Rask was half watching Wretha as his focus was mainly set on the fights in front of him. Each fighter was different and each one had some ability, though obviously some were clearly more skilled than others. A Gothi male showed sheer brutality Rask hadn't seen in a long time, reminiscent of the Highlanders that they would certainly face on their first adventure. A female elf, clearly more refined and skille, if lacking the force behind her punches that the Gothi had, dispatched her opponent just as well. The following man fought like a Ranger, however a self taught Ranger. He knew the tricks and moves in his mind, but when he had learnt, he had trained like any old knight. The last fighter Rask watched was an elf -or half elf at least- who slightly confused Rask. The way he drew the bow made Rask think Ranger, like the earlier man, however Rangers fought with a single blade, not too. The man wore the armour of a bandit but had some control. Perhaps trained as an assassin? A poor assassin at that but one none the less. As the last fight finished Rask was about to call attention when Wretha caught his ear. Turning back he smiled as she recognised the script.

"I am but a vessel, carrying my siblings unto death. Let them walk alone, for now. I shall soon join them. Very good. And I don't mean to seek it, I mean to find it." Winking Rask stood and slammed his fist on the table. "You, you and you grab the sorry bodies off of the sand and leave. There is a purse behind the bar to pay for medical costs." With that the losers who could still walk carried those who couldn't out. Leaving only the victors and the bet masters, of which they soon left too. Gesturing for everyone to sit Rask spoke.

"Firstly I wish to congratulate you for your success. You all fought hard and won. Now you get the prize, if you can call it one for now. As some of you may have heard our dear friend Wretha say, I am setting out to find the treasure of the Sayamir Pass. It's currently snowed in, however by the time we arrive at the village of Dob the snow will have melted and we will be able to strike out. Some of you may know the stories, some may not. You will soon hear them. In my band I am going to be fair, but strict. You step out of line, you endanger the band or you betray the band and I will execute you myself." Rask paused for a second. "Okay maybe I won't execute you straight away if you step out of line, but you get what I'm saying. Now, your cut, no matter the treasure, is fifteen percent, with myself getting twenty five percent. Now that is a better percentage than you will get in any other band, however I wont pay you the days we don't have treasure. That percentage is the same for anything we loot along the way. You don't like it? Leave. Finally I will buy a horse for every man. You will be expected to carry your own supplies and maintain your own arms. Oh and it seems most of you aren't the best swordsmen. Once a week I will have sparring practice with every single one of you. Some of you may not be swordsmen, but I want every single one of you to be able to hold one. Is there any questions? If not. Sign here." Rask pulled out a slightly dirty piece of paper inscribed with the details he had just mentioned, and a thin piece of charcoal he used as a pencil.

"Wretha and Thena. You stay behind. I need a word. The rest of you, we meet at the Western Gate tomorrow at dawn. If you aren't there, we go without you. Oh..." Rask pulled a small chest from between his legs and opened it. Pulling out medium sized purses he threw one at each person.

"You got five hundred gold for each of you. A signing on bonus so to speak. Make sure you have some warm clothes and a week's rations for the trip. Anything left is pocket money. Enjoy."

A wide smile formed over the beautiful woman's full, pale lips. Wretha Thorne laughed, and Mordrag felt a balloon of pride and excitement rise up into his chest.

I'm a regular bloody charmer I am!

The large Gothi watched the remainder fights with perverse pleasure. The wicked grin on his face grew with each fight, and by the time Rask stood up to address the victors, Mordrag was almost giddy with excitement. Though he hadn't thought much of the majority of the fighters before the bouts began, he was certainly satisfied with those that would be his future traveling companions. The greater the strength of arms at your side, the bolder you could be. The less careful you had to be.

The drunker you could be. He chuckled to himself.

Mordrag smiled and waved farewell to the losers nearly falling over each other as they fled the basement and the sadistic psychopaths in the victors stands. He hadn't ever heard of the cursed treasure of the Sayamir Pass, but he absolutely recognized the sound of the name. They would be venturing into the highlands, through tribes of brutes akin to himself.

No worries there. I'm the greatest bruiser in the history of everything! And those funny little men we'll be bringing along just bested a legitimate Gothi shield maiden and a barbarian smaller, but seems like just as strong as me! We got quite the legendary band here. Mordrag beamed with overconfidence. Lost in his haughty planning, the big brute forgot to continue listening to his new leader's monologue.

...something about execution... That's right, nothing but execution for anyone who stands in our way ...fifteen percent... a solid cut there! ...a horse for every man... Now wait a minute there... A few more beads of sweat – on top of the virtual rivers already there from exertion and heat – formed on his head. Partly because of his size and partly because of his lack of resources, Mordrag had never learned to ride a horse. The only time he had ever even mounted one was decades ago when a large, adolescent Mordrag had been bucked off of a wily stallion within seconds of his mounting. The broken arm had kept him away from any equestrian activities for a year and the memories of the incident for the rest of his life. Not one to admit his weaknesses, however, this was a problem the big man would deal with later and as discretely as he could manage. Perhaps he would use the horse as a pack animal and simply sprint alongside the others on his own two legs. No... something else would have to give.

A medium sized purse bounced off of his chest and into his lap. The sweet, familiar clinking sound of a small fortune. Eyes wide, and ears perked, Mordrag tuned back in to Rask's orders. "You got five hundred gold for each of you. A signing on bonus so to speak. Make sure you have some warm clothes and a week's rations for the trip. Anything left is pocket money. Enjoy."

And enjoy he would.

