Gawain showed a nice reaction to Karen’s actions. It was a thing she enjoyed, to watch people’s reaction in different situations she put them in. With that said, what the man stated surprised Karen.” It’s not everyday you meet people from the Church of light that are as understanding as you are. That’s right you have not the right to judge me and the fact you understand that shows a lot actually.” Karen stated with a pleased nod.” Well yes, I’m not a follower of the Church of Light or the Pantheon of the Northern gods. As far as I’m concerned all religions are real as long as they have followers.” Karen said with a warm smile. It was refreshing to see such understanding man. People of his faith often got overzealous.

“Priests, warriors, men and women, all of that doesnt matter.” Karen stated with a wave of her hand.” A priest can be deadlier than a warrior and a warrior can be more kind than a priest. A man can be as frail as a pampered maiden and a maiden could be a deadly solider. What matters is the desire to be what you want to be.” The olive skinned woman said smiling. She was also smiling on the inside, this man was going to make a fine warrior if trained~ “ Karen, Karen ibn Nahal.”

Just as she stated that, some commotion started and Lady Buxton had to take chare to stop all the chaos going on. “…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!” The warrior woman shouted. First thing that ran through Karen’s mind was if it was going to be Sir Chester paying her the visit tonight, but it seemed more likely it was going to be both him and Lady Buxton. Next thing Karen quickly made her way to the board.” Karen ibn Nahal, no next of kin.” The assassin quickly wrote with sharp yet surprisingly elegant handwriting. Afterwards she went to her chair, taking her cloak and fur scarf. Then proceeded to quickly take the tray with her food in one hand and the jug in the other. Then she went towards the rooms, carrying the things with ease.

Once inside her room, she finally took off the heavy clothing she was wearing, in the process she put all the daggers hidden around her clothes on the small cupboard next to her bed. Then she quickly finished the rest of her dinner and finally took of the linen shirt and trousers, leaving only her undergarments. Then she quickly went to bed, but not before putting a dagger under her pillow and having another two next to her arms under the bed sheets. The majority of the daggers were next to her on the cupboard, but she still needed some she could grab right away. She wasn’t worried she was going to be sleeping when someone entered as she was a light sleeper, but just in case she threw a dagger that got stuck right in front of the door. If someone opened it, the dagger was going to get displaced and fall, which would alert her even if the one entering opened the door slowly and carefully.

It appeared that Lady Buxtons jab at Orwen had backfired spectacularly, and she flashed red as he used her own lingeage back against her. She had indeed been born with a silver spoon in her mouth (and a rather large one too), but she never considered herself to be above others because of things like wealth or status. Him stating otherwise caused her to feel a deep resentment and her fist clenched tightly against the cold bronze of her polearm. His snake like smile only added to her anger. She didn't retort though - she couldn't. She bit her tongue and listened with a bitter scowl as he continued his barb.

"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.”

And there it was. Although he probably did not know it, Orwen had crossed the line, and in quite a spectacular fashion. It wasn't so much that he had highlighted a sore topic, but in that moment he undermined her leadership in front of the entire Consano. That was not something that he could get away with, regardless of wealth or influence. A storm begun to rage inside of her mind and her vision turned a hint of red. "Katrina, don't. The King won't be happy if you two kill eachother." hissed Chester beneath his breath, not wanting to draw anymore attention to the spectacle. Buxton held back long enough to give out the instructions to the 'team' but, upon his depature, she followed Master Orwen to his chambers.

She would find Orwen standing on the wooden flooring right before the window, leaning on the windowsill. "Ah, miss Buxton, I could hear it was you from the manlike sounds you made when you tiraded up the stairs!” he spoke with a happy, but annoying undertone in his voice. He turned around and rested his buttocks on the windowsill instead, crossing his arms in front of him as he looked her in the eyes. Orwen smiled, like a snake, or a rat. He had so much fun pestering this lady, although he knew that he was pushing her and was probably doing so way too far.

He continued, never the less, as he was a man without fear. That, and a man with coin, and coin was important for the Consano, whether she wanted it to be or not. "Are you not done argueing with me? I had imagined by now, after your extensive research into my lineage and origins..” he spoke, whilst getting up and walking around the room. He made sure to take off the flail that hung from a leather strap and place it on the dresser, next to the bed, with a very large and open gesture to ensure she noticed. ".. that I care little who I am, or where I come from, and that all I care for is where I am going. So I suggest you stop trying to belittle me like you did just now, and simply accept that I am the sponsor. Lest you wish the king to hear of your little insults, and that as a result I'll be raising the interest on my loans to him by a few percents?” He smiled once more, padding on his chest to ensure his dagger was still there, and then leaned onto the dresser with one hand.

THUMMMPPP

Without warning Lady Buxton flew forward, hooking the slaver in the jaw with her right hand. It certainly was not a graceful move, nor was it even slightly ladylike, but Lady Buxton did not care. Orwen seemed to reel back a few steps but was given no chance to respond, as Buxton charged forward and barged him against the wall. There was a loud thud as the two collided with the wooden wall and cloud of dust was blown into the air. She grabbed his right forarm with her left hand, and with her right clenched his throat. "You insignificant sack of shit." she hissed, "You can shove your interest where Lady Sol can't find it. How dare you undermine me in front of my troops! How dare you undermine this entire operation! I don't care how powerful you are, or how pissed of my uncle will be - if you do anything that I believe hinders my mission, I will slit your throat and leave you to the rot in the dirt."

Gawain was pushed against the wooden wall with some force, and by no means was he a tough man, tough enough to not feel pain from the force of his body meeting the wooden panels. Never the less, he merely clenched his teeth together and grinned at the most noble lady Buxton. He kept his grin all the way throughout her little tirade, realizing all too well that the walls in this inn weren't too thick, and that others would probably hear the entire thing, especially when she was yelling this loud.

Whilst grinning, it became apparent that her hook had caused a tooth of his to open up a small wound in his mouth, causing the man to bleed from the corner of his lip. As soon as she was done he would retort. "Ah, walks up stairs like a man, talks like a man and now even fights like a man. If I were to guess, I'd say the only feminine thing about you is that marvelous set of tits! But in all seriousness, my dear lady, if you want me to shove my interest where the good Lady can't see it, please be so kind to bend over and lower your undergarments, I'll assure you, you'll enjoy every second of it!” He wanted to continue but at this point he was laughing so hard he had trouble breathing, so he had to take a minute to calm down. Her anger, whilst painful physically, was a true joy to behold. It had been some time since he'd made someone this angry! Who was the last one again.. Margret, yes, that's the one. His personal cook had been slaving over a pot of special soup all day when Orwen decided that it'd be fun to throw the pot on the floor. Oh, how she screamed bloody murder. But it was nothing like lady Buxton.

"Besides, lady Buxton, you do not seem to realize how much money it costs to raise a troop of warriors and travel. Now, I expected you to atleast accomodate for food and bed, as you have done here. After all, you were the captain of the guard. But have you forgotten that we need supplies to travel, and transportation? I can assure you none of these poor folks here in this tavern own a bloody horse, and they sure as hell haven't brought provisions! Hear me out here.” Regardless of his attitude, Orwen was done making fun of her and was now talking true facts. He had calculated the costs of the trip to the North carefully before he even thought about investing in the Consano. He wouldn't be the man he was today if he invested recklessly into everything that sounded nice.

"First off, we need to afford horses for everyone to travel, if we want to travel fast. I suppose we do, the plague is getting closer every day after all. Then, we need food, which will be harder and harder to come by the further we go north. It'd be best if we bought as much as we can here, in the Crossroads, where it's still available and cheaper than it is in the North. Then we need armor and weapons. They cost a fortune, trust me, I stocked my own armory once and it was almost painful how much coins I saw flying by my eyes. Next, once we get to the North, it might be worthwhile to hire a local to guide us. Unless you've got any experience with travelling in those tribal regions, my dearest lady Buxton? I thought not. Locals costs money and supplies.” he said with a smile, as his left hand slowly crept up on his chest. He was headed for the insides of his jerkin to fetch his dagger, with an attempt to stall lady Buxton with his boring story about costs. He had been in these situations before, since no man gets this influential without making enemies. As a result he had a hunch as to what to do, although he'd much prefer if Brando, his bodyguard, had been here to smack Buxton around the head.

Lady Buxton snarled in annoyance as the man droned on about the expenses. She wanted him to fight back, to make a move, to do anything that would give her cause to smash his head through the wall. What was even more annoying for her was that his ramblings rang true; he knew what the Consano needed and he was the only person willing to give it. It was not enough for her to let go of him, but she allowed him to continue, albeit begrudgingly. "Go on." she grumbled.

"Now I don't know where else you got your money, but according to my sources I am pretty much the only investor who has any worthwhile amount of money available for the Consano. That, and I know where to buy supplies for cheap, and make sure they are the proper quality we need, too. Unless you want to fight cannibals with butter knifes, my lady. Not everyone can get such a lovely weapon as you have, since not everyone was born lucky enough to be the kings niece. Simply put: you need me, to afford your petty little band of people who want to save the world. Because, you said I undermine your troops, but these are hardly troops, hell, the militia of the shittiest village in Vahili has more balls than these people do!”

Without making too much of a move, he pulled the dagger from his jerkin slowly while trying to keep Buxton focussed on his face while talking to her. If she'd notice there'd be hell. As soon as it was fully out, he would quickly poke it into Buxton's neck, not hard enough to penetrate the skin, but hard enough to make sure she'd notice. "Now I suggest you let go of my throat before you kill me, or I kill you. Well, I'm pretty sure you'd kill me, but that'd be no fun.”

Contrary to what he probably expected, Lady Buxton simply gave a smile of her own - one filled with malice and spite. She moved closer to him, causing him to have to bring back the knife slightly (lest he let her impale herself). "Try it." she dared as her hand tightened around his throat. With the adrenaline pumping through her system, her already dark eyes turned almost to black as her irises dilated. Her demon-like eyes locked onto his as she waited for him to make a move. If he was brazen enough to push the blade into her neck he would certainly kill her, but not before she would repay the favour. Even if he did manage to kill her and escape the room unharmed, there would be no way he could get past the others downstairs.

Orwen didn't expect her to walk into the blade, but he certainly expected her to not give a damn. He pulled back the blade slightly, but kept it there on her throat regardless. It wasn't there so much to kill her than it was there to ensure she would not kill him. Atleast this way she'd have to go through the movements to get rid of the dagger, which might give Orwen the time to headbutt her and run away if he had to. "Now now, this proves exactly what I thought, you have no clue about listening to others, and only about raising your voice so loud that you sound like a man. Killing you would be useless, because while I have money and economical insight, I have no leadership skills. Surely Chester does, but would he be happy with me if I killed you? I imagine not, since he's obviously in love with you. I sometimes wonder if he likes you because of your tits, or because he likes your manliness, but that's aside the point..”

He smiled back at Buxton, who was now awkwardly close to his face, so close that he could smell her. The two seemed to be trying very hard to out-grin eachother, although Orwen was decisively more natural at grinning. "Now, either kiss me, fall on my bed and let me take you like a slave, or back off. There is no need to kill eachother. Yet. Even someone as dumbfounded as you must realize that you need me for now.”

"That's enough." came a cold commanding voice from the doorway. It was Sir Chester, and he clearly wasn't happy at what he was seeing. Lady Buxton took a deep breath before releasing her grip on Orwen, pushing him back slightly as she did so. "Now I suggest you drop the knife Master Orwen, because if not I'll be forced to use mine." he tapped the pummel of his sword.

"Sure thing, sir.” he replied with a snarky tone, unhappy that Chester was telling him to back off when it was Buxton that had attacked him. Another unfair show of 'justice' according to knights - a knight can never be in the wrong after all. He softly poked Buxton with the knife, not enough to harm her but probably enough to irritate her once more, before releasing it. It clanked on the floor and Orwen ticked it away with his feet. "Now, Chester, I suggest you keep this pitbull lined before all your funds evaporate. I have my ways, as you know, and I am sure you'd like to sleep under furs once we reach the North.” He said to Chester, seemingly ignoring Buxton completely as he looked right through her. "Unless you can get Buxton to keep you warm by laying on top of you. Although I-.”

"That's enough!" he repeated, growing tired of the little exchange. The words themselves did not affect him, as his emotions were as tough as the steel that he wielded. "Lady Buxton, go check on the others. I believe the priest is in the next room." he ordered, seemingly fine with telling his superior what to do. He waited in silence as she stomped out of the room, and it wasn't until the door shut that he looked back at Orwen and opened his mouth once more. "You realise that you're digging yourself an early grave? You've only been here five minutes and half the Consano wants to rip out your throat. How do you expect to survive once we leave civilisation behind?" Chester spoke calmy, almost in a friendly way. There was a concern in his voice but it wasn't personal. He walked over to the dagger and picked it up off the floor with a snort and a shake of his head.

Orwen couldn't help but look at Buxton's ass as she left. Before she managed to shut the door, he whistled quickly. He'd risk it all to make her this angry again. Then he refocussed on Chester in front of him. "Perhaps 'tis better to ask her why she is bothering the man that feeds her. Do they not tell her to not bite the hand that feeds her in the knightly table thing, whatever the crazy king has come up with as a title for that disastrous group of would-be knights? Is it not so that she decided to, obviously, insult me in the inn? No? You wouldn't say so, knight, because she is like you. Is it not her that attacked me to begin with? Ofcourse, if you ask her, no. I came onto her. But let it be clear, I care little for these people, or for her. The reason I'm here is because Vahili is ultimately my country, and I'd hate to see it covered in the undead bodies of my kinsmen. I could not care less who hates me, since most people hate me the moment they see me. But I tell you, I invested in this company, I see it's worth and I see how we can get to the North. Not Buxton. She is here to lead, and as far as I know, leading doesn't mean yelling at others and attacking them, good sir Chester. Besides, is it not your task, as leader of this company, to protect those in it, and not kill those in it? Just food for thought.”

Chester let out a thoughtful huff before replying. "She came up with the idea to form the Consano. She leads the Consano. Whether you like it or not, she is just as vital a part of this venture as you. That said, she was certainly foolish to attack you like that. Not that she couldn't have killed you of course," he let out an empty chuckle, "You need to consider that she is here to lead, as you just said, which requires her showing authority. You try to take or undermine that authority, and you force her to react. But if you stay quiet and you do your job, then I can make sure that incidents like this never occur again." Once again Sir Chester tapped the pommel of his sword. Without waiting for a reply he spun on his heel and headed out of the room. He didn't need a response; he would see soon enough whether or not Orwen could keep himself out of trouble.

