Prologue - A Broken Blade
One year, five months, and three weeks ago

Thaler pushed his chest off the ground with a gasp. ‘I’m alive?’ he thought in wild amazement, and took a deep breath.

He fell back to the ground, coughing up dust and ash. This time, slower, he pushed himself off the ground and got to his feet. His hand covered his mouth as he took shallow breaths. His eyes darted across the landscape. The last thing he could remember was driving his sword through the warlock’s belly...and then everything turned red...and then black.

Where there was once a blacksmith’s shop and houses, there was next to nothing left. ‘How long was I out?! The buildings were still here during the fight.’ All he could see was ash. The green grass had been completely burnt away, and many of the houses had collapsed on themselves, if there was even a trace left. There was only a charred landscape to be seen.

“Rael!” he shouted, “Rael, can you hear me?” Last he saw, Rael had been facing the warlock by himself. He had to still be around.

For nearly one hundred breaths, he searched for survivors, but only found more ash, more dust; and a handful of charred corpses. But then, he saw a familiar glint of light in the ruins of the blacksmith’s house.

“Rael!” he cried out, “Rael, are you in there?” If that light he saw was what he thought it was, Rael should be in there.

Vincent limped through the wreckage of the house, making his way to the light. He could see a shine of metal from underneath a pile of burnt wood.

“Rael! Is that you? Can you hear me?” he said, tearing apart burnt wood and tossing what he could not break over his shoulders. “Rael, I’ll get you out of there! I’ll get y-Oh.” His voice started strong, but ended with a whisper. Just as he thought, there was Rael’s silver sword underneath the debris. The blade was cracked down the middle, threatening to tear, yet the hilt remained in perfect condition, small silver baubles placed on either edges of the crossguard. Yet beside the battered sword, there was no charred corpse, there was not a body of any kind, alive or dead. Only a faintly human shaped outline of dust next to it.

“Rael,” he whispered, “Where are you?”

---

One Year, Five Months, Two weeks, six days ago

From Temrin’s throne room, guards were stationed throughout the hall, still nervous from the sounds of battle that had taken place hours ago. Yet the Viscount merely looked down at Thaler with a stern face and his brows furrowed, his outfit just as regal, his figure just as composed. The Viscount’s legs were crossed, and his hands were clasped, resting atop his lap.

“So Rael and his companions are all dead?” He asked.

Vincent Thaler merely looked down at the floor. The carpet was blood red, and he had tracked black all over it.

“I found the bodies of some of his companions...the alchemist, the priest. But there was no sign of Rael, or the mage.”

The Viscount’s eyes popped open, “You mean…!”

Thaler raised both his hands in protest, “No, no. I found the ashy corpse of the Warlock. The Silver Dagger mage, though, I haven’t found any trace of him.”

“And what of my agent, Lyla?” He asked, expectantly, “She had just escaped the noble’s mansion and sent me her report. What of her?”

Thaler grimaced, and looked back down to the floor, “We found her body as well, hidden under the corpse of the desert-man. They died helping him face the warlock, it seems.”

The Viscount gave a depressed sighed from his throne, placing his head in hands. “I...I see. Then it seems that Rael, and all their secrets, died with them.”

Thaler looked back up, his brow furrowed now, and his face in a scowl, “We don’t know that-”

The Viscount burst from his throne and slammed his foot, “Enough!”

Thaler stepped back once.

“I know,” the Viscount exclaimed, “I know! Rael could be alive, and just as well I wish he was. But we do not have the resources to go on an investigation to find him. For all intents and purposes, he is dead! Am I clear?”

Thaler nodded gravely, “Yes, of course.”

“Well then…” The Viscount looked around. Not just Thaler had stepped back, but all the guards had started to shrink away. He had never made such a dramatic display before.

“I...I apologize,” The Viscount said, returning to his throne and assuming his previous position, “It appears we are all under a great deal of stress. Nevertheless, Thaler. What do you propose, that we do next?”

“We’ve gathered what able bodies we can and have set to work clearing the outer wreckage. It’ll take several weeks just to do that.”
“If nothing else, it’s a place to start,” the Viscount surmised. “Very well. Is there anything else?”