____________________________________________________________________________

Sitting on his comfortable bed, piled high with furs – for the ladies of course – Mordrag looked over the supplies he had gathered in the past few hours. His collection of obscure trifles and trinkets was all stowed away. Thanks to the ever-generous Arbo Horst, the two large bottles of triple distilled whiskey and four sizable bags of lamb jerky had only knocked eighty gold pieces off of his budget. His buddy Jonas Ollen was convinced to part with his oversized – so just right for Mordrag – black bear pelt cloak for just another one hundred. Mordrag was no stranger to the cold temperatures of the highlands. He knew that, no matter how warm the whiskey in your belly made you, the winter wind could take a finger or toe overnight. Jarren Bisevak the furrier specialized in sable furs, so Mordrag had known he wouldn't be cheap; a pair of fitted gloves and boots deducted another hundred out of his purse – but for good reason. Sable was known as the golden fleece of furs, being almost weightless, silky, lustrous, and beautiful without sacrificing any warmth or durability. When he packed his fur sheets and blankets later that night, he would be fully confident in keeping himself warmed.

That still left him with over two hundred gold pieces to, as Rask had instructed, enjoy! He snatched up the now half-empty purse, stomped down the stairs and began making his way out of The Golden Spring. Before he could make it halfway to the door, he was stopped by a reprimanding voice he had become all too accustomed to.

“Oh no ya don't, ya big bloody fool. I already taked a peak at yer packings and ya didn't get any medicine. Not to mention the fact that yell not be drinkin nothin but whiskey the whole trip!” Horst was like the nagging mother Mordrag never knew. “Yer gonna take these bandagings and whatnot and at least two jugs of water.” Mordrag looked skeptical, but started reaching for his purse. “Nah, nah. I'll not spoil your last night of fun for practicality, ye child. Yell pay me back double with yer spoils from adventurin no doubt. For now, get yer freeloadin arse out of my tavern.”

Mordrag smiled and punched Arbo in his shoulder. Love you too mate.

____________________________________________________________________________

Now for the remainder of his purse. The big barbarian wasn't one for keeping around excess money. He strolled along the memorized path, past The Sailor's Beans and Barrel, left before the Bisevak fur shop. It was an absurdly colorful, three story building, well maintained compared with the rest of the run down establishments in the Hollows. Mordrag walked up the pink steps and through the turquoise doors. There he was greeted by the respected purveyor of her fine luxuries, Madame Merida. The two exchanged pleasantries, already well-acquainted with each other, before Merida took him by the arm and led him to the main lobby where half a dozen patrons were already drinking and flirting.

Two women in Madame Merida's Comfort Parlour were famed both for their powerful allure and for their outrageous prices: Jenessa, a fair-skinned blonde beauty, and Isolde, a red headed minx. Mordrag had approached both numerous times during his stay in Gothic-Maxima, only to be redirected to women more within his budget. The two were sitting alone at a table in the corner of the room, chittering and giggling, waiting for the next lordling or exceptionally successful merchant to enter their nest. Mordrag didn't quite fit that mould.

Jenessa and Isolde ignored the boisterous man as they usually did, but the big Gothi pulled a chair from a nearby table and dropped his girth down next to the ladies, ending their dainty tittering. Though he was met with disapproving scowls, Mordrag would not be deterred; “Seeing as I'm going on an adventure tomorrow ladies, tonight might be our last chance at love.”

“You've not got the coin for lavish magnificence like me or the sumptuous splendor of my companion, Brute.” Jenessa spoke with the posh, pompous cadence of one who has purchased their class and wants everyone to be aware of their sophistication. The notably quieter Isolde merely smirked, teasing Mordrag with a seductive stretch. When Mordrag spilled two hundred and seventy gold coins – the remnants of his signing bonus and all of the gold he had leftover from his bouncing at The Golden Spring – onto the table, two pairs of eyes caked with makeup shot wide open in incredulity. Immediately, the ladies changed their tone. The gold disappeared somewhere in the folds of their dresses, and the huge man was escorted upstairs, one woman hanging on either arm. The trio made haste, only stopping long enough for Isolde to grab a bottle of fine wine – complementary for the big spender, of course.

Thena watched on as the two fights of those who hadn't fought before commenced. First up were two swordfighters, although one seemed to have an advantage in equipment alone as they carried a shield. Still, the other man seemed to be concealing a few trick from the way he carried himself. Confidence was a big thing with that guy. What was his name again? Reynald? Didn't matter. The fight was incredibly dull and tedious, it seemed to look more like they were trying to wear each other out then they were trying to draw blood. The battle picked up pace when steel encountered flesh, that of the kid's no less. Didn't seem to stop him though, with them pulling out all the stops before managing to floor the opponent. 'Reynald' gave mercy to the woman, who ran away in fear.

Next up was a kid and a giant. "Oh dear sweet mercy..." That kid was going to die. No way in hell are they going to be able to go up against that. Rekugin was it? The 'Archer and swordsman'? "Well... Rest in peace, ye confident bugger." As the battle started, Thena's fears first proved to be true. A good preemptive intimidation technique from the brute, the kid taking the bait. Though they manaaged to get a shot off, the man they were facing shrugged it off like a mosquito bite. The longer the fight went on though, the more Impressed Thena got with this "Rekugin". They had a few basic tricks and were more nimble than the rest, although got strikken down hard in the end. "Kid's done for." The she-elf stood and stratched, holding out a hand in front of her to yawn into. She wasn't looking forward to working with a cokcy schmuck like that guy, but it couldn't be helped. She turned her attention back to the arena where... Rekugin walked out of. Limping was more accurate, actually. "Well, color me surprised kid..."

