---

Enduwin
Vrentian Plains
Sfel
Docks
Fish Rest Tavern

6:23 am 3rd Day of Fire.

“The spiders are restless, stirring, whispering talking; afraid.
When the spiders are fearful it is a portent most dire.
High in the Skrag the Speaker’s Speak and beg the Listener to Hear.
Low in Aumhaft, across the swept plains, tales of flame reach Lords’ ears.
Darkness moves again, it’s said, stirs its head from an age old slumber.”

“Ah! Give in! Quit spooking me kids will ya!” came the yell of the tavern owner. A gruff, slightly greasy man, though bearing a welcoming smile.
Three children all younger than ten, by the stranger’s reckoning, scampered away from the cloaked patron and out the door onto the docks of Sfel. The middle-aged man who’d been regaling the old wives’ tale to them left out a throaty chuckle, clamped by the smoke of his pipe.
“Aye. Another, good sir.” He beckoned to the tavern man.
“They should be arriving shortly.”

The apparent stranger pulled down the hood of his tapered robes and smiled.
"Mister Cuvahkt?" came the question.
"Aye Conrad. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep my meeting of some, peculiar individuals in a tavern at dawn to yourself."
Conrad, evidently the tavern owner's name, was a little surprised to see the teacher darken his door like this. What individuals did he mean? 'Who was coming?' he wondered. An early morning mystery was not what Conrad has expected that nippy morn after flopping himself out of bed when the children has awoken.
"Not to pry or nothing, Mr. C, but ya cannot think I'd not ask the meaning of such when ya stroll in 'ere this early with some odd sounding business?" Conrad said, in a questioning but not unfriendly tone.

Eolas left out a small chuckle before replying; "I told you many times, Conrad, call me Eolas."
No answer to the question posed was given. Eolas knew Conrad to be a good man, a community man. He felt bad about just thrusting this on him, but an impromptu meeting had to been arranged and a tavern was the logical place. Looking up at the tavern owner, he saw a furrowed brow and look of deep consternation in his eyes. Sighing slightly, Eolas resigned that he at least owed the man an explanation, even if it was to be a fabricated one.
"It's some old baggage. Something from back in Ozgart. Family matter. I'd just like to get this over. I'm sorry for landing it on your lap on an early morning, but I'd really appreciate some tight lips. I have a certain air of perfection, of not being a person, that needs to be maintained for the parent's sake, as a teacher."
Conrad's face unforrowed, his expression soften and he nodded meaningful at the old scholar. Approaching his patron's table, he landed down a second mug of broth without saying a word.

There wasn't time for truth or guilt. This wasn't who Eolas was. Lying to people, sulking about in the dawn as people lay in bed. Using backwater channels to get word out that he needed people hired. It all felt so, so dirty to him. Puffing his cheeks and exhaling, the old Ventus genuinely felt the weight of the world baring down on him. Reaching down and fiddling with the cuff of his boot a little, he began to feel more than a little anxious about this whole endeavour. His endeavour. It had all been such a rush 'till now, he'd nary had a moment to pause and think about. 'Well no backing out' he concluded silently to himself.

Only a moment later, as if the universe were in sync, the tavern door swung open and in strode the first of his so-called 'applicants.'

---

With a grunt the heavy oak door swung open before a large bear-like man, though the huge knotted arms indicated the paltry act had taken little effort. His was the visage of one that tended to draw a certain wary attention, though the Venar were not unheard of this far south it was rare to see them free, often an early sign that trouble was soon to come. The fur-wearing Northman looked bleary eyed, as if he had been up all night drinking and the morning light pained him. Stomping through the bare inn his tired eyes swept the room, fangs protruding anti-socially as his reclusive nature fought against the current situation. He realised that he could not spot who he was looking for at first sight, nor could he properly pronounce his name.

Catching the barman returning from a table he gave the man a start as he noticed his appearance for the first time. However, before he could get words out or prepare to defend himself the heavy-set Ventus struggled through a question in the common tongue.

“I look for Eee-oo-ll-as.” He asserted, mispronouncing his potential employer’s name and failing to actually frame his remark as a question. Still, considering his terrible grasp of the language, it was a fair effort. His voice rumbled deeply, with an abysmal accent that gave the barkeep pause. However, using the skills such a man assembled over a life-time of speaking with all sorts, he pieced together his old friend’s mysterious behaviour and the barbarian’s presence. Taking in his obvious weapons and meaty demeanour he worried anew for his old friend, wondering just what business he’d got himself into. Nodding at the Venar, he pointed to the table.

“Eolas is over there, can I get you something to drink?”

“Ale.” The Venar struggled for a moment. “My thanks.” He walked off, giving the barkeep a brief and uncertain nod before his great stride carried him to the table where Eolas sat. He looked at the old Ventus for a moment, taking in his fair height with approval and sitting down without waiting to be told. He spread his weight evenly on the chair and instinctively pulled it away from the table to allow himself room to move quickly if necessary. Fixing the Ventus with hunter’s eyes, albeit slightly unfocused due to his hangover, the North-man’s look spoke a thousand words, if his time had been wasted blood would be shed.

“I am Bakk.”

There were very few things that ever made Haljon feel small. He had lived the majority of his life towering over others, and his height always attracted attention. He was known as a giant amongst giants to the rest of his race, both his greatest curse and boon. Mountains, of course, always managed to make him feel small. Philosophy? He wasn't the most sophisticated of men, and over-deep musings went over his head as surely as mountains. The more expensive inns and estates he had been employed at always seemed to have a habit of dwarfing him as well.

Vrent seemed to have all these things. Founded on an enormous range of mountains, with architecture that didn't seem to know the meaning of "wide", as well as ample philosophical hogwash that made his head spin. Not to mention the size of the thrice-damned people. An average Vrentus stood head and shoulders above Haljon. He'd find the whole thing quite depressing if he didn't find it that much more hilarious.

