As the two departed from the throne room, the man stretched his shoulders and gave what he hoped looked like a supportive smile. With so many scars, looking comradely wasn't an easy task, but it was one set up for him out of necessity. After all, the prestigious ruler of Bravura had named him as the captain of the Reclaimers of Peace; it would be necessary to give off the appearance of confidence, trustworthiness, and openness at every turn, and if there was anything a former actor was good at, it was keeping up appearances.

“Honestly, I think that went rather well,” he informed the woman walking beside him, who called herself Jeanne. “Normally the Basileus is very strict with criminals. Not easy to make a thief into a protagonist, but he seemed aptly convinced. Must have been your lines about 'symbolic value of acceptance and reconciliation.' I must tell you though, I will be keeping an eye out, but I hope I have nothing to fear.”

The two navigated a flight of stairs and breezed out the castle's main entrance. In the courtyard stood twelve people. To call them warriors would have been inaccurate, for some were pacifistic. To call them soldiers would have been an overstatement, for some still had yet to respect the weight of command. To call them diplomats, even though their mission was of peace, would be to grossly underestimate their propensity for violence. They, Hugh acknowledged with no small sense of pride, were Reclaimers.

Once Jeanna had joined them, Hugh stood before the group and clapped his hands for attention. Once this was attained, he began to speak. “Well then! The stage is set, the cast has arrived, and the curtains are about to be drawn. Some of you have been designated Reclaimers for more than a week as plans were made, supplies gathered, and allies rallied, and some of you just got here. No matter! However raw we might seem, we're now united in purpose. You all have a twenty-minute intermission to get to know one another, should you so choose, while I round up the convoy for travel. Then, we're off to the riverlands!” Giving a slight bow, Hugh pulled back and headed in the direction of the stables, where the horses were waiting to be hitched to the Reclaimers' storage wagon.



A pair of bloodshot hazel eyes watched him go. Sanguin was a bit out of sorts; the night before, she'd joined a revelry in the castle town in the spirit of celebrating the eve of her mission's start, but as always a little too much wine had been imbibed. With her crimson wolf mask tucked beneath her arm, she kneaded her scalp with the other hand, wishing that she'd had the foresight to grab a skin of water.

She tried to distract herself from the headache by thinking about the road ahead. Even for a mage-profuse miniature army, stopping a war wasn't easy. The thought that some outside force was manipulating events, keeping the kingdoms of Panoply and Bravura pitted against one another even when they both longed for peaceful coexistence, made her sick. The promise of cutting whoever was responsible down the middle, however, and watching their blood run down her obsidian blade, made her almost eager. Wait...no. There was Sanguin again, not the person but the persona, inside her head. If it was just a voice it would be easy to pinpoint, ignore, and progress onward, but the wolf made itself evident in her feelings and instincts...things not so easily pushed aside.

Sanguin began to massage her eyes instead, hoping that the sensation would at least partially drown out her other pains. Interaction with her fellow Reclaimers, while not expressly spurned, would not be initiated by her.

Gaius listened to the knight's announcement. Twenty minutes to socialize? Why? This is an army not a damn party. He thought sourly. Then Gaius thought about it and realized that his sour mood was due to nervousness. This was his first stint as a solo Tactician and he was determined to do it right, to make his father proud and live up to his lofty reputation. Gaius took a deep breath and reviewed his father's teachings in his head.

Rule number one, never let your men see you afraid or uncertain. If they think their tactician is out of his depth, then they will panic and become demoralized. Rule number two, for every problem there is a solution. It may be hard or bad, but there is always something that can be done. Rule number three, get to know the men and women you are commanding, find out what they can and can't do and learn their personalities. With these in mind he strode over to a dark-skinned woman standing a little away from everyone else. I'm not very good at the whole social thing but I'll give it my best shot. "Hello," he said to her "My name is Gaius, I am your tactician. What is your name?

Lilith sat on one side of the room, with her back to the wall, steadily running a whetstone down her sword. It was strange but the rasp sound helped to calm her somewhat. Without breaking her rhythm she shifted slightly so she was more comfortable. I'm really not a fan of crowds. She admitted to herself. People are easier to deal with on a battlefield, you either kill them or help them kill others.