Rask wanted them to sit down again immediately, which kinda pissed off Thena. She just stood up. Slumping back into her seat she listened on to what the man had to say. It seemed to be about what the flyer had advertised, the adventure. Setting out to find a cursed treasure or something, apparently. The elf couldn't tell, she hadn't heard the stories. A cut of fifteen for everyone, twenty-five for Rask. Fair enough, considering they were a 6-man band now with him as their leader. Everyone would be getting their own steed, which is useful. Thena knew how to ride a horse, with all the travel she's done she needed to anyway... Then he wanted them to.... Sign? Odd. Thena didn't know what signing is, but probably it involved writing something on that scrap. She figured putting down her name was enough, and so she did. After walking up to Rask that is.

Speaking of him, Thena was about to head further back into the building when the disgraced noble called for her and Wretha to stay behind. The elf couldn't help but snicker at the thought, it's pretty ironic considering the glances they've exchanged over the course of this trial. This is one thing she didn't have an objection to, on sheer humor factor alone. While those thoughts were occupying the woman, a small purse of sorts was flying straight at her. She reflexively caught it with her right hand, weighing it to confirm that it is indeed what she thought it was: Money. And Rask backed that up, saying that they were their ration money.

Thena waited for the others to leave and took a spot on the wall, arms folded behind her back with a smirk. "So, wha's the deal with you callin' me and posh over there to stay?"

The congratulating speech was short and straight to the point. Rask didn’t seem like a man of many words and he quickly jumped into business, laying out the rules and conditions upon this merry party would be upheld to. Wretha glanced around taking stock of the victors, each in turn bringing something different to the group, if nothing else at least it would prove to be a fun experience- sharing the road with such diverse individuals.
Fifteen percent sounded more than a reasonable some considering their numbers. Sparring practice? Wretha’s ear piqued at the notion her nose wrinkling in disgust. She wasn’t to happy about the fact of being forced to partake in the practice but she figured it was a good source of training in the event the need might ever arise. Besides, arguing about it was a moot point; Rask didn’t look like the type to be persuaded easily.

A small, dirtied and crumpled piece of parchment was passed around the table requiring each to sign their loyalty to the party. The female grabbed the paper and ran her hand over it with a few mumbled words, in the wake of her hand her name was left imprinted on the surface, inscribed in beautiful red lettering. Wretha handed the parchment to Thena with a tight-lipped smile. The witch was about to take her leave when Rask asked for the elven-woman and herself to remain behind. Odd. Nevertheless, Wretha obliged settling back into her seat. A moment later a purse filled with coins slid across the table coming to halt in front of her. She didn’t bother checking the validity of the man’s word regarding the amount of money each purse held, thus far he hadn’t given her any reason to mistrust him.

Rekugin closed his eyes as his chest throbbed with pain. Holding the breastplate to his chest he moved his hands over the warped surface. ‘Dammit this is gonna cost a bit to fix up.’ Hearing Rask starting to speak Rekugin glanced up and sat up a bit straighter. While listening to Rask, his mind started whirring with thoughts. ‘Sayamir Pass treasure, that’s a myth. He can’t be going after that…..Well I haven’t gone there yet, maybe He is there.’ Looking around at the other people sitting around the table Rekugin he saw that they were all listening intently. Well except for the big Gothi, he was grinning like a madman. Refocusing on Rask, he heard the strict rues his face twisting into a grimace. ‘Meh I'm used to that. Can’t be worse than Krasus…Wait fifteen percent cut, that is good, better than Krasus and the Vultures.’ Rekugin’s face cleared up as he heard this. ‘A horse for every man, even better. I wonder where he gets all this money from. Sword lessons. I wonder how good he is with a blade.’
“Sign here.” Looking at the scrap of paper, Rekugin reached over and scrawled his name on the paper. Closing his eyes again as he leaned back against his seat. CLANG looking down he saw the pouch of coins hit the breastplate. Nodding at Rask, Rekugin spoke his thanks.

Getting up with a groan Rekugin lifted up his bow and his breastplate. Going via the corner he had stood in to pick up his bag and sleeping roll he staggered over to and up the stairs. Reaching the bar he slumped on a barstool “Whiskey, lots of it please.” Gulping down the first one without even tasting it, he could feel it burning down his throat. And into his stomach His second one he spent a bit longer but not too much. After a couple more drinks, until the pain died down in his chest. Rekugin woke up with a start, “I must have fallen asleep.” Mentally berating himself Rekugin got up and paid for the drinks. Taking a few swerving steps to the door he fumbled to open it and stepped out into the busy street. It was dark. ‘I was in there for a while!’ He gulped in the colder air as he thought about what he needed for a trip like this. He knew he needed a blacksmith, or an armourer. Following his ears, he turned and walked toward sound of hammers and clanging. It might of looked weird anywhere else at anytime, a fully robed black figure with a bag, bow and breastplate. But here Rekugin seemed part of many nocturnal figures going around there business. As he walked he tried to figure out who Rask was. ‘There’s the gold, so he's either got a benefactor, but he doesn’t seem like the man who would work for somebody else, or he’s rich, but with that much gold. Either a criminal or a noble. The sword lessons, that’s a noble thing. But still, what would a noble be doing looking for gold. He could just send men to do it for him.’ Giving up his quest to figure out his new mysterious leader, Rekugin walked through the cold night air thinking about what he needed.