He spotted the inn he was supposed to meet his new employer at, and managed to extricate himself from the huge throngs of people walking along the Ard road. Standing in front of the large oak door, Haljon hesitated for a moment before pushing his way inside; mere moments after the Venar known as Bakk had sat down. Haljon rubbed his eyes in order to adjust to the sudden darkness. He itched his wild beard idly as his gaze swept across the room, shrugged, then approached the tavernkeep standing behind the bar.

"Two ales, and a man named Eolas." He grumbled, his voice reminiscent of distant thunder. He tossed the barkeep his payment.

Haljon heard the tavernkeep mutter under his breath something about "meaty men and trouble", but ignored it. He collected his two ales - which frothed appetizingly at the top - and moved towards Eolas' table. He nodded to the Ventus and then the Venar, and sat down heavily. He didn't wait for either of them to speak before downing both ales in two massive swallows. Haljon belched and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Satisfied, he nodded again towards his table companions.

"Haljon. 'Tis a pleasure."

A lither, lighter figure than that of either the previous applicants or their Ventus patron was next to slip its way into the bar, albeit the pace she kept somehow made her strides seem longer; leaving a rebuffed Conrad little time to offer pleasantries. "No." she'd pre-emptied, severing the barman's sentence short and coursing passed him to the corner table, having held Eolas squarely in her sights since her arrival.

Stopping with that same abrupt manner Brevana flicked a waiting seat from before her, motions deft enough to do so quietly as it found a place top down upon the nearby table. "I will prefer to stand." she thrummed, R's rolling over the statement as something in her eyes denigrated those assembled. A slight pivot of gaze let the woman regard both Bakk and Haljon in turn, a gesture that seemed more calculation than courtesy. "You are fortunate I've arrived." the southerner stated as flatly as her accent would allow, as if voicing her opinion of the others.

"You may begin." she'd consent, a bit more brass spoke into the terse sentence as it fought to be heard above the loud crack an idle palm squeezed from her knuckles. Worldly that he was the ex-Vidril needed no introduction to deduce her origins--and so none were given--her suede ninirri and sternly set jaw revealing her to be a warrior-savant of High Atoll. As for the Venar and the Northman (Whom she'd noted held the uncommon distinction of being the taller of the two) they were offered only what cursory exposition could be beheld. She was a warrior, to that much a lattice of scars would attest along the length of each arm, and an old one at that if the white snaking through her brown curls were to be believed. It was only her eyes that could cast that into doubt, bright bits of brown nested in a sea of sun yellowed sclera like hard facets of mineral. Irregardless she seemed less than equipped for whatever undertaking was about to be proffered, bare of even the basic essentials travel or turmoil would demand.

It was the way she moved that made her seem dangerous.

Ren had that feeling again. It was the same feeling he had when leaving the military service and that cursed Alchemist Guild. It was like standing at a crossroad. There were two paths now, enter or leave. Somehow he had the impression that this suspiciously small decision would change the course of his life. As if he did not have enough changes already.
Many months ago he had arrived in Vrent and the city had overcome his expectations. It was overwhelming indeed and although it held promise of greatness and wealth, Ren had not succeeded in finding a reliable source of income.
Now he was staring at the entrance of the Fish Rest Tavern. His hand was still resting on the wooden door when it was suddenly pulled open from the inside. A Vrentus stood in the door-frame looking down on him, then he muttered something about humans always being in the way, pushed Ren aside without any effort and disappeared into the muddle of people who frequented the docks.

Ren was now staring at the open door and past it into the tavern. It would appear that the door of fate had just swung open. He stepped into the taproom and the door closed behind him. The decision was made.
Ren took a brief look around and immediately spotted the small group of odd people sitting and standing around a table on the other side of the room. The centre of attention was a Ventus, this was certainly the one he was supposed to meet. Eolas.

"Step one. Easier than expected." Ren muttered to himself while walking towards the table. The bartender greeted him with a welcoming smile, but Ren just made a quick declining gesture. He did not feel like drinking anything right now.
As was his habit, he put his hands in the pockets of the black coat he was wearing. Upon reaching the table, Ren realized that the other people were heavily armed. The short sword hanging on his waist seemed awfully small right now. However, he was not here to fight, but to talk.

"Ren Evath. I assume you are Eolas?"

Hector walked into the bar, pulling the cloth covering his face down as he did so. It was only polite, after all. He was cold. Granted, he was always some degree of cold, even in what passed for warm in Vrent. Is this country never warm? He wondered for perhaps the hundredth time, briefly examining the room. It seemed comfortable enough, if crafted for the Ventus. Not that it's current occupants had any trouble with the size of the place.

More giants, wonderful. He had long ago gotten used to the fact that he would forever be dwarfed in this country, but there was always that slight hope when he went into a new venture that someone who wasn't a child would be at least his height. A foolish hope, true, but one always had to have something to hope for. The simple hope of not dying had stopped working when he abandoned his tribe. Well, he had come here to find Eolas and seeing as there was only one person who it could be Hector made his way over to the growing gathering.

He paused only briefly to talk to the tavern owner, his soft voice carrying only the hint of an accent. "Water, please." He didn't understand what the draw of alcohol was, nor why people partook in it. People in this country didn't value water enough. Probably because they always had plenty of it at hand. He only chuckled at the look the man gave him, and turned to more closely examine the people he would be working with. Three of them were obviously warriors. Front line fighters too. Scars all around, weapons on two of them, and that same dangerous air that told you they had killed once and would likely kill again.

The fourth one was different. While as tall as the rest of the gathered company, he didn't have that same air. Perhaps he was just a scholar, or perhaps he was hiding something that Hector couldn't detect. Something dangerous. Like those Gods Cursed new weapons and technology. He thought darkly, before taking his water with a 'thank you' and continuing over to the gathering.

"My name is Hector. A pleasure to meet all of you." He said, nodding to each of the gathered people in turn. It never hurt to be polite.

The door swinging open, the first had arrived. A large Venar stood before Conrad and butchered Eolas' name, before being pointed over the corner where he sat.

