arrest him for his confession? Alas, it appeared that this “Orwen”, was not only receiving a pass for his injustice, but was also expected as a sponsor of the Consano! Sarah wondered what sort of mission this really was, and began to consider if she had made a mistake in coming here.

“Phew. If you lot thought I stank, I can hardly imagine what this guy reeks of. Ah! Wait, I think I can guess. Mommy issues and dirty money, right?”

The young healer’s eyes widened a bit at the plucky adventurer who stood before the slave trader, his legs wide apart and a finger shoved into the space before Orwen’s face. “He wasted no time jumping back into the spotlight” Sarah wondered if this foolhardy fellow was able to back up his grand words. Somehow, it seemed doubtful.

The young woman glanced around at Lady Buxton and Gawain to see if anyone else was as unimpressed by this situation as she.

Catechism of the Gift.

---

"Bear in mind just where you are bound for, Drusus," the bishop said as he undid the clasps on his snuff tin, "A treacherous land full of barbaric heathens. Don't trust a single word they say," he glanced upwards, locking eyes with the wizard, "Never forget where your loyalties lie."

"I have served faithfully for many years, Most Reverend," Drusus said, offering the Bishop of Foleci what was supposed to be a disarming smile, one in good humor, "Bad weather and log cabins won't make a traitor of me."

The Bishop was entirely unimpressed with the quip, and instead of dignifying it with a response he brought a pinch of powdered tobacco to his nose and snorted it. "They are all rapists and murderers up north," the old, robed man continued after some seconds of silence, "You would be wise to understand the implications of venturing to a pagan realm."

"With respect, Most Reverend, I do not think the destination of their prayers will be my foremost concern. Perhaps you should save such advice for your missionaries?" Eyes narrowed around the table as the bite in Drusus' words sank in. There wasn't a single person in the marble conference hall that wasn't uncomfortable, save for the Bishop that is, whose eyes lit up, whose expression could be likened to a lion eyeing its prey.

"But perhaps - oh perhaps - cursed man, their prayers should be exactly what you scrutinize. As your colleagues say, and as mine say, from all the information we have gathered, the plague is most definitely unnatural in nature. It makes monsters of men, yes? It spreads like a wildfire. It is the scourging of heathen man. Curious that it is the pagans of the north that are its sole victims, yes? Curious how the enlightened realm of Dawn is content with simply repelling them from our shores, yes? They are being punished. This trip is folly."

"I'm willing to wager that even if we had their whole realm prostrate before you with open ears, minds, and hearts the plague would continue its work," Drusus muttered.

"Oh, yes, but it is not for the reasons you think. You of all people should know that a week of prayer does not absolve one of a lifetime of idolatry and sin."

A woman present at the table, one dressed in the most current, and opulent of Florine fashions softly cleared her throat and gave each of them a pointed glance. "If we may proceed to matters of practicality, Drusus? Most Reverend? Folly as it might be, we must hedge our bets," she said, choosing her words carefully, the singsong of her southern Florine accent all too apparent. Her lips curled into a wry smile. "And besides, Most Reverend, I am sure you will not miss Drusus while he is gone. You have precious little to lose by giving your blessing."

The Bishop grunted and gave those assembled a dismissive wave of his hand. The talks continued.

---

He had been waiting for a long, long time for this. The trip to the Cross Roads has been an arduous one. The effects of the plague grew more pronounced as he had made his way further north on roads that were simultaneously well travelled and dangerous. Refugees made easy pickings for opportunistic slave snatchers and bandits, and the stories he'd heard in passing from the downtrodden of Vasili had left him on edge. He was fortunate to have been able to accompany an opportunistic, rotund merchant and his many guards on the way north, he supposed. A man dressed as finely as he was, in his cloak and his wool and cotton, walking alone, would have made a fine target. But then, what rich man walked alone? And what rich man walked alone towards the ruination of the north?

Maybe the highwaymen would have given him a wide berth. Still, he re-affirmed in his mind that he was not a man for stupid risks. The lower his profile the better, there needn't be any whispers of wizards brazenly walking the roads of Vasili. He was a foreign dignitary bound for a meeting with the rich and influential of the Cross Roads, that was the story that he had stuck to, and the one that he intended to stick to even with the Consano. As well as he knew them already, by means of divination, study, and hearsay, he could not say with confidence that they would be receptive towards the aid of a cursed man.

And so when he said his goodbyes to his travelling company at the gates of the Cross Roads, as the sun sank below the distant pines and cragged hills, he didn't make straight for the tavern that supposedly served as their headquarters. He walked the city. He took in its sights, its sounds, and especially its smells. The incense and perfumes and blooming flowers of wealthy Florine were all but forgotten to him, replaced by mud, shit, pines, and fresh rain. The stink of human living unmasked. He'd become quite used to it in his sojourn towards his ultimate destination, towards the Consano. He'd stopped wrinkling his nose and grasping for a handkerchief some time ago, and good thing. That sort of behavior would breed disdain here in Vasili, he believed.

He'd talked and walked, mingling with locals and refugees alike, offering alms and offering meals as it suited him. He'd gleaned some useful information from those malnourished thankful, peculiar characters arriving, a tavern being closed for the night on behalf of some royal expedition or other. All of what he heard fit the bill, but it dismayed him all the same. The Consano was so meager that it had posted a sign outside of a rented tavern, yes, they didn't even have the ear of the city's master, indeed. Upon getting his bearings he made for the tavern itself, and for a long while he lurked on the periphery, making himself occupied with whatever he could as he watched and waited.

He contented himself with an alley across and down the street from the so-called Kevil Arms. In passing he had indeed found the sign and the desperate recruiter's scrawl. The tavern, and the whole street for that matter were quiet enough. The sun had gone, and the drizzle continued. But there was, in time, a slow trickle of those aformentioned peculiar outsiders making their way in. He watched from afar, brazen as could be considering the sheer distance, eyes and cloak embroidery alike glimmering in the alley gloom.