She studied the people she would be with for the duration of this mission, still sharpening her sword without looking due to long years of practice. Most of the people gathered here had that thin, lightly armored appearance that marked them as mages. Not many front-liners here, that's not a good thing. What's the use of support if there is no one to support. She counted two healers Not many healers either. If we run into some cavalry or fliers this could go bad fast. Fortunately we have at least one archer and she looks skilled. She felt no urge to go talk to anyone, so she continued to take care of her weapons and armor.

-removed-

---

Jeanne smirked. "Rightly so," she declared, "for apparently I'm an infamous highwaywoman known and hated amongst the wealthy. Or, in my eyes, hated amongst the greedy and somewhat worried-about amongst the somewhat-less-greedy. But don't worry, I hold myself to a set of moral standards."

She stepped out into the courtyard. "So, what are we looking at, here? Looks like we won't be lacking in the magic and wizardry department, eh?" Jeanne remarked, placing a gloved hand on her right hip. "Might as well get to know a few people, or rather let them get to know me. Since I've been branded a brigand, my hopes aren't high of starting off on the right foot with these fellows."

Jeanne stood up straighter; though still somewhat on the average side in height, she held an air of dignity that most thieves, bandits, and brigands did not. She wasn't a loot-rape-and-pillage kind of criminal, no, not by a long shot. She was more along the lines of a noble highwayman, if such a thing existed. (Which, likely, it didn't until Jeanne Robina entered the life of crime. At least, that's what she likes to think.)

She decided to start out big. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, Jeanne puffed her chest out and began to speak.

"Well, now that we got the formalities out of the way," she declared, "I think I'd like to start off by saying that I have no intention of picking any of your pockets. At least, out in the open." She tagged on a little joke, though coming from an infamous thief, that, in the eyes of her peers, probably wouldn't come off as a joke. "Some of you may know of me, some of you may not. That mostly depends on how the artists decide to screw up my eyes when they pen my portraits to put a price over my head. Those of you who have seen the lovely posters featuring my face and a series of numbers will most likely recognize me. Jeanne Robina, at your service." She made an extravagant bow, throwing her torso at a ridiculously low angle and placing an exaggerated arm on her back.

It was somewhat paradoxical. Could you trust a thief who tells the truth?

"Don't all stone me at once," she added with a laugh. "I'd like to save a bit of my body for my good friends Gallows and Guillotine."

---

---

Habeen toyed with her various bony embellishments, running a finger on a weathered canine on her wolf-jaw armband. The dark-skinned wanderer had thought it a fine idea to travel with the Reclaimers on their mission of peace, mostly as a valet to see this nation, its people, its practices, et cetera. She was a folk magician, but the type of magic she practiced, her contemporaries branded as "dark magic." Which was fine by Habeen; as these folks didn't know much about Habeen's practices, it wasn't technically wrong to call it dark magic.

Nevertheless, Habeen always looked cheerful, even while working alone.

And so, as the tactician greeted her, Habeen gave him a chipper smile. "Habeen Nocta," she said. "Folk magician. It's always pleasant to meet new faces. Though I have to say, there are quite a few mages gathered around here. Myself included, I suppose." She laughed. "Tactician, eh? Well, here's to hoping that we're in good hands."

Arkhant was calm, there was no reason to feel nervous there, he had to focus on his skills and learning out every single secret the battlefield hides, he was fighting the nervousism as he could, much for his luck, Jeanne made a joke, which he responded with a grin and with some words.
"Well, I'd rather keep an eye out for you in the open then, seriously though, I'm Arkhant from Askaran, I'm here to study the battlefield and also looking for new comrades, seems like there's more mages than I imagined, and at our front liners look skilled, everyone is kinda quiet huh? Come on guys, speak out!", Arkhant wanted to make a good first impression for the Reclaimers, "We must know eachother before going to the battlefield, you know right?"