"Hello, Bakk. I'm Eolas." replied the scholar, standing and bowing slightly as a formal introduction. Despite his bulk, and undoubted savagery, something about his wide-eyed gaze and basic grasp of the common tongue, made Bakk somewhat approachable. Eolas seemed somewhat hesitant at first. The nature of the task ahead of him was one of a delicate nature. Bakk seemed like he might genuinely not know the meaning of the word.
Before another thought on the issue could form, the door to the tavern swung ajar again, and in strode the second.

Still standing, having not sat since greeting Bakk, Eolas was pleasantly surprised when the next would be employee handed him a pint of ale and offered him a handshake. Taking both, Eolas responded in kind;
"The pleasure is mine, Haljon. And thank you."
Haljonn was human, not Venar or Ventus, but still a large well built man. From the north of the Raven's Ire mountain range, if his dark hair, beard and accent were anything to go by. Yet again, much like Bakk, he seemed a strong but negotiable fellow. He seemed to be the type to enjoy his ale, but to take his work to heart. Of course, these were merely cursory first impressions which were filling the void of knowledge in Eolas' head, and either of them could be wildly different to his perceptions thusly.

Not even had the air of welcome settled, than the next had arrived. The lady monk had arrived. Eolas' contact, who had strung all this together assured him that the devout of High Atoll would be a succinct inclusion in the task at hand. The old scholar though, had fear of having a heretic with them from the start. Not that it would matter once the task was underway, the old Ventus was just anxious with regards to drawing too much attention to themselves too early. The woman merely informed the Ventus that she was ready, and Eolas nodded in reply, just as the door opened yet again.

Ren presented himself to Eolas in a more formal manner than the previous three. Human, and rather frail looking, it seemed as if this addition to their burgeoning group would be providing some more technical expertise. Eolas had been informed to expect some less than orthodox methodology and equipment from Ren, but was assured that contracting him would prove vital. Eolas responded with a polite 'yes', aimed at Ren.
"Only another one is yet to join us" mouthed the Ventus at his group, and sure enough, like clockwork, almost comically timed, the door opened again, again.

A dark skinned human entered, another man, but shorter than any other male in the room now. Eolas immediately noticed tear drop tattoos on the man's face. Not familiar with the marking's meaning, or if there were one, Eolas was still able to ascertain from the complexion, inking and accent that the man originated far from the south, likely in the dunes of Herwen. Hector, as he introduced himself as, also seemed like a pleasant chap. Though again, Eolas reminded himself that he was likely, as with all his group bar possibly Ren, a trained killer.

A deep welt of anxiety tucked itself into Eolas' being. This was madness. Literal suicide. 'No' he prompted himself. If I don't do this, it won't mean anything either way. It had to be done, and he, no they had to be the ones to do it.
"Ahem!" coughed the scholar, forgetting for a second it was probably best to not address these folk as he would a classroom.
"I've arranged for something, more, private. Yes private, for our briefing, if you'll follow me, it shan't take long," rattled Eolas.
'Briefing?' He quizzed himself. Did it sound as stupid to them as it had to him.
Leading the group out of the tavern, he gestured a wave of respect at Conrad, and was truly grateful. Out onto the docks, and the sun was now high above the horizon. Porters and fishers and kids swarmed the docks. Barrels, buckets and boxes were being shifted here, there and everywhere.
Being the only salt-water fishing port of any size in Vrent, Sfel was certainly all hustle and bustle even this early on off day. Making his way along the docking, Eolas assumed the others were behind him. Pushing past the workmen, and making his way along to the smaller outlying docks, the entire journey on foot only took a couple of minutes, and Eolas did not bother making small talk. Though for all he knew, the others may have been chatting behind him. There was so much background noise, he'd have been none the wiser.

Reaching the mooring he had been aiming for, Eolas noted there were far few people about here. Nodding at an man attending a large rowboat, Eolas handed him a Blood coin.
"Aye haff an 'our, an' I ain't say a word," came the thick country tongue of the boat's obvious owner.
Eolas gestured for his companies to board the vessel. Made of sturdy oak and bolted with refined balsite bearings and hull work, the boat could have easily seated a dozen people on its pew-like seating. Three pair of oars dotted the boat's rim, and Eolas quickly clasped one, and waited for the others to do the same.

They only rowed for a short time, just over a minute or so, and in silence. Eolas could feel the tension growing, or perhaps it was just him, and the others were merely nonchalant.
"That should be fine," he offered. They weren't far out of the dock at all, but crucially they were out of earshot.
Feeling all eyes turn to him, Eolas realised this was the point of absolute no return. Reaching into his small leather sack, he produced five coin purses and tossed each of his companions one. Inside each were three ℘ragon's. Three actual dragon minted coins, very few of which were ever minted. To the extent they were often considered worth more than the ten thousand farthings they represented. Enough in each purse to purchase a house and live comfortably for a few years.
"That's a portion of the final coffer. That's to keep you silent. If you choose to not pursue this course, take that purse, and swim to shore right now. I nor anybody else will attempt to stop you."
Eolas cast his gaze around the group and gauged their reaction before continuing.

Continuing, Eolas took a deep breath, and gave up his life with a sentence.
"We're going to steal the Eye of Yvazgrul."

Oliver did his best to open the tavern door as sheepishly as possible, hoping to avoid attracting too much attention as he arrived last to the meeting. Unfortunately, the world had other plans for our hero; just as the young knight errant had begun to slowly and carefully turn the handle, a wayward gust of wind arose from seemingly nowhere and threw the door open with such force that it slammed against the adjacent wall with a startling BANG. This left Oliver in an unenviable position, as it appeared to all who were present in the tavern that this unassuming young man (trying desperately to avoid eye contact) had made the bold decision to kick the door in and then proceed stand awkwardly in the doorway, royal blue cape flapping in the breeze behind him.

That's okay! This is okay! You meant to do that. Own this. It's the only way forward now.