---

Lady Buxton left Orwens room and slammed the door behind her. As the adrenaline quickly started to wear off she felt her legs tremble slightly, which pissed her off. She lent against a wall and took deep breaths to help herself calm down, but she could still hear the arrogant son-of-a-bitch through the door and thought that she could still smell the foul stench of his breath. She felt her stomach twist and knot as she remembered the words he spoke, how he spoke of having his way with her. She would rather bathe in the slug-pits of Corisi than sleep with him. Better yet, she would rather go back in there and castrate him so that no other woman would have to sleep with him again. She had heard that he liked to rape and torture slaves, and although the sources were somewhat unreliable, she readily believed it. A tear formed in her eye and she quickly wiped it away. It was unusual for her to lose her temper, but this man seem well versed in the art of getting under peoples skin. "I should have just killed him" she regretfully told herself. There was no use thinking about it more though, and so she pushed herself off the wall and proceeded to the next room.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Gawain had fallen asleep, but the the barking of his dog woke him up again. "Damnit Bravery, go back to- wait..” The words he spoke were drowsy and slowly spoken, but then he realised that someon was knocking on the door. Slowly he got up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and walked to the door. It had been open all along, like he had said. "Yes? What is- oh, it's you, lady Buxton. Please, enter. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone to bed, you told us you'd come by. I'm rambling again, am I not? S-sorry.” Gawain's calm demeanor that he had obtained when speaking with Karen vanished again, and he was back to his nervous self. These men and women were imposing, with their strength and martial prowess. And here he was, a priece with a blunt greatsword on his back. Nothing that could be done he supposed. He slowly walked backwards and into the room, letting Buxton follow him at will. Gawain sat down on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Bravery's head and ruffling his hand through it, before he itched the dog behind it's ear. It perched it head up and moved it's head to follow Gawain's hand, forcing the man to rub where it was best.

"I heard yelling in the room next door, but I was afraid that it was simply Orwen and you argueing again. You two.. are.. something else.” Gawain would've used different words had he been speaking to Karen or Sarah, but since it was the lady herself in front of him, he could hardly call her a hard ass.

"My apologies Father." she said sincerely, "I'm afraid our sponsor has a way of getting under people's skins." She took a seat on his bed, her posture remaining tense.

Her words caused Gawain to laugh, hard. A father, he? "I don't fashion myself a Father. I don't think I am even older than you, and if I am, then it wouldn't be by much.” he said, rather abruptly and rashly. He quickly realised his error and quickly added, "N-not that you look old, the contrary, you look young and beautiful! I mean-” He was only making it worse, and he ended up laying his head into his two palms and resting his elbows on his knees. "Yes, you.. must know what I mean, surely.

Lady Buxton let out a soft chuckle and looked down away from his eyes, more to save him from embarrassment than herself. She was not unused to the advances of men, and in her younger days had been forced to put up with hordes of bachellors from the court trying to take her hand; she was sixth in line to the throne after all. Gawain didn't seem to be coming onto her though, he just struck her as being nice (if not a little bit goofy). "Thank you, I think" she said light-heartedly.

''Regardless, I think you are right. But you must realize that you were born above him, and he was born with nothing. You can hardly expect him to respect you when you treat him like the dirt he was born to be. He now has power, and those who never had anything wield power badly. It would be like..”

Gawain took a moment and started speaking very softly to himself, causing Buxton to only see his lips moving. Meanwhile, Bravery the dog would only stare at Buxton, his head laying on his paws as he was seemingly bored by the entire situation. Then Gawain looked up again and continued. "It would be like Emil and the Apple! Emil was born poor, like Orwen, and was then given an apple by God who had come to pity him. Emil never had anything, so he promptly ate all of the apple without thinking. Then he had nothing again. That is Orwen - he doesn't think about what he had, or what he is, or perhaps even what he can be. He only thinks about how he can get more apples, or in his case, power and money.”

It would all appear a bit meaningless and vague to Buxton and Gawain realised this - it was his way of speaking after all. So he attempted to clarify. "Shamelessly pointing out his origins was not necessarily bad, he was behaving rather rudely after all, but with a man like him, it is better to tempt him with apples than to beat him with a stick. Do you see what I mean, milady?” His wording seemed rather formal and polite, especially given the fact that he was so nervous earlier, but when talking about religious topics he seemed to liven up a bit.

Buxton smiled in response and felt herself relax a bit. She knew little of the Word of Light, but the parable was not completely lost on her. "I know what you mean. But-" she stopped herself from complaining and instead let out a weary sigh. "I'm sure I won't be the only person that he will clash with. I hoped that I could put some fear into him and stop him from running his mouth, but that would seem an impossible task." she let herself flop back and her head bounced slightly as it hit Gewain's pillow. However no sooner that she let herself get comfortable did she quickly pull herself back up so she could speak to her recruit eye to eye. "Enough about that. I am here to talk about you. Why, Gawain Rochilde, do you wish to join the Consano? What are your goals and motivations?"

Gawain was surprised by the nature of the question, rather personal and sudden. He felt like laying back, down on his bed to think about the question, but it seemed that lady Buxton had gotten in the way and he didn't want to come on to her as strange and flirty, so he decided not to lay on top of her to assert his dominance. So all he could do was come up with an answer quickly, and inadvertently more than likely tell her the truth. "Well, my parents fell to the plague. My sister.. probably did too, although I could not confirm that. I suppose she might be alive, but I've not received word. Either way, once I heard of the Consano, it was simply a choice I made. I didn't think about it, but I don't have anywhere else to go. I believe in both the religions in Vahili, so the Church won't take me back, and I have no way of surviving now that the plague has caused panic amongst the populace. Nobody wants religion now, they want safety. All I can do is join the Consano and help save Vahili.”

His reasons seemed good, if they were true. Lady Buxton wanted to comfort him and went to put a hand on his shoulder, but stopped short and pulled it back. She had to keep relationships professional, and keep herself distanced from these recruits. This was not like the Cliffton Guard, these were not friends that were likely to be around for years, they were people that would likely die in the comming weeks. Moreover, she knew that she couldn't afford to really trust anyone. "Fair enough. Many people have found themselves in the same position, although few have tried to join us. What skills and knowledge do you have to offer?"

Gawain was not sure what these questions were really for. Wasn't it enough that he signed up to begin with? Reluctantly, he still answered her questions. "Many people are not me, milady Buxton. I can offer.. well, I can swing my sword. And I have religious knowledge. Maybe it can help, we don't know what the cause of this plague is, it might be religious, although I suspect magic. Regardless religion can comfort people, I suppose I could help calm things down if Orwen gets on your nerves.” He would offer lady Buxton a quick smile and then add on to the comment. "Or console people if you hit them, like you did Orwen.”

"Hahaha!" she chuckled, "Hopefully it won't come to that, but if I do bash any heads I'll be sure to send them your way." As she shared words with him she felt a pang of guilt at the way she and Sir Chester initially treated him when he came in. His theatrics appeared to have just been his way of showing his dedication, and had she listened to him then she probably wouldn't have to be asking these questions now. "What do you know about the North? And do you know anything at all that might help us against the plague?"

Gawain scratched his head comically. There was nothing he really knew about the plague but he wanted to impress lady Buxton, so she'd let him join the Consano. "I know that you hit them in the head. And what I know of the North is that they follow a different religion than the regulars. Even the old gods have different names, and seem to differ from tribe to tribe.” By now the dog Bravery had gotten up and laid down again in Gawain's lap, who seemed content to scratch the dog behind it's ear some more. This gave him some time to think about any additional things he would know about the North or the plague. "I suppose burning them works as well, as long as you make sure that they are thoroughly burned, not just a minute. But to do that you'd probably need to incapacitate them. Cut the legs, or the muscles in the legs. Let them burn for a good hour, and I think they'll die. But I have no proof of this.”

Lady Buxton nodded along as he listed what little he knew. She look at his eyes the entire time that he spoke and, from what she could tell, he didn't appear to be holding anything back. "Thank you Gawain. In that case I'll let you and your companion here get back to sleep. Expect to be woken up at Dawn. We will assemble outside, go over the mission, and then head off." She stood up and walked towards the door, "Good night recruit."

“It’s come to Minorhold.”

Shikoba Athanasi listened to the words and felt his heart sink just a little lower on the downward journey it had begun seven weeks previously.

“The plague”, continued the man speaking to him, “it’s come to Minorhold. They’ve closed the gates to the city; the whole place is locked up tight, but there’re more of them showing up each day.” Shikoba could hear the man’s fear and loathing as he spit out the word them – and he knew without asking precisely what the man was referring to. The plague-stricken.

“Ha!”, scoffed the man’s travelling companion, who’d listened to his friend silently up to that point but now interjected. “Each hour, is more like it!”

“True enough”, replied the first man listlessly.

The two men spoke with an air of fatalistic finality and indifference that sent chills up the spine of the little old man listening to them. As if the world had already ended and there wasn’t anything to be done about it, except perhaps to cluck one’s tongue in disappointment and say “oh, well that’s really too bad then, isn’t it?”

The two men addressing Shikoba Athanasi were on horseback and were, by their own account, making their way south in an effort to escape the Black Blood Plague. They’d stopped to speak with the old man as they’d ridden by, as any news at all was useful in these dangerous days, but they’d been disappointed to learn that Shikoba was heading to The Cross Roads himself and could only tell them what they already knew: the Plague was coming, and it had already overrun the entire north region of the peninsular.

“Were they able to get all of the villagers in the surrounding countryside inside of the walls in time?” asked Shikoba.

“I dunno, dad”, replied the second man, a bit disrespectfully, “we was too busy getting the hell outta there to stop an’ check.”

“There’d been a stream of folks passing through the gates for a coupl’a days afore we left, granddad”, added the first man, rather more respectfully. “I expect most folks got inside alright.”

Shikoba Athanasi simply nodded his head sadly as both men spoke their piece. He felt his gut clench as he thought of what it must have been like in those final moments before Minorhold’s gates clanged shut – and hoped they’d actually closed them in time! – along with a sense of relief that he hadn’t been there to see it. The relief was, of course, followed upon immediately by a sense of guilt over his own selfishness at feeling happy that he was still alive and not locked away in a city surrounded by animalistic cannibals.

The guilt of the survivor; he’d experienced it before, in the wars of his youth, and he knew from those experiences that it would be a while before it ceased to trouble him as greatly as it had done these past several weeks.

“Have you seen a boy?” Shikoba asked. “Of the northern people – like myself – he’s about fifteen”, the old man went on, “with long, dark hair, and the markings of his tribe on both cheeks.” Shikoba pointed at his own wrinkled and leathery cheeks, just under both eyes, with his index and middle finger as he spoke. He tried to keep the worry, hope, and desperation out of his voice.

“We seen lotsa boys these last few days”, scoffed the second man. “More’n a few of ‘em looked like they wanted t’eat us!”

His companion looked askance at him and then back to the old man. “We’ve seen no one who matched your description, granddad. But with all the folk entering Minorhold when we left, he coulda been one of them, and we aren’t like to’ve noticed.”

Once again, Shikoba acknowledged their words with a silent nod. "My thanks to you both for taking the time to speak with an old man such as I. I'll not hold you up any longer - please! Be on your way, and may the Wind herself aid you as you go." Shikoba looked both men in the eyes and offered them a grandfatherly smile. “Perhaps I’ll see you both again at The Cross Roads.”

The first rider offered what seemed to be heartfelt thanks at Shikoba's kind words and benediction, but the second looked unimpressed as he hacked and spit to one side of his horse.

“What’cha headin’ there fer, anyway?” he asked with his now-characteristically disrespectful tone. Then, mischievously and in a blatantly mocking way: “Gonna join that Cone-sanno thingummy, are ya?”

“Consano?” asked Shikoba Athanasi. “Is that the name of the Vasili-king’s expedition to find the cause of the Plague and put a stop to it?”

“Aye, it is”, offered the first man, before his companion could get in another of his jibes at the ancient hermit’s expense.

“Ah”, Shikoba said. “Then yes, I am thinking of offering them my help.”

“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.” Sarah was quiet as the young priest continued to ramble on for a bit. Her response was hardly required as Gawain was obviously quite troubled yet seemed comforted by the sound of his own voice.

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, assassins, daggers and cloaks, rapists, murderers...”

Now this was something that Sarah could agree with. After all, had not the obscene man drenched in finery freely confessed to at least two of these savageries? More than this, the young woman shared in Gawain’s uncertainty that the Consano had even the slightest hope of stopping the plague. For one thing, Sarah had hoped that she might find a number of explorers and like minded scientists who could compare and outdo her own knowledge of this crisis. Instead she was met with a small brigade of sell swords and tired old veterans. Exactly what did King Barius expect that such a band of misfits could accomplish?

“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?”

Though anxious as he was, the healer sensed Gawain’s relief as he quietly chattered about his fears. Sarah continued to sense that this entire conversation was rhetorical. She noticed the deep furrows of his brow as he spoke, and how they hid the three dark dots which appeared tattooed into his flesh. Sarah wondered what these symbols meant, but did not ask. Still, she felt that manners dictated some form of sympathetic response for all his revelations.

When at last he turned to rest against a wall, Sarah began to speak,”We all...”

“You aren’t exactly wrong with that statement there...fufufu” Came a far more intrepid and sultry voice from the other side of Gawain.

Sarah looked past her new acquaintance to see the beautiful dark woman who had discovered the eavesdropper earlier. She stroked Gawain’s face seductively with her long slender fingers and in her eye was a look of intrigue. Her lips pratically caressed his ear as breathed her words.
.” 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.”

To his credit, the young priest seemed startled and while not offended, not entirely impressed with the exotic woman’s flirtation. Sarah had thrown a hand up to steady him when Gawain nearly lost his balance. She raised an eyebrow at the assassin who was busy flaunting her murderous profession. Shame did not seem to be a word familiar to this crowd. The only exception perhaps being with Gawain.

Sarah stood silently as the two conversed about their faith, or lack thereof. Karen offered to buy dinner for the lot of them, but Sarah could see that the invitation was pointed toward Gawain. That suited Sarah just fine. When Gawain declined however, the exotic woman looked to the healer. Perhaps this was out of courtesy, Sarah was sure the assassin did not truly want her company. Still, it would be rude to ignore the offer entirely.