Rekugin staggered into the apothecary wearing a new breastplate. It had been easier to sell his battered one for scrap and by a new one. It had only cost him 100 of the gold coins he had been given by Rask. Placing his pack on the ground a loud groan he whipped his head up as a dwarf lady came out of the back, “My name is Cloenna, welcome to the shop. What do you want?”
“I need medicine, herbs, and some healing please.” Pulling off his hood the lady stepped back seeing someone so young. Maybe it was her maternal instincts but Rekugin soon found himself sitting on a stool with his shirt off and Cloenna prodding the bruises around his chest. “Where did you get these from?” When he told her it was in a fight with a Gothi she tutted and told him to wait as she prepared a paste. She placed the paste on his chest and wrapped it up in a large swath of bandages. As she worked she managed to weedle out of him that he was going up Sayamir Pass. As Rekugin put on his shirt and armour on he heard Cloenna drawing things from jars and wrapping them. “I have got you some basic medicine, some herbs for energy and warmth and a few healing magic items, but use them for serious injuries. Don’t waste any! There is also a jar of paste. You must apply the paste once again in 2 days and once more 3 days after that.” Paying the gold required, and a bit more, Rekugin listened to more instructions, while he put the herbs and medicine into his bag, from the dwarf lady before stepping out once again onto the street.

Rekugin went to the bowyer next. Buying a doeskin case from him to protect his bow he also stocked up on a supply of glue, points, bowstrings and tools. He knew that in the cold some arrows might warp and his bow had to be protected when not in use. While paying Rekugin asked if there was a furrier in the town, finding out there was he packed his bags and set off. Entering the store with his nose shrivelled in disgust at the smell, Rekugin managed to negotiate a decent price for a new fur-lined sleeping roll. He ended up not buying new gloves and boots, the ones he had on now were well made. They had served him well even in the cold nights of the plains. Leaving he looked up at the dark sky. Guessing by how the stars were fading he figured that it was two hours, maybe more or so till dawn. Rushing now, he barged his way, through a crowd of fisher folk, to a general store to buy other items. Getting smoked meat, hard cheese, and skins of water attached them or placed them in his bag. He lifted it and could felt how heavy it was. He got a few more things like some cheap skins whiskey and even a small skin of wine.

Heading out of the store he saw the eastern sky lighting up slowly. There was perhaps a hour left till dawn. Hurrying towards the west gate Rekugin spotted an alley, he had passed through before. Going down he entered the last shop that he wanted to visit. It was a small dinghy shop with a moth eaten curtain as the entrance and a small sign, of a red leaf with black spots on it, nailed above the curtain. As he entered through the curtain, a hooded figure dressed in a grubby robe came from an alcove. Rekugin asked for a piece of paper and wrote three words onto it. Pulling out the rest of the pouch of coins he handed them to the man with the scrap of paper.

Exiting the shop a while later Rekugin slipped two small vials and a small container into one of the pouches on his belt. Lugging his pack onto his back, he hurried over to the western gate as the last stars faded and the sky became brighter.

The first light of dawn snuck into the large room through the cracks in red satin curtains. Compared to the smaller, dingier rooms that belonged to Madame Merida's other employees, Jenessa and Isolde's room was a splendid residence indeed. Posh silks and furs piled high on the bed next to a fine mahogany armoire. Candelabra stands and even two oil paintings created a well lit and decorated environment akin to a throne room.

On their bed fit for a queen, Jenessa and Isolde slept, wrapped up in each other's limbs. Mordrag stirred from his final resting spot on the floor. He was naked, an empty bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of gilt scissors eyeglasses in the other. A thin beam of gray morning light lie directly across the huge man's eyes, pulling him from his world of dreams and into a world of...

Bloody little men dancing in my head! Theres a fat horde of cattle stampeding up there. The Gothi sat up and looked up at the two beauties through squinted eyes. Even after a rousing, raucous night, they looked like angels come to earth. Absolute perfect last night before the big journey. And at the end of this, I'm gonna buy my own place like this. Madame Mordrag. Yeah, yeah, that's got something to it!

The barbarian stood up and poured himself another glass of wine. Sleep it off or drink through it. The former wouldn't be an option, for he had somewhere to be.

“...we meet at the Western Gate tomorrow at dawn,” Rask had instructed. Mordrag had a tendency to be late, but this time it was important. He pulled open the curtains and gazed out the window, dawn breaking over the butchers shops, taverns and fishmonger stands.

Dawn it will be. Then I'll have enough funds to live high and send the rest where they need to be. I can provide for myself and for everyone who needs me to. Dawn. Dawn!? It's dawn right now!

The big brute moved faster than he had in his entire life, throwing his pants on backwards and tossing his vest, boots and the mysterious eyeglasses into his small pack. He sprinted out the door, stopping only to slap Jenessa on her ample bum.

And then again for the other cheek.

____________________________________________________________________________

He eventually made his way to the Western Gate not TOO long after dawn. The entire rest of the band was there, but, thankfully, they hadn't left quite yet. Mordrag half ran, half stumbled up to the others and tossed his belongings on the ground at their feet.

“Don't you all worry, Mordrag's made it” he panted, doubling over from the exertion with hands on knees. After catching his breath he made his way over to Wretha – still half dressed with his pants on backwards – and draped an arm over her shoulder. “What's next boss?” The big brute looked at Rask questioningly and smiled.

Howland Morrys

The quiet leader of the newly formed band of intrepid adventurers finally spoke to the true victors who fought for their spot in this expedition. His introduction was short and to the point which to Howland - was the mark of any true, earnest businessman in his experiences as a traveler throughout his many odd jobs as a poor sellsword and occasional field worker in the deeper south. Expeditions and the gold which came with it would finally bring an end his tedious travels of searching for jobs - the same occupation which once only brought a short income of food to himself and his trusty steed, Dustard and 500 gold coins sure was in nine hells a lot of money to start off with this new one; it was certainly better than most jobs, he said to himself. Needless to ask where the money came from, his mind insisted on wondering: where on earth did he ever acquire such an amount of money, especially with someone that young?