Men and women alike, and of all sorts, at that. His gaze lingered on each in turn, and he leaned forwards and craned his neck from his vantage point, the small of his back remaining propped against the dampened structure of the building behind him. He could glean precious little from where he stood, and the words they exchanged were indistinct. There was attitude though, that was for certain, and he could see the seeds of confrontation being sowed just fine. These individuals were just meeting for the first time, he could ascertain as much, and there was a characteristic lack of tact, there was no cohesion and it worried him.

Does the king not care? Can he not find a dozen knights of his own to go north? This is not a faerie tale. Plucky underachievers don't save kingdoms.

The whole situation seemed more and more rotten to him as he continued to stare unabashedly. So rotten that he emerged from his hiding place and started down the street towards the inn. Sorcery be damned, he was much less a misfit than the rest of the bunch, or so he told himself. There was a spring in his step now, a hurriedness that betrayed his frustration with what he'd spent the last few minutes watching.

Griping about the Consano will not change things. I will change things. Maybe.

His pace slowed again as he grew closer, but he made no effort to hide himself. He did hide his demeanor however, taking the time he needed to recompose himself as he approached. His face became an immutable mask, one that was cold, vaguely unfriendly, and above all else professional. He settled himself maybe ten or twenty feet from the closest presumed Consano member, head inclined, chin jutting outward and eyes narrowed, arms simply at his sides. His boots sank an inch or two into the mud as he settled there.

He cleared his throat and brought an open hand up in greetings, parting his olive cloak and giving a glimpse at functional, but pricey travelling garb just beneath.

"I'd speak with your leader, Consano," he said, in an effort to cut through whatever arguing he'd just stumbled his way into, "That is if you have one fit to speak with me. I can wait." His gaze darted this way and that as he waited, from one person to the next, addressing the collective group rather than any particular one. He couldn't pick out a particular hierarchy, it seemed. And so the standoffish question lingered in the air.

“Rude? And why would I be obligated to show courtesy to someone who is sneaking outside listening in as a common criminal? You need to earn respect.” Karen asked with humorous smile. A man demanding manners in this situation… this guy was amusing.” Ahh you are right Lady Buxton, rat certainly smell better.” The dark skinned woman said with a nod and smile.

As the man had decided to go on with a tirade, a hand suddenly appeared pushing him to the side with force… Karen immediately recognized the man… due his ring and appearance… Orwen of Sudernlan. One thing Karen despised more than everything was slavers, but what she disliked even more were those who trade with slaves, but lacked the skills and will to go catch them themselves. This man here was the embodiment of almost everything Karen hated. As he proceeded to grab her chin, sharp glares as daggers were shot from the woman’s eyes. It was a warning. If she wanted, Karen could kill the man in so many different ways that they would never be able to stop her. Truth was if she killed him, she was probably going to get paid a good sum even if she wasn’t in a contract to do so. This man had a lot of enemies. As he released her chin and proceeded with his little speech for the crowd in the inn, Karen’s eyes were following him as she was wondering if she should just kill him right this moment. Truth was if she did it, she had reasonable chance of escaping, not that she cared if she would die. Everyone dies eventually, death was inevitable, but for now there were things to be done.

“Phew. If you lot thought I stank, I can hardly imagine what this guy reeks of… Ah! Wait, I think I can guess. Mommy issues and dirty money, right?” The assassin heard the blond guy saying while pointing at the slave trader. A smile appeared on Karen’s face. That guy still stank worse than a rat, but he just got a better view in the assassin’s eyes.

Still the olive skinned woman noticed that her order she gave the innkeeper was ready. Leaving all the noisy people, she passed by the blond man and the slaver as if they weren’t there and headed towards the innkeeper, who had placed a tray on the counter with her jug of wine and the food. As she took those and placed them on the nearest table to begin her well deserved dinner after the whole day of riding, she noticed another new arrival. Her hand instinctively twitched. That man… her instincts were screaming danger… it may have been long time since she last felt this, but that man had the bearing of a sorcerer… She also recognized his cloak… There was a danger to every magic user… their power got simply to great with time and that man seemed like a proper magic user, not like those who claim to be one, but only know some tricks. If he was to join them it would have been of great help in the north, but one never knew with sorcerers. They often had their own agendas…

This was getting complicated very fast. With her left hand Karen pulled out a small necklace from underneath her shirt. On a thin sturdy string was hanging a small ebony figurine of a woman dressed in what appeared to be a single big piece of cloth. The woman was holding a small sphere in her arms. Wtih her arm, Karen took hold of the figure, closing her eyes."Skeitha, mother of the night and patroness of all who sin in the darkness..." She began saying a prayer, but the end couldn't be heard even if you were to stand next to the olive skinned woman. Still once she was done with her prayer, she put the small figure back under her shirt and proceeded with a glass of the wine.

Two days of riding on horseback got him near the large town of The Cross Roads. It was a trading hub for the Vasili Kingdom and it connected to Sovereign, the capital of Vasili. Mathis watched as the sun went down and felt the cool wind kicking into gear for the usual cold night. He didn't have much to cover his head and hands, but he had got used to the cold that he didn't need those things as much. After all, he has gone to the Far North before the plague spread. He looked up to the sky as it got darker by the minute and sighed as he remembered the days before the plague. Then, he closed his eyes and whispered to his self something that he would never have said before all of this happened.

God of Light, give me the protection that I need to travel to the Cross Roads. Protect me from the ill people out there, eating other people. And please bring my friends to your heaven and bring me into heaven when I leave this world.

The cool wind hit Mathis' face as he opened his eyes and found that the sun was gone. It was night time already and that meant that he had to get to town and find an inn before the highwaymen came out. He heard tales of those highwaymen, that waited near the roads and kidnapped everyone, were tales usually told around a campfire. But, they got to Mathis when he first arrived at Vasili. That's why he hired guards in the first place, to protect him for any threats.

The town was nearby and he could make it before it goes completely dark if his horse ran faster. So, he decided to search in his pockets for something to give to his horse. And then, he found a piece of apple given to him by a boy in one of the tribes. The apple didn't look good enough for Mathis to eat, but his horse would love to have the apple instead. So, he gave it to the horse and the horse ate it in the matter of seconds. He gave the horse a soft pat on the side to make it go faster. It did work as the horse got faster than it was going a couple minutes ago. Mathis smiled at the result of his plan; however, the smile would soon end as he remembered the day of the attack. It started because of the horse going so fast and the cool wind.