“I believe we need to rebuild and reinstate the Silver Dagger as a division of the city guard.”

The Viscount’s hands left his side, and he pushed back his crown slightly, “I’m sorry, what? It sounds like you said that you wanted to rebuild the Silver Dagger.”

“That is what I said, yes,” Thaler replied.

The Viscount’s eyes widened briefly, and he leaned in from his throne. “I...see.”

“You may not be aware, my lord, but I hated the Silver Dagg-” Thaler began,

“Oh, you made that abundantly clear, Guard Captain,” said the Viscount.

Thaler stiffened for a moment, and flushed red with embarrassment, “Yes, well, regardless, I hated the Silver Dagger. But the fact of the matter is, thanks to them, only the part of the city is burnt down, instead of all of it. If it took only five people to save this city, imagine what we could accomplish with twenty? Even just ten should be extraordinary.”

“Hmm…” the Viscount brought his fingers to his chin, “It would be a lie to say that I had not thought the same...and while I am inclined to agree with you, you know we don’t have the resources to rebuild it right now.”

“No, I’m aware...we can’t make a brand new building for them just yet, but we can start designing a curriculum, find some guards who could transition into.”

“We?” The Viscount asked.

“Well, I can,” Thaler said.

The Viscount chuckled, “I thought so. You are right though, it may be good to start with something now. I’ll send word to my cousin in Elburgh, he may be able to provide us with some books and scholars. They may be lacking in manpower, but the Duke’s library should be substantial.”

Thaler nodded his head, a wry smile crawling across his face, “Excellent… if that’s all then, I’ll return to the reconstruction efforts.”

“Yes, that will be all, Thaler.”

Thaler turned on his heel and gestured to the guards, “Alright men, let’s get started.”

---

Chapter 1 - A Blade Reforged
Today

“Let’s get started…” Thaler said, stepping out of the barracks, making his way to the new Silver Dagger building. He walked along the winding streets with his eyes always straightforward. He had walked these streets for so many years, he could almost do it with his eyes closed.

He stumbled slightly as his foot caught on a fallen plank of wood.

But the city has been changing for months, and his muscle memory of the city had lost much of its effectiveness. New roads and streets were being developed, many had to be rebuilt, while others were gone entirely. Now Temrin had a constant feeling of being both nostalgic and unfamiliar at once. 'Will it ever feel like it used to?' he wondered. 'Probably not'.

He knew this for certain when he stood outside the the Silver Dagger office. To say that it was built hastily would be a lie, although not a total one. Though Thaler had wanted to build the new Silver Dagger headquarters out of stone, the neither the viscount nor pragmatism would allow it. Just like the old one, the Silver Dagger was built mostly out of wood. An ornamental silver dagger banner was hanging from the door, but had gone otherwise undecorated. Merely two reinforced windows, one on either side, and the door was studded to help prevent anyone from breaking it down. It was a good thirty steps away from 'It's not what I wanted, but it will have to do for now.' It was placed roughly fifty strides away from the old Silver Dagger building, which had been replaced with a wide sparring ring.

Everything was set to be safer, more secure, and more effective for new recruits.

Now he just hoped that people would actually show up.

...

The bald barkeep had been more than helpful. He'd taken the time to make sure Alexander had remembered the long, convoluted directions, even offering to write them down on a scrap of paper. Alexander turned him down, obviously, never having learned to read. Still, it was a nice gesture.

He figured he had plenty of time to get to this Silver Dagger, and decided to spend some time at the pub. His feet ached, his back was stiff, and he was still cold from the road. A mug of warm ale and a seat by the hearth improved his condition immensely. A touch of music would have been nice, Alexander supposed, but he couldn't expect much at a few hours past dawn, and contented himself to listen to the crackling fire and the quiet murmur of people passing by outside. While he nursed his ale, he pulled a whetstone from his pack and perched his sword on his lap. The massive blade was cumbersome laid horizontally, its quillons poking him in the stomach and the pommel nearly knocking his mug over more than once, but he figured the least he could do was not scar the clean wooden floors after such good treatment. Sharpening blades had become second nature to him, after all these years. Ninety-nine percent of time on campaign was sitting around or walking, and when you've got nothing to do you make ready for that other one percent. Every soldier worth his salt kept his weapon in perfect condition, and that took work on the road. Every day of his career he'd seen men looking like they'd run through hell attending to mirror-clean weapons like they were children, fixing every blemish and mark with the fussing precision of an old housewife, and he was one of them. So, he cleaned the travelling dirt from his blade, sharpened the point, oiled it and wiped it clean while warming up and drinking, humming to himself quietly while he did so.