In a convincing Vahili accent, Sarah began her first real words since she had arrived, “May the God of Light keep you, Milady. I’m afraid find myself too exhausted for fellowship.” Sarah’s voice was cool and business like, “However, I pray you eat your fill and enjoy the similar appetites of these many fine men.” Sarah gestured to the crowd of soldiers strewn about the room.

The young healer guessed that food and drink would not satisfy this particular woman’s hunger. All the same, she dropped a few coins into Karen’s sun beaten palms, “Allow me to honor you instead.”

The distraction of Lady Buxton’s booming voice was perfectly timed as far as Sarah was concerned. Before the dark woman could respond, the healer turned her attention toward her new commander. That was, assuming Sarah would indeed join this band.

“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!”

Sarah had grown accustomed to foul language over her years traveling this savage land. Still, there was something unsettling about hearing it from the voice of a woman, and a supposedly noblewoman at that. Despite this Sarah did not cringe as she may have only days before. She could not bring herself to care what words were used by those around her. As of late, such matters had never seemed more insignificant.

What was significant was her own decision about whether to stay. Sarah grunted with frustration at the thought of her first night’s true sleep being interrupted by one of these two nobles. However, the young woman doubted there was anywhere else to stay for the night and it did not seem that Sir Chester or Lady Buxton were the sort to be argued with about interview methods. Glancing around the room, her eyes fell upon the hooded and cloaked man in the center of the room, and an eerie chill crawled up her spine. Sarah decided that a room with a locked door behind her was more inviting than an hour spent wandering about the streets looking for a different tavern.

Sarah watched as several others walked to the slate board and wrote their names. She wondered if adding her own would be considered a true contract. If not signing her name, then perhaps enjoying free lodging for the night would be considered dishonest and misleading. Sarah was determined to learn more about this Consano, and particularly, those leading it, before signing herself over. She wrestled with this dilemma for a while.

For fear of being passed over in the interviews, Sarah decided that she must write her name upon the board and risk retribution should she decide to back out. However, in order to absolve herself of potential deceit, she devised a plan. Approaching the black wall, the young woman selected a slanted piece of chalk and began dragging it across the stone.

“Sarah Payne”

It was her maiden name. By Dawnish law, Sarah would have the right to choose her name following the mourning period of her widowhood. Eventually she would have to decide between her two fathers to claim guardianship and assist her in finding a new husband. Until then, she was answerable to no man. Should she break her word and choose not to join the Consano, it would only be one household she shamed, and by the God of Light it would not be her sweet Cavil’s. She had brought him too much dishonor as it was.

Dishonor. The word weighed heavily upon Sarah’s shoulders as she climbed the wooden planks that served for stairs, dragging her heavy pack behind her. Her failure to provide her Love with an heir before he left this world would likely never be righted. There was still some hope in Sarah’s heart that her monthly bleeding would pass her by, just this once. Perhaps the God of Light would see fit to grant her this mercy and bestow Cavil’s son upon her. Three years of their union had passed and despite endless prayer and petition, she had received no such blessing. Perhaps this time... perhaps.

Sarah did not take the time to scout her surrounding as she kicked open the crooked door to a room. The lock was jammed and Sarah wondered if it would hold when tested. Groaning with frustration, she picked up her pack and moved on to a different room. She was not about to be robbed in the middle of the night for being too lazy to select a decent door. Neglecting to light a candle, the young woman threw off her wool and stripped all but her leather undergarments from her chilled flesh. Stumbling in the darkness, Sarah fell onto the cot, and mustered the last bit of her strength to pull her furs over the thin tavern blankets which smelled of cheap ale and sweat.

I

“Ahh…” Karen made a sound, that was between remembering something and being surprised about it. She just heard the very interesting noise of someone being smashed against a wall. With a smile on her face, Karen raised up from the warm bed, her covers slipping from her body as she left the bed and went to gather her knife from next of the door. She picked it up and threw it in the air a few times, before flicking it to the pile of other knives behind her, without even looking at it. The air felt chilly so she quickly took her linen shirt and pants , giving her at least some amount of protection from the draft and coverage of her skin from the eyes of men. She wasn’t really bothered by showing a lot of skin, but she wasn’t going to have that when it was just a bother. Contrary to what many angry wives of Southarbour believed, Karen wasn’t like the women at the corners of the streets or the brothels. She wouldn’t engage in sexual acts for the sake of it. So she didn’t steal their husbands… it was more like the husbands were trying to run away from their wives. Well it was a good stress relieve and what more a good way to keep warm in the cold northern nights. Still she would occasionally find a woman to keep her company for the night. Totally different experience with it’s own benefits…

With her clothes on, Karen opened the door of her room and quickly took a look in the corridor. Well it was empty now… She missed all the fun, but dressing up… maybe she should just have gone to see the show first and dress up later.” Tche…” She clicked her tongue. At least she was now up so she might as well go to take another jug of wine. Quickly making her way down to the main room of the first floor, she paid for another jug of the red drink and made her way back up to her room.

Walking down the creaky wooden floor of the corridor, she intentionally stepped in a way that will make sound. A few moments later she was back in her room, slowly pushing the door for closing, but not locking it. She had no need to do that for now. She quickly took the empty bowl some wine in it. Then she proceeded to take out the small ebony figure and place it on the ground with the bowl in front of it. With that done Karen took two daggers and placed them in the bowl full of wine.” Skeitha, mother of the eternal night and patroness of all who sin, please hear my prayer.” The assassin began, kneeling with her eyes locked on the figure.” For you better than all know that I fear not death, but a mission is ahead of me. One that I cannot ignore, so please Skeitha, allow me to finish this through before I’m brought to the city of eternal night to face my sins.” Karen prayed to her goddess, offering the wine. Skeitha was goddess of the night and the patron of all sinners. Even in Karen’s lands Skeitha was already an old religion with very few following her. After the prayer was done, Karen took the bowl and placed it on the table… Then she proceeded to taking another cup and pouring some more wine in it. With the prayer done, she now wanted a drink.

Drusus decided he could not sleep as he lay there on his appointed bed, still fully dressed save for his cloak of office, which lay next to him. Or at least he didn't wish to sleep. His gaze had wandered the bare timber ceiling and walls innumerable times. One might think his mind lost to the considerations of his current situation, to what the future would hold and would demand of him, but in truth it ran a single loop. A single affirmative statement: He was in, and though eyes had been batted none had thought to turn him away on account of suspicion or superstition. This was good.

He did not balk at the idea of his new 'commanders' and their questioning. At this point he didn't think they could afford to turn him away, they didn't have much stock to pick and choose from, and if need be he could confide in them his station as an Erudite. If a dignitary would not satisfy them, then the truth would, or at least if it didn't satisfy them then it would give them a reason to keep him along for the journey. Either way he'd be subject to scrutiny, he'd already been. He had seen the furtive glances.

He turned to his side and pushed himself up, rising to sit at the side of the bed. He laid his hands on his knees and gave the floor a glassy stare. He ground his teeth together and his features contorted into a scowl. The thin walls did little to mask the commotion from the halls, and he was more than certain there'd be more of its like as the hours ticked by, as the Consano's leadership made their rounds. He was a light sleeper, and that was under the best of circumstances.

He pushed himself to his feet and circled out towards the foot of his bed, his hands clasped together at his waist. His eyes did another circuit of the room, and nothing had changed, but he could not stop himself. He was almost giddy, despite the languid steps and the half-lidded eyes. His attention turned to the room's lone window, a small one, fogged and dirty. The candles he'd been arranged with lent the filty panes and the world beyond an eerie quality. Twisted caricatures of buildings, some glimmering lights blocks away.

The chaos in the hallway had died down, but he didn't return to bed. He stared out the window for some time, his brow furrowing. He had an inkling of what had transpired out there, he thought he recognized the voices, and he was altogether unsurprised if it was who he thought it was. He sincerely doubted that would be the last time voices were raised.

He reached out and pressed the tip of his first finger to the window's surface. He felt the cold of the outside, the barely perceptible pitter patter of drizzle against it. He shut his eyes and pressed the whole of his hand to the window and electric fire prickled at his scalp, teasing every nerve ending. He felt more, he looked outwards with a sorcerer's eyes. The vision of the cursed soul, not bound by such petty obstacles as the fogged window or gravity itself.

The rain soaked him through, and he could smell and hear and see the city with uncanny clarity. The light and the shadow danced as if drunk, wavering and lurching, but he felt as if he knew it all so intimately, as if he had the eyes of a hawk. There was a thrill in it, even if he felt it was flippant. Idle fancy was a wasteful use of his talents, or so he'd been taught. He chided himself again, something he'd caught himself doing more and more out north.

The greatest swordsmen of Calraddi need not draw their swords, he recited. Words to live by.

He returned from his reverie and opened his eyes. He was relatively warm again. He was dry again. The stale, stuffy air of his accomodations had replaced the icy breeze that stung at his nose. He stepped away from the window and turned to the bed, and he grabbed his cloak and threw it across his shoulders. And then he made for the door. He eased it open, slipped through, and closed it behind himself.

Where did he plan on going? Even he couldn't properly say, but he supposed he had time aplenty before Buxton and Chester would come calling. Maybe he'd venture down to the common room, get something to eat after all. Maybe he'd step out into the bracing cold, if only for a moment. He couldn't go far, true, but there was precious little for him in that room of his.

But, before he could turn and make for the stairs he paused and listened. Curious. At the very edge of his hearing was a mantra being recited, the voice of a woman. A prayer, perhaps. It wasn't conversational, at least, not by any means.

He pivoted on a heel and crept up the hall, one foot after the other, quiet enough to ensure he could still hear what it was he'd heard, but perhaps not quiet enough to escape the notice of any of the room's occupants. And then he had the room, some ways down the hall. The door did precious little to keep the secrets of the woman inside.

"... so please Skeitha, allow me to finish this through before I’m brought to the city of eternal night to face my sins.”

He reached to the doorhandle and turned it with a careful caution. It was unlocked, he found, and so he eased the door itself open. He let the doorhandle go free and slipped his hand back under his cloak. The door creaked the rest of the way open until it met the wall.

He spied the room's occupant, and he spied the idol she'd been beseeching there on the floor. It was the swarthy woman, he remembered her from the crowd downstairs. She'd been talkative, he remembered. She was busy exchanging words with some of the other prospective members of the Consano. More important was the array of knives she had on display there, and the particular way in which she carried herself. It wasn't a casual gait, but one that looked practiced. Acquired.

Mark her, he mused to himself, She'll be more dangerous than the others.

"I've seen her worshippers before, I think," he murmured, with a gesture towards the Skeithan idol, "Little totems. Dark skin. Loose clothes. Not unlike you. From far away, hm?" He permitted himself a small smile as he spoke from the threshold. His gaze went from her to the pitcher and bowl she had, and he extended an open hand. "May I come in?"

As she was reciting her prayer, Karen noticed the sound made by the creaky floor of the inn. Eventually the steps stopped in front of her own room and she sensed the air stirring as the door was opened. Karen threw a look at the door with the edge of her sight arc. She recognized the silhouette of the mage fellow who appeared earlier that night.

“From far away indeed… Beyond the ocean to the south, in the lands of vast deserts, where loose clothing is quite fitting. Here the first winter night will have me freeze to death if I appear with the clothes from the lands of my birth. I must say that I’m surprised you’ve seen other followers of Skeitha though. Not many of us still exist.” Karen replied with a smile turning towards the man.

Now at this closer distance Karen’s assumptions proved even more evident. She had met mages in the past, even those from far away lands who came to the castle of her master. This precise design of the cloak was hard to forget.” But of course, I wouldn’t dare refuse a mage from Florine’s Synod if my memory serves me well. I once saw a envoy of the Synod in my country. Though I must admit, he was just a husk of an old man.” She added, raising from her place on the floor and gesturing towards the table where there was still some food and the full jug of wine.” Care to join me for a drink?”

“Did I by chance woke you up with my chants? If so, I apologize, but it was kind of hard to sleep with all the noise going on with Lady Buxton and the Slaver. Besides it seemed like a good time to offer a prayer.” She said, looking the man in his brown eyes. Eyes were the windows to the soul. His gave away the strength of his resolve. He was a man who desired something and was ready to act for it.

Reaching for the jug, Karen poured two cups of wine.” So your name is Drasus?” Karen asked, sliding a cup of wine towards the mage and took a sip form her own cup." Tell me if it's not a problem, what brings you to this plague ridden land?" She said with calm voice. While any mage was a danger, here at this place she doubted he would cause her harm. He stood to gain nothing from doing so and if mages were known for one thing, that's was that they don't often act without reason.

Unlike Lady Buxton, Sir Chester did not need to deal with the adrenaline shakes as he left Orwen’s room. That didn’t mean the encounter hadn’t affected him though, and as he stood in the hallway outside of their sponsor’s room scanning the closed doors that lined it he took his time selecting which one to knock on first. A moment passed, and the veteran knight let out a small sigh, squared his shoulders, and stepped across the hall to a nearby door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Sarah’s eyes slowly opened in the darkness. She squinted, attempting to locate the door where the dull thuds were coming from. Dim candlelight shone in a thin line along the floor. Pushing off the blankets and furs, Sarah climbed to her feet before realizing she was half naked. Scanning the floor with her finger tips, she quickly found her linen dress and pulled it over her smooth skin.

“Was doing this in the middle of the night truly necessary?” She wondered with much irritation. Stumbling through the darkness, Sarah unlatched the bolt and yanked open the heavy door with some difficulty. At the last moment, she attempted to smooth back the tendrils which had fallen from her golden braid.

Standing in the doorway was Sir Chester. Sarah's hand shot to her chest, ensuring that her bosom was fully covered before the Knight. Part of her wished that Lady Buxton had come instead. However, she instinctively assumed that since he was a man, Sir Chester was likely the one in charge. "It's just as well," she thought to herself, "Better to get my questions answered from someone who knows what's going on."

"Yes?" Came Sarah's voice, her practiced Vasilli accent on full display.