Mathis remembered the screams of the remaining people in Fort Cain as he rode pass them on the same horse, that he was riding. He didn't look back to see if his guards were alright, he just looked forward and rode as fast as he could. While riding away from the inflected in the fort, he saw many horrible things that none should ever see. People being eaten by other people, children attacking their mothers or fathers, the list just goes on and on. He felt the cool wind and the snowflakes as he tried to get away from the inflected. After the attack on the fort, Mathis just got off of the horse and collapsed as he realized that he let the plague spread to the Southern part of the Northern Lands faster. He had heard of the plague spreading a while ago; but, he dismissed the rumors for some dumb reason that he can't remember. A couple minutes of crying later, he got back up and went on his horse. He had decided to go back to his home country and wait until the plague came to him. He soon raced from Boulder Tower to rest there and warn the others.

After the sudden flashback, he realized that he was in the town as his horse kept going fast on the busy road until Mathis stopped it. He raced his horse to some alley and looked around to see if anyone was around him. After checking, he sighed as he looked up at the night sky, full of stars and other wonderful things that only appeared at night, and whispered to his self again.

God of Light, please forget my sins as I let this horrible plague spread even more. It's all of my fault for the deaths of Fort Cain and in other villages and large towns. It's all of my fault that my guards defended their lives for me at the fort. Please forget me and take me to heaven, Father.

He looked around once more and rode his horse slowed as he began to tear up. Mathis would never forgive his self for what he did at Fort Cain and he will always torture himself over it until he dies.

A couple of minutes later, he and his horse kept on going until they finally found an inn to stay the night at. The Kevil Arms. That was the name of the inn and he didn't know what to think of it as he pulled his horse nearby it and got off of it. It was a stupid name, but it did bring interested in Mathis. He bought horse to an older lady and asked her to overlook his horse. To make such that she would do it, he gave her some coins and thanked her for watching his horse. She smiled and waved as he slowly walked towards the inn. He didn't read the chalkboard on the door as he thought that it said that the 'Ale was out' or 'the mad drunk threw up nearby the counter'. The point was that he didn't give a fuck about the board.

Mathis opened the door and walked into the inn as he saw a group of people nearby him. Well, they didn't look like bandits or the highwaymen, especially the fact that the ladies are within the group. Normally, most women weren't getting their hands dirty besides clearing around the house or farming. One thing that Mathis knew about the group was to stay away from them and not talk to them at all, or he could get in some serious trouble and possibly die. He walked fast away from the group, but not before getting a closer look at the group.

There was no way that they were in a guild or bandits, well according to what he heard of bandits and thieves. Like for example, the guy wearing hauberk and chausses looked more like a soldier in the army than any common bandit—unless he was smart. And the other guy with the darken red hair looked like he had money in his pockets. As he walked passed the group, he knew that they weren't any bandits or assassins. What were they doing at an inn? Why are they here together? So many questions, but Mathis didn't cared as he carefully walked towards the stools nearby the counter and sat down on one of them.

He looked around for the innkeeper so he would just get his room and sleep until dawn. Then, he would go to the capital and hide there until he dies. Mathis then hoped that the innkeeper goes to him before someone—within the group—questioned his presents at the inn.

Orwen looked at Zacharias, rather unimpressed really, before he put his thumb and index finger together and made the 'money' hand gesture. “The latter is right, but my mother is currently residing in my castle, waiting for a smuggling boat to arrive so she can get out of this hellhole. I'd follow suit, and flee to Dawn, if it weren't for the many many amounts of gold I've invested in this forsaken country. So, be happy that I invested in this country, or there would be no Consano, and the lot of you would be rotting on a burnt out pile of wood because of the infection, bunch of barbarians.” He spoke with a refined tone, one akin to a nobleman. It was obvious he wasn't letting the man annoy him that easily. Orwen didn't look like a strong man, but his flail was deadly even if it wasn't handled by a skilled man. And a hidden dagger in his outfit made sure that even if he got disarmed by whomever, he'd have a backup plan. No, no. Orwen was all too sure that none of these people would try anything funny.

“Besides, if I fled, I'd have to abandon most of my slaves. Don't get me wrong, slaves are slaves, but they are also still human. It's one thing to capture and sell them, it's another to lock them in a room and wait for the plague to get them. Even I am not so cruel. All those little girls and boys.. dead.” He said it all with a fake frown on his face, as if he were saddened by their theoretical deaths. His frown quickly turned to a small grin, though. He took several large steps, walking around Zacharias in a circle, observing him closely and even plucking a small dust speck off of the man's clothes. He made a satisfied hmph! sound before he walked back to lady Buxton and sir Chester. “So, what is our first objective, oh mighty lord and lady.” He said it all with a comical tone, smiling at them as he did a small bow before them. It was obvious Orwen was having a bit of fun with them, despite the hierarchy officially stating that they were higher in both blood and rank. Orwen didn't believe in that, though. Money was power, and he had much more of that resource.

Then, a man entered and raised his hand. "I'd speak with your leader, Consano.. That is if you have one fit to speak with me. I can wait." Orwen couldn't help but grin at the man as he revealed his pricey travel garb. That seemed awfully expensive for a traveller. There was something off about this man. Something that Orwen couldn't quite place in his mind. A mage..? No.. the man looked too rugged for that, although his face was shrouded by the shadow of his hood. A traveller? It could not be, he was too well dressed to travel like this. Not alone, anyway. A foreigner? Maybe. Orwen had been to many countries to buy and sell slaves and to hire mercenary companies for dirty work. But he'd never seen this man's style of clothes. It was.. an impressive dress style. Orwen could see himself wearing something like that. Perhaps he should buy it off of the man.