It was an excellent change from slogging through forest, but every good thing ends, and Alexander needed to be on his way. No point in showing up late when you've nothing to do, Alexander thought, and in good time he packed up his kit and made his way back into the street, bidding the barkeep a fond farewell. The walk to the Dagger itself was uneventful. He'd had to dodge the contents of a chamber pot falling, nearly scaring him half to death, but otherwise the trip was a pleasant one. He'd need to get used to living in cities again. It'd been years since he'd lived in one permanently, and more years than that since he'd been in one where he'd not been posted to a barracks. The walk was a good refresher, reminding him of the benefits of the city, passing merchants and milliners and a smithy all going about their business.

The Silver Dagger building itself was not what Alexander was expecting. An old manor house, a part of disused wall, something besides the nondescript wooden construction in front of him. He thought he was in the wrong place for a moment, but a sparring circle and big sign with a dagger on reassured him, and so he stepped up to the door, his eyes nearly level with the top of the frame, reached forwards and knocked three times with his big gloved hand.

There was an unsettling hush along the forest road. The flowers were in bloom and the leaves on the trees were still green, yet the quiet was one that belonged to winter. It was early morning, yet the songbirds did not sing but for a few moments, and though morning dew dangled from the spider webs, there was a certain bleakness in the air.

It could have just been in her mind, Ayla admitted. It could also be that the rumors of evil lurking in the woods around Temrin were true. It didn't really matter. Her hand stayed near her battleaxe all the same.

Five days had passed since Ayla had left Isolde at Aefric's Place. The old man, a former Mordane rebel like herself, had promised to take good care of the girl. He'd mentioned that some sort of warrior's lodge, the Silver Dagger, was being rebuilt in Temrin; a good place, he'd suggested, for a battle-hardened woman to have a chance to feel the rush of battle once again. Better to join them than face off against whatever evils await her alone, he'd said.

Well, she thought as she stepped up a hill in the road, I hope they know how to hold a shieldwall.

Hours passed as Ayla traveled down the lonely boreen. At one point, she swore she could hear singing in the distance, somewhere along a different path in the woods, but it was difficult to place where it was coming from. It was oddly cheering. The tune sounded bawdy and off-tune, the sort of singing a drunkard in a pub might bellow out, and it broke the silence so well. Without being able to place it, though, Ayla simply enjoyed it while it lasted. When it faded away completely, she filled the silence with an old Mordane battle chant. She was no skald, and she'd never sung that song in a real battle, but it was a bonny tune.

Eventually, she came to the edge of the forest, and as she brushed a branch away from her face she could not restrain a slight feeling of awe at the sight of the city. It sat atop a hill, sprawling out from the castle at the top like a blanket of white, brown and gray. It seemed so proud a place, so grand and large. It made Ayla wonder what sort of forces had gathered to threaten this city in the past. She wondered, too, what breed of heroes had died defending it.

Ayla strode into the city, hands on her belt. She got called a "barbarian" by one of the city guards, but a glare silenced that lackwit right fast. She gave a simple explanation of why she was in town, and while the looks on the guards' faces suggested she was probably one of the evils she claimed to be hunting, they nevertheless let her through. Her next task was pressing some information out of the locals; a few quick talks later and she'd managed to learn where the Silver Dagger was located. There certainly could have been more enthusiasm in the commoner's voice.

And there could have been more enthusiasm in the craftsmen who slapped this pathetic excuse of a barracks together, she thought as she marched up to the building. It was so plain, so ordinary, so uninspired. But that's the problem with city-folk. They don't know how to make something practical and pleasing. She did not have high hopes for this so-called Silver Dagger.