A will of money granted to him by his wealthy merchant father? Inherited wealth as a lord's offspring, son of some great illustrious house? Surly if none of those assumptions of him were at all true, he must have been quite the criminal or money hoarder, whatever he was. A new employee had not the audacity to ask such questions, only so much as to think it as curious. Definitely, if this man was true to his word, a mere bombardment of questions would eventually become outspoken by the vast wealth of gold coins which would be accumulated in journeys with this group of unique individuals who he had some certainty to trust. Usually, he had never the privilege of doing so, yet here he felt as if he could - for some strange reason, especially that elf who taught that no good Gothi a thing or two just a few hours earlier.

Later, just after the brief introduction, a wood-charcoal pencil was soon after abruptly passed before him alongside a thickly crumbled sheet of brown paper that seemed to be passed around violently one too many times; it was painted with bleakly black ink that made out the terms and conditions of this new party, one of them pledging their loyalty to Rask. Luckily, if only anyone read any of those terms and conditions, let alone know how. Yet not even a handful of noble knights knew how to read or even so much as spell their own name. Writing and literacy was also quite a rarity, especially to any commoner and an even more infrequent occasion to see a handful of simpleton bandits do the same. Rarely enough for those who did, typically had the fortune to be raised by a baron of nobility or by some high lord in a castle or manor, tending as a servant or even had managed to simply learn on their own - it was very curious as Howland himself could barely read just a few years ago. It was people like Howland and quite possibly the young, eager companions he was with were exceptions. Tenaciously, Howland paid close attention to the details and after deciding to sign, he made his mark on the scruffy paper.

Turning to his side to pass the paper along, a massive pang suddenly shrilled in his stomach from the kiss of the dark blade, given to him by that vicious Rothkai shield-maiden. Earnestly, Howland did his best to intensively listen and not so much as give a gesture of pain and appear weak among his new companions. Nimbly, shortly after signing the paper, Howland then seized the opportunity to take leave into town in search of herbs that would help disinfect the gross wounds where his mediocre healing magic capabilities would most certainly fail him. Mustering his bearings after leaving the farm, he looked down at his wound and underneath his boiled leather and revealed a brightly, red color of blood which streaked across the cut he had cautiously tried so hard to conceal with a bloody cloth - even just looking at it made him feel uneasy and that's what I get for offending a Rothkai woman, he then thought before contemplating a way to disinfect the shit from his wound.

Eldar's Kiss he snapped, it was the only herb which helped deal with the fecal matter from spreading which was the most affordable, the rest he could easily heal by hand. Sadly, however, the nearest herbal stores which were provided by the Alchemist's Guild were just shy of a few thousand feet across town and as he limped outside, clinching onto his stomach wound, Howland found Lord Dustard rolling in the dirt like a pig. Snickering, Howland had only one thing to say, "What a strange horse you are." he then chuckled lightly before grabbing a tight grasp onto his steed's leather reins and mounted the black stallion and trotted deeper into town.

---

It was half past midday when Howland finished a better part of a morning on errands searching for supplies from the Shaman who owned the herbal store as the swollen red sun dipped lower into the western shoreline. Tired and uneasy from the healing from that mad shaman who tried to help him disinfect the wounds, the wry traveler had finally found his way at a local tavern just near the docks. Inside, the tavern was dark and dimly lighted with many scented candles which seemed to drive away the smell of fish which allured him to the bar stand near others. "I'd like a dish of the finest tenderly smoked salmon you have, some scrumptiously warm potatoes, and a nice pint of ale to wash it all down." Howland demanded and soon enough, the bar tender served him what he wanted in exchange for just two coins. The man was bald, plump, thick with a hairy mustache that had most certainly been stained by years liquor, and a long hooked nose that made him appear more goblin than man.

"Not every day we see a young traveler." He said curiously. "You a sellsword? I hear that's a tough business for most." He observed, looking down at Howland's leather armor and his great ancestral sword which was protectively covered by his warm fury bear coat.

"You never mind about that. I plan on leaving this place soon enough, just need something to fill my stomach for now." He drew back as the pain wretched at him once more, his wounds were going to take some time to heal even with those bandages. Howland then took a large gulp of the thick ale before taking bites of his meal from his wooden plate and spoon. Reaching down into his bag, he then grabbed the white bottle of medicine he purchased earlier from the herbal store-owner and drank the bitter, thick pain medicine that seemed to stick to his throat and slide down into his stomach just gradually. The feeling of that was enough to make him gag but before he did, Howland immediately grabbed pint of ale and drowned himself with it before happily belching quietly to himself soon thereafter. Just a scratch, you fool he joked and almost laughed to himself.

"No offense young lad, I didn't mean it like that. Just wanted to know is all." The bartender snapped but as soon as he drew his first words, his voice soon began to fade away into obscurity and the shadows began to creep in on Howland. Something odd was happening, the medicine seemed to have settled in earlier than anticipated as Howland's body soon felt heavier with every second that pass. For a moment, there was a bleak darkness that surrounded his vision and seemed to have crept itself deeper into his eyes as the worlds around him dimmed the moment he soon realized it was the medicine doing this to him. Damn that shaman He cursed. Before he could so much as try to leave the tavern, the darkness had wholly consumed him, ridding him of his consciousness and for a while, he could not remember anything thereafter. The hard brewed ale along a mix of drowsy medicine can easily drown at a man's memories and blind his rationality. All he could recollect after that moment, however, was a warm straw bed in a small bedroom and the smooth skin of a naked woman who draped her long legs around his pelvis area as Howland fell asleep in her soft arms.