Orwen's fingers went to his mouth as he dragged his thumb across his mouth whilst thinking on the stranger. “Yes-yes, you can wait. We can all wait. Time is not important for Mankind. In the end we die, regardless of whether you can wait or not. Everyone can wait..” he said, while spinning his thoughts inside his brain. It was a painfully cryptic and nonsensical thing to say, but it wasn't like Orwen was trying hard to sound like this - it just happened as he was preoccupied with thinking on what the man could be. “Ah, the leader. That'd be the men and woman who are carrying actual armor and weaponry, the most beautiful lady Buxton, and her companion, the most honorable sir Chester.” By now, Orwen's fingers were on his chin, tapping it lightly. He turned round and round, taking a few steps with one hand on his side and the other hand on his chin, the elbow leaning on the hand across his stomach. Without warning, he looked the strange cloaked man in the eyes, pointed at him and said, slightly loud, “I know! You are a foreign emissary from the kingdom of Dawn, who is sent to infiltrate the Consano. Why, you ask? Because Dawn fears the plague as much as we do, and is afraid the burning of innocent boats and the entire sea between them and us might not hold back this plague. So they sent you, their most valued assassin to come here and secretly aid the Consano. Atleast, until we are done and fucked the plague right up the ass, because after that you must clean up all traces you've left, and kill us all by slitting our throats in our sleep.” He looked at the man for a few seconds more, before standing back straight again. He clapped in his hands one time. “Or, instead of leaving me to make stupid guesses like these, you can tell us your name before you interrupt us so rudely, pig.”

---

Gawain stood at the side, crossing his arms over eachother. He felt slightly more at ease now that there were more people in the inn, and that he wasn't the center of attention. It seemed like the man parading around, strutting like a nobleman, was actually a slave owner. He wasn't sure if the man traded slaves, because he never said that. But he did sell some slaves, something that was common practice amongst slave owners. Gawain couldn't feel good or bad about the man. The man was right, in the sense that slaves were slaves. Gawain couldn't deny that, and it seemed like the slaves under this man had a somewhat decent life, if they lived in his castle.

But at the same time, did the Church of Light not say 'A man is born chained, and shall remain chained until death, but the only who may hold these chains is God himself, to lead man in life. Any man that holds a chain over another man is an abomination of hatred and disease, and is the illness that kills Gods' love for the world.' Was this man the reason God sometimes chose not to hear prayers? And at the same time, Nordic gods, although many in number, sometimes promoted bloodshed and death. So according to the Northerners, slavery was normal, as long as it happened in respect and fairness. A slave treated well, is better than a friend treated badly. Gawain couldn't make up his mind. He looked at Sarah as he noticed she had looked at him, and simply shrugged. “The man seems unfriendly, but powerful. I'd ignore his remark towards you, I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you, merely using you as an example. He's not yet learned that we are all equal here, in the face of death. I'm sure God will teach him that, sooner or later.” Gawain said to her, softly to not alert the others. He didn't mean to draw attention back to him. And although his words remained neutral, he wasn't so sure if he meant them. The man was somewhat hostile, but Gawain couldn't help but feel, so were the others in the group. He didn't like this. Gawain had always been a kind soul, and only had the sword for the sake of protection and, well, the Consano kind of required you to atleast be able to swing a stick at a cannibalistic plague struck man.

This group was nothing like that. There were no kind-souls here as far as he could tell. Gawain looked around the room and let his eyes watch each of them individually. Every single one of them, save himself and Sarah, seemed to be either hiding something, or to have grave wrong doings on their name. It was up to him to figure out which one of the two it was. And Gawain hoped most of them were wrong-doers, like Orwen was. Because then he'd not have to worry about stuff that could possibly still happen.

Gawain stood silent for a moment, looking at Orwen and the cloaked man. In the middle of Orwens' ramblings Gawain turned back to Sarah. “I'm sorry. I lied. I don't believe Orwen didn't mean it. He's.. evil. You can see it, hear it. He has no shame over it, a clueless wolf, not yet taught by God his duty and position in life. Time will come, I suppose, as it does for all men. But.. looking at the others none seems exactly like an epitome of piousness and chivalry. I am not sure if I belong in this group. And frankly, I suddenly don't feel sure the Consano can do what they say they can do. These men and woman aren't soldiers. They are bandits, thugs, assasins, daggers and cloaks, rapists, murderers...” he whispered, softly to ensure none of the others heard him. He turned sideways now, leaning his shoulder against the wall so he could look Sarah in the eye. “God planned this for me, this I know. He holds the shackles of a man's chain, and leads them to a good life. So it was intended for me to be here, to try and save Vahili. But I am not a soldier, I am not the best priest, and I am certainly not as..” Gawain stopped briefly in his sentence to come up with a word that wasn't as strong as 'evil'. “I'm not battle hardened like these people, I suppose. Why does God send me here?” He looked Sarah in the eye for a moment more before turning back around again and continueing to lean on the wall with his back. The question seemed more rhetoric to himself, that Gawain needed to voice this question to someone in order to relieve himself of it. He closed his eye and leaned his head back on the wall, not acknowledging the fact that a traveller had just walked in as well and sat down at the bar.

“Hmm…!?” Karen made a sound as someone else entered the inn and proceeded to go to the innkeeper as if nothing happened. This guy looked completely oblivious to the fact this was the temporary base of operations of the Consano. On the other hand he seemed kind of off… Karen wondered what was it, that was weighting on this man’s soul for him to have such a look. For he looked like a man who was stressed out way beyond normal… Well it wasn’t her place to deal with him at this moment~ On other hand she just noticed the wana be actor priest who was being all overdramatical from earlier, talking to the fair lady who was standing by the door.

The man was clearly trying his best to be as quiet as possible to not be heard by the people present at the inn, for his bad luck though, Karen’s instincts were quite high. Not to mention she knew a thing or two about lip reading. It wasn’t really even that hard once you got used to it. But he was kind of with his back towards her, so the assassin couldn’t really make out exactly what he was saying. She heard a thing or two, but with the noise in the inn it was hard. A playful smile appeared on her face. With a graceful move, she stood from her chair, slowly and completely quietly making her way around and behind Gawain’s back.