It was then, stepping around the corner of the building and coming to the front, that the Mordane saw the giant. There was really no better word to describe him. He was round as he was rough, tall as he was wide. The word 'big' stood out in her head, and she instinctively thought he might be a fool. Big sorts with big swords often were the fool sort to think they could take on the world. This one, though, looked... learned. He'd seen things, at least. And, just as noteworthy, the big fellow seemed to be rapping his hands against the door at that very moment.

Interesting.

"Oi! Tiny!" she called out, keeping her hand on her belt. "Suppose you're here for work, too? You seem a mite fluthered."

Alexander turned his head to the woman apparently talking to him. 'Tiny' certainly wan't new, not by a long mile, but it was certainly different than the curious, slightly nervous stares he'd been getting. He turned to regard the woman fully, his knocking earning no response. She wasn't one of these perfumed city ladies he'd been seeing, but that wasn't to say she wasn't appealing. Enough time on campaign had made Alexander come to appreciate a woman who knew her way along a muddy marching trail, rare as they were, and he knew well enough not to dismiss them like the greener recruits tended to. She wore a coat of lamellar, a shield slung loosely on her. She carried a few glowing axes on her belt. He thought she might be one of them greens who never feel safe without six different weapons going into battle, but figured that magic axes might be a different story. He'd never been one for magic himself; too expensive for too little, in his mind, but he'd seen wizards do great things in more than a few sieges he'd been in, and had what he thought was a healthy respect for it. Her assortment of gear wasn't in line with any army or company that came to mind, but he figured there were plenty that he'd never heard of. Maybe a private mercenary, or a guard somewhere, serving someone who couldn't afford to re-equip the muscle with matching gear.

He wasn't quite sure how to respond, but that didn't stop him. He unslung his pack, the plates within clattering to the ground, and set his sword on the wall of the ramshackle building, dusting off his hands as he spoke. "Do I look it? Road'll do that to me, I'm afraid, but I'm sober as they come. Name's Alexander, former member of the Dragon-Tooth Company, and recently looking for new employment. Figured killin' monsters'd be good coin, so here I am. Them's some fine axes you've there. You do them enchantments yerself?"

Mysaren awoke, and heard the crinkle of paper under her head. Right, the flyer. Good on her for remembering to leave it under her pillow. She did have somewhat of a pisspoor memory. She got up and quickly got dressed and ready, checking over her bags to make sure she had everything. A bit of money, some parchment, those old texts about the darkness or whatever (the darkness calls) and yet something felt slightly off. Must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed today, she did.

She stepped out the door, making sure to keep her hood down as she strolled through the town towards the old garden district. The Silver Dagger was not the building she was expecting, not at all. She expected some grand building with banners and maybe a couple of fire breathers on the outside of it. It was pleasantly simple, something Mysaren found herself appreciating as she stepped towards the building. She heard voices (do you ever feel like you've been here before) and her headache started up again as she followed them. Someone was calling someone else tiny. Surely it wasn't her. Mysaren wasn't exactly scary looking, but she was rather tall. So obviously there were at least two people here.

"Uh, pardon me." Mysaren said, approaching the door. Oh, well, perhaps the entire tiny thing was a joke. There was a woman standing there, a warrior type, and some lunkhead of a man. Something about him felt (dangerous) almost warm, someone who had a bit more personality then they were letting on. "Uh, I do hope I'm not interuppting anything, but are you all here for the job offer?" She pulled out the flyer and held it up, making sure they were all on the same page. The two could probably easily snap her like a twig, but if they were here for the job offer as well, they would probably be working together. If not, well, it is always a good idea to be nice (the blood has been spilled he awaits) just in case. Nothing wrong with a bit of hospitality now and again.

Mysaren bounced patiently on her heels as she waited, keeping a close eye on the door the entire time. She took one hand off of the paper and moved it towards her sword, her mind racing with all the possiblities. Could be a trap. Could be some horrible faker that wrote the flyer and they could all be (vessels) killed or attacked by monsters. Monsters seemed to run around here frequently often, and Mysaren was glad that she had never actually run into one before. She'd seen the damage they could do, people stumbling into the library with blood gushing from everywhere (i wonder how it tastes). Maybe the supernatural aspects of the job could be a bit rough at times. Maybe she should leave.