The barkeep immediately returned a very unenthused look; the ex-thief's unintentional theatrics would not be tolerated here, apparently, especially not when they ran the risk of damaging both the door and the wall. Oliver quickly moved to shut the door, muttering a meek apology, but in his haste he neglected to notice that the frayed edges of his trademark cape had been caught between the door and the doorframe. When he turned his attention back to the room and started to make his way over to the group's table, he barely made it a few steps before he realized his mistake and the fabric of the cape pulled taut and then ripped, loudly, as Oliver continued to move towards the group. He cringed openly, but knew in his heart of hearts that the cost of making his already tattered cape a little more tattered was minuscule compared to the shame he would have endured from having to rectify the problem.

Well, it's not so bad. You're only a minute late to the meeting and so far, I'd say you've only mostly ruined your chances of appearing respectable to these people. So you're doing pretty alright.

At this point Oliver figured ordering any sort of drink from the bartender wasn't even worth it, both on account of the spectacle he'd caused and his tardiness. A bit of a shame, too; on the way over he'd engaged in a protracted internal debate over what kind of manly drink to order loudly in front of his new colleagues to impress them. Ultimately he'd settled on "your strongest ale, in a dirty glass" but alas, he'd have to save that bit of false prestige for another day. Eyeing the old antique clock above the bar, he surmised that he was actually a whopping two minutes late to the meeting, and as such thought it wise to delay no further with his delightfully endearing foibles and approach the table.

"Pardon my lateness, sirs, madam, and..." he began, although when his gaze settled on the North-man, he found himself at a loss for words. "...erm, other sir," he continued, avoiding Bakk's gaze. The group of hired hands gathered at this particular table seemed to be fairly disenchanted with the idea of "fucking around", and in light of his lateness, he decided to shorten his introductory monologue to the abridged version for everyone's sake.

"Sir Oliver Fortesque IV, fourth son of Sir Daniel Fortesque II, first sword of Gallowmere, at your service," he recited, with a cordial bow. "You may refer to me as Sir Oliver for our purposes. I am pleased to be working with you all. By all means, proceed," he finished, with a dismissive wave of his hand as he took his seat to the left of Haljon. As Eolas continued, Oliver's left hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, and he began to fiddle with the chain and amulet attached to the pommel, as he always did when he was nervous. He was glad to finally have the attention off of himself, but the tone of this meeting concerned him, especially when Eolas led them out of the tavern for the sake of privacy. Oliver openly frowned when the Vrentian scholar even suggested it, if only because the true nature of this job was now gradually becoming apparent to him.

There you go getting your hopes up again, Oliver. What grand and benevolent quest is too shady to discuss in the privacy of a tavern? They'll probably just have you stealing jewels or beating up hapless merchants, like always.

Throwing another glance at his new colleagues, it wouldn't surprise him if this was just another run of the mill shady mercenary contract. He'd seen their type before, and given what Oliver was usually paid to do, it wasn't like he was really in a position to look down on them. However, Sir Oliver Fortesque IV stuck out like a sore thumb in this bunch and he could feel it. Perhaps it was just their seriousness, but Oliver couldn't help but feel an aura of thick and pronounced disapproval emanating from each of them. Was it already that obvious that he didn't belong?

By the time Oliver had stepped into the boat he was fully mired in his own sea of self doubt, so much so that he seemed barely even present when he received the coin purse from Eolas. He perked right up upon checking inside the small pouch to discover three ℘ragons inside. Few things could coax out a more warm and genuine smile from Oliver than money he didn't even have to work for. As the Ventus went on to offer his warning, Oliver was barely even listening. He seemed far more content to closely inspect the dragon coins, legitimately wondering if they were counterfeit. For some reason all the moral compunctions he'd been mulling over lost their clout when obscene amounts of money were on the table. Very strange, I know.



"We're going to steal the Eye of Yvazgrul."

Oliver let out a bit of a chuckle on instinct, but upon recognizing that Eolas was gravely serious, he openly frowned, tightening the drawstring on the coin purse as he pocketed it nonchalantly. Suddenly the option of swimming back to shore with his coins and forgetting all about this handful of goons seemed very appealing.

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if we set aside the fact that stealing is morally reprehensible," he scoffed, failing to notice the potent irony of that statement. "Do you see any thieves among us? Subtlety is most certainly not our strong point. I doubt the lot of us could steal a loaf of bread if we tried, let alone the Eye of Yvazgrul." Oliver shook his head, turning to look back in the direction of the docks they'd set off from. "I must say I'm a bit insulted. Petty thievery is far beneath my station. Send for a knight of Gallowmere if you need to slay a wyvern or rescue maidens fair. I'm sure there are plenty of licentious cutpurses willing to throw their lives away on this fool's errand, but as it stands, it'll take more than shiny coins to sway me."

Proud that he'd stood his ground and done the reasonable thing, Oliver leaned back in his bench seat on the boat and began fiddling with the sword's amulet again. He wasn't about to actually jump out and swim back to shore, though. Trying to get this tabard dry was such a bitch.

Bakk eyed each comer with a slightly bleary but hawk like gaze. The animalistic senses his people are born with leapt at each new arrival, sometimes causing his hackles to rise, sometimes releasing a subtle predatory instinct. It was something akin to how a wolf may identify the weakest of the herd for its brethren, or in the other extreme the strongest beast to be avoided. Such a sense was untested and inconclusive, but it could be hard to hide one’s true nature from Bakk. He could almost smell true confidence, and judge a threat accordingly.

Utilizing his questionable gifts as he observed each comer, he made some cursory assessments of their strength and threat, albeit in a somewhat primitive manner. The first, a large human, well equipped and with the bearing of his people’s sword-fighters. Bakk hadn’t faced many human slavers, but he knew them to be one of the most diverse groups in terms of skills and they had a great capacity for war. The sword frightened him. He knew that in fair combat, he had already met his match as he regarded the man quaff great quantities of drink. However, the gluttony of his drinking was also a weakness. Bakk may be hungover from the night before, but he did not drink in excess when there was business at hand. He eyed him coolly as he introduced himself.