Tim kept to himself in a quiet area, away from the others. Large crowds of strangers were not his favorite things. They had twenty minutes to chitchat and get to know one other, but Tim wasn't really sure what to say. All of these people looked so intimidating, and of course they all had their weapons on them. Their mission was one of peace, yet everybody felt the need to bring the biggest, sharpest blades they had. What good was war for anyway? Violence only brought more violence. It only made things worse, not better. He felt that that everything would be so much easier if people just talked to one another peacefully instead of murdering each other over every dispute.

The other reclaimers were talking amongst each other, but Tim had no clue what he could contribute to their conversation. Their were only two Healers in the group, but the other man was obviously much more experienced than himself, he was probably a novice by comparison. They would probably just treat him like a child that needed to be protected. He was starting to regret coming, and wanted to go back home, but it was too late to turn back now that he had made it this far. Instead he remained silent and prayed to Naga for strength.

The northerner was on the move before Arkhant had even finished his statement about socializing, a spring in his step as he propelled himself toward where Jeanne had announced herself, and nodded in acknowledgement at the young woman's past. He flashed her a grin, and before he spoke to the crowd as a whole, spoke almost conspiratorially: "Ah, you won't have to do something as silly as that, I'm sure you'll clean me out if we ever play cards."

"My name is Nickolas Rienbach, a student of the elder magics and a..." He thought about his next words carefully, more than a little perplexed at what he should describe himself as. "...and a visitor from the cold north. I hope to get to know all of you in the coming months?" He darted away almost as soon as he had come up to the stage, leaving the smell of burnt wood, old books, and some sickly sweet smell that refused to be placed in a trail behind him as he carefully went up and repeated the greeting to the newest and the less social members of the group, always ducking away with a smile as he received at least some sort of acknowledgement.

Finally stopping his whirlwind of socialization in front of what looked to be the youngest combat mage he'd ever seen, Nickolas leaned down in front of the girl so that their heads were at even height, before giving his warmest smile. "And how about you, little miss? I've not had the pleasure of meeting a fully fledged mage at your age before."



The amazon-like woman retreated away from the spotlight as Jeanne, Arkhant, and now Nickolas put themselves in the center of the parade grounds. Instead, she slunk away to watch the proceedings of one of the other women, the one carefully preparing her weapons and armor. It took her a minute to work up the courage to approach, sliding up with an impressive amount of stealth for one her size. She stepped in front of the armored woman and stared for a moment, green eyes searching grey until Kuur finally found the mettle to speak up.

"My name is... Kuur. What's yours...?" Her voice was breathless and soft, something that conflicted harshly with the well-muscled and harsh impression that she gave off moments prior.

"Folk Mage, Huh? You are in good hands, I can promise you that." Gaius responded to the dark mage. He realized that most of her 'clothing' was actually made of bones and pelts of various unidentifiable animals, and she displayed an unnerving amount of skin. Gaius pretended not to notice. "Excuse me, Smiles" he said politely, "I would like to talk to everyone." Gaius went to each person there, one by one, shaking hands with the men, and politely introducing himself and his position, then he asked what type of fighter they were or what type of magic they used.

Eventually, he got to a red-haired myrmidon, just standing there away from the chatting group. Gaius boldly walked up to her and said, "Hey, my name is Gaius, I am the new tactician in this army. Its a pleasure to meet you. What is your name?"


After the someone spoke up, and the thief made her announcement, everyone got over their initial awkwardness and started conversing. Lilith stayed where she was and made no attempt to talk. She kept her eye on a man whose clothing proclaimed him as a tactician, who was currently talking to each person in turn.

Awhile later, Lilith noticed a woman, that was taller than she was, trying to creep over quietly. Lilith pretended she didn't notice her until the woman was right in front of her. (^) "Lilith Merdox, I'm a mercenary." She responded, purposely speaking louder than normal, as a contrast to the other's whisper. "So, you're the archer." She stated.

Syrena was starting to think this was a bad idea. When her father had first come to her and told her that Basileus Truculenter had agreed to let her apprentice the kingdom's arch mage she had been excited. Maybe, finally someone would be able to teach her how to subdue the flames. Brother Malachi was a nice man and his meditations techniques had been a great help to her but he had little experience in magic and what was happening to Syrena went far beyond his knowledge.