"So I did," answered the woman with the brown braid. "Wouldn't trust anyone else to work the magic; I'm wont to prefer my own." Smiling mostly out of habit, she stroked the edge of the axe with her thumb. They were fine axes.

"Seems we had the same idea, Alexander. I am Ayla Nic Lanrogh, Runemage of Clan Woerich." Seeing no glint of recognition in the giant's eyes, she shrugged and added, "I'm not from around here." Not that that needed to be said. She stepped on forward and held her hand out to this Alexander, offering to shake his massive hand.

Ayla took a better moment to look the swordsman over, inspecting him with equal scrutiny. Now that he was facing her, she could tell he wasn't too far from her in age. He spoke with confidence, truly. It was not the sort of confidence that was bred in nobles or that held young men's heads high as they marched into battle for the first time. No, it was the sort of confidence that came from killing another human and living to tell the tale.

T'was a confidence paid for in a steep price, Ayla knew. It always was.

"Fought alongside the kerns in a war or two. Know the smell of whiskey on the breath, I do. You've a touch of it." Honest words, those. Ayla happened to like the smell of beer and whiskey.

It was then she heard another woman's voice, this one tired and nervous. "Uh, I do hope I'm not interrupting," that voice said, "but are you all here for the job offer?"

A quick glance back astonished the warrior-woman. The speaker was a dark-skinned woman, darker than anyone she'd ever seen, with her hair knotted up in thick black locks. It was the most peculiar sight, even more foreign than her red-trimmed robes. Her eyes were blue; that much seemed normal. But the rest... The rest was all very strange.

Strange and new, perhaps, was to be expected in a city this large.

"That's the right of it," she answered, looking the strange, tall woman up and down. "Sellswords we are. Wouldn't have thought someone dressed like that would be looking into mercenary work... You ought to get a bit of armor and some clothes better suited to the road, methinks, lest you stumble in the midst of a charge or retreat."

Ro'en was in for a rude awakening when the wagon stopped and a wooden barrel tumbled off it's kin, landing on his foot. Thankfully, it was empty, having just refilled the cellars of the local tavern. He roused from his short sleep, the inkling of dawn touched his eyes and he hopped off the cart, tipping his hat to the driver - along with the crossing of a single copper coin to his palm as farewell. Not much, but he felt obliged to reward anyone who saved him the effort of walking the mile.

As the clattering of hooves took off behind him, he soon found himself in the midst of the day's bustle. The tedious winding streets of the near future beckoned him to take a swing from his canteen, but common sense cautioned against it, l'est he got lost again.

It didn't take long before he found the building he was looking for, the banner outside made it all the easier. The silver dagger's establishment. Though it was not as ...sturdy, as he thought it would look. It was rickety, well, maybe not, but it was made entirely of planks and boards as far as he could tell. Even the auctioneer's house had some stone in the walls. Comparing the insignia of the letter he pulled out of his coat to the banner once more, this was indeed the place.

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At the door stood three people, two females one male. The first woman had axes strapped to her back and looked like she had been pillaging bushes and eating raw meat for awhile. A notion he could come to terms with. The male knocking on the door was not too unlike her either, maybe they were a couple. The second, more civillized female had the looks of someone from the more academic parts of the town. Maybe a scholar? Ro'en started approaching the door himself, though it might have been his imagination but when he passed the first woman, he almost heard a low hum coming from her axes. It made him stop for a moment and glance at them briefly, then when the male's hand left the door in pause - he looked back, reached out and pushed the door's handle, letting himself in.

Ayla's comment about falling over during a charge, and the sight of this new arrival, forced into his mind with chagrin the memory of his first battle with the Dragon-Teeth, up against a scouting group of dark-skins [he needed to stop using the phrase; more than once he had found himself at odds with folks over the infantry expression], memories of him in the van falling on his face and being nearly trampled to death. Shaking his head slightly to discharge the shame from his mind's eye, turned his attention to their new guest. She wore a sword, but not with the ease of Ayla or the routine of ex-mercenaries. Her attire was fine, her skin marked, but certainly not by battle. He responded to Ayla with a chuckle, his gaze not leaving the dark-skinned lady.