“Bakk.” He pointed at himself, in response to his curt introduction, nodding slightly, his jaw jutting. He had only a moment to consider the sort of individuals that were going to be assembled before he was shocked by almost the exact opposite kind of person following Haljon. A little woman of his kind, scarred and under-equipped for any task Bakk could immediately think of. However, though his people did not practice any formal martial arts, it was not unusual for female warriors and unarmed fighters to exist among the Venar. He could sense her confidence in her haughty tones, even if he could not quite follow everything that she said. He did not fear her in the same way he feared Haljon’s sword, he suspected that whatever skills she had developed would come undone against a Venar such as him, but he did not discount her worth. Not yet at any rate. She gave no introduction, so he offered none in return.

The third was not of note to Bakk, he was a large human but he did not carry equipment to be feared. His presence was curious to the large mountain dweller, but he dismissed him for the moment, being more pragmatic in his observations. His introduction wasn’t necessarily one to the group, but Bakk still offered his name to the man, as was the custom of his people when one revealed their name first.

The fourth was unassuming at first, and he was not one familiar to Bakk in his limited forays southward. He did however recognise the bow, a hunter’s weapon, he approved. Some Venar used powerful bone-like short-bows with a poundage beyond that which ordinary men could draw, and so he knew of the weapon’s power. It had its limitations though, Bakk would not test the man’s skill from afar, but he knew that as close as this his death would come easy. His eyes passed over him, satisfied with his conclusions.

The fifth, was the worst. Human, like most, Bakk smelled the fear upon him immediately. Though he was equipped dangerously, and could have earned Bakk’s respect if not fear should he have carried himself like the tall swordsman, there was something false about the man who called himself ‘Sir Oliver.’ Bakk’s instinct for estimating the strength of a creature, born entirely from a survivalist life in the wilds, revealed the spirit of the so called Knight more so than any mannerism could. That, coupled with his flowery and mostly indecipherable speech inspired Bakk’s ire. He looked down on the man, though unless he were to do something directly annoying to the Venar, little would likely come of it. In a slightly more brusque manner than any earlier time (though it would take something of an expert to really tell, as Bakk’s deep resonant voice tended to sound similar to the untrained ear regardless of inflection) he gave his name to the Knight.

Finally, with what seemed to be the entire group assembled, Eolas took them away from the tavern. Bakk was unhappy to be moved about again, particularly into the late morning light, and his heavy plodding steps lacked their usual grace. The Northman was not particularly bothered about what the others thought of him, likely in appearance he resembled little more than hired muscle. He was happy to leave them with that misconception, it would add to the satisfaction when they felt one of his axes protruding from their chest. Provided the party ended in conflict, which in Bakk’s experience was often the case with unscrupulous meetings such as these. They walked a short while to the water’s edge, and narrowly crammed into a row-boat. To say Bakk was unhappy with the situation would be an understatement. Bakk did not like swimming, he was bad at it, and he also did not like drowning. He also disliked being trapped on a boat with a group of strangers. Ultimately, though secrecy may be obtained, the plan had irritated the large Northman. With very little aptitude or skill, but plenty of strength and endurance, he took up an oar and helped row the party into remote waters, muttering in Venar the entire way a number of choice curses for the idiocy of such a plan.

However, he soon changed his tune when the pouch fell into his hands, revealing almost half the sum he required for his personal concerns. His eyes lit up briefly, and desperate greed nearly overwhelmed him. Perhaps Eolas had chosen wisely, if they had been in the forest those around him would be dying as he spoke, two or three of the bags of coins would be all Bakk needed, and the blood of strangers would be a small price to pay for that. However, trapped on a boat with little room to manoeuvre and little ability to swim, betrayal would be suicide. Bakk settled down to listen to the proposition, deciding to bide his time.

He did not show any visible sign of really understanding what the task at hand meant, though he vaguely understood that Eolas meant to steal some precious gem, he couldn’t help but query what sort of robbery required a party such as theirs. Evidently, fighters had been prioritized over sneak thieves, which suggested the robbery was going to be ransack rather than heist, or so Bakk thought in more primitive terms. He remained silent, assuming others would ask relevant questions and feeling unsure of how to articulate himself in the common tongue. However, all that emerged immediately was protest from the so called Knight, protest which served to irritate Bakk.

“Swim then.” Bakk said pointedly, laying one massive hand upon the Knight’s shoulder as he had ended up behind him. It was evident that he meant to push the man into the sea, unless he or someone else spoke pretty quickly on his behalf.

Ren took his time analyzing the group he was now part of. Especially the Venar, who introduced himself as Bakk, caught his attention. Ren responded to his greeting with a short nod, as he had already told his name. He had never seen one of those beast-like man before, however, there were books about them as well as reports.
His master made him read about the different cultures, in order to understand the world, one had to be aware of every component in it. “Understand what the world is made of and you will understand what it is.” That was the phrase his master always quoted when Ren complained about having to read through another seemingly irrelevant book. Although, today Ren did not agree with that approach, he had to admit that the knowledge he had acquired over the years had been proven to be helpful in multiple instances.
He remembered reading a series of very detailed reports about the northern areas focused on the life and behavior of the Venar. Ironically, the author was killed by the Venar, but judging from the arrogance reflected in the text, Ren had the suspicion that said author was not completely unaccountable for that outcome.

The other people did not look as conspicuous. There was the slightly smaller man with his bow, he looked like a hunter. A very dangerous hunter at that. Then there was the large swordsman. Ren looked at the huge two handed sword he was carrying, somehow he had no doubt in his mind that the man could split everyone in the room into two pieces in one fell swoop.
The woman, Brevana, seemed very straightforward. Ren did not know what to make of her past that first impression. Time would tell.
Last and maybe also least was Sir Oliver, the not so elegant knight. Was he a nobleman? He certainly did not seem like one, also, which noble would come to the docks to partake in some definitely shady endeavors? Maybe there was more to him than visible at first glance.

...or maybe less. Ren though as he watched the fabric of Sir Olivers blue cape rip when he walked towards the table.

Shortly after, Eolas announced that everyone was present and they were led to the docks and onto a boat. Ren sat down next to Bakk and they rowed for a short time until Eolas began talking again.