Syrena had thought coming to the capitol was her best choice. She thought she could do some good in the kingdom rather than just let the flames rage. Now however standing among the Reclaimers of Peace Syrena was feeling both out of place and extremely nervous. What would she do if one of them wanted to talk to her? At the thought Syrena clutched her tome, Arma Infernum closer to her chest.

The blue bound book was meant to contain her powers and let her channel them safely when she needed to in battle. It wasn't perfect though. In certain instances her magic had built to the point that the pages could no longer contain it and huge bursts of flame had exploded out of it and her alike. The tome was a help and a great comfort but as for controlling her powers it was little more than a bandage. The real problems festered underneath.

Syrena pulled the hood of her robe up further, casting her face into shadow. She was shorter than most everyone present which meant looking at her most people only saw the top of her hood and if she was looking at them, her eyes peaking out.

The robe itself was green with two yellow lines running over it. They were standard issue at the capitol. Apparently this identified her as a user of Anima Magic. Red would have been more suitable. She thought slightly bitterly. That's the color everyone's skin turned when exposed to her power.

Syrena was so deep in thought that she didn't register the approached of a man until he'd knelt down so he face was level with hers. Syrena gave a slight squeak of surprise and took too steps back, the symbols on her tome started to glow ever so slightly brighter. Once her shock subsided somewhat she peered at him through her hood pulled low. He was older, but then that wasn't saying much as every one of the Reclaimers was older then Syrena. His hair was short and black, his skin pale and he wore garish clothing. Striking purples and yellows and fur that clashed violently with one another.

Syrena could feel her magic bubbling distractedly below the surface though it seemed dormant enough now. Hesitantly she looked into the strangers eyes. "D-did you n-n-need someth-th-thing?" she asked, not holding his gaze for more than a second or two. What if he said something she didn't like? What if the inferno beneath her skin got excited? What if... what if she hurt him... or any of them.

The Reclaimers had apparently been assigned a disproportionate number of mages to knights but not many of them looked suited to help Syrena with her problem. The anima users mostly looked young and inexperienced and the other ones, like this man that knelt before her reeked of a different kind of magic. What if no one could help her? What if no one could save her?


Marcus was enjoying himself. Which admittedly he thought he didn't really deserve but at least for a few moments it wouldn't hurt anyone for him to be social and gallant. As the thief queen made her speech Marcus smiled slightly. Now that woman had gall, Marcus liked her almost immediately.

The air in the courtyard was remarkably different from that of the monastery. With the Brotherhood there had always been an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. No that wasn't quite the right word. Calm and quite fit the bill more closely. Everything in the monastery including the monks had been subdued and calm, collected and calculated. It always felt planned and therefore contrived. Marcus much preferred this, there was uncertainty and excitement and adventure in the air.

Marcus decided that sitting quietly in the corner would do him no good so instead he walked up to the thief queen who had a small group of people forming around her. He clapped her on the back, probably a little harder than was necessary. "Well met indeed mi'lady." he said inclining his head to her. "I am Brother Ambrose but most people call me Marcus. I'm the healer and the spiritual guide for the Reclaimer's mission. I suppose I can assume that your talents lie in the use of a blade and opening doors?" he said genially with a smile on his face.

Nothing about his appearance or his manor suggested anything but a content and friendly monk, glad to be out in the world. It was not strictly true but Marcus saw no reason why he shouldn't be social while he atoned for his crimes.

As Franky tried to casually stroll towards the meeting ground of the band of men united by the sake of the war, he was struck by the sensation of nostalgia, reflecting on when he first stowed away on a Pirate ship to leave the shores of Bravura as a youth. He wasn't exactly sneaking around, but was trying to avoid making eye contact with any of the guards or staff moving through the Castle grounds. After all, he was man under oath, and should be still at his station on his ship to make the next trip requested by the council of the very castle he was now walking through. He figure his desertion, along with his prior crime of accidentally attacking the convoy of a Bravuran ambassador would be quite the efficient means of getting himself hanged, but he couldn't wait till this war was finished. It could fester longer than his lifetime.