"I don't reckon she's here to fight, not least as we are. Now, I'm not used to them educated types, but if I were to bet I'd say yer here for yer brains, not your sword arm." Turning his head to Ayla, he responded to her more directly. "I figure maybe she's dressed right: figure yer gotta be comfortable to use yer brain, mail probably aint the right choice for hard thinking."

Alexander watched as the well dressed man walked right by him and entered the store, his eyes being pulled off the dark skinned woman. It was a profoundly surreal moment, oddly, seeing someone doing something that he had not considered. It was a brash move, certainly, and Alexander didn't think it augured well for their working relationship, but those thoughts fell from his mind as he looked confusedly at the rest of the group. "So. Are we meant to go in?"

Thaler was browsing the mess room stores when he heard a knock at the door. They were fairly basic. Dried meet, preserved cheese, and a few casks of watered down ale adorned the shelves of a small pantry. “Not enough rum…” he mused. The long-necked bottle in his hand had just enough for a swallow resting at its bottom. When the heavy thuds reached him, he perked up. He hadn’t expected anyone today, but Brint had put the flyers out a few days prior. Maybe someone bit.

His job in this operation was simple. He was still the Viscount’s man in this deal, but as he had promised months ago, he was going to make the best use of his position by serving as an advisor to Brint and a teacher to the new recruits.

Brint had asked him why he hadn’t just taken the post himself. The truth was, beyond that first encounter, the one that left an empty hole at the city’s heart, Thaler didn’t have much experience in regards to killing monsters and demons. Jalen Brint did. He could tell them about the city though. Give them information about the area and inform them on the social and political issues that affected the region. He could, theoretically, procure resources as needed, and still had several connections within the guards—as well as some of the city’s less savory individuals.

“I’m coming,” he hollered down the hall.
Thaler’s bottle clinked as he set it down, and he hoisted up his sheathed blade from its resting spot in the corner of the room. He wasn’t particularly worried, but you could never be too cautious. Besides, he had already stripped off his armor in favor of a more casual tunic and boots.

He strode through the building, passed the library, armory, and living quarters, and walked into the front of the establishment. Fumbling with the latch, he unhitched it and pulled the door in just as a sallow looking fellow in nice, but worn clothes came jaunting through. Thaler stared at him and then looked out at the others. A huge fucker with a huge sword, a tall lass that looked a bit bookish, and a tough looking woman who probably carried an axe too many.

They all paused as he took them in.

“You’re all here about the jobs I take it?”

They didn’t respond all at once. Before they could, he turned to the intruder. “And who the fuck said your skinny ass could just walk right in? You just let strangers jaunt up into your fucking property?” Honestly, Thaler wasn’t too upset about it, but he felt a headache coming on.

Mysaren chuckled at the confusion written on the womans face. Never really got old to see people's reactions. She smiled at the two, extending a hand out to the man, who was standing closest to her. "Uh, pleasure to meet you two! My name's Mysaren. Uh, well, yes, I'm rather afraid I'm not one of the... rougher types. I came to see more about perhaps researching the supernatural creatures. Would be an interesting opportunity, no? Yes. I could probably afford to get some weapons and armor, but I would prefer to get a bit of a briefing on what our jobs will be. I'm not inexperienced with a sword, persay, but, well, I don't get too much practice with it these days."

Mysaren felt she was starting to ramble, and closed herself off with a tight smile. "Uh, either way, I uh, am excited to see what the job has in store for us." Mysaren smiled again, trying to ignore the now almost intolerable throbbing in her head right now (join us join us join us). It was odd, it was almost as if she was hearing (the darkness) whispering right in her ears, and yet no one could be doing it. At least, no one that she saw, and ther eweren't many places to really hide around the building. Mysaren folded up the flyer and put it back into her bag, noticing the book that she was translating. Just looking at it made her eyes start to water, so she quickly closed her satchel.