“Oh…” Sir Chester replied, not quite managing to keep his surprise at finding himself unexpectedly face to face with a woman entirely concealed. He hadn’t exactly cared whose door he was knocking on when he’d chosen this one, but neither had he expected one of the only two female recruits his and Lady Buxton’s mission had acquired to be the person to open it. (And yet, at the same time, a part of him had hoped it was the exotic assassin’s room he’d chosen… ah well, better luck next time.) Almost as soon as the sound had slipped past his lips however, Chester had his surprise in check and was all business once again.

He cleared his throat and said, “My apologies for disturbing you at this hour, Miss… Payne, was it?”

Sarah nodded her head in affirmation and Chester went on, “Right. Again, my apologies Miss Payne. I’m here to conduct the interview that Lady Buxton indicated would be performed this night concerning your reasons for applying for a place in the Consano.”

Sarah studied Sir Chester for a short moment. He was a good deal older than she. His face was tanned indicating he had not spent his life in a study like herself. The first lines of age were beginning to show around the corners of his face. A bit of scraggle near his chin confirmed that he had been on the move lately. “He likely hasn’t had any more time to rest than me” She thought, feeling a bit guilty for pitying herself.

Chester stopped himself at that point, his mouth open as if to say more, and his gaze catching Sarah’s with an expression on his face that wasn’t quite readable (she was already noticing that this man was not one to let his true feelings show). His moment of indecision – if that was what it even was – lasted only an instant and then he asked simply, “May I enter?”

The young healer looked back into the blackened room awkwardly, “Yes, of course.”

She swung the door wide, hoping the dim candle light in the halls would illuminate the room while she searched for her lantern. As Sir Chester stepped forward, Sarah became acutely aware of the rest of her clothes piled on the floor near her cot. Quickly she snapped them up and tossed them next to her pack. Fumbling through the large bag, she found her oil lantern and retrieved an already lit candle from the hall to set it ablaze.
Sir Chester tried not to be obvious about it as he watched the younger woman’s attempt at an impromptu cleanup as she searched for something to light the room with (and was mostly successful in his attempt). The King’s Knight silently reprimanded himself: he should’ve thought to bring a lantern of his own, given the late hour. As he watched, Chester couldn’t help notice just how tired Sarah seemed and found himself wondering what her story was. What series of events had brought her here and prompted her to sign up for this suicide mission?
The air was chilly outside of her blankets, and goose bumps appeared across her thin arms. Politely she extended a hand toward her cot, being the only furniture in the room, and beckoned Sir Chester to sit. She considered closing the door for a moment., but thought better of trapping herself in a room with a man she didn’t know. Knight or not, he was still a stranger.

When Sarah indicated her intention that he take a seat on her cot Chester looked from her hand to the small bed, one corner of his mouth quirking just slightly, as though smiling at a private joke. Returning his gaze to Sarah’s, the little half-smile still evident, he only said, “I think I’ll stand.”

Sarah wondered if the crooked smile upon Chester’s face was a smirk. Regardless, it was not an altogether unpleasant gesture. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks and quickly dropped her hand to her side.

“As you wish. What do you want to know?” she replied softly when he refused her invitation. She longed to sit upon the cot herself. Somehow she felt even more exhausted than she had before falling asleep an hour before. Still, she followed Sir Chester’s lead, and stood.

The smile faded as Chester nodded in response to Sarah’s question and he returned to business. “Only what your intentions are in applying to the Consano, miss Payne. You must know our mission will be a dangerous one. What made you sign your name on that blackboard downstairs? What is it you hope to accomplish, should we accept your application?”

Sarah was silent for a few moments as she considered how to answer this man, “My hope is no different than anyone else’s: that this campaign will bring about a swift end to the plague.” A ‘swift end’ to the plague, hmm? That would be nice, thought Chester, but he highly doubted that would be the way of it. He did not tell Sarah Payne of his misgivings though; only listened to her as she said her piece.

Sarah was quiet again and chose her next words carefully, “Yes I do realize there will be certain… risks involved. However, I am not unaccustomed to traveling under difficult conditions and I trust you’ll find me a fair bit hardier than I seem.”

The young woman fought the urge to become vexed when the Knight gave her a doubtful look. She was used to people underestimating her. Physical endurance aside, Sarah had learned that she must always prove herself in some manner. Being the prodigiously young healer that she was, there had always been those who initially doubted her talents and usefulness. That would be before she had the chance to perform.

“I have a number of skills that may be useful to you. I am an accomplished healer and I have demonstrated high surgical quality on a consistent basis. In addition to this I possess knowledge of the stars and how to use them to navigate in any terrain. I speak three languages to varying degrees and have been educated in the liberal and scientific arts.” Sarah felt a bit of pride well up inside of her, and she reminded herself that the humble are ultimately exalted by the God of Light.

His eyebrows rose slightly as the blonde woman described her skills at healing – and even surgery! That was no small advantage to have in hand when things went bad, as Chester knew they would – and probably sooner rather than later. The other skills she listed would likely come in handy as well.

“I will admit that I am not much of a fighter. That is… I cannot fight at all. Should we find ourselves in eminent danger I will likely concern myself with avoiding rather than confronting it” The young healer knew how bravery and zeal was held in such high esteem by these Knights. She hoped that her confession would be seen as wise rather than dishonorable. Quickly she added, “I am not a coward, I simply know my limitations. You understand of course?”

As she finished with her confession of not being a fighter, Sir Chester held up his hand and answered reassuringly, “I do. Being able to defend oneself is, of course, a valuable skill for a prospective member of our company to possess, I’ll admit. But I don’t think either Lady Buxton or myself ever believed that a strong sword arm was all that we’d need to put an end to this plague. Someone with your skills would absolutely be of use to us, Miss Payne.”

The Knight paused a beat and favored Sarah with a brief but pleasant smile that he hoped would reassure, and then said, “Do you have any… any letters of recommendation? Something I can see that lets me know you are what you claim to be?”

Sarah was relieved that Sir Chester did not press the issue of her poor martial skills. When he asked her to give him some proof of her identity however, she felt her heart jump a bit. She had plenty of proof to be sure, it was in the form of letters she and Cavil had exchanged with her father-in-law. Unfortunately they all addressed her by her married name. Sarah guessed that an initial mark of dishonesty would not be well received by her new leader.

She did have a certificate of graduation with her maiden name from the University at Lion’s Keep, but this would reveal her Dawnish origins no doubt. She considered showing him her surgical equipment, but decided that this would do little to display her actual talent. Besides, those tools were artfully wrapped and buried deep in her pack.

The young woman gave Sir Chester a long hard look. Her mouth was pulled in a tight line as she considered his character and whether or not she could trust him to treat her fairly. She had known some of the most respectable men to behave like scoundrels when prejudice clouded their senses.

“I do have some accounting” She said, turning to her bag. Opening a side pouch, Sarah retrieved the wrinkled page which attested to her education and medical specialty. Slowly, she extended the page toward the Knight, setting her eyes upon his as she did.

Sarah’s reaction to Chester’s request for proof of her identity was readily evident to him, and the Knight’s own expression hardened somewhat as the blonde woman regarded him with drawn mouth and a troubled gaze. Chester had, frankly, not expected this reaction, and now he was beginning to wonder if the woman was in fact a fraud of some kind. Quickly enough however, she’d come to a decision and turned to her bag for what he hoped was the proof he’d requested.

Still troubled by the look she was giving him, Chester took the proffered piece of paper from Sarah’s hand and began to read it. His lips moved slightly but silently as he read the certificate’s words and his brow, already prone to furrowing of its own accord, furrowed deeper still as his expression clouded over. “This is a certificate of graduation from the University of Lion’s Keep”, Chester said, looking up from the page in his hand and locking eyes with Sarah. “That’s a Dawnish city”, he added, unnecessarily but pointedly.

Sir Chester looked as though he suddenly had quite a lot more to say and quite a few questions on his mind, but after taking a moment to look back down at Sarah’s certificate with pursed lips his gaze returned to hers and he said only, “Explain this.”

Sarah stiffened in the candlelight. A mixture of embarrassment and indignation welled up inside of her. Knight or not, this man was obviously a soldier. In her experience, Vasili soldiers rarely gave Dawnish men any honor beyond that of their swords. She shuddered to think of the hundreds of her countrymen she had worked on under the tutelage of her masters. Most of them were barely more than boys. But no day had been so bloody as the Battle of the Chalk. Sarah briefly wondered if Sir Chester had been there all those years ago, and if so, how many fells of his sword she had stitched up and nursed to health for months afterward.

“I hardly see what requires an explanation…” She began defiantly, working to keep her voice even and without sarcasm. “I am in fact a Dawnish woman. I have spent these past three years in Vasili bringing mercy from The God of Light to those who call for it.”

“So you’re a missionary, then?” Chester asked, his tone of voice making it sound more like a statement than a question. A statement of a fact he found distasteful. Sir Chester was not fond of the Church of Light, and those of its members who came to his country for the express purpose of proselytizing and forcing their ways onto his countrymen could not expect a warm welcome from him.

Sarah nodded, extending her chin toward the ceiling slightly and standing to her full height. She could see that this was not a welcome revelation in the eyes of the man. The young healer was used to suspicion and even outright hatred once she identified as a missionary. And what’s more, a Dawnish missionary. But she had always had Cavil to lean on and do the majority of their speaking. She was after all, the healer more than the priest. It seemed now she would have to be both.

“You don’t sound Dawnish”, Chester observed laconically as his gaze returned to the certificate and the words on its page. He read more carefully this time, and after a moment he pulled his attention away from it again and handed the certificate back to Sarah. “This seems legitimate enough, I’ll grant you”, allowed Chester with obvious reluctance, “but what brings a Dawnish missionary here? What would motivate her to join the Consano?” His expression, though unfriendly, seemed genuinely curious as he awaited Sarah's answer.

The woman had prepared a half-true explanation for her hidden accent. Spending so much time in Vasili, some of its ways had shown themselves on her. However, the Knight seemed less interested in her answer than he did in the words on her certificate.

“…I’ll grant you. But what brings a Dawnish missionary here? What would motivate her to join the Consano?”

This time, instead of a skip, she felt in her heart a painful thud. “What would motivate a Dawnish missionary, indeed? Especially one of her age.” The answer was reason enough in her opinion, but she took one look at the Knight’s stern expression and decided that he was the least of people she would make herself vulnerable to. A pity, there was some part of her that longed to share her grief.

“My reasons are of a personal nature,” She began, “If I have your acceptance based upon merit alone then I’ll insist upon some level of privacy… out of respect.”

This moment would be telling to Sir Chester’s nature. Sarah waited quietly, crossing one arm over her chest defensively. Yet she continued her tall and practiced posture, concealing her uncertainty and sorrow.

The King’s Knight regarded the proud – yet somehow careworn and fragile-seeming – woman before him. She was Dawnish and a missionary of the Church of Light, two facts that ranked very low on the list of things Chester was comfortable with, but she was also a truly gifted healer and surgeon, and those were two things they could definitely use on their journey. He recalled the other skills she’d listed off and noted that those too would be useful as they traveled further north.

What really bothered Chester though was her insistence of privacy and of not sharing her full motivation for applying to the Consano. Almost despite himself he found that he believed her when she said that her motivations were personal; the expression on Sarah’s face was a proud and defiant one that gave no ground, but Chester could nonetheless detect something mournful underlying everything in the woman’s bearing. It was clear that the Plague – or events surrounding it – had done her wrong in some fashion. And yet… the woman had clearly not intended to reveal her origins to him, and Chester was not someone who appreciated it when people intentionally hid things from him.

Still regarding Sarah with eyes that gave away nothing, Chester suddenly looked away from her and expelled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and said, “Someone of your skills would be exceptionally useful to us in our endeavor…”

The young healer studied Sir Chester’s indecipherable face. Had she asked for too much? There was an awkward moment of silence between the two. He seemed to be searching her soul with his eyes. Sarah shifted weight ever so slightly to one side, and fought to maintain eye contact with the knight. She would show this man no weakness.

He paused briefly and, returning his eyes to hers, continued, “I’ll need to speak with the Lady Buxton about…”, and he waved one hand vaguely towards the certificate he’d just handed back to her (and all that its contents implied), “all of this. She will be the one to make the final decision, and will render it to you in the morning. I’ll be sure to mention your… requirements… concerning privacy to her.”

The young woman was distracted by the realization that Lady Buxton, rather than Sir Chester was the true leader of this Campaign. “A woman?” she wondered to herself. She did not notice that her visitor was still considering if he should say more.

“I’ll see myself out, goodnight Miss Payne.” He said finally, at once gaining Sarah’s full attention.

"Goodnight, Sir Chester" She answered back. The knight glanced over his shoulder at the young woman, gave a solid nod, then continued on his way. When the door was shut, Sarah was left with a lingering sense of exposure. For a moment she forgot her fatigue and made a few hurried paces about the small room, rubbing her hands together as she did. Would she be accepted on this mission? Did she even wish to be accepted? She didn’t know for certain.

The light of her lantern flickered as she swept about the room, casting thin shadows on the wooden walls. Outside an owl hooted, and Sarah remembered that this would be her last chance of civilized sleep for what might be a very long time.

Sir Chester stepped back into the rustic hallway and closed the door carefully behind him. For a moment he lingered quietly outside of Sarah’s room, listening out for sounds he was not sure of. He could hear the small woman pacing, the sounds of Katrina talking in another room, and an owl hooting nearby. With a small sigh he carried on down a couple of doors to continue his task. He was suspicious of Sarah, of her hidden motivations and want of privacy, but a part of him knew that his own biases may have clouded his judgement. He – no, they – could not afford to make conclusions based off his own terrible experiences.

“Care to join me for a drink?”

A soft voice that Sir Chester instantly knew to be Karen’s escaped through the edges of her closed door as he passed. Yet again he found himself pausing for a moment and listening in. From what he could hear, she now had Drasus in her room for company and he felt his heart sink in his chest. ”So much for that then…” he muttered internally, trying to convince himself that he didn’t really care. With little more than a grumble Sir Chester cleared his mind and moved to another door, one which appeared to not have shut properly.

”KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!”

Without waiting for an answer Sir Chester softly pushed the ajar door open wide, revealing the modest looking man that had so far seemed to avoid attention. “Mathis Azaïs?”