Franky was greeted with a surprise when he turned the corner, walking under an archway shaped out of high-grown bushel. Franky had an axe in hand, resting it by the side of its head upon his shoulder. What he saw was conversations, mainly three groups which people seems to float in and out of. It was not the sight he was expecting. It looked and sounded very diplomatic. Franky was aware that the Basileus requested people with military experience and attributes. He expected that this would be the forming of a suicide squadron. Why ask for men of action if action was not the requirement? Franky was ready to believe he was late to the wrong meeting, if not for a woman belligerently sharpening her sword amongst the chatter. Missing the initial speech by the leader of the group, Franky decided that this woman would be the best person to get clarity from.

"Ahoy lass," he called as he walked towards Meredith. He dropped his axe head down against the ground. "I trying to find out if I am in the right company, seeing as you're the only other person who is expecting to use a weapon soon," Franky remarked facetiously. Even his tone was quite sarcastic for the average pirate. His faces was a hollow smile, the kind one passes to another at awkward socials like this one. His eyes glanced through the crowd as he spoke, still trying to figure out for himself if he got the group right.

The dark mage simply sat down so that he was now even lower than head height for the young girl, calmly letting her stutter out the first words he'd heard from the young girl since he'd joined up with the Reclaimers nearly five days prior. He seemed totally at ease with the situation and her two-step retreat, and calmly folded his legs and placed both hands in his lap as pale eyes remained level on the young blonde girl.

"I'm just getting to know everyone, little miss! Don't worry, I don't bite." He chuckled, seemingly amused by his little joke. "Ah, yes, where are my manners? My name is Nickolas. You can call me Nickolas, Nick, or whatever floats your boat." He flashed another smile. "I like to fancy myself a student of all kinds of magic, although sadly enough the nuances of healing magic always evade me." The smile faded into an expression of mock seriousness as his brows furrowed together.

"And let me guess, before you tell me... you're a..." He held up his right hand, palm forward, and theatrically sniffed the air. A moment passed, and then a look of absolute and total concentration crossed the dark mage's features before he snapped his fingers and a tiny flame, no more than an inch in height, hovered a tiny increment above his right thumb. "An anima mage, right? One who deals with fire?"



"Nice to... meet you." Kuur's voice was a bit stronger now, but it was still soft and lilting as she took time to consider each word carefully. Her face was utterly void of any sort of emotion until the mention of her archery was brought up, and a flash of pride caused her lips to twitch up at the edges. "Yes. I am an... archer." She reached behind her to find her bow, made with wood reinforced with iron and stained a dark brown, and simply touched it. "I don't miss... my targets."

She shifted, the slightly smug expression vanishing as if it were simply a mirage in the desert. She made no move to continue that line of comments, despite lovingly stroking the iron inlay of her bow and tracing the well-oiled wood.. Instead, she gestured to the whetstone and the beautifully kept sword that Lilith was sharpening. "You're very careful... with your weapons. I didn't know that people out... here... did that... to-."

The sudden arrival of the pirate, however, seemingly halted all progress the archer had been making with her permanently fouled-up socialization skills. She stopped talking immediately, and instead stepped backward at the rough man's approach, watchful of any sudden movements by one of the most physically imposing men she'd ever seen.

Hugh thought of Jeanne as he passed the convoy to meet the first horse. Her offhanded personality, quick wit, and obvious charisma made her already seem like a larger-than-life figure in his mind. Though perhaps plain to some, the charming thief struck Hugh as more than commonly attractive; there was something about a girl with dimples that never failed to catch his attention. While reaching out a hand for the horse to sniff and get to know him by, Hugh also posited that it was more than the woman herself that fascinated him—it was the archetype she represented. One who committed petty injustices in the name of justice, who vowed to uphold morals whilst behaving immorally...Hugh pictured such a paradigm as intriguingly unrealistic. Such an outlook belonged in the contemporary world as much as a shadow-skulker belonged in open combat. It was the stuff of folk tales and plays. Then again, if an actor could be a knight, perhaps a thief could be a hero.