Odd safety measure. It will be impossible for anyone to hear what we are talking. But, at the same time, the act of six completely different people with high grade weaponry boarding a boat and rowing just a short distance outside of the port might create suspicion itself.

His train of thought ended when Eolas threw a purse his way. Ren caught it mid air. He did not open it, the weight he felt in his hand was enough to make him aware of the large amount of gold he was holding. His mood darkened. This was a lot more than he had expected, which meant that the task at hand would be a lot more complicated than he had hoped.
Ren's suspicion proved to be correct when Eolas announced that they were going to steal the Eye of Yvazgrul.

What?! He thought, almost saying it out loud. Sure, steal the most important artifact in Vrent. Might as well kill the listener on our way out. Great. Because having madmen experimenting on people was not exciting enough for me yet.

Once again, his thoughts were interrupted, this time by Sir Oliver, who protested against the plan. Bakk, on the other hand, seemed to protest against Oliver as he forcefully put his hand onto the knight's shoulder, ready to grant him an unwanted swimming lesson.
Ren quickly put his hand on the Venar's arm, holding him back. Not that the barley trained alchemist was delusional enough to believe he actually had the strength to hold back such a beast of man, it was a gesture only.
“Don't.” He said and turned to the Venar. “The decision is his and his alone. If he does not have the strength or the will, he shall eventually fall by himself. Such is the iron rule of nature, is it not?”
Ren spoke calmly and as clear as possible. Just like he used to during his lectures, he realized the Venar was not used to the common language.
Ren knew a few things about the Venar religion or metaphysical beliefs. According to what he read, they revolved around nature and strength. It was only logical for those who lived in the wilderness. The people of the north were like the land that formed them: Cold and merciless.
Ren looked at Sir Oliver while his hand remained on Bakk's arm. “As for you, rest assured that subtlety is not always required. One forms a plan around the resources available.” He said while using his free hand to make a gesture towards the others.
Finally, Ren turned his attention to Eolas. “Now then, you don't seem like an idiot or a madman, so instead of telling you why your proposal is insane, how about we cut this short and you tell us why it is not?”
Given the current situation, he was somewhat surprised how clam his voice was. What insanity had he gotten himself into again? Despite all this, Ren could not deny that Eolas had caught his curiosity.

Hector could only raise an eyebrow at their latest arrival. Everything about him seemed a tad...flashy (granted, Hector himself was still in his desert garb and that wasn't exactly subtle either). From the way he dressed and acted to the way he talked. Regardless, he smiled and introduced himself to the flamboyant knight. "Hector. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sir Oliver." Then, much to Hector's surprise, they started to get up and leave the quiet and, as far as Hector was aware, secure tavern. And they were on a dock.

I got a bad feeling about this. He thought worriedly, standing up and following the group out. As expected on the only port town in all of Vrent, it was bustling with activity and people. Not that that concerned him. So long as he stayed as close as he could to their group, he wouldn't be lost in the crowd of giants. Unfortunately, his plan meant that he wasn't aware of where they were headed until it was far to late. Rather than heading towards a nice, abandoned, solid in the earth, warehouse, or something that was an equivalent, they were headed towards the sea. What's worse, they were headed towards a boat on the sea. Hector visibly paled, and cursed under his breath.

Boats. I hate boats. And the sea. And the motion of the sea. Why did I agree to a meeting on a port town of all places? They got on the boat, Hector's stomach already roiling and turning. "I hate boats. We'd better be getting paid up front for this." He groaned as they began to move out into the center of the bay and he tried to hold his breakfast in. Puking in front of his new employer wouldn't be a good way to make a first impression. On the other hand, the odds of him not puking were drastically decreasing the longer he was on this stupid boat. Things were made marginally better when money, and a lot of it judging from the looks on everyone's face. Hector, judging himself stable enough to not vomit, carefully leaned back from over the side of the boat and checked his pouch. "My my. You really do want to keep us silent." He muttered, looking up at his new employer.

Then his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open slightly, an incredulous laugh escaping him. A joke. Surely. He'll tell us the real job in a brief moment. He became reassured that the man wasn't joking when Sir Oliver's protest went on, quickly followed by Bakk and Ren's announcements. And still no revelation it was a joke came. Well. He is paying a lot of money. And it would be a lovely challenge. Especially with this...finesse lacking group. Fuck it. I'm in. But our good knight appears to be out.

Once everyone was done talking Hector, still leaning closely towards the side of the boat and looking decidedly nauseated, spoke. "If he's not going to participate in the theft, we should kill him. If he's a noble knight he might feel it his duty to notify the Speakers that we're going to try to steal the most highly prized religious relic in all of Vrent. If he's a greedy knight, despite his claims, he might realize there's a nice, safe, way to get a lovely reward from the Speakers by turning us in. If either of those happens, the Speakers will doubtlessly visit your tavern first, then the boat owner, and then you. We'll all be executed or worse, and he'll walk away richer and safer than ever. Even if he doesn't talk, the Speakers catch wind of this they'll start looking for anyone who can tell them information."

"Unless he's planning on running back to Gallowmere or somewhere far away, they'll likely find him, torture him, and then make him tell them everything he knows. If we kill him, and let his body sink to the bottom of the sea, we have nothing to worry about." Hector gave a slightly apologetic shrug to Sir Oliver. "No offense, Sir Knight. You surely understand business. Of course, if enough of our group don't want to join this venture, we have nothing to worry about, for there won't be enough of us to even attempt this theft." Hector leaned back over his side of the boat, his stomach roiling, breathing in and out deeply. Don't vomit, don't vomit, don't vomit.

"Now for the love of the Gods can we get of this damned boat?"

Brevana had observed the surplus arrivals and the group's departure from the docks in composed silence, boarded, rowed and ruminated in silence. It was with silence she declined the proffered pouch and steeled herself for the impossible task Eolas had presented. However, it was not with such reticence that she addressed the squabble that had erupted. "A tactless beast, a sea-sick midget of a man and a hesitant knight." announced the woman warrior with a harsh drawl. "If that is all those coins are worth you may all swim, such allies only distance us from our goal." With that her stare swept over those that had not as yet (albeit through inaction) revealed themselves to be anything but professionals. "As do these theatrics" she'd note with a finely honed sharpness.