Even with the rickety wooden shutters squeezed shut, moonlight somehow crept into barren room. It was just what Zacharias imagined a Vasili inn would look like: Dingy, dirty, absolutely dismal. Still, he thought, at least I'm warm. That he was, though it came at the cost of a bit of dignity, as he was wrapped up in several layers of blankets. His arms, however, were free, and he made certain that they were stylishly spread apart. Zacharias slightly wiggled his toes, wondering how many he'd still have by the time his journeys in that frozen wasteland up north had come to an end.

At least he had a clear view of the door. Zacharias was absolutely convinced that he must make a good impression when the inspector entered, and that meant looking entirely relaxed. Looking confident was half the battle. If you can make a person believe something, it may as well exist. Assumptions are tricky things, like that. He hadn't made any attempt to disguise his Dawnish accent. His origin was, ultimately, something that would eventually come out, and he'd rather it be known from the get-go than be surrounded by some very irate people in a frigid wasteland.

Suddenly, Zacharias was snapped out of his reverie. The sounds of hushed conversation... And the opening of a door? He hastily threw a couple blankets off of him, and stretched his legs out, resting them on a chest he had dragged out in front of the chair he was lounging on. If whoever found him was going to get an impression of him, he was damn convinced that it'd be one of readiness.

Though still in a mood after her encounter with Orwen, Lady Buxton was feeling much better about things since interviewing Gawain. The man was… interesting, to say the least, but he had also turned out to be very nearly the exact opposite of the Consano’s ill-received benefactor in most ways, and that was precisely what she’d needed in order to calm herself down. Her interview with the agnostic priest was concluded though, and there were still plenty more potential recruits for her to interview before the night was done.

Unlike Sir Chester had done only moments before, Lady Buxton did not choose her next candidate entirely at random. Instead she simply moved to the next door down. Like her second in command, however, she really had no idea who would be on the other side of that door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Zacharias' head jerked up once again. Not a particularly quiet knock. Good thing I had to sense to stay awake for this. Mental patting on the back done, Zacharias got to thinking. He wasn't entirely sure if the knock was meant to be a friendly warning, or an actual query as to whether or not the knocker could come in. Well, it didn't matter, did it? Zacharias lazily called out to whoever was on the other side of the door.

"Yes, yes, feel free to come in. I'm decent, you won't have to control yourself.

Just to be safe, Zacharias tossed another blanket off, and as the door creaked open, he made sure to be stretching as luxuriously as possible.

On the other side of the door, Katrina’s head jerked back slightly at Zacharias’ response to her knocking. I’m decent, you won’t have to control yourself? Control herself from what?

She thought she recognized the voice of the blonde sunshine that the assassin woman had surprised at the inn’s front door earlier that evening; either the man had a very dry sense of humor or a very large ego. Remembering what she’d seen of the man’s personality from earlier, the Lady Buxton certainly knew which side of that bet her money lay on. She mentally shrugged and suppressed a wry smile as she cautiously pushed open the door to Zacharias’ room and stuck her head in.

“Hello…”, she began as her eyes adjusted to the room’s dim interior. After a moment, she was able to make out the man sitting in the tiny room’s only chair, stretching himself as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A finely-shaped eyebrow arched itself bemusedly upon Katrina’s brow as she took in the sight of the blonde man before her, draped in his blankets – with still more of them bunched up on the floor around him – as he stretched and yawned like someone entirely indifferent to her presence. (Had the man raided every other room in the inn for its blankets, she wondered? He certainly had enough of them.)

“…I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Lady Buxton asked Zacharias, her tone somewhere between humor and annoyanc

"Hello..." The Lady began. Zacharias returned her greeting with an amicable two-fingered wave. No need to be rude, even if she had slighted him earlier. He knew that sometimes he could come across as a tad prideful, but there were some people that you couldn't dismiss for their actions. That is, until you worked your way up to be their equal. Gently shaking his head, Zacharias stopped thinking about the abstract, and focused on the particulars. Lady Buxton's particulars, in fact. His eyes, usually narrowed in laughter or suspicion, openly scrutinized her expression as the lady grew used to the gloom. He shifted slightly in his chair, comfortable due to his own small frame, and rested his chin upon his fist. At least he seemed to be generating some kind of response from the good lady.

"...I'm not disturbing you, am I?" She seemed unsure if she was to be irritated by his presence or amused. Might as well convince her while she's still confused.

"Disturb? Perish the thought! I was just relaxing for a spell. Doesn't hurt to sleep with one eye open, eh?" Zacharias tapped his temple, as if this was some sort of ancient wisdom that he was parting with. Really, most nights Zacharias slept like a log, but you know what they say about first impressions. Playing the wise, yet devastatingly attractive, soldier wouldn't hurt.

“Consider the thought duly slain and laid to rest, then”, Lady Buxton replied dryly, stifling another wry smile in response to the blonde man’s over-the-top mannerisms. Thus far, everything about Zacharias’ manner had spoken of an attitude that was… well she wasn’t sure what it was, honestly, but it did not seem to be an attitude that the man knew how to turn off.

Zacharias, for his part, merely grinned a shit-eating grin and said, “How can I help you, m’lady?”

Katrina was beginning to wonder how productive this was going to be. She was going to need honest, straightforward answers from all of the potential recruits and she was none too sure that this strange Dawnish man would be able to provide her any. Still, he had shown up in the first place, which was more than she could say for the hundreds of other perfectly able-bodied men who’d passed the Consano’s recruitment sign by without a second glance, and he’d also put up with a certain amount of personal abuse when he'd first arrived without giving up or leaving, so Lady Buxton figured she at least owed him a chance to prove himself worthy of their expedition.

So she squared her shoulders, stepped decisively into the room, and favored Zazharias with a polite – but not too polite – smile. “I’m here to speak with you about your possible recruitment into the Consano”, Katrina answered him, and said, “Tell me, if you would, why do you wish to join our mission?”

Zacharias sucked in a breath. This was it. The make-it-or-break-it moment. The precipice between lies and truth, his last chance to give someone an honest version of his life's sto-

"I was a pirate, you know."
Or he could run his stupid mouth and lie right away. Inwardly, Zacharias sighed, but kept up the facade of sober truth.
"Only for a few years, but I made enough mistakes to last... A lifetime."
He ran a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to clench his fists. Deep, natural breaths.
"I'm certain you've noticed the accent. Charming, I know, but ultimately detrimental to my time here. The fact is, I want to prove that I am not going to disguise my origins, to anybody."
Smooth. Zacharias finally met Lady Buxton's gaze, and leaned forward.
"What I want to get out of the Consano is redemption."

Great, Buxton thought, Dawnish and a former pirate. Just what she was looking for! Unlike many she cared little about nationality, with most of her father's side of the family scattered across the known world. A pirate though? From all she knew a pirate was just a bandit of the sea... and she didn't like bandits.

“Well, that is…”, she began, trying to sound genuine, “…an admirable goal. Your forthrightness is appreciated as well.”

She eyed him, trying to think, and said “The name you gave downstairs was ‘Zacharias Hellacious’, wasn’t it?”

The former pirate seated before her simply nodded in affirmation, and Katrina nodded back, thinking.

Prior to the outbreak Lady Buxton would have scoffed at the idea of recruiting a pirate into her ranks, yet now that they were only a short night’s sleep away from departure and the official beginning of their mission she was finding herself willing to take what she could get. So the Lady put away her biases and determined to continue with the interview. She did wonder, however, how useful a pirate would be in their endeavor. 'Surely another fighter if nothing else' she thought.

“What skills does a pirate have to offer us, I wonder? We aren’t like to spend much time on any boats, you know?” Though her question was challenging, Buxton’s relaxed tone made it clear she was just looking for information from the man.

Zacharias allowed himself a small smile, and clutched at his chest. His flair for the dramatic never disappeared for long.

"What skills can I offer? Please! What don't I have to offer?"
Zacharias began to list off skills, counting on his fingers as he went.

"I'm excellent in a scrap, have the utmost knowledge of how to work in crowded and miserable conditions, can speak in three languages and swear in seven, I have a great talent for rigging and knots, know several ways to talk down a person in a desperate situation, and perhaps best of all, I can cook a mean bass."

Most of it was bluffing. Not the bass, that was a family recipe, and the only thing that he could happily associate with home.

Evidently done, Zacharias straightened a bit more in his chair, once again meeting the Lady in the eyes. He had to dominate the conversation, now, to drive his point home.

"Listen, I realize that I may not be the 'ideal' member of the Consano, but really, who is? Surely defending our homes and loved ones from gibbering monstrosities is a banner that people from all walks of life can unite under? If it makes you feel better, I did give up the criminal life even before I had the inkling to join up with your lot."

"Defending our homes and loved ones" - those were the words that struck a cord with Katrina. Before her was a man whose home was across the sea, in a country that was at war with hers, but this plague would soon threaten Dawn as much as it currently threatened Vasili. This really was a enemy to all, and the Consano would be foolish to turn away anyone. "I certainly hope so." she remarked, "Tell me then, what do you know about this plague? Have you seen it first hand or heard anything that might prove useful?"

As Zacharias seemed to ponder over his answer, Katrina let her eyes scan around the room. She took in every little detail, from the heap of foisty smelling blankets beside him, to the dwindling candles on the bedside table, to the buckler and rapier beside his bed. He seemed to be travelling light, as were most, which meant there were few inferences that she could make. She would have to judge him on words and actions alone (which wasn't necessarily a bad thing).

Zacharias paused, tilting his head to one side as he wracked his brains for information.

“I'll admit, I don't know much. Only that the infected are incredibly difficult to kill.”
A wry smile scrawled its way across his face.

“On the bright side, at least I haven't been scared off yet.”
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a faux conspiratorial whisper.

“To be honest, I might not have thought this entirely through.”
The smile became a grin, and Zacharias let slip a self-conscious chuckle.

“What do you know, then, m'lady?”

Katrina looked to the floor and gave a small smirk, although not a particularly offensive or rude one, in response to his question. She took a few small steps back on the creeky old floorboards and opened the door, spinning lightly on heels as she did so. "Not enough..." she finally replied before leaving, closing the door behind her.

Drusus lingered there on the threshold, his gaze flitting from her, to the idol, and then to the proferred drink. His thin smile lingered just the same as she spoke, as she told him of lands he'd only known by hearsay and by old, yellowed texts. The vast deserts of the south and their enigmatic inhabitants and their even more enigmatic customs were not a topic he, or really any outsider, was typically well informed about. He had an inkling of what the name Skeitha represented though, the dangerous domains of that unassuming little coal-black idol. Not until now did he recognize the little, quiet goddess. And, while he did not fear the goddess herself he did recognize what she represented.

He stepped inside with a dipping of his head, a nod of acknowledgment of her words, and brought the door closed behind himself. He crossed the room more quietly than he had approached - and entered - with each step being weighed carefully. He looked preoccupied as he moved, his gaze making unspoken considerations clear, making it very apparent that his guard was not down. There was an intensity that suggested he was not at ease, but it wasn't fear.

He reached up and slid his hood from his head, letting it fall back and collapse inwards on itself against his neck as she struck up the conversation again, and as she said the words that did away with any pretensions of being cunning or maintaining an alias. She knew where he came from! The shadow of a grimace danced across his features, but he remained composed. In fact, his smile widened some, it grew knowing, as if they were sharing a joke.

"The old ones are the ones you need to be careful of, though if you know of us, then I expect you know that as well," he murmured, indicating with an extended hand that she pour him out a cup.

He reached across and took up the cup, and he brought it to his lips and sipped a small measure, more as a courtesy than an actual want. He swallowed down the sour red drink without much ceremony. Maybe a little bit of Florine wine snobbery had rubbed off on him, or maybe he just didn't care one way or the other. Regardless, to have been served here? It was no luxury, he knew, he wouldn't be expected to treat it like one.

"You didn't wake me. I haven't slept," he answered, with a dismissive wave of his free hand. His grin twitched at the thought of the exchange he'd heard down the hall. "They didn't help, those two, I agree. I suppose I'm busy fretting over things," he paused and gestured to Skeitha, "And I suppose you two also were."

He drank again, and he brought his shoulders up in a small, also dismissive shrug. "I am called Drusus. It is my name as an Erudite." He scoffed and set aside his cup, back on the table, and he folded his sleeve-draped arms across his chest. "My benefactor Baronessa di Feinna sent me north. She and my order, that is. But if you're asking about my intentions? Well, I think I'm here for the same reason as everyone else. The plague. The hysteria it brought on can't be escaped back home. Though, this hardly seems like the ideal bunch to handle a disease, don't you think?"

Gwenyfar Cerrunos Ravenspire

Clippity, clop; clippity, clop; clop, clop. The continuous sounds of Asper’s hooves hitting the dirt road filled the cavity of her mind without bother. The woman atop the handsome steed’s back, a beautiful deep bay stallion, a well muscled creature that could cover distances quickly. The woman adorned in a simple green woolen cloak, held the reins gingerly in her left hand. Her posture still remained erect in the saddle despite many days riding. She had come from Titus, a near fortnight ago, on a job.

The job itself? Find and rescue Bartholomew Grey. Bartholomew was the son of a trading merchant, Cassius Grey. The reason for the rescue? Cassius enlisted Gwenyfar’s help to bring his son home before the plague spread too quickly and took his son. When she got to Titus, the villagers, those that remained and hadn't fled further south, told her that Bartholomew resided in a cottage about seven and three-quarters of a mile outside of town. She road north as they directed, and discovered a hamlet completely burned to the ground. She had searched through the remains of the dead, through their charred homes to locate any evidence of the young man. It hadn't been long in her search before she came upon a cottage fitting the description, yet, on a wooden pole erected in the center of the path, was a piece of parchment tacked to the pole. Gwenyfar could still recall the faded writing as she had looked upon the scratchy runes, bleached from the sun, and withered from the rain.

“DO NOT ENTER. ERE IN LIES B. GREY. SET HIMSELF AFIRE AND HIS HOUSE. THE PLAGUE IS COMING FOR US ALL. ~ B. Grey” ‘Twas a suicide note.

Upon further investigation, Gwen discovered that indeed, he had set himself and his cottage ablaze. She found his body curled in a fetal position, his charred body unrecognizable. Yet, in the dim light, Gwen found a pendant clutched in his dead grasp. Through careful extraction, Gwen pried the pendant from his grasp and pocketed it. Not for herself, but for Cassius. She confiscated the note as well for further proof.

It bothered her to be a bringer of bad news, but there was no other way to tell them the truth. She wondered if Cassius would still pay her the 100 gold coins, since she had found his son but couldn't rescue him.