Rask smiled at his band as they continued to pass the paper around, every single one seemingly happy with the terms and the pay they had already. Damn this had better be worth it, Rask was down to his last few gold now. Getting them five hundred pieces each had been a stretch. Rask boldly and loudly bid those leaving a farewell, he may as well try and foster good relations as soon as possible, especially if he was going to be trusting these people with his life, and the lives of his other band members. With the departure of the final member Rask sat back down and looked at the two females in front of him. Pulling the note in he smiled and checked he did in fact have their names correctly pronounced, if they sounded how they were spelled then he was fine. The witch woman had retaken her place at the table, at least there was some civility there, however the elf brawler was standing now. Though in truth Rask didn't mind, so long as she heard him. Lifting a hand he breathed deeply and a dagger unfolded from his hand, ghostly in it's appearance it hovered for a moment, before he took the tip on his finger and spun the blade there with his other hand. Finally ge stopped the blade and allowed it to meld with him again. Chuckling he sat back further, the chair creaking.

"If that hasn't made it clear, I have a small talent, illusions and very basic actions are my forte. However, with training I believe I could do more. Miss..." Rask looked at the note again. "Thorne, you clearly have quite the talent. I wish for you to teach me during our travels together." Rask then looked over at the elf fighter.

"And you..." Rask checked the note, realising there was no surname he scowls before continuing. "Thena. I want you to teach me to fight, and I want you to hit me." Rask gave a cursory glance to make sure nobody was hovering by the entrance. "I can throw a punch, but not like you. And even if practice is me getting beaten by you, I will take it since it will toughen me up. And I believe that is all I wished to talk about. I just need to know if you will both do this and then we are done, I have my own gear to retrieve and I am sure you also wish to collect belongings and supplies. I will bring enough for me and a little spare, so don't expect me to be feeding you. That's what the gold is for." Rask winked before walking towards the exit and offering it up to the pair left. "I shall await you at the West Gate."

---

The sun hadn't risen yet but Rask had already assembled what was needed at the gate. An assortment of five basic work horses, a mix of patterns, were lined up against a post, taking their fill of oats and water from the troughs available. Rask slowly circled the six packs on the ground, they were fairly small, filled with some equipment and mostly his notes and writings on the treasure of the Sayamir Pass. The packs were light and Rask intended each person to carry one strapped to their horse, easily leaving enough space for their own provisions and gear. Happy with the leather bindings and the boiled blubber waterproofing he then checked each of the horses feet and coats, no signs of decay or damage were present, which further improved Rask's mood, despite the chill on the breeze without the sunlight. He was in the same outfit he had worn the day before, however now he had a thick sheepskin coat over his shoulders and thicker army boots on his feet. On his belt his scabbard held his long sword and a dagger. Finally content with the state of affairs Rask mounted his horse and killed the time marching up and down the line of other horses there, whilst thinking on their upcoming adventure.

With the sun just cresting the marble dome that was the centre of Gothic-Maxima, or at least the government centre, Rask spotted the first of his companions. Rekugin had arrived precisely on time, much to Rask's pleasure, and Rask greeted him with a calm wave.

"Friend, it is good to see you so punctual. Grab a horse and a pack, mount and we shall await the others. Perhaps you could tell me a little about yourself whilst we wait..." Rask leaned forward on his saddle quizzically.

Rekugin approached the gate scanning the road. His eyes had fell on Rask and the horses as soon as he joined the main central road. Lifting his bow in return to the wave, he placed his pack down beside the others on the ground with a grunt. Looking up sharply at the word ‘Friend’ he would mutter to himself before pulling his hood down. “It would be my pleasure Rask.”
Looping his bow over his cloak and chest Rekugin stretched, then proceeded to walk over to a jet black mare, with white fetlocks. Lifting up its legs one by one, he then grabbed her by the reins and walked her checking to see if she was a decent steed. Nodding he checked the straps of his saddle and reins before lifting himself into the saddle. “Good horse. Maybe not a sprinter but it would carry you for a while. If the others are just like this one they would of cost a pretty penny, unless you got them from other means?” Dismounting he walked over to the packs and grabbed his and another pack of Rask. “I wont need to check if they are all equal, will I?” He shot a glance at Rask as walked over and fastened the packs to the saddle. Mounting up he manoeuvred his horse to Rask and pulled his bow of his chest. Resting it lightly on the mare’s back he started speaking.

“My name is Rekugin, originally from the south-east of Midcy’ru but I have lived most of my life in The Trattican Empire and The Plains.” Pausing to get his story right Rekugin thought to himself, ‘I wont tell him about the forest, he doesn’t need to know that yet.’ “I was part of a band of outlaws from the age of 13, The Fire Vultures, of The Plains. That’s where I learnt to fight with blades. We mostly attacked caravans of merchants for their goods or little lords for ransom. A few times we would attack other outlaws if they came onto our territory. I left two years ago at the age of fifteen. I went back to the forests of Midcy’ru for a while, learnt the art of herbs and poisons. Then I travelled a bit more to The Civitas Empire. My aim was to see a bit more of the world and kill…erm and make my fortune.” Cutting himself short Rekugin hoped Rask hadn’t noticed the mistake. “I was back in the north of Midcy’ru when I found your flyer, decided to see what it was all about. Not sure whether it was the right decision but I’ll see.” Flexing his bow strings a couple of times nervously he cleared his throat a bit. “Is it okay if I ask a bit about you? Who are you? Where are your from? And what is driving you to go after the treasure of the Sayamir Pass.”