“…These men and woman aren't soldiers. They are bandits, thugs, assasins, daggers and cloaks, rapists, murderers...” Karen heard him say, once she was behind him. Afterwards she continued to listen. The woman obviously noticed her, but Gawain was continuing with his tirade, so it was hard for the blond woman to inform him who was behind his back. As he finished his lil speech, he closed his eyes and leaned on the wall, still not noticing the assassin that was next to him. Before he opened his eyes, Karen reached out with her left hand, and ran a finger on his right cheek, clearly with the intent to scare the man with her sudden appearance.” You aren’t exactly wrong with that statement there… fufufu…” She whispered in his ear at the same time as she ran her finger on his cheek. Her voice was as alluring as a beautiful flower, but as everyone knew, when it was about poison, the brightest and the more beautiful the creature was, the strongest was the poison. At this distance he wouldn’t have the chance to draw the great sword from his back.” I was an assassin, I have no reason to hide it… and you shall soon be brought into shape to fight… I will personally see to that.” She continued to whisper to him. After that her voice returned to normal. It still had it’s beautiful sounding, but lacked the poisonous intonation from ealier.” But what do you two say if I buy you a meal? I imagine both of you haven’t had much of a meal for a while as the journey to the Cross roads is quite tiring no matter from which direction?” She asked Gawain, giving him a big smile.

At this point, Karen was already not paying attention to the oversized rat, the stuck up in his dreams slaver and the newly arrived mage and the traveler. She had plans to let Sir Chester know which was her room though. He seemed quite interested in her and she had no plans to refuse if he expressed his desire… But all due it’s time. There was still some time before heading off to bed. They needed to finish dinner first and she had to finish her prayer to Skeitha once she was in her room." So what's your reply? Want that dinner?"

“Yes commander, sir Chester, sir. I am a man of God and Gods, sir. If I ever betray you, I'd not only expect you to drive a knife into my heart, I expect my God and Gods to do the same.” Gawain declared. Sir Chester could sense that the man seemed nervous and wondered whether it was due to the situation, his embarrassment, his grilling, or a mixture of these factors. It didn’t really matter though. The man could either cut it or he couldn’t. He would either be a help to the Consano or he would provide some cannon fodder. It was a cold way to think about it but given the situation, one had to remain as practical and realistic as possible. “Sir Chester, I-” Gawain then said, but he cut his words short and looked towards the door.

When Gewain’s attention was diverted to the door, Chester followed his gaze and watched for a moment as the ladies revealed the eavesdropper. He knew that Lady Buxton was more than capable of handling herself, and after reading her letter of recommendation, assumed that Karen could to; he therefore didn’t feel the need to jump up to their aid. In fact he found the edge of his lips curl as he observed them mock the man, and upon hearing the man’s Dawnish accent, hoped they would abuse him further. “I wonder what a Sunshine is doing here?” he found himself accidentally mutter out loud. Like many soldiers who had fought against Dawn, he couldn’t help but feel a degree of resentment towards them. Even to that day he still remembered the massacre at the Battle of Chalk, the friends he lost, the men he had let die. As the event lingered in his mind he felt his mood turn sour and took another gulp of his mead. The surprisingly sweet liquid tingled his tongue and sent pleasant aromas up his nostrils, making him relax once more. ‘Good ole Honey Pot Mead’ he mused inwardly, ‘I’m glad our sponsor was also able to buy out the places good stuff.’

---

Lady Buxton pushed herself off the doorframe with ease and took a step back as the ratman came in. As he got closer she could make out more of his features, from his shimmering mane to his emerald eyes; she thought he looked quite handsome in a rugged sort of way, not that she’d ever let him know that. He then stepped forward with his hands stretched out and gave a courteous bow. For a moment Buxton feared that he was going to make a seen as well, but it didn’t seem to be the case. “I'd come to hope more from the Consano! A rat? Here I am, willingly risking life and li- Oof!”

Buxton let out a large audible sigh as the man was shoved to one side and another took his place. Orwen of Sundernlan. The slaver waltzed into the establishment with his own trademark air of superiority and pompousness. As always he dressed in the finest clothing and wore his slavers signet ring with a perverse sense of pride. Her stomach turned as she thought of the rumours told about him and his treatment of his ‘livestock’. She knew that he had an intimidating presence and expected that there would be a few people in the room that would be scared of him (or rather scared of his money and influence). Buxton naively expected him to at least have the manners to exchange greetings with her, but instead he strolled right passed her and began to examine the troops. Orwen moved from soldier to soldier, grabbing each carelessly by the chin before examine them. She rolled her eyes and combed her fingers through her ebony hair, half expecting at least one of the soldiers to be drunk enough to make a fuss but was surprised when they all merely accepted the molestation. She hoped that they were showing restraint rather than fear; if they feared this rich toft, how would they respond to the horde of undead?

She looked over to Sir Chester who, judging by the look in his eyes, seemed to share the same concerns. A big part of her wanted to stop him, and she certainly could, but she was interested to see how the recruits would react. As Orwen finished examining Karen she half expected him to try do the same to her, but was felt feeling a little disappointed when he didn’t. ‘Even he isn’t bold enough to try lay his hands on a knight.’ she realised. As useful as he (or rather his funding) was, she would have happily taken off any limb that he was stupid enough to touch her with. She doubted anyone else nearby would mind either.

“Sir Chester, lady Buxton, if I may be so free.. what a shithole. And I thought I paid you all for amassing a company, a true soldiers esquadron. This is more like... like a militia. No, it's not even that. A militia has uniforms... hmm... This is more like a band of robbers, waiting in the bushes for a lady like her-” Orwen pointed at Sarah, with no shame. “-to pass by and then beat her senseless, take her valuables, take her if she's unlucky and then possibly take her captive and enslave her.”

Lady Buxton flashed him a clearly fake smile in response. Although she certainly wouldn’t admit it, he wasn’t too far from the truth so far; The Consano consisted of some battered old veterans and some random newcomers that, in the space of a few minutes, were already getting on her nerves. But as for rapists and slavers? Buxton wondered if hadn’t happened to gaze in the mirror as he finished off his sentence.