The morning sunlight broke through the grey dawn clouds, sending bright shafts of light to illuminate the dark. She could see now, The Cross Roads. Gwenyfar slowed Asper to a walk, to let him begin his cool down; there was no sense in overworking a horse that would be your only mode of transportation. And your only means of escape from the Black Blood Plague.

As she entered the Cross Roads, Gwen passed by The Kevil’s Arms tavern. She had only been at the inn three weeks ago, and a sign had already been erected in the doorway. She didn't bother to read it as she had more important things to do at the moment. Report to Cassius.

Finding Cassius proved not to be too difficult of a task for her, as she spotted the flamboyant trader selling his wares from a wagon cart in the small market area where the other, pitiful vendors had come as well. Dismounting, Gwenyfar approached Cassius, drawing out the pendant from a pocket on the interior of her leather jerkin.

“Cassius Grey.” She began until the merchant looked her direction, eyes quizzical.

“Any word of my son? What do you have to tell me?” He inquired vicariously.

“I found this, Mr. Grey.” She responded as she proceeded to hand him the burnt pendant. He examined it closely, and looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

“Is this all that you have found? Do you mean to tell me he's dead?” His voice cracked as his throat tightened in disbelief and despair.

“Aye. Is this his handwriting?” Again, Gwen produced another item. The suicide note. His hands tore it from her grasp as his eyes read the disheartening words.

“Aye.. This is by his hand.” His voice sounded purely mournful as he spoke, Gwen could hear it as plain as day. She waited in silence before he said anything else. It wouldn't be right to demand payment while he mourned at the first word of news.

Turning to leave Cassius, Gwen started for Asper before she heard him call out. “Wait! I should at least give you your pay.” The man hurried after her.

She turned to face him and was surprised to see him dip into his coin purse and retrieve an even smaller satchel of coins.

“You did not bring him back, but you found him and brought me closure. With the world going to hell, I can at least be a man of honor and keep my word. In that pouch is the full payment which I owe you. Thank you for your service. I never did get your name?”

She offered him a ghost of a smile, as she could feel his pain, the loneliness was far too well known to her. “I am Willowleaf.” With that they shook hands firmly and Gwenyfar departed to find a local smithy of some sort if said It was still fairly early in the day, just after noon.

As she approached The Kevil's Arms, Gwen spotted the sign she had seen earlier on her ride into town. The sign directed anyone willing to join the Consano to seek inside. She shrugged her shoulders half-heartedly, as if being apart of the Consano would be good for her.

She continued on her way, her green cloak whipping in the wind behind her as she walked; keeping her head low all the while.

The smithy, if you could call it that, was a tiny edifice with a center forge and anvil, other than that, she did not even spot a tanning rack, nor any type of bench, nor grindstone. Frowning at the quality of the forge, Gwen determined she couldn't have everything.

A burly man, with heavily etched wrinkles in his face shaped a new blade by stretching the metal with each resounding swing of his hammer. She watched him work as she leaned against a wooden post for some time before approaching him.

“If you need some help, I'd kindly lend a helping hand.” Offered Gwenyfar out of the blue, speaking loud enough for him to hear her.

The brute of a man jumped at her words, looking at her with brows raised. He studied her for several hard moments before he began to laugh raucously.

“You lassy? You think you can help me? You are but a twig that I could snap betwixt my thumbs!” His voice was as a deep as a war drum with each chuckle.

Offering him a faint smirk, Gwen shrugged her shoulders, “I'd like to prove you wrong if you would let me.” Her hazel eyes scanned his tools, his other hammers and tongs, she itched to lift that hammer again, to feel the heat of the fire on her face.

“Very well, let's see what you can do. If you screw this up, you owe me 50 gold.” The man stepped aside and held out his hammer to her. She approached him and took the hammer in her hand and received as well, his smithing apron. She adorned herself properly before winking at the older man.

Lifting the hammer high into the air for dramatic effect alone, she brought it down hard, and began to lengthen the sword blade at a quickening pace.

Eight and a half hours later…

The blade had been worked long enough, and into proper shape, all that was left was to add the hilt. Here, the old smithy that had watched her silently while worked, rose from his seated position with a smile upon his wizened face.

“All right my girl, you have proven your skill. I could tell by your first hammer swing. Tell me this before you go, why bother to help me?” Inquired the smith.

“It has been more than a fortnight since I have touched a hammer, and felt the warm blaze of the forge’s fire on my face. My father worked a forge in my younger years before he passed, he taught me the trade in case I never learned to do anything else with my life. I just wanted to feel the fire again.” Her husky voice remained quiet as she spoke, receiving but a nod from the smith.

“So it is said. Those who are born of the hearth, kindle the fire for as long as they can lest they be consumed.” Here the elderly smith simply have her a nod to his own response as confirmation in his belief.

Without further need to speak anymore, Gwenyfar turned to the smith in acknowledgement and bowed her head, and uttered a quick voiceless prayer to Ruo, in hopes to convey good luck to him in the future, so that as he too might survive the plague. At that, she turned and headed towards the Kevil's Arms inn as nightfall had descended slowly upon the Cross Roads.

By the time she reached the inn, she had found it empty, as Gwenfyar took refuge in the solace of her walks, she had especially taken to Asper, a stallion of 10 years, that she had raised as a young teenager.

The moon was a special light to Gwenyfar, as she had taken to a peculiar fondness for it on her sellsword missions of the past. It's white light illuminated against the dark abyss of the starry night sky.
It was a map she understood and felt comforted under, but yet it's map did not yield to her it's secret of life; it consoled her in her darkest hours. The moon had guided her to safety on many occasions, through escapes, and through stealthy deeds done in the dead of night.

The view of the inn, allowed her to collapse back to society as Asper snorted loudly. They had arrived and the pitiful stable boy had made a pledge to brush him down good for her tonight. Dismounting, Gwenyfar gathered her gear about her and headed up the wooden steps to the door of the inn.

Once inside, she saw that no one official looking had remained inside, yet she saw a curious chalkboard with apparent volunteer names listed, and stranger still, next of kin. Well, that's what she was here for. She lifted the white chalk thoughtfully and etched her name into with known eloquence. Next to it she wrote her next of kin to be Agnar Ravenspire, if he were still alive, that is. Gwenyfar Ravenspire was no illiterate woman by any means. She favored literature, and secretly had begun to desire starting her own library, perhaps one a treasure trove of her personal favorites. The older authors piqued her curiosity, as she loved to read about the times by gone. That is where the key to the future is to be found.

She ascended the stairs, her buckled satchel on her back, and found the hall to be empty. Fires had begun to glow, in the rooms occupied. Letting her footfalls land softly upon the creaky wooden floors, Gwenyfar discovered a room at the end of the hall on the left; unoccupied. She took the key off the ring and opened the door, finding it empty of occupants.

I

The olive skinned woman let out a smile at the man's comment as she poured a cup.” Well there was an old saying among my clan about magic users – Be careful with the old ones, be concerned from the young ones.” She said with a huge grin.” It all depends on the point of view doesn't it? Old ones sure have more power, but are they really the bigger danger? It's been proven time and time again as mages get older they tend to more and more rely on their powers and with time they start to get used to a specific way of using that power. It is the same way with the swordplay. Once your enemy grasps the way you fight, it becomes easier for him to cope with you. Magic works the same way, old mages often get into the habit of using their magic in a specific way and once you grasp that they well... you get the idea. While the younger ones tend to act more wild with the magic. They like to experiment with it, thus sometimes bringing out very unexpected results which can lead to all sorts of trouble when facing them. You never know what they will pull out... I personally witnessed a wizard experimenting with magic as last resort during a fight. He tried to well form up a magic that had to stop the assassin sent after him in her tracks, using circling winds. The magic that was supposed to only hold me in place, gave me 5 deep cuts... he got torn apart by his old magic. Young and inexperienced magic users tend to be more... dangerous for everyone.”

“Well the weather was bad tonight, but I still follow the phases of the moon. Luckily tonight is the right phase for a prayer to my goddess.” Karen stated with a shrug of her shoulders and took a sip from the drink.” Still nothing escapes Skeitha's gaze during the night and when she pulls the chain's forged by one's sins, you have no choice but to get dragged to her domain to be judged and pay for all the sins you carry. Well at least that's where I will be going. The city of eternal night is the place where sinners from our lands go. Or to be specific only the place those who believe in our gods form the desert go. Isn't that so? Each pantheon of gods has it's own domains.”

“Heh... the plague.” Karen said with a smile on her face. She ran her finger through the edge of the cup of wine.” This plague isn't something that was created through natural means. Everyone who sees it's effects feel the wrongness within it. It has to purged to completion. Even the slightest trace of it left and it will spread like wild fire again.” She said with surprisingly indifferent tone.” To my eyes this is actually a pretty good group to deal with it. Think about it, everyone has sent elites, aside the few who are volunteers. We have knights from the elites of the kingdom, we have veterans soldiers who served with them. We now have a capable magic user even that other girl who signed for this, she is most certainly an adept doctor of sorts if I was to judge from her hands and the obvious bag of medical instruments. But in the end it doesn't matter, we have been dragged by the great spiral of events. We can only walk forward till we reach an end of any sorts... be it the end of the plague or a bite...”

Drusus leaned against the table they spoke at as he listened, crossing one booted foot over the other, shifting his weight from both to just one. He inclined his head, and the room's guttering light lent his features a severe quality. His gaze remained affixed to hers, and as she continued to speak of mages with such intimate knowledge his brow furrowed. Slow at first, a look of idle curiosity, but then his features betrayed something more urgent. He was scrutinizing her intently, her and her words both. It wasn't every day someone claimed to have slain a wizard, much less to his face. He wouldn't believe such drivel usually, but tonight he did.

She's not a braggart, intimidation or not, who here could say if it's true besides her? he mused, We of the curse are fallible. If anyone could do the job it'd be a cutthroat. Tsk.

His smile returned, his briefly stormy disposition clearing up as she finished the anecdote. He set his cup aside and laid his hand flat against the table, not far from the drink itself.

"You know ... it's not often someone has the courage to tell a wizard that they've killed wizards," he said, mirthful laughter on the edge of his words, "I most sincerely hope that it wasn't a threat." He was quiet for a few seconds, peering at her, smiling, though his gaze was intent, piercing even. "Either way. I'll take it as sound advice not to cross you. Not that I should have to, considering we're both here for the same thing."

For ourselves, if I could hazard a guess, he thought.

He shifted his weight, back to standing on both feet, and unfolded his arms. He stepped away from the table - and his wine - and made his way over to the idol of Skeitha. He examined it was a raised brow, with a curiosity that looked altogether irreverent. There was no religious solemnity, at least not outwardly.

"I always found the gods of other people to be so interesting," he murmured, changing the subject, "At the risk of sounding pretentious ... I feel a person's faith always says a great deal about them." He scoffed softly and pulled a Florine Sword-And-Sun Rosary from one of his pockets. "I am of the Light, myself. Every good Floriner is, or so it is said."

He pivoted on one heel, turning to face her with the gilded Sword-And-Sun icon displayed in an open, upturned palm. "What do you suppose, if you care to share? About the Light?"

“Well it’s isn’t every day I meet people who knew of the Skeitha’s cults.” She replied with playful smile.” There is reason I said not many of us remain. The feeling is mutual though. I too don’t want to cross you, so I look forward our cooperation in the imminent future fufufu…” She said with a soft laugher. The assassin liked this wizard. He was perfect to have around for chatting. Besides everything she still was royal assassin, so she was fairly well educated and enjoyed a good discussion with people. Being a soldier in the army in this northern country though she was mostly surrounded by people who were generally a lot less educated… if at all.

“ Ahhh yeah… the gods and religions of people. That’s a fascinatingly interesting subject indeed.” The olive skinned woman said with a smile. “ Well to me you don’t sound pretentious at all. I believe there is a truth to what you said, though it’s not always the case with everyone. How many have I seen that only utilize religion as a tool to gain control over others… tctctctc… “

“Ahhh the Church of Light… that’s something I’ve seen a lot the past few years. Generally I’m not the best suited person to talk about the light as I follow the darkness, but I will tell you my general observations about the Light.” The assassin stated and took a sip from the wine.” First of all the ideas of Moral Fortitude have some good to them, but they lack the versatility and proper explanation to ensure people don’t misuse/understand them. That’s the main reason for the conflict between the two religion here in the North… both of them get too zealous about them. Religion should be something that’s inward towards the person not to force on others. Another interesting thing is the so called Churches the you followers of the Light pray in. Temples are a good thing generally, but when things get too centralized corruption is bound to appear eventually. The way the Light treat’s magic is also something I’m not very approving of… and then there are other things such as the against pre-marital sex… and etc… which if you ask me I would never agree. If you aren’t married and have no loved one with whom you will marry, it’s perfectly normal to satisfy that body need. I would understand if the problem was after you swear the oath of marriage and you sleep with another, but otherwise it’s generally inefficient and I bet many don’t follow it… actually I know for fact many don’t.” She finished with a laugh.

“Tell me though, what do you think of your own supposed religion? What do you, who possesses the power of magic, think of it? From what I’ve learned in my country, people with magic often see religion differently than those without. Well that’s at least how it was back home, what do you think?” She asked him and took the jug to pour herself some more wine and then gestured to ask him if he wants more too.

Shikoba had realized a few hours after the sun set that he was not going to make it to Cross Roads that day. He’d left the road then and had found a secluded and sheltered spot some way away. The roads might make travel easier, but it still wasn’t safe for an old man travelling alone to sleep next to one – especially these days.

It being fall, and with winter rapidly closing in, it was cold and wet out in the world, but as unpleasant as it was the weather this far south was nothing in comparison to the mountain Shikoba had called his home for the past twenty-six years. So he’d endured the chill, wrapped in his goat’s hair cloak for warmth, ignoring the arthritic ache that crept just a little deeper into his joints with each passing year. Hours before it would be light again, the old man awoke and hauled himself upright once more, back aching and joints creeking. He took a much-needed piss, and then started back towards the road again moving with a gait that began as more of a slow, painful hobble, but that soon transformed into a slow, but less painful-looking limp, and finally began to look something like a proper walk – with just a hint of an old man’s shuffle to it – about the time he’d reached the road again.