"Ignorance is never advantageous Eolas." Brevana would assert, reigning in her tone to the sort of low, forceful hush that befits mantra as much as machination. "Would you not do well to remind those among us that have forgotten: none have taken more risk than our employer in assembling here, and that surely even a 'scholar' of the Red Way is not so misguided as to suggest such an endeavor on a whim." Though authored as a suggestion her words were all but the scolding of a misbehaved child, the remainder embogged by a cursory glance to the problematic trio for which it was surely intended. "So--as you must be eager to assure--what opportunity threatens to slip through our grasp? Or has the weight of a coming calamity merely forced your hand?" In truth she needed no convincing, even that much was obvious; an eye of the Transgressor seemed a worthy measure of her skills.

With that she found repose, posture settling as an arched brow bid reply of her cohorts; curious as to how this day would unfold.

The squabbling had gone on very well long enough now at thus stage, thought Eolas. Rocking back and forth in the small boat, he began to grow a little impatient. A man of great patience, something which went with his job as a teacher, even Eolas was physically unsettled and wanted to just get going.
"Enough Oliver. If you want out then leave us at the docks, but I do not have time to dilly-dally. I asked for you with reason, with an informed suggestion from a previous employer of yours."
Satisfied that he had tried to quiet the situation, Eolas saw Bakk remove the firm grip he had had on the wirey knight's shoulder.
"Let's row back." declared the scholar solemnly.

As they rowed back to dry land Eolas noticed Hector was visibly unnerved by the movements of the boat. Of course, he thought to himself. Hector is from the desert. How strange it must be for him.
Minutes later they rocked back onto the pier and moored the boat. Tipping the vessel's owner again, Eolas peeked around the corner of the dock wall alongside them, just as two Ulla strode into view.

Laughing to himself slightly he looked at oliver again.
"Leave sir knight if you will. Something tells me that you won't."
"And you," he said to Hector "our sunkissed companion, I hope you do better with spiders than you do with water!" chuckled Eolas.
With that, he gestured for the party to climb aboard the Ulla, thier hired and willing mounts.

Three Dragons in hand already. Fox had never even seen one of these legendary coins, and now he had a bag that contained three of them. A smart man could live off of these three coins for a long, long time. Fox could just take the money now and leave, live the rest of his life in relative peace. He could give up bounty hunting, even sell the farm, and just hide away somewhere. Maybe...maybe he could take his family with him and take care of them. Last he heard, they were still working the farms in Isthia.

Or...Or I can do the job and get more of these beauties.

Fox was sitting outside the tavern that Eolas and the rest of the crew had met at. He watched them all depart, a mismatched crowd of killers tailing an aging Ventus scholar. I’ve ne’er seen such a ridiculous sight in me life. From the tavern’s porch, Fox could just barely make out the boat they were settled on in the distance. Right about now, the mercenaries were likely being offered the same deal Fox was mulling over: 3 Dragons for silence, and more for the actual job.

Tch, some job. We don’t even know if the Eye of Yizzy-Gravel even exists. This is prob’ly a wild goose chase...

On top of that, taking on this job meant returning to Vrent. For anyone else, that’s no issue. For Fox though...it meant even more danger for himself. Plus, that meant an added risk for anyone else that decided to take this crazy offer. If he takes the job, should he tell the others? Keep it to himself? If Fox revealed that there were men looking for him, it meant revealing his true identity, which may just put him in even more danger. A bounty hunter such as himself may just consider turning a colleague in for a chance at a reward.

Fox reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out a polished silver flask. If it comes t’ that, I’ll let ‘em know. Fer now...3 Dragons is a lot. But more Dragons are better. Jus’ need t’ wait fer th’ol’ man ‘n th’ gang. He uncorked the flask and took a hefty swig from it, the burning taste of the liquid swirling in his mouth and throat. Looking back over to Eolas’ boat, Fox noticed they were pulling back to the docks. It was time to give Eolas an answer, and to meet his companions for this adventure.

Fox arrived just as two Ulla skittered up to the docks, likely being transportation arranged by the old Ventus. The enormous spider-like beings always made Fox a bit nervous, but he would hold off the fright for his first meeting with the others. There were few better way to damage your reputation as a battle-hardened bounty hunter than by revealing a fear of spiders.

Fox finally strode into view of the others, getting his first good look at everyone’s faces. There was a very young man that dressed as a gallant knight, but his demeanor didn’t seem to match his appearance. Fox would have to keep an eye on this one. Walking uneasily along the docks was a Herwenian man carrying a bow, doing his best not to puke up his guts. Out of the group, the most imposing figure was a Venar warrior strutting with animalistic power in his gait. This’ll be interesting. Thankfully, there was one that was actually shorter than Fox: a dark-skinned, elderly woman. She may have looked small and frail, but her expression and air reeked of dangerous experience. Fox wouldn’t have been surprised if she was the most dangerous of the bunch. The last of the mercenaries were two towering human males: one a scrawny lad stinking of academia, and the other a heavily armored warrior bearing a broadsword. Fox had never seen such a vastly different band of fellows.

Fox breathed in and prepared to deliver his performance. With his left arm, Fox handled his cane blade, the metal tip thumping against the wood of the docks with every step. With his free hand, he reached for his bowler hat and held it against his chest. Fox bared a friendly grin beneath his massive mutton-chop goatee, then bowed extravagantly.

Purposely reducing the thickness of his accent, Fox delivered his greetings with perfect polish and manner, “Greetings, my fellow soldiers of fortune! A pleasure to meet you all.” Fox straightened his posture back to normal, still clutching the hat to his chest. “I am...Malcolm DuBeaux. Gentleman. Plantation Owner. And Bounty Hunter.” Still smiling, Fox turned to look straight at Eolas, “My friend, Eolas...if you haven't guessed already, I would be more'n happy to take up a chance to see the Eye of Yvazgrul for m'self, and to earn a few more Dragons in the process.”