“Speaking of enslavement, do you two know how much slaves I had to sell to rent this place for the time you required it?” Orwen said with a grin, as if it was funny, as if slavery was some joke. “Two, my lady, good sir. Two slaves. I sold my best two slaves, strong men who can work the land. I hope this is worth it. I have more funds at the ready, but at the moment you'll have to make due with this.”

Sir Chester couldn’t help but smirk at this as he caught the hefty bag with a single hand, and he shot a cheeky look over to the inn-keeper that was now serving Karen. Davidas, the owner of the Inn, was another of Sir Chester’s friends and would probably have given them the inn for free. But if Orwen was paying, why would he let his friend lose out on well-earned gold?

“It's good to finally be able to do something other than sit in my castle-keep, drink wine and fuck slaves.. I mean, maids. Maids, of course. Although I do miss my ocean view, nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing my fleet with new.. maids.. arrive at my docks. Do you know what I mean, lady Buxton?” Orwen continued, his attention now turned specifically to Lady Buxton. She felt a shiver run up her back, and it made her snarl with contempt. She, like most people in the North, didn’t particularly like slavery. The difference was however that whilst the others disliked it, they accepted it and just considered it to be a necessary part of everyday life; especially when it was tucked away and mostly out of sight. Lady Buxton certainly did not accept it, and as Captain of the Cliffton Guard had refused to send a single prisoner to Southarbour.

“I know exactly what you mean, Orwen of Southarbour Slums.” she replied, placing a loud enough emphasis on the title for everyone to hear. She had done her own research into him and given that he was the type of man who believed himself to be above everyone, she doubted he would like to be reminded of his very humble beginnings. If he did hear her, then he certainly did his best to ignore her and instead begun berating the Dawnish Ratman. “Where the fuck are these suddenly all coming from?” she asked as she walked back over to Sir Chester.

“Who knows? At least they all seem…” Sir Chester pondered for a moment but still could find the right word “…spritely.”

“Humph. Say, you wouldn’t mind if I used my Gaundao to make our sponsor here a puppet would you?” she half-joked, picking up her long decorated weapon and giving it a quick twirl. Given how close she was to multiple chairs and tables, it was rather impressive how she managed to not hit anything.

“Stick it up a certain hole and make him dance?”

“Exactly.” She chuckled. She looked round at all the new faces, most either looking lost or exchanging words with others. She only knew two of them at this point and that was somewhat worrying. “Right then, better do something about this lot.” she grumbled before jumping up onto the table. “Right then recruits!” she roared, “Enough fucking about! If you are here to join the Consano then shut the fuck up! I want each of you to fill out your name on the wall there, along with your next of kin! I then want you to grab something to eat and retire to your rooms! Rooms are upstairs, and you will find that the vacant rooms have the keys sitting on the outside of the door! We will visit you one by one throughout the night, and then we will give you a proper briefing at dawn tomorrow!” her instructions were loud and clear.

Gawain was rested in peace, closing his eyes, thinking of the God of Light and his peaceful grasp on the reins that lead man through life. But he was rudely awoken by Karen, who had sneaked her way around the inn and was now suddenly dragging her finger across Gawain's cheek. It had been.. some time since he had been met with a womans caress, of any kind, even as light as this. He was quick to react and opened his eyes, obviously startled, and moved to the left, almost falling into Sarah before he caught himself. He then raised both his hands in Karen's direction, as if to stop her from advancing any further. A reflex movement, if anything at all. He listened closely to Karen, not being able to control his hearing anymore as if it were, that's how seductive she sounded. “Assassins walk a path of shadows, away from the light of the lord.” he simply stated, with a dull voice, more or less blinded by Karen's appearance and voice. He attempted to straighten himself out and raised himself from the bent-back position and placed his hands back at his side. “I.. I'm sorry. I cannot judge you. I shouldn't. Perhaps God has a distinct connection with you, that allows you to walk this path, or perhaps you are not a believer. I shouldn't bother you with my faith.” He bowed his head as a sign of respect, simply wishing for Karen to forgive him for his ramblings. He still hadn't settled into the group, and judging from the company, he'd take some time to do so.

As soon as he'd look back up at Karen, his face seemed a bit more relaxed and he even pushed out a smile. It gave him the characteristical 'Gawain' look that everyone would soon see more often once he'd grown accustomed. “I am afraid I've already had dinner tonight. I have been staying here for about a week, already. I was simply on the fence about the Consano. It seemed like a warriors group, not fit for priests like me. But I figured, any man is a man.” He smiled softly, before his smile faded. “Or woman.” he added quickly before his smile reappeared. The societal differences between the man and woman were different in every part of the country, he recalled. But if she was, indeed, an assassin, she probably wouldn't care much about this. Rather, she'd be happy to be a woman. Seductiveness came a long way, as well as the fact that nobody suspects a maid entering a room to clean. “I.. appreciate the offer, miss..?” he asked, obviously asking her name.

---

Meanwhile Orwen was still in discussion with more or less everyone else at the same time. As Buxton retorted with a ridiculous attempt at mocking Orwen's origins, he simply started laughing. He took a full minute to recover from his laughter, before he retorted to Buxton. “Ah, Buxton. Clever as always! Yes, I am from Southarbour, and yes, I come from the slums! Good of you to repeat this well known information for all to hear. It's often I meet a knight who feels the need to push others' origins down their throats, simply because they feel they are better than others. I had not anticipated you to be like these knights. It seems you are exactly one of these knights. Well, rest well, lady Buxton, knowing that this man, who grew up in the slums, with lesser blood than you, now has more money, and a bigger castle than you, as well as a private army that matches that of your Cliffton Guard.” He smiled heavily at her, as if he were only joking, and he was obviously once again not impressed with the petty attempt at insulting Orwen. He knew for a fact that most of the natives of Vahili had heard of him, and the foreigners might even know him by name. And if they didn't know, then they would know now that Buxton had opened her annoying loud mouth again. But his face suddenly turned serious again.