Shikoba had only slept three or four hours, but one benefit of being old was that one simply did not need much sleep anymore, and for a man Shikoba Athanasi’s age four hours of sleep was plenty….

---

As the clear skies turned from black to a dark hue of blue, the birds began to chirp to announce the inevitable rising of the sun in the East. Buxton’s eyes slowly dragged open, and she used her index finger to wipe away the grit that so easily glued them back shut. She had only gotten about five hours sleep but it was enough for her, and she knew that she would be lucky to get that over the coming weeks. The reason she was reluctant to jump from her bed was more due to the cold morning wind, and she lazily wrapped her itchy woollen sheets around herself in a desperate bid to reserve heat.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“It’s time Lady Buxton!” called out Chester from the other side of the door, his voice baring no signs of tiredness or fatigue. If anything Buxton thought his tone carried a note of happiness or excitement, despite the absurd time of the morning.

“Prick.” She murmured, not loud for him to hear. Were it not for him, maybe she could have simply laid in the warmth embrace of her bed for a few more hours; no one would question the Leader’s choice to delay the expedition after all. She heard his footsteps trail off towards the north end of the corridor and down the stairs. The old creaky floorboards of the inn betraying his every move. He wouldn’t begin waking the others until she was up because it would reflect badly on them both if the soldiers appeared ready before their commanding officer. ‘Probably off to wake the innkeeper downstairs and get the food sorted’ she thought as she half-heartedly slung away her covers and clambered out of bed. Wanting to protect herself from the chill, as well as to protect her modesty were someone to somehow stroll in, she quickly threw on her clothes and light armour. Then she wandered over to a desk where there sat a bowl of water, and begun to splash it over her face. "Fuck that's cold" she gasped with a shiver, the icy water washing away any remaining tiredness she may have felt. As she stood lurched over the bowl, a study stream of water dripping off her jawline, she looked up and gazed out of the window and towards the rising sun. Before the plague begun she might have thought it to be a beautiful sight, a sign that things could get better, but now it seemed to just mock her. It signalled that another day had passed, that more people had succumed to the plague on her watch. It showed her that the days were getting shorter and the weather more cold and unforgiving. And it lit the way to the East, where she and all those that followed her would likely die.

"Please Lady Sol, do not lead me to destruction." she begged.

---

The walk into town had been pleasant. Though it had started dark, there were no clouds and the stars had blazed brightly and beautifully in the nighttime sky, giving Shikoba the perfect excuse to offer his prayers and thanks to Salri, the Great Spirit of darkness, as well as to his daughter Che, the goddess of the heavens above him, for the fine weather and finer view to send him on his way. As the sky had slowly brightened, his prayers had shifted naturally towards Salri’s mate Alynev, the Great Spirit of the light itself, and he hummed a welcoming hymn to Fainde, child of the light and embodiment of the sun, as he went. Everything, from the wind in the trees, to the trees themselves, and even the mountains in the far distance; everything was evidence of the presence and the providence of the Six and the Nine, and of the lesser spirits, at the same time that the Six and the Nine and the lesser spirits were themselves everything.

The Black Blood Plague was a horror, and everything in Shikoba Athanasi’s life over the past several weeks may have seemed like a nightmare at times, but the heavens and the earth still stood firm, the sun still shone, nature continued unaffected, and the Old Gods still reigned. Shikoba Athanasi would not let himself forget these things, nor would he shirk his obligations to the Great Spirits, or allow his own spirit to fall out of balance with the world around him.

At this time of year the sunrise was a lengthy thing, and it would only grow longer as the season turned, so the sun was still lighting the horizon on fire when Shikoba reached his destination. To the ancient hermit’s eyes as he walked its wide but currently empty streets, the city of The Cross Roads was the same as every other Vasili city he’d ever been in: too big and too cut off from the natural world all around it. He moved through its streets at a pace that likely would have seemed too slow to any younger folk watching – only at this hour there weren’t any – and he seemed to have no real destination in mind. Indeed, he had no fixed destination in mind, as he did not know where the Consano was to be found, and at such an early hour there were few up and about whom he could ask. Athanasi was untroubled by this fact, however; he was a follower of the Old Ways, and he trusted the Spirits to guide him on his way.

The old master considered, reciting a proverb even more ancient than he was as he walked:

What has been concealed by the gods,
The gods intend to be found.
Yet he that uncovers those things,
In the uncovering
His own innocence will he lose

In this way,
Innocence is ignorant, yet
Ignorance is now always innocent.

The way is etched in the Earth's own flesh;
Only the Wind knows its paths.
This truth Darkness has obscured;
This mystery the Light has revealed.
So be it.

Shikoba Athanasi made the sign of affirmation as he finished this thought, rounding a street corner as he did so, and glanced up to find himself looking at an inn with the name ‘The Kevil Arms’. There were lights glimmering in the inn’s first storey windows, and Shikoba allowed himself a little smile as he thought of the breakfast he might be able to acquire inside – and as well, he could ask for information on where to find the Consano.

No sooner had he thought this than his old eyes landed on the scribbled sign propped next to the inn’s front door, announcing that this very place was where the King’s private force was recruiting new members. Shikoba Athanasi could only chuckle quietly to himself as he opened the door and made his way inside.

---

Alan Corentin, proprietor of The Kevil Arms, was cleaning up behind the tavern room’s main counter when he heard the front door opening. Though it wasn’t exactly usual for folk to come a-calling at such early hours, The Kevil Arms was an inn, so it was known to happen from time to time. Alan turned towards the newcomer with the intention of letting them know that the inn had, unfortunately, been bought out by the King’s men for the rest of the day (“but if you like, you could come back after midday, by which time they’ll have gone”), but found himself looking into the eyes of probably the oldest human being he’d ever seen.

The man was weathered like a cliff face, gnarled like an ancient pine, no taller than a child, and his demeanor was as overwhelmingly calm and placid as a lake on a windless day.

“Greetings”, the old man said, “I am called Shikoba Athanasi and I am here to offer what aid I can to the Vasili-king’s private force, the Consano. Who should I speak to?”

Alan’s eyebrows rose upwards on hearing the oldster’s name. The Kevil Arms’ proprietor was an old veteran of the wars against Cain’s Rebellion in the north, nearly twenty years previously. That was how he’d come to know Sir Chester, and that relationship was how Sir Chester had come to propose the Arms as the place to hold court for the Consano’s recruitment phase. And to the ears of Alan, the veteran of wars fought in the far northern territories, the name ‘Shikoba Athanasi’ had a distinctly familiar ring.

“The man you’ll want to be speaking to hasn’t risen yet, so far as I know, grandfather”, Alan answered politely. “I’d guess he’ll be down soon enough though, if you’re serious about joining the Consano.”

“I am”, answered the old man. Alan nodded, his expression letting it be known he was impressed with the old geezer’s courage, if also a bit incredulous at his presumption.

“Where’ve I heard that name before?” he asked. “Shikoba Athanasi? ‘Tis familiar to my ear.”

“I am known to some”, the little old geezer replied, “north of the city of Titus. Have you travelled in the North?”

“Aye”, replied Alan, “I fought in the King’s army during the Rebellion of Cain, and I’ve been as far north as that fort town they named after ‘im.”

“Cain, hmm?” The old man’s question seemed rhetorical, and he seemed to lose himself in memories for a moment before commenting, “It has been some time since I heard that name; its owner was always too impetuous for his own good, even as a youth.”

Alan Corentin snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “That’s where I’ve heard your name!” The Kevil Arms’ proprietor suddenly seemed to realize something then and pushed himself back from the bar he’d been leaning on, regarding the wizened old man before him with a new look in his eyes. “Aye”, he said with growing certainty, “Aye, I remember now…

“All through that war we were always hearing from the local people in villages we passed through ‘bout how Cain and his right-hand men had been trained by an immortal wizard who lived atop some mountain in the Far North or somethin’. Folks were always telling us how scared we oughtta be of Cain and his men ‘cause of that. I’d almost forgotten it, but you comin’ in and introducin’ yourself reminded me: that old wizard’s name, it was ‘Shikoba Athanasi’.”

The old man’s lips turned upward minutely in the subtlest of smiles and he waved one hand in negation as he said, “I am no wizard, young man, though it is true that the gifted blood flows in my veins. And it is true that Cain, and others who fought in the wars with him eighteen years ago, were students of mine when they were young.”

Alan, who’s expression was now caught somewhere between one of fear and a simple smirk of distaste, asked, “So you supported the Rebellion then, eh?”

“I took no part in the fighting”, Shikoba answered. “Such wars are the concern of younger men; I was an old man even then, I am even older now, and until the Plague arrived I was content to remain on my mountain.”

“Yeah?”, responded Alan, looking only slightly mollified by the 'immortal wizard’s' answer. “Well I don’t suppose it matters anyway. Seeing as how the man comin’ down those stairs back there”, and here Alan pointed past Shikoba towards the inn’s stairs leading to the second floor, down which someone was indeed walking, “killed most of your students during that bloody war, I’d say there wasn’t much of anything to all those rumors we used to hear about you and your students after all, Shikoba Athanasi.”

A moment of strained silence passed between the two men, as Shikoba gazed silently at the inn’s proprietor. At the end of that moment he asked, “Is that man also the one you mentioned earlier with whom I will need to speak about joining the Consano?”

“Yus”, was Alan’s terse response.

“My gratitude”, was Shikoba’s equally brief reply. And then he turned to meet the new arrival.

Sir Chester raised a curious eyebrow at the encounter before him. He did not recognise the old man but he could see that tension was caused by whatever Alan had said as Chester entered. "Can I help you Sir?" Chester asked politely, showing courtesy towards his elder (not that he was ever inpolite anyway). As he approached the old man Alan made a gesture from behind, mimicking the action of shoving food into his mouth. Chester simply noded to him in response, guessing that it was his friends way of asking 'Do you want some grub'.

Shikoba Athanasi had to look upwards for more than a foot to meet the gaze of the man before him. Obviously a soldier, the man carried himself in a way that spoke not only of confidence, but also of authority; between that and the inn keeper's assurance that this was the man that he would need to speak with in order to join the Consano, Shikoba rightly guessed that he was a man of some rank in Vasili's military. The silver and gray in Chester's beard told the old hermit that he'd lived long enough to have gained some experience, in addition to his confidence and authority. His stance spoke of a man with martial skills to match his experience; a soldier experienced in the field, then, and not just a commander accustomed to leading. Shikoba Athanasi's old eyes saw all of this in the space between one moment and the next.

The ancient master's head bowed briefly in acknowledgement, and in defference, and Shikoba said, "I hope so. I have come to apply for a place in your expedition to the North, to combat the Plague that afflicts our lands and our peoples. I am called Shikoba Athanasi, and I am at your service."

Chester's eyes widened slightly at the name. He knew of the name, though he would not have ever recalled it were it not spoken to him. Chester took a step forward, close enough to smell the subtle whiffs of spices emanating from the man. On closer inspection Chester noticed that Shikoba did not hold himself as one might have expected of a man so ancient. There was a strength and vitality to him that seemed out of place, and Chester begun to wonder if maybe this man was a mage; for the few that lived to such old ages in such dire times tended to be of gifted blood. Without thinking his hand subtely rested itself upon his hip, mere centimetres from the cold steel pommel of his sword. He could bring himself to trust a tribesman, for they believed in honour and loyalty, but the presence a mage or even potential mage would always have him on edge. "I know that name, they say you trained Cain and some of the closest in his circle. I fought against Chief Saemu Urgnot and Beli the Bear, and have not faced better men since." Chester watched the old man for any reaction before continuing, "Why is it that you have come to us? And how can you expect me to believe that you are whom you say you are?"

To Chester’s surprise, the old man simply waved his question away like it was so much smoke. “Shikoba Athanasi was a title given to me by other men”, he said, “if you doubt my claim to it, give me another. Perhaps it will better suit me; perhaps not.”

Shikoba Athanasi’s more-than-a-century-deep gaze never wavered from Chester’s while he spoke. His ancient eyes were like two deep, black wells, and though the King’s man could sense that a great deal was happening within them, they were too deep for him to say what it might have been. Left unsaid, but implied, in Shikoba’s words was the simple (but easy to miss) truth that any new name or title Chester might choose, as well as any argument he might level against the old sage’s claim to the name he’d given, would reflect as much on Chester as it would on the old man standing before him. More so, in fact.

Whether or not Shikoba Athanasi was in fact the ‘Immortal Sage' of the mountains of the Icy Spine, also known as 'Father Immortal' and as ‘Old Man Deathless’ – or just an old man with a peculiar name – was irrelevant to the Consano’s mission. Hopefully Chester could see that and would move his questioning on to more pertinent matters. For now Shikoba was content to let the King’s Knight conduct his interview; whether or not he realized the ancient master was also interviewing him was as irrelevant as the man's first question had been.

Either way, the old man was clearly uninterested in defending the claim to his current title.

“Breakfast”, Shikoba Athanasi said, just as the silence between them was becoming uncomfortable. And suddenly it seemed as though a friendly smile was tucked in amongst his wrinkles, though Chester couldn’t have said when it first appeared.

“Come again?”, Chester replied after a moment’s pause, one eyebrow hoisted in confusion.

“You asked why I came here”, the old man answered. “I came for breakfast. I only noticed the sign after”, he explained and pointed at the chalk-smeared recruitment sign near the inn’s door by way of clarification.

The edge of Chester's lip tugged up slightly and his eyes softened, despite his best intentions to keep a stone face. Chester was not about to let his guard down, but neither was he going to be an ass to a very old man just because he felt suspcious. With a quick whistle he summoned the inn-keeper back in, "Hey Alan, make that two plates!" The inn-keeper appeared in the doorway and simply shrugged in response before disapearing once more, not caring to take any further instructions; this was an inn, not a banquet, and customers would take what they were given.

"Ok then, let me ask you this: Why do you want to fight the plague? And why do you want to fight it with us? Surely there was resistance up North, bands of your own people that you could have fought beside instead?" Indeed, Chester had wondered what (if any) resistance had been made by the tribes. They were hardy and strong willed folk after all, and not many could deny that the harsh North produced some of the best warriors in the known land. Yet all the tribal people that had made it so far south were merely refugees and they only spoke of death and dispair. It made him nervous, for it felt like there was something he didn't know - something important.