...Rask wanted Thena to learn him how to fight? Now there was a surprise for you. The elf blinked a few times to process what the man had just said, though grinning afterwards. She should've expected it, really, considering Wretha was asked to teach magic. This journey should be proving interesting if anyone was asking her for brawling lessons. At least her new boss wasn't someone who thought they could do everything. "Sure, Why not? Dunno how I'll train ya yet, but I'll think of somethin' by tomorrow." Afterwards Rask dismissed the two of them. Thena made her way back up the stairs and out of the building, throwing her hands behind her neck. The elf shot Wretha another look and a grin, not saying anything. Took her a few seconds to break away the gaze but afterwards she headed further into town to gather her supplies.

The gold pouch hung in front of the elf as she pondered what to d with all that money. 500 was a generous amount and, truth be told, Thena didn't need nearly as much. She had armor enough and her weapon of choice didn't need maintaining so that was settled. She'd have to get a few clothes, though that couldn't cost more than 70 at worst. Food would expire fast unless she buys a lot of meat and salt, which is expensive. Not the smartest... Would probably be best to buy rations for a day or two and then get some gear to hunt for food. She isn't a great shot though... Wasn't there that kid with the bow? It'd probably wise if Thena asked him for a few lessons, much alike what Rask asked of her and Posh. Then there's the issue of water... It'd probably be best to get a canister or two and fill them up in a river nearby. It feels like she's forgetting something, though... Thena looked down at her sides, pondering for a bit until hit with realization. "Right... I'll need a cloak..."

Thena had gathered all her supplies and had gone back to the tavern she did guard work for earlier in the day. The offer was to get a free night in a guest room in exchange for keeping unwanted people out successfully. Lucky her that the elf had experience with this kind of work before, it wasn't too hard to score a safe resting place for the night. She went over what she had bought again. A set of clothes to wear in situations where her armor would be a hindrance, going for about 25 coins. Quite the bargain really. A cloak of wolf pelt, costing her roughly 108. A hunting bow with about five arrows, going for a staggering 124 coins. Wasn't easy to get her hands on something that'd hold up. A simple, low effort knife at the bargain price of 7 gold. It was utter rubbish, but she needed only to cut open flesh to be able to eat it anyway. Food for two days, 9. Two flasks, empty. Only about 30. Luckily she already had a travelling bag for when on foot, so keeping her stuff together was easy enough. Double checking her stuff again, Thena finds everything to be adequate. She did the math in her head, coming to the conclusion that she had 197 or maybe a little less gold remaining, which wasn't bad. It'd probably be best to hold onto for later, and maybe give a portion of it back to Rask. She truly didn't need 500. Sighing after that exhausting mental exercise Thena laid down on the bed provided and fell asleep, not even bothering to cover herself with something to ward off the cold.

Thena opened her eyes at a random point in the night, nothing close to light being able to be spotted outside. Seems the elf only got a little sleep, as signaled by her body refusing to get up. It was probably for the best anyway, she did have to be at the location Rask specified at an early time anyway. The crushing blow to her side now started acting up, something definitely got messed up in her fight. Say what you will about how tough this bitch is, she still got hit with a hammer on her bare skin. Not the most pleasant of feelings, especially not when the wound has had time to really sink it's teeth in. Still, it's best Thena got out of this place and into the open. She might kill some time roughing up a few morons who take her for a fool. Jumping out of the bed she grabbed the bag resting in the corner and flung the hunter's bow onto her back, then made her way down the stairs of the tavern. Night shift had started and the crowd at that time of day was less numerous, but they still had a good influx of customers. Thena didn't care though. She exited through the door, nodding to the current guard to signal her leave.

The skies started to clear up above the female elf's head and small rays of sunlight shone through. It's about time she made her way over to the gate, though Thena had made sure to stick relatively close to it so she wouldn't end up too late like an idiot. Probably still a little though. A little practice was gotten from the free time the brunette had, learning how to at least steadily hold a bow and aim an arrow somewhat accurately. She still sucked at it, though. Thena arrived at one point, looking around if any of the others had shown up. She saw the kid, the boss, and another person though she couldn't quite make out who that person was. Didn't matter. "Oi, boss. I'm here." Thena's eyes were drawn to the equipment bags on the floor. Shit, he even got that for them? This guy was going above and beyond what even most GUILDS would supply...

Howland slept very uneasy that night, albeit as still as a log. It really was his mind at brief consolation that was keeping him awake and as he slowly began to drift away in a dream, an ancient dream, a dream of temerity, repercussions, and tragedy. He had not known where it came from - the dream, of course - only that it came every once in a while, but never as lucid as this one or as any other he'd ever had before. Howland had not the fortune to be cursed by a dream so vivid since childhood, an innocent memory of when he was once afraid of the dark. It was an old dream of grand crop-fields which stretched across grand land vast as the eye could see, surrounded by grand plains and the grand duchies which were ruled by the not-to-grand, lower-born lordings and their masters who were the Barons and Dukes of the lands that governed the wide Plains of the south who swore fealty to the High King. And long in his memory, did Howland try to forget his home of former peace, warmness, and civility; That tender home of solace with his nurturing mother, many younger siblings, and the pleasant smells of nostalgic crops of the farm before it was maliciously ransacked by bandits a few years ago. A memory Howland wanted to smother long ago by means of heavy drinking, but the mind has a way of slipping the most painful memories into a man's consciousness to remind him of trespasses.

In the distressful dream, Howland could feel the fear searing through his younger self as riders from a lands far to the east, plundered their ways through the countryside suddenly as the lords of lands tried to brace themselves against the petty bandits who punched their way through once peaceful countryside. In response, the lords of the land called upon trained knights and a handful of drafted peasants were sent in to dismantle the violent scavengers in a minor battle which was fought in the end, crushing the last of their small army of two hundred or so and sent them into oblivion which would later cause these bandits to meagerly rout back into the forest, but not before they could devise a plan to strike back at the kingdoms among the Plains. Howland's home was one of those farms which stood in the way of what he remembered from that cold night, the bleak night that made him want to leave his home in the first place.