“Surely a shame that Cliffton never sent us any prisoners. I could've given them purpose, rather than rotting in prison. Man learns a lot from rowing in a boat, and at the very least man learns more than they do sitting in a prison cell. Perhaps you can, one day, try rowing a boat. It builds character. Remind me what you did in Cliffton when the Temple of the most holy Sol was desecrated? Last I heard, the culprits were still not caught, right? Not to offend, good lady, with all due respect! Surely a blue blooded woman not unlike yourself be able to capture these people. Just a thought.” His words were sharp as steel, atleast, so he thought. He attempted to let the woman know that he, Orwen of Sudernlan, was not a man to be messed with. Regardless of lineage. Many things can happen before someone even sets foot outside this tavern, that much Orwen knew. And one of those things was a dagger in the neck, for simple reasons like insulting those with influence. But he knew Buxton better than this. Her uncle, the king, owed Orwen several amounts of money. Wars against the Dawnish pigs were expensive, and although Orwen supported the wars for one reason or another, he wouldn't give the king money for free. The death of Buxton would surely be a good reason for the king to implicate Orwen and strip him of holdings and money, so it'd be better to simply leave Buxton alone, or atleast duel her verbally. As long as she stayed her hand, things were fine.

As soon as the argument was done, Orwen simply stood back and listened to Buxton's attempt at a motivating speech. It was clearly just an attempt because, according to Orwen, a good motivating speech needed a promise of wealth. But she simply offered cheap food. No soldier would get motivated for a bit of scraps from the tavern owner. No, when Orwen were to motivate his personal band of slave-riders, he'd do so with bags of money! That motivates a man. Ofcourse, Orwen had no experience with motivating a ragtag bunch of old guys, and some young ones that thought fighting cannibals was going to be fun.

He simply shrugged and headed for the wall, quickly writing down his name. 'Orwen of Sudernlan' in a particularily neat looking writing, especially for someone from the Southarbour Slums. He didn't bother to get food and simply headed upstairs, taking the key from the door, entering, and locking it. He had had enough of these peasants and would-be knights for the day. He would lay down on his bed and get some rest, atleast until the would-be knights woke him from his bed at night.

---

As for Gawain, he simply listened to the ongoing discussion. There was no clear victor in the discussion, though. Both sides took jabs at eachother, and while Orwen's points seemed to focus on simply saying 'yes, you are right about me, but I don't care.' Buxton didn't exactly seem like the woman who would let someone like Orwen get to her. That was simply an impression, however. Gawain crossed his arms over eachother, showing that despite his lack of soldiering, he was somewhat muscled atleast. He listened to lady Buxton's speech, and couldn't help but feel like this was it. He smiled as she told them to grab food and looked at Karen instantaneously. “It seems lady Buxton and sir Chester have already taken care of dinner. Thank you again. Perhaps another time?” he said, smiling at her again. His mind was taken off of the woman's trade, namely the trade of dagger and cloak. It must've been her voice and face. Never the less he was still struggling with the idea of the crowd he had gathered in. An assasin, like Karen? But she looked so.. normal, compared to the others. If she was a assasin, what were the others? Gawain's eyes glanced over each of them, attempting to think of what they were. When his eyes reached Sarah, he couldn't help but feel different. What if she wasn't the normal lady she seemed to be, but rather a dangerous individual who was here to sabotage the Consano? Surely, she wouldn't be. But what if..

After Orwen, Gawain would quickly step forward and fill in his name. It was the handwriting of a priest, beautiful in it's own way, but more suited towards religious texts. 'Gawain Rochilde.' There. It was final now, no going back. He sighed and rolled his shoulders, relaxing himself. He would walk back towards the others, simply stating, “I need to retrieve a companion. I shall be back in a few minutes.” He hadn't exactly asked if he was allowed to bring a companion, and the way he worded it might've even made it sound like he had a wife. He walked out the Kevil Arms again, and walked through the mud. It was raining again. Finally, rain. Gawain liked the rain, it was cool, cold on his face. He just hated how it made his hair all sticky from the fat he used to smear in it. Whatever, that was side effects. What mattered now was going to the house he'd been staying in.

After atleast thirty more minutes, Gawain would return to the Kevil Arms. He'd take a quick look around and see who was still there, drinking and eating. Shortly behind him several ticks were heard. Tick, tick, tick, tick. A large dog was trailing behind Gawain, walking into Gawain's hand with it's head, prompting the man to quickly ruffle and pat the dog on it's head. It was a black and white husky, large in size and appearing rather muscular, although most of it was covered in fur. “I am sorry. It took me more than a couple of minutes, but I cannot leave the Crossroads without Bravery here.” he said, smiling genuinely while looking at the dog, who looked back at the man while panting heavily. It seemed like the dog was a lightpoint in Gawain's life. The dog comically shook his fur, ridding himself of the rain. Gawain simply smiled at the people in the tavern still and raised a hand to them. “Now I shall be retiring to my room. If anyone has need of me, I will leave the door unlocked.” Ofcourse they didn't need him. They were battle hardened, well trained men and women. And he was a priest. What could they possibly want? He slowly walked up the stairs, the dog following him closely, before heading into one of the available rooms. He took the key and headed inside, the dog once more following him, before he closed the door and put the key in his pocket. Slowly Gawain inched closer to the bed before dropping himself into it; it had been a long day. The dog simply curled up at the foot of the bed, and went straight to sleep. Gawain.. he barely got sleep, and simply waiting to be approached in the night by either sir Chester or lady Buxton. He had hoped it to be Buxton - she seemed far more friendly to Gawain than Chester had been when he threatened to shove the sword up his ass.

Catechism of the Gift.

---

Drusus' open, gloved palm lingered in the air as still, and instead it was his gaze that did the talking, alighting on each of those present now, all of those presumed Consano members and all of those aspirants to the title. A better look was in order now, standing closer now than he was before when he'd first scrutinized the lot. All sorts, from far and wide he surmised, with faces, fashions, and attitudes that all told their own stories. It was more than enough for him to take in, his eyes flitting this way and that. There was more to those present than what he could see, sure, but his gaze was intent all the same, it was a piece of the puzzle. A puzzle of his own making, really. He needed to know these people. He needed to know them well. And they needed to know little and less of him.