"I uh, do believe it would be rather rude to barge in like that. "

Mysaren jumped a bit as Thaler spoke towards the stranger who had just... walked in. Well, that was rather curious. "Uh, actually, yes! We're here for the jobs. Uh, my name's Mysaren!"

Ro'en looked at the one who opened the door, after stumbling slightly the doorstep as the handle gave more way than he expected it to.

His brows furrowed at the loud cussing that ensued.

"Your. fucking. poster, fucker." He replied stoutly into the guardsman's face. 'Help Wanted' did not exactly say 'Do not Disturb'.

Then he simply walked on further into the room to make space for the others, though he was really uninterested in arguing any further, he had sensed that he might have to get physical when the retort came. Ro'en's left hand came to rest on something behind his coat, his eyes watched the guard's every movement.

If everyone here was as unreasonable or as foul as the guard, this career change might not have been the best decision.

"I uh, do believe it would be rather rude to barge in like that. " Chimed in the dark-skinned woman, who soon called herself Mysaren. To which he nodded with a wry smile. An odd name to be sure. It was clear between Mysaren and the guard, which of them would have had more influence to him.

Alexander laughed at the chastisement, deep guffaws the he tried to keep quiet, succeeding only partially. "Guess we weren't, eh?". Alexander could tell he would like the guardsman already. He gave of the impression that he knew what he was doing, and he wasn't some prick nobleman don't know he's born.

He made to respond to the guardsman, but the tall lass beat him to it. No reason to speak left, he kept quiet, waiting to see what was going to happen. He hefted his clattering pack onto his back, and made to shoulder his sword. His hand was halfway to the hilt when he realized that he himself would have a struggle fitting comfortably in the hall himself, let alone with two feet of sword sticking up over his head. Changing the trajectory of his hand slightly, he gripped the blade tight on the ricasso, fastidiously keeping the tip towards the grounds and away from anything he didn't want to accidentally stab, ready to presumably follow the guardsman to wherever they needed to go.

The angry response from the berated man caught Alexander off guard. Yelling at your employer was not an intelligent means of getting hired, and made one look like a colossal arse. Alexander was ready to dismiss it as nerves, or just an unpleasant disposition, and move on, but that opinion changed when he saw one of the man's hands move into his coat. That was bad; anyone that could get angry enough to draw a blade over an argument was no man Alexander wanted serving near him, and someone willing to threaten an employer with violence in broad daylight was even worse. Alexander tensed slightly, his eyes boring into the back of the man's head, his free left hand ready to snap out and grab the rude entrant, already planning how to disarm and disable him without endangering anyone. He could feel the faintest tinge of adrenaline seeping into his perception, and his mood went from cheerfully jovial to the ice-cold mix of anger and fear that came before a fight.

Before Thaler had a chance to respond, the pale bastard standing next to him felt the need to have his say. "We're out of rum," he said, let his seething irritation settle into mild simmer. "There's a tavern a block down from here that sell's some cheap shit. If you want in this building, you're going get me a crate of it."

"The rest of you can show yourselves in. You can toss your shit by whichever bunk you soddin' please. When you're ready to talk, I'll be napping in the mess."

He turned around and took a few haggard steps inward. "Big guy with the sword, don't let the tough guy in until he's done with his first big assignment."

Mysaren's hand fell to her side and she nodded. "Uh, right. Of course." (pompous asshole bash his head in with a fucking bottle) He was certainly a bit on the... abrasive side. She supposed she would have to get used to it though, and stepped inside, making note of the building. It wasn't awful, she supposed. She put her things down next to her bunk and took off her robe, neatly folding it and placing it on her bed.

Alexander's face did not change, still ready for a fight and not happy about it. He nodded nonetheless, responding with "Will do, chief.". His full attention still on the angry lad, still ready to stop [or start] a fight, he spoke to his new charge. "Out you go mate, you heard the man. Might as well know your name too, while we're here.". He shifted slightly, moving enough out of the way to allow people to get through the doorway while still in the orbit of his charge in which Alexander could reach him, but he could not reach Alexander.

Ayla stared at the skinny fellow as he growled into the official's face. She felt a groan coming on, but it didn't escape; a quick glance to the side showed the big fellow, Alexander, was ready to pummel the boy or something should he get out of hand. Seemed a fair thing. She balled a fist as well, just in case.