"There was resistance in the North", the old man agreed simply. His smile was gone again, and again Chester couldn't have said when it had vanished. "Now there is not", he concluded, just as simply.

Chester nodded his understanding. So things really were that bad in the North, then? He was chagrined to find that the old wizard's answer hadn't done anything to allay his nervousness - had added to it, in fact.

"I came south searching for a young man", Shikoba continued, "an apprentice of mine named Ermo. Vanished when Bardonium was struck by the Plague. In all of the weeks since then I have moved from town to town and village to village, warning those I could to flee, helping, where I could, those who had waited too long, and searching for my apprentice all the while."

Shikoba Athanasi's gaze shifted away from Chester for a moment, filled with something that might well have been pain or sorrow, and the Knight realized it was the first time since their conversation had begun. His old eyes returned to Chester's after only a brief moment though and he continued his account. "I have seen no sign of my apprentice, either good or bad, but I have seen more than I wished of this 'Black Blood Plague'. Seven weeks of personal experience has proven to me that fleeing this Plague accomplishes nothing; attempting to fight it may fare no better, but it cannot possibly make things worse. Now, for the first time, the Plague has been halted - for however briefly - outside of Minorhold, and now here you are, recruiting volunteers to and fight it."

Shikoba's gaze remained locked on Chester's, and once again the smile on his wizened face had appeared out of nowhere, though it contained little enough humour in it. "And so here I am, volunteering."

Chester could see that the man before him was feeling genuine emotional turmoil, or else he was a dangerously talented liar. He rolled his tongue along the gap between his upper teeth and his lips for a moment as he listened to the man's tale. He didn't offer any sort of sympathy or comforting, and instead kept the conversation to the point. "What can you tell me about the Plague? From your accounts you've seen more of it than most." Chester asked, trying to skip over the man's offer to join.

As much as they were accepting anyone, someone as old as the man before him could only ever be a drag or burden. Although Chester did have to wonder how someone of his age was able to travel so far so fast, over such a harsh land in such bad times. If this old man was telling the truth then he must have had some tricks up his sleeve.

Shikoba Athanasi answered immediately and without hesitation. “It takes roughly one-sixth of a day’s passing – or somewhat less than one full watch in the night – to succumb to the Plague’s effects. If any have successfully resisted it and not succumbed I have not seen it, nor heard tell of such a thing.” He stopped and let that sink in for a beat (assuming Chester didn’t already know it) before continuing. “Those afflicted by it are overcome by violent and cannibalistic urges, attacking any who cross their path.”

“That the Black Blood Plague is magical in nature is obvious”, Shikoba explained, speaking with an assurance gained through decades of experience with magic in its myriad and mutable forms. “All of the signs point to it having originated in Fire, thus the infection seems to burn its victims away from within and to consume what remains with violent impulses. Born in heat and flame, it incubates in the Earth – that is, in the ash-like flesh of the infected – which is created anew in the fires of the Plague. As Earth subsumes water, so the Plague, having fully ripened in its victims’ flesh, subsumes their blood and saliva and other bodily fluids, through which it can be passed to any who come into contact with them. Completing the circle – and as Water destroys Fire – the black blood of those who have already succumbed can snuff out the spirit of those it infects, renewing the cycle of death and horror.”

The old sage stopped again, somehow managing to shrug without actually moving his shoulders, and then added, “Darkness and Light seem entirely neutral to the Plague, neither helping nor hindering it so far as I have seen. As one would expect, the element of Wind directly opposes the Plague; it cannot destroy it, yet neither will it carry the disease, even for short distances. And, just as it was born in Fire, so it can be destroyed in flames, if they be hot enough. However…”

The entire time that Chester and Shikoba Athanasi had been speaking, the old man had been leaning with nearly perfect stillness on a well-worn walking staff, but as he completed his explanation of the Plague’s relationship with the Six Elements his body began to move and his posture to shift. To look at, his movements were almost languid in their apparent slowness, careful and wary in the way one expects of the very old, and yet somehow the end of his walking staff had already come to a full stop a single hair’s breadth from Chester’s temple before the Knight had even realized what the ancient sage’s movements portended.

“…the most effective way to deal with the infected is with a single, powerful blow – or a great many lesser blows – to the head. As circumstances allow, of course.”

Shikoba’s stance as he held the end of the staff to Chester’s temple was not one of challenge, nor did it convey satisfaction at having slipped past the man’s defenses; he was just an old man demonstrating his point. A single instant and another series of deceptively slow movements later, and the end of Shikoba’s staff was back on the floor supporting him as he leaned upon it once more. His old eyes were still fixed on Chester’s, his expression calm but attentive as he awaited the Knight’s next question.

Chester's eyes glazed over slightly as he listened to the old man speak of magic, and his explanation of the plague was quickly lost on the Knight. He was not the most spiritual of people and magic did nothing but agrivate him. He felt like he was listening to one of his father's ramblings again and for a moment he half expected the old man to try burn or otherwise punish him - which was why he tensed up ever so slightly when Shikoba lifted the staff for his demonstration. When the old man had finished speaking Chester responded with a simple "Hmmm". There was a long drawn out pause before Chester spoke again. "OK then, get some food and try think of any other information you have that might be useful." Chester did not want to accept or reject the man just yet, he would need to speak to Buxton first.

---

Dressed and prepared for the likely gruelling days ahead, Lady Buxton left her room and began to wake the others. One by one she loudly marched to each door, stumping both her feet and polearm with each step, and brutishly thumped on each. "Wake up recruits! Your death awaits! Get ready! Get packed! Get fed! Then get outside!" she repeatedly yelled, her voice becoming more rythmic each time. If all else failed she could surely become a town crier she mused. With the rumblings of each member and content that they were stiring, she made her own way downstairs to feed herself and finish the last of the preperations. It wasn't the most polite way of waking her new comrades, but then again, how polite was any waking at dawn?

"So? What are your initial thoughts and opinions?" whispered Buxton, her shadowy eyes darting about the place to ensure they weren't being watched. This was a conversation that they would not tolerate anyone else listening to, and they were both prepared to spill blood were it necessary.

Chester too looked around as he walked beside his leader, a horse's reign is in his right hand. The two of them spoke as they led the horses from the stable to the pitching posts outside the inn. “There are a few that I'm sceptical of.” he let his thoughts conjure for a moment before continuing, “I overheard Drusus and Karen speaking in soft voices in her room last night. I did not interrupt as I did not want them to know that I was aware. I think we should keep our eyes on them to see if they are up to anything together.”

“Are you sure you’re not just jealous?” she jibed with a smile. When Chester shot her a cold glance back in response her demeanour turned serious once more. “OK, let’s make sure they aren’t given the opportunity to be alone for a while. If they have things to say to each other, they’ll have to say it in front of us.” In truth the Consano not only had the objective of finding the source of the Plague, but to find out who was interested in it and why. And what better way to find out who was interested by allowing others to join their little journey? They knew that there had to be people that knew more about the plague, and that whatever the source was, it was likely something that those that craved power would try to obtain and abuse.

“I also have my doubts about Sarah. She is Dawnish and believer in the Church of Light. Moreover she clearly has secrets and would not disclose her reasons and motivations for joining.” Chester kept a stony impression, not wanting to show any emotions; he knew that Katrina would wonder if his doubts were personal, so he did he best to seem objective.

“She doesn’t strike me as a threat… but looks can be deceiving.” Katrina muttered. She went to utter more words but they escaped her as her gaze caught sight of a dead pigeon beside a wall. Its grey feathers were messy and covered in blood, an arrow lodged in its side. No sooner did she lay eyes on it however did she loose interest and turn back to the conversation. “What about Orwen? Do you think we can really trust that shit-breathed snake?” she asked almost rhetorically.

“Actually I do.” he replied, much to Buxton’s jaw gaping surprise. “His intentions are clear, and if anything he seems too honest – too willing to voice his thoughts. He stands much to gain from helping us, whereas he stands to lose much if we are unsuccessful. If Vasili falls then he loses his property, his slaves, his links, and his clients. We’ve commandeered many of his ships, and those which we haven’t won’t be able to get passed the Dawnish blockade, so he can’t even ship everything off to safety.”

“Humph. Well it’s nice to know that we’re putting our lives on the line to protect his slave trade. Did you speak to anyone else?”

“I spoke to Mathis, another Sunshine. He says he’s an explorer of the North and to be honest I don’t find him too threatening, but still worth keeping an eye on of course. We also had another gentleman come in this morning…” Chester tried to think of how to articulate his opinions of the ancient man he’d met shortly before, the mix of spices and old people still lingering in his nose. “I don’t think we should accept him.”

“Oh? You don’t trust him? Who is he?” she inquired, suddenly concerned. If a recruit couldn’t be trusted to join them, then they couldn’t be trusted to wonder freely either. Though it was not known beyond the Knights Table, any recruit was faced with two paths: join or die. They had already killed three, two of which had decided a suicide mission wasn’t for them and a third who they deemed too high a risk.

“No, it’s just that he’s incredibly old. He claims to be Shikoba Athanasi, a tribal legend said to inhabit the mountains in the Northern Spine. He’d be ancient now, so I suppose our recruit does match the profile there. But even if he is the very same man said to have trained Cain and others, I can’t see how much he could for us now… save for holding us up.” he was very matter-of-fact about the situation, and knew that if most had been in his position that they probably would have shown less respect and laughed the old man away.

“He must be fairly versatile to have made it this far, if he’s telling the truth of course.” she retorted with a shrug, “I say let him come along. At worst he falls behind, gets left behind and is picked off. At best he turns out to be more capable than we thought. If he’s come from the Northern part of the Spine then he probably knows the land better than any of us do, and will probably get along better with the locals.”

It was hard for Chester to disagree with her logic, as much as he wanted to, and there wasn’t enough grounds for him to disobey her. “As you wish. And your opinions?” he asked as they reached the hitching posts. These were the last two horses to be added to the large herd scattered on the street in front of the inn. No doubt the moving of the animals caused enough noise to wake a few locals, regardless of how quiet Buxton and Chester tried to be. Worse still, if any locals nearby did wake up then they were likely to be greeted with the nice ripe fragrance of horse shit. The horses had been well fed in preparation for the journey and the road was clearly now paying for it.

Not too fazed by the excrement Buxton indulged her colleague with her thoughts on the team. “Can’t say I’m too impressed with your lads, but Walter Finn seems capable enough and they’ve behaved fairly well – if you trust them then so will I. I spoke to Gewain after leaving Orwen’s room, and he seemed genuine enough. Not a lot of combat experience by the sounds of it, but I’m sure some of the men will appreciate a priest tagging along. I spoke to Zacharias too, and again he seems fairly genuine. He was a Dawnish soldier so he can fight. They both claim to simply wanting to help fight this scourge.”

“And you believe them?” queried Chester with a perplexed frown, slightly taken back by what he took was naiveness.

Buxton smirked and shook her head, “Assume nothing. Believe nothing. Challenge everything. But until they give me reason otherwise I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt, or at least pretend to.”

Karen woke up quite early today. Sun was still some ways behind the horizon so all was consumed by darkness still.”It's cold... and it will be getting colder.” She muttered from under her heavy covers. She had slept a few hours, since the intriguing and nice to have around for chats wizard left her room.

Raising her arm from beneath the blankets, Karen slowly rose up from her bed as she felt the chill, which her linen sleepwear couldn't protect her from. Without stopping motion, she quickly made a few steps and began doing exercises in the middle of the room. As the years passed, she never stopped training, as if she slipped and her skills were to deteriorate because of that, she was going to be in big troubles. After she was done with her exercise, she went to the table where stood a big bow with water. Taking a piece of cloth, she quickly put it in the water and then stretched it to drain some of the water from it. Karen then proceeded to wipe out the sweat from her body. Temperature may have been chilly, but that didn't stop her. Once she was done with taking care of her body, she quickly began putting her clothes on. After quickly putting on her linen shirt and pants, she then proceeded with putting on the leather breastplate, then she quickly placed a few throwing daggers in their places on the inner side of the breastplate. After that she quickly put on the leather bracers followed by more hidden throwing knives. Following that was a fur jacket. then the leather boots, more knives, the leather belt with lot's of small sheaths for even more knives. On two special rings on the belt, she attacked the small bag waist bag she carried and on the other two rings, she attacked the sheath of the scimitar. Finally she put on the warm thick fur cloak. She had planned on getting a big fur coat, but never got around to it. So for now now fur jacket and cloak it was.

Finished with the dressing up and then after putting all the hidden knives around her clothes, she proceeded to quietly open the door of her room and then make her way outside. With very careful and basically noiseless walk, she walked out the tavern and into the cold air outside. She had a few places she wanted to visit and those places were going to be opened quite soon, probably before dawn.

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After visiting the time went ahead and eventually the sun showed itself, the olive skinned woman was already making her way back to the inn. The kingdom's emblem from polished steel was sparkling beautifully on the morning sun. Generally she kept it cover when she expected battle or was doing stealth missions, but today wasn't still the case. She was going to have to take the thing off once they venture north. Never knew when one stupid reflection of light might lead to troubles. But for now she kept it, it also made people not cause problems with her or around her. Karen was enlisted soldier after all and armed one at that.

As she approached the inn with fast pace, she smiled at her purchases. Luckily with the refugee wave and the preparations for the army going south once again, most shops were working from before down till late past sunset and the blacksmiths were working around the clock, even having to take shifts for the nights. What she had went to get from a blacksmith was different kind of dagger than the one she used for throwing. This one was quite curved and in a way it resembled her scimitar. It was very made in haste so it was quite simple without any ornaments and even it's handle wasn't put on. She was going to have to carve two pieces of wood later to put on that. The other purchases were all in her small waist bag too.

Once she was near enough to the inn and her mind was already way from her remembering the old days before her exile to the north, she noticed two figures moving the horses from the stable to the posts outside the inn. With a pleasant surprise she noticed her own stallion was also moved already. For her surprise though it was Sir Chester and Lady Buxton that moved all the horses it seemed. She quickly increased her pace to reach her horse and check his condition. He appeared well fed and was making pleased noises. The inn was indeed a good one.” Thank you for moving him, Lady Buxton, Sir Chester. Aslan must have taken a liking to you two, usually he throws a fit whenever someone else besides me tries to move him.” Karen said with a smile as she petted her horse and pulled out an apple to give him.” By the way have any spices and herbs been prepared for the expedition? Or maybe any dried fruits?”