That was the way he liked it. That was the way it always was back home, and in truth he saw no problem in applying the lessons of the past - in the shadowy, cutthroat world of Florine espionage - to this new ordeal. Contrary to his initial misgivings, to the credit of the Consano perhaps, he did not believe he was amongst clowns entirely. Only some of them were clowns, and these, he supposed, would be assayed in the north, and they'd live - or die - by their own virtues and mettle. It was a fact that didn't faze him in the slightest, and that disconnect didn't seem to provoke any concern in him. He had loftier concerns, he told himself.

What a tawdry thing to aspire to in times like these. Empathy? Remember us for how we struggled, not for how we cared.

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, despite himself, as he stood there. He grinned at what he supposed were his own failings, though no one else would be privy to as much. How petty it was to think such things, even as they rang true with the values he'd been taught. But then, perhaps he hadn't been taught well enough if he had to harden his heart with a mantra of callousness every time he had to go to work. And then his gaze met that of the only man who was more gaudily dressed for the occasion than he, a man who walked and talked in a fashion that wasn't altogether unfamiliar to Drusus. Perhaps not a man with titles to his name, Drusus surmised, given the distinct lack of sigils and retainers. But, perhaps, he associated with such people.

A buyer and a seller? One for whom business has been good, he supposed. But then, perhaps not. It was his first guess, through a Florine lens, where the guilds and their merchants wielded power on par with the senators themselves, and often were senators themselves.

Just as Drusus considered him, the man made a show of doing the same, and then he spoke, and lo and behold, Drusus found that the man behaved just as a Florine merchant might. The man addressed Drusus sharply, but he was left with the impression that the man also had a penchant for the theatric. Just an impression.

“Yes-yes, you can wait. We can all wait. Time is not important for Mankind. In the end we die, regardless of whether you can wait or not. Everyone can wait..”

Drusus' smile grew thin, his patience visibly being tested as the man received his request for an audience with what he might describe as 'vapid philosophics'. I spoke like that ten years ago, thinking I had the wisdom of the world up in my head, he mused, self-assured. But, at least the man acquiesced into at least telling him who was in charge, continuing on to say, “Ah, the leader. That'd be the men and woman who are carrying actual armor and weaponry, the most beautiful Lady Buxton, and her companion, the most honorable sir Chester.”

One Lady Buxton and one Sir Chester, names he'd known already from his ponderings of Vasili politics and nobility. He knew the names, but of their character and their accomplishments he knew precious little. And while he was more well versed in the players of Dawnite, Thermosi, and Florine politics, it didn't reassure him that he couldn't recall much about them. Chester was more familiar to him than Buxton, at least. He was a soldier, and an accomplished one, or so he recalled, one whose name was known relatively well to the Sunshine soldiery of Dawn. Buxton, on the other hand, was perhaps more of a figure of domestic renown, one whose exploits hadn't left the north. Or maybe she amateurish and unknown, trying to prove herself. Either way.

He was satisfied with what the man had told him, satisfied enough at least, and so he lowered his hand and made to step around him, further onwards to hunt down these figures of authority. But he found, much to his dismay, that the man was not exactly done with him. No, the object of his fidgeting and staring coalesced with the jab of a finger and more hurried, excited words: “I know! You are a foreign emissary from the kingdom of Dawn, who is sent to infiltrate the Consano. Why, you ask? Because Dawn fears the plague as much as we do, and is afraid the burning of innocent boats and the entire sea between them and us might not hold back this plague. So they sent you, their most valued assassin to come here and secretly aid the Consano. Atleast, until we are done and fucked the plague right up the ass, because after that you must clean up all traces you've left, and kill us all by slitting our throats in our sleep.”

Rich, Drusus thought, barely holding back a roll of his eyes or an undue scoff. He took exception to being called a Dawnite, and especially a Dawnite rake. He could go on at length about how that plan was foolish, but no.

“Or, instead of leaving me to make stupid guesses like these, you can tell us your name before you interrupt us so rudely, pig,” the man concluded.

Drusus' lips twisted back upwards again, this time betraying just a hint of malice. The rambling, the self-importance, sure, he could accept as much without blinking. To be insulted so directly though? And especially by a man whom Drusus would wager as entirely unprepared for the journey ahead? That was one of the little things he could appreciate, in a twisted sort of way, the sweet taste of anticipated vindication. He took two steps forward, grin lingering still, his glimmering, shadowed gaze glued to Orwen's own, and he considered him at length once more.

"There's something commendable about knowing when to quit. Perhaps you'll see one day, hm? Maybe you'd be safer back home, hm?" He let out a soft, easy chuckle. He stepped around the man, giving him an awfully friendly clap on the shoulder as he went. "After all," he called over his own shoulder, as he made for the bar, "Dawnites and cutthroats make poor company on the road!"

Perhaps he'd have gotten himself a drink next, perhaps something to eat. Or even then, maybe he'd just take a seat and rest. It didn't matter though, because not long after his excursion to the bar the one he presumed was Lady Buxton had taken to one of the tables and commenced with bellowing instructions to the lot of them. A name on a wall. A next of kin. He complied promptly, turning from the bar and making his way, on light steps, to the wall in question and its scrawled names. He took his turn, a name and what passed for a 'next of kin':

DRUSUS - CAMERATA DE' FEINNA.

And then he was gone. He retrieved his key and started upstairs without another word or stray glance. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside, and then he finally pulled his heavy cloak from his shoulders. He set it aside against the foot of the bed, but he did not retire just yet. If anything, he grew more restless now that he was safe from the scrutiny of the others. He walked a slow circle at the center of the room, his eyes darting from the floor, to the ceiling, and then to the furnishings. His mind raced again, in appraisal of those he'd seen and heard. In consideration of the names he'd read before inscribing his own.

It would be awhile before he moved his cloak aside and turned in for however many hours until his rude awakening. He awaited it eagerly.