Leading the first horse toward the convoy, Hugh carefully backed the good-natured animal into position and then attempted to strap him in. Unfortunately, the instant that the knight let go of the creature's reins, it shifted out of place just enough to make attaching the leather straps about as possible as spitting into the wind. Once more Hugh tried before he sighed in amused annoyance. He patted the horse on the head and left it behind, retracing his steps back toward the courtyard.

A few steps into the plaza, he shouted out, “Hey, can someone lend me a hand with the horses? Darned thing's got stage fright, won't stay still long enough to be hitched.” While speaking, he plucked out a strand of hay that had magnetized to his scarf and flicked it onto the cobblestones.



Some seconds passed with Sanguin's reddened eyes resting on Gaius's face. Her mouth was poised half-open as if the language had abandoned her just as she began to speak. The nearly seven-foot tactician loomed above her, more like a statue than a person, and intimidating even to a seasoned fighter. Finally, the young woman found her tongue.

“I'm...Sanguin. Pleasure for me too, or whatever.” She stifled a yawn, trying not to appear unimpressed when truly fatigue was the cause. “Tactician, huh? That means you use magic...and fight with a sword, huh? All I've got is a sword.”

At that moment, a burly man appeared at her side and draped an arm over her shoulder. His coming hadn't been stealthy, for the sheer size and heft of his axe meant that its scraping over the cobblestone could be heard by pretty much everyone, but it seemed Sanguin hadn't been aware. Affixing him with a befuddled expression, as if to say, what's this guy doing here?, Sanguin did little as Ronin began to speak. “Don't belittle yourself, wolf maiden! Yours may be the sword that carries us to victory!” He cast a rueful glance at his own oversized weapon. “As for me, I doubt I'll even be carrying my weapon...” in a flash, his wide, brash grin had returned. “Nevertheless, you can count on Ronin to fight by your side!”

Out of everything said so far, Ronin's declaration seemed to cheer Sanguin up a little. Apparently not minding him leaning on her, she made an approving noise; clearly, fortitude spoke more clearly to her than typical niceties. “Not bad. Hell of an axe, though. Sure you can swing it?”

Ronin burst out into laughter. “Can I swing it! Hah! Can you get a load of this?” He asked Gaius as he nudged an impassive Sanguin. “Sang doesn't think I can swing it.”

The man seemed to pay no mind to Syrena's demeanor and instead seated himself on the ground quite comfortably, crossing his legs underneath him. He introduced himself as Nickolas. That was a name that wouldn't come easily to Syrena's lips. He proclaimed himself a patron of all magics. Which Syrena took to mean dark mage, it would explain the strangeness of him. Of course that would mean that he could command both shadow magic and anima magic, the darkness and the elements.

Though as Syrena understood it he couldn't master light magic. Since Syrena's sphere of influence was limited solely to fire magic (bad things happened when she tried to use other tombs) she'd not paid all that much attention to the arch mage while he was explaining the complexities of arcane classification. Something about dark and light cancelling each other out. A mage couldn't be capable of welding both at once without undergoing serious and life threatening consequences.

Regardless Syrena didn't trust dark magic users. It was not that there was anything inherently evil in shadow magic itself, it was merely a force like all the rest but it seemed to her from the limited contact she'd had with a few dark mages that had visited the court that there was something strange about those that used that branch of magic.

Tentatively Syrena sat down next to Nickolas. Or Nicki, that would be much easier to say. She didn't really trust him but neither did she have a reason to distrust him and he'd gone threw the effort of speaking to her, something many others wouldn't bother with. Then the topic of conversation turned from Nicki to Syrena herself. She didn't exactly have that much of a story but he started with the simple things her class.

Maybe Nicki had some sort of sense about magic or else he'd recognized the symbols on her tome but he snapped his finger naming her class as anima mage of the fire variety. As he snapped his fingers a small glowing red flame leaped up between them. Syrena stared at it transfixed. "F-f-fire." she muttered staring deep into it's depths. It was like it was calling out to her.