It all started with a brief moment of loud screams in his dream, just as it had happened in the past and Howland found himself almost out of breath while he frantically paced across the burning farm to were the noise was coming from, unleashing his ancestral longsword as it sung from his scabbard the moment he unleashed its dragon pommel. When he arrived, the men who were there had no faces, they were only shadows as black as night in the pale morning. They came at Howland as he tried to fend the farm, prancing back and forth in an attempt to fight one at a time until he found an opening to strike. When he stroke, there was no blood, the figures seemed to break off into fragments as dark sparks dissipated like shattered glass from the abrupt collision of black skin against steel. They broke loose like rose petals the morning of a winter's kiss as the pieces spread across the land only to be swept among the wind. As they danced in the wind, the fragments began to surround Howland until they consumed him after he killed the last man.

When he was able to see again, all he saw was his mother and her cold, tender body displayed in his arms where she was damped with blood which spewed from the torn flesh around her neck, her green eyes burning into his as she looked for her son for help. But it would not come - only in great perils can human beings become so drastically stubborn in looking for one shred of hope. Just one, but Howland knew she was as good as dead, although could not admit it and after a large bursts of screams from the young boy, he finally relented and put his head against hers and tried to feel her warm embrace once last time before she let out one final breath.

"I'm sorry mother." He wept, as he held her fragile body in his pale hands while a redness trickled down between his shivering fingers and with every tear that ran below his check, he began to gain consciousness once again. Howland then found himself back in the room where he found himself conscious the night before, the warm and naked mistress still draping herself around his tight body. She was pretty young woman now that he'd gotten a look at her, probably no older than Howland. She was comprised with a small, pointy nose along with long brown hair, and sharp facial features that complimented her stature. Howland himself did not even know her name, or in fact anything that happened that afternoon before, only that it was probably best if he were to leave entirely from this situation. Abruptly, Howland forced himself away from her as sweat from her arms drenched his face and filled his nostrils with an unpleasant odor before finding himself away from the unknown woman who seemed to be dead asleep. When he packed his things and gathered his leather armor, he made a rush out the door as silently as possible, completely unaware that the young mistress was actually awake the entire time. The beautiful mistress soon opened her bright indigo eyes just as Howland left the door of the Inn. "Until next time." She whispered to herself, smiling amiably as she closed her tired eyes into a deep slumber once again.

When Howland left the Inn, a red sun boldly began to rise from the eastern horizon while he made his way across town towards the gate astride his horse, Lord Dustard. The streets were surprisingly still faintly active with men and women who tended their business in the early morning as serfs began to laboriously make their way to the fields of the Lord's manor as he approached the gate of the outer side of town. When he arrived at the gate, the knightly city-guard who were dressed in their scaled armor nodded a greeting to Howland as he rode passed him along the paved road that soon turned to dirt as he went further away from the port town. Just outside, the team was assembled, readying their horses while the others gathered for the long trip to Sayamir Pass. Well, here starts my adventure for this month he thought, very optimistically.

"Sorry I'm late." he greeted just before grinning.

Rask leaned back and eyed the man up slowly. His gaze running over every inch of the man and silently noting little things about the way he held himself, the state of his equipment and the way he answered questions. Rask had not expected people joining him to all be the perfect law abiding citizens, however he needed to know that in his band they could follow his orders and know when to control themselves. Although he chuckled as the man questioned the weight of each pack. He was at least sharp this one.

"That is quite the story, I am certain you have a great number of stories to share by the campfire." He then pauses and nods his head. "You will all know a little about me when the entire group arrives. I would rather not repeat myself to everyone of you. Otherwise you are going to be hearing the same speech." He smiles coldly, however his attention is then drawn to the shouting, grimacing slightly.

"Good to see you again Thena!" He called in reply. Watching the elf approach. Gesturing at the packs he then pointed at the horses. "Grab a pack and strap it to a horse. We need some gear for the dig and I thought it best we all carry, especially if we all get a cut." He then looks across the horizon of the city, before checking the sky. "I hope the others hurr-" Before he can finish he looks down at the male who greeted the group, nodding pleased. "Another arrives, no problems. However the others have very little time left before we off...I have given us a schedule and I expect to stick to it."

Thena gave a wry grin and a nod to Rask. Yeah, he was a prepared one. She strolled over to the satchels strewn across the floor, still eyeing them. Any of them were fine, no noticeable difference between any. The elf decided to grab the closest one to her. Her horse was also in a 'You're the first thing I saw so you're mine now' relationship with her, taking the one directly to Rask's left. It seemed to be a sturdy beast, though not the largest. True, all of them were about the same size, but there were minor differences here and there. This one in particular seemed to be a little vertically challenged, but was stout. It's golden mane was obviously uncared for, laying pretty shoddily over the black-spotted white skin of the beast. Seemed to be a good fit for the elf.

Thena tied the satchel to it's left flank, obviously taking care to not stand right behind them as she does so. Her own supplies would be thrown over and tied to the right, all her required gear in one big lumpy sack. Some people would find it tacky. The brawler didn't. That's the end of that story, really. After the supplies were secured, Thena decided that she had some time to kill and decided to take a few steps towards Rekugin. "Yo, Kid." In no time at all the woman stood next to her target, giving a light jab to his leg as he was on a horse. "Yer pretty decent with a bow, right? Teach me to shoot somewhat straight, will ya? Bought a huntin' bow fer that." It's then that she noticed the little monk of the group arriving, the other kid. Man, this day kept getting better.