@Darkmatter@Chanda@Rtron@Somnium@MelonHead@Lutalica

Upon reaching the docks, Ren let out a small sigh of relief. Being on a boat with so many highly armed (and slightly unstable) individuals made him feel a bit uncomfortable.
Not only that, but thanks to the discussion of murdering Oliver on the spot, he did not even have time to think about his own decision properly. There were so many reasons to just leave and so few to stay. Eolas had already given them enough money to buy a small house, what could he possibly gain from this mission? More money perhaps, but Ren was nobody that sought high riches. Then again, with more money one could correct some mistakes of the past. Money meant influence as much as knowledge meant power. The latter he already had, the former he could acquire now.

A voice in the back of his had muttered: Don't fool yourself, you made your choice the moment you opened the door of that in.

Ren slid his hands into the pockets of his coat again. He realized that he had left his bag with most of his ingredients back in his room. The few things he had at his disposal right now were what he was carrying inside his coats. He closed one hand around the cold and hard glass of the vial in his pocket as two giant spiders arrived. There were few things in this world Ren disliked as much as spiders. He tried to hide his disgust and focused on the cold glass in his hand. If everything went wrong, he would just burn those things to death...or melt them.

He shoved past the others and made his way to the Ullas and Eolas first.
“I assume you already have this all planned out? Breaking into the probably best guarded building in this city might require at least some preparation.” He whispered to the Ventus with a weak smile while looking up to the Ulla he was about to climb onto.

Suddenly a man approached the small group, introduced himself as Malcolm DuBeaux and proclaimed his interested in stealing the Eye of Yvazgrul.

Amazing. Ren thought Why force us all on a boat, if you have a fool just scream it out in the open?

Things were moving quickly and the Venar couldn’t have relayed everything going on if he had wanted to. Dropping his hand from the Knight with an audible grunt he leaned back and tried to listen to the strange bird-speak that was common in Ventus. Being spoken down to by a large human with nothing apparently martial about him was somewhat demeaning, but his manner of speech did a lot to console the large beast-man. After him the little bowman shared his apprehension about the Knight and went even further to suggest they should kill him, excessive and perhaps overly cautious, but a fair evaluation of the situation. Considering Bakk’s history, he couldn’t profess to a lot of experience in plotting murder or mischief. However, in some of his misspent years raids had been suggested, and those who seemed overly cautious or fearful always turned out to be massive liabilities. The little woman made some comments, though her accent made her pretty much incomprehensible to the Venar, which would probably have been fortunate considering the circumstances. His sharp gaze shot into the back of Oliver’s head as Eolas spoke once more.

He helped row the boat back to the docks and stepped off, not as unsettled by the travel as the bowman but not overly fond of it either. He strolled after the group, his own coins firmly tucked away in three separate places he watched carefully to see where the others would place their own. It could well be that the opportunity for some looting would arise in the near future.

To say that Bakk was unhappy to see the arrival of giant spiders would be an understatement. No self-respecting Venar would be happy sharing company with a large insectoid. His hackles rose in fear and disgust at the creatures and his right hand slipped unconsciously to the metal axe at his side. Slowly, with a forced coolness he released the tension and the handle of the weapon, remembering why he was taking up with these others and their pointless quest. If he had to ride atop some monstrosity to get what he wanted, there was no question that he would do it.

His musings were interrupted by a strangely dressed fellow holding a cane of short stature, which was proving uncommon for the mercenaries assembled. Whoever he was, he seemed to lack the edge of secrecy Bakk had worked out seemed to be important so far, what with the boat and everything. Then again, he might have been talking about something completely unrelated. Shrugging, the Venar prepared to mount up after Eolas had shown how, and let the strange spider carry him wherever it would. Hopefully to some messy battle where a few of his ‘comrades’ would fall in battle, leaving their coin ripe for the picking.

Hector was too sick to even bother giving the woman a rude gesture in reply to her insulting comment about his height. It wasn't his fault that everyone around him was a giant. Though he gave a strangled laugh at the thought of her calling the barbarian tactless. Funny, how little of our own flaws we see in ourselves but condemn in others. He thought idly, staring at the sea and hoping some shark or other monster wouldn't rise up from the depths and try to eat him. He had seen it happen once, or had that been a dream when he was sailing over to this Gods forsaken place? Regardless it was with mixed happiness and dread that he felt the boat beginning to move again. On the one hand, they were heading towards the shore, on the other hand, movement made things worse.

"I swear. If you tell me that the Eye is in the middle of a Gods damned lake, I'm going to volunteer for distraction duty. You all can have fun sailing. I'll take my chances with angry guards and magic." He declared, more to stop himself from throwing up than anything else. It helped to talk and focus on other things, even if it was just inane babble about how much he hated sailing.

It was with very obvious and great relief that he stumbled back onto land, taking in deep breaths. "Never again." He promised, knowing full well that if he didn't die on this venture he probably would do it again. Hector glared at Eolas before grudgingly giving a smirk. "Harty har har. I haven't heard that one before. You're a real jester, scholar." He glances prospectively at the knight, before turning back to Eolas. "Since we're not going with my suggestion, can I get his share when he leaves?"

He began to stash away his coins when he noticed the Venar watching him closely. It didn't take a genius to figure out why he was watching. That was the kind of man who would either bash their heads in for the coin or steal it after someone else did the bashing. Seeing as he needed all of them for the Eye, Hector was willing to bet it's the latter.

The archer gave a grin towards Bakk. "No honor among thieves eh? And here I thought you were going to give me a proper burial." He was fully planning on hiding his coins in other places later, when the giant wasn't looking at him. That grin turned into a wince and a frown as someone who was evidently more flamboyant than the knight, if that was possible, borderline declared their goals and plans for all the world to hear. I want to kill this one too. "Malcom, I'm Hector. Welcome to the group." He didn't bother telling him to be less vocal. It wasn't that much of a slip up...yet.

He clambered up on the Ulla himself, more at ease on walking monstrosities than on the ocean.