Some instinct inside Syrena bid her touch the flame. She reached out her hand, it felt as though she was in a dream. The moment her skin made contact with the flame it shifted. Blue shot threw it, corrupting and converting it into Syrena's wild flames. It burned white hot and grew to the size of a fist. "N-n-n-no, no, n-no." Syrena stuttered staring at it.

Remembering Brother Malachi's advise she slowed her breathing. I control the fire. The fire doesn't control me. Syrena breathed in deeply then slammed her hand onto the cover of Arma Infernum. The ball of blue fire died in a blaze of sparks. "I-I-I'm s-s-s-so s-s-sorry. I j-just. I'm s-sorry."

The young woman seemed intimidated by Gaius. She stared at him for a few solid seconds as she seemed to be searching for words. When she did speak, Gaius immediately realized that she was tired, not just sleepy, but bone weary tired. Before He could answer her strange question he was interrupted by a exuberant axman.

Gaius raised his eyebrows at the loud and large axman that was leaning on the girl. What was her name again? He thought. The axman continued with his boisterous tirade, ending in a half sarcastic question. Gaius's smartass reflexes kicked in, and before he knew it, he was shooting off at the mouth. "My grandmother could swing that axe, but you probably can't." Mentally he kicked himself for not thinking. Ugh, I am trying to win their trust, not their anger. Gaius heard in the background the man who had made a speech at the beginning, something about horses?



Lilith fixed the loud intruder with a hard eyed, caustic, dangerous, shut-up-or-die, glare. "You...are interrupting our conversation." She spat. "Get lost." She turned her gaze back to the Kuur, as if dismissing the pirate as anything of importance. Her expression softened. "What do you mean people out here?" She asked Kuur more gently this time.

The women was obviously easily intimidated and painfully shy. Lilith immediately wanted to help her. For some reason Kuur reminded Lilith of herself, from many years ago. Lilith shoved that painful memory away, Its no good to dwell on what is passed. "So where are you from?" She asked Kuur.

Carefully brushing down his horse after the captain called a meet-and-greet, Jakobe ran over a mental checklist of the others in his head. While they had been, and admittedly still were, a bit heavy on mages, the group turned out to be a relatively well-rounded force. The only thing they were really lacking in was mounted fighters and kindred shapechangers. A few of the recruits were probably a bit young to fight in a war, but he wasn't in charge of this thing, so Jakobe was willing to defer to the captain's judgment.

Normally, he'd have helped when Hugh called for it, but his own steed needed careful tending to. Poor guy was still nervous about the change of scenery, and the ensuing journey. It wasn't often that Jakobe loaded him up with as much equipment as he had.

Sometimes he could swear that his horse was more intelligent than some of the people they'd met, but it was more likely that it could just tell how stressed everybody was feeling, as well. Going off to fight, to possibly kill and possibly die, was not a pleasant feeling for anybody, and he could feel the tension in the air.

Franky blinked in response to the cold dismissal given by the women with the sword as she turned her attention once again to the woman with the bow, but he in turn chose to ignore the rejection in favour of getting the information he wanted. He was a pirate by trade, one who had abandoned the social norms of the mainland. He hardly had any concern that typical land-folk scoffed at and judged his appearance and way of life.

"Ah, get lost - that be the point lassy. I am lost. I'm not used to finding my way on dry ground or in fancy palaces. I was told of a crew of battle-hardy mercenaries attempting to end the war. Could this be crew of which they speak?" he asked, now being more specific as his cavalier, conversational opener was rebuffed. At this point, Franky could tell that his existence was starting to upset the archer-woman, but seeing as he had not even spoken to her, nevermind done anything to upset her, he chalked it up to natural pirate prejudice and decided to just pretend she wasn't there.

---

Jeanne laughed as Nickolas made the crack about cards. "We'll see about that; like myself and certain authorities, probability has always managed to evade me," she called. Her presence seemed an innate contradiction, yet one that made sense. Jeanne had little to no intention of robbing anybody in the army. What quarrel did she have with the likes of a Plegian dark mage or a recluse archer? She adjusted her bandana on her forehead and fluffed her wavy hair.