The response from the groggy man at the door, though, was priceless.

"We're out of rum. There's a tavern a block down from here that sells some cheap shit. If you want in this building, you're going get me a crate of it."

Things were becoming very familiar to Ayla. Aye, they were. Boys like this skinny one, jumped up and full of themselves, threw their weight around until someone set them straight. She doubted he'd last long with an attitude like that.

"The rest of you can show yourselves in," the weary looking man continued. "You can toss your shit by whichever bunk you soddin' please. When you're ready to talk, I'll be napping in the mess." As he walked in, he added, perhaps as an afterthought, "Big guy with the sword, don't let the tough guy in until he's done with his first big assignment."

Ayla couldn't help but grin, and this time there was actual amusement to it. She glanced up at the giant, shaking her head. "Careful with the gangly geebag," she said with an oh-so-serious expression, pointing over at the fellow that had barged in and spat out curses. "He's a mean little shrimp."

Alexander seemed to want to know the rapscallion's name before he was forced out, but the mage had no such intentions. She headed on in, finding the bunks rather easily and the dark-skinned woman along with them.

She gave the woman - Mysaren, that was her name - a curious look, the laughter having faded from her face by now. She didn't bother busying herself as she stood there; the woman was strange enough to warrant a second looking at. Only after she was content that she'd seen all the strangeness did she start setting her own things down and removing her armor. She picked a bunk by the door, of course. It was on the floor.

"So," she began, "what's it you bring to this lodge? If we're to be kith in battle, I've a right to know what manner of fighter I'll be trusting... if you're to be fighting at all, that is.

"The name's Ayla Nic Lanrogh, Runemage of Clan Woerich." Pausing, she decided the odd woman might not know what that meant. "My people are the Wodanes," she added, "from the Stormy Isle far to the north. You?"

"Nope." Ro'en was unamused by the notion.

"If you're too lazy to walk your ass over there and get it yourself, or too much of an ass to treat us like an equal. Then ...you're not even worth my time." He shook his head. His tone resumed his usual non-chalant calmness, a low baritone of proper speech - despite the copious use of the word 'ass'.

What was this? Some kind of military? A really messed up one? Ro'en probably signed up to help those who cannot help themselves stand up to the creatures that lurked in the night, not this, not listen to the whims of some prick who was angry he just lost a pissing contest. If he had to do it by himself, so be it. He might not get as much done but by the heavens, he was not going to stand for this.

So, without even looking back, he shrugged at alexander and walked out of the building.

Mysaren sat on her bunk, slouched over slightly in order to fit, watching Ayla closely as she worked. She seemed to be more of the warrior type, but definitely not bad to look at. "As I said, I'm afraid I'm not too practiced in fighting, but I can handle a sword. I came here more to do some research on the creatures. Not too much is known about them, you know," She says softly, toying with the hem of her shirt. "I'm more of a scholar than anything, I suppose. "

"Clan Woerich, hm? Quite rich in history, if I do say so myself. I come from the deserts in the east. Most of the greatest scholars come from there, you know. I come from the city Zaneimhat, one of the bigger cities near the River. Have you ever been to the deserts, Ayla? They're actually quite beautiful. Not unlike yourself, of course." Mysaren smirked, her eyes bright with amusement.

"Only half kidding, of course. Anyways, it's quite obvious you're a bit of a warrior, but if you don't mind, tell me a bit more, hm? I'm curious to hear about you. You seem like a rather interesting woman."

Alexander looked at the still-unnamed man, then back to the guardsman, then back to the now-departing man, his posture straightening and the adrenaline fading from his consciousness. A smile returned to his face as he realized that the chances of a fight had reduced themselves significantly. He let the man pass unmolested, and spoke to the guardsman with a laugh in his voice. "So, chief. Do I still need to watch the door, or d'you need me to go and fetch the rum now? I still don't know your name either, chief, figure that'd be something worth knowing. I'm Alexander Branwen, formerly part o' the Dragon-Tooth Company.". He extended his left hand, the dim perception of the brash man behind him fading slowly into nothing.