As the monk Ambrosias approached her and inquired of her swordplay and lock-picking skills, Jeanne put her arms akimbo and said, "Why, yes, indeed. I can tumble any tumblers in the entire nation with the right-sized wire. Though I usually unlock chests and boxes, doors are hardly any different. Why, I could slip in a house from the front door and come right out the other side without touching a single key. What I do touch depends on whose house it is." She laughed heartily. "I assume that as a priest you are well-versed in the practices of healing?" she asked

He started in surprise as the girl's fingers caress the flame and caused it to burst to vivid life with such ferocity that Nickolas immediately glanced at her tome in abject bewilderment, half expect it to be cracked open and actively drawing power. He'd never felt the flames become that intense so quickly before, even with his study of the Dying Blaze tome that he'd recently managed to get his hands on. The dark mage was still staring in amazement as the girl slammed her hand on to her obviously modified tome and shut out the fist-sized inferno with a noticeable pop. Nickolas looked up as the girl began to stammer her apologies.

"No, no, little miss, it's quite alright." The smile that crossed his features was as gentle as the dark mage could make it as he withdrew his hand to examine it for any side-affects of the willful possession of his spell. Finding none, he glanced up again to the stuttering girl and figured his best course of action was to calm her down with some sort of knowledge. He tapped the side of his nose when he was certain he had her attention. "You can usually smell it on the mages, little miss. What their strongest magic is. Lighting mages smell like hot iron, fire mages smell like burnt wood, the ones that deal primarily with stone magic smell like clean dirt, and so on." He chuckled, quite amused by the oxymoronic image that 'clean dirt' created. "I think it has something to do with the tomes, really. Although I don't think I've ever seen someone so talented with fire before."

He chuckled again, although this time he was doing it to hopefully set the girl's mind at ease. "It's a quite a gift, you know, although a bit unrefined. Without a tome, I can only do what amounts to parlor tricks and sleight of hand with any of the elements."



Kuur remained mute for the next few seconds, simply examining the large pirate man's stature for any obvious flaws until Lilith's kindly tone shook her out of her revere. There was an uncomfortable pause as the tall young woman thought about her response in relation to the large pirate man, and would ignore him in kind unless he interjected again. "I meant... the kind of people that... take such good care of their weapons are... rare. I didn't... expect that." She paused again, still watching the axeman warily. "I am from... Panoply. We don't all... want this war."

As the axeman's more direct question came to light, Kuur turned to face him fully, still tensed in preparation for a fight or flight response. "You are... irritatingly dense." Her eyebrows knitted together in a sure sign of her annoyance, although her lilting voice remained as void of emotion as ever. "And...also correct in your... assumptions. Does that mean... you will leave?"

At first, Franky stood looking upon the mercenary with a straight, calm look. He took absolutely no exception to being ignored a little more nor to the archer's sharp response. He looked at a bush which from his view was placed in between both women before responding to her.

"Leave? I be obliged to stay. I be man born of Bravura, but beholden to no land. Even meh crew have some brave, hearty men born of Panoply like yourself milady. All this talk of war and patriarchy and division by birth-land not be good atmosphere for the crew, yu'see. The sooner this ends and we can vanish back into the freedom of the ocean's voluptuous curvy waves the better. But some word of advice from a well-travelled sea dog," Franky blinked and his eyes shifted to view the archer directly. He leaned in to talk in a hush, he knew she seemed skittish and timid. "Be cautious who you reveal your nationality to. Wars always bring out the worst in prejudices. My men would not function as a complete crew if each was constantly in mistrust of the man to his left. Don't be thinking I'm openminded, mind you milady, I just happen not to care who, how or why I no longer need to work in this war," he whispered, not breaking his apathetic, cavalier tone, but simply hushing his words. He took in a deep breath and glanced around.

"I guess will be taking my leave after all," he added, return his voice to normal volume. Franky panned his view looking for the man in charge amidst the collecting group.