There was a saying in the Western Reach, [i]you won't cross the mountains in a day.[/i] For Brynn, that held two meanings. Most of his small gestures of friendship to the crew were spurned, and he never even bothered with that big green cunt. Most of them either seemed to hate him or eye him like a rabid wolf among their herd. The only man who seemed at all to be taking to him were Berich and Cedric. He'd proven himself a worthy rival when navigating the land, picking a good trail, keeping up with Cedric's pace as best as a man recovering from being stabbed by his best friend could, and having a good sense of direction in the endless forested foothills where one spot looked almost exactly like any other. Berich obviously was like any other man after some semblance of power. He'd seen plenty. He'd seen it in many of Ulfric's warchiefs, in many of his fellow chiefs that sided with the Empire, in the eyes of every Lord and Lordling he'd pledged himself to. Berich was a man without a weapon. Brynn was a man with six hidden about him. The rest honestly could be fucked to give him the time of day, but he knew that you won't cross the mountains in a day.

Let alone at all with this damned lot. Many weren't used to the long march, keeping ahead of any outriders looking for anyone or anything to put the lives of Meir Thorvale on. Brynn was still a wanted man in those parts, and he was very fond of his head and was not fixing to get stabbed any time soon. By the time sunset came, they were cresting one last hill at the head of a countless many. For the first time, they stood shoulder to shoulder with each other as they looked upon the tiny hamlet of King's Guard. Brynn's mind already set to mapping out angles of attack and defensible points in the town and the countryside surrounding. It was a cluster of buildings with farmsteads sprinkled about. The fields would feed the people and the Lord's retinue, and when the time comes- as it always does- to feed the levies raised in wartime. The town itself grew closer and closer together around the stone-walled hillfort of a fortress the Lord called home. Immediately, as he was wont to do the last few days with this lot, Brynn walked ahead. He wanted to be scouting as much as he could, ahead of the pack, so as not to have to hear their endless bickering and whispers. To their credit, the whispers and bickering had died down the longer they spent with Brynn and Cedric. He guessed they finally figured out that the time to splinter off and get killed by Lord Fuckstick of Wherever's men had long past. "You know, the Lordling I was in service to sent me here once. Nice place."

He left out the part where he led the leader of the tax-men out to a horse trough and drowned him in it. That was a story for a different time. "How about yourself," He turned to Cedric, who'd joined him at the head of their little column of mismatched misfits, "Have family here? Friends? A favorite whore?"

[color=gold]"First time here, as it were. I've never had reason to leave the North, I'm not a worldly man."[/color] Cedric said, eying the fortress town with a keen eye, looking for the telltale signs of a tavern; every fucking town had one. [color=gold]"Wasn't much of a man for brothels and whores, meself. I never knew me mother, father always said she was a lady of the night, and I wasn't in a hurry to find a family reunion after stickin' me pecker in a woman only to find out we shared more than preferred sex positions."[/color] he grinned, nodding towards their destination. [color=gold]"So, you know the lay of the land. Where's a good place for our lovable crew to bed down and get shite faced?"[/color]

"As it happens, I do. A place on the outskirts, got whores and ale that isn't too watered down." He shrugged and chuckled, "With our big green jolly giant, we'd best stay away from the richer places, aye? Besides, I've spent my time in courts and merchants' clubhouses, and I always hated not being able to knife the powdered ponce that turned his nose up at me."

They were stopped by the watchmen manning the gates in their little palisade. They each had to divvy out 5 gold coins for each of them out of the bag that Maulakanth carried at his side. He grumbled about it, sure, but Brynn learned there was a limit to Maulakanth's bloodthirst. They were permitted past the gates, the guards eyeing Maulakanth and shuffling away from his aura of pure animal fury. He swore, that bastard got bigger each morning. The townsfolk turned and whispered or stared, or just looked away and made themselves busy at the sight of them. They made their way through the poorer slums to a small tavern- aptly named the Gaptooth Grin. Before they entered, Brynn stepped aside for a man cradling a wounded gut oozing red between his fingers. The fellow only nodded to Brynn as he walked past, as if he wasn't bleeding from the gut. "It's a fun place, though, I swear it on my Ma." He said, laying a hand on the swinging door to the inside and stopping just short of pushing it open, "Or at least on my best mate."

[url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wW4sBlfDvOE[/url]

As he pushed the doors aside and strolled through, it was the typical crowd in taverns like this the world over. In the corner, there was a hooded man smoking a pipe next to the hearth, boots resting on his table. In the other corner, there was an underpaid and unappreciated band that played too well for a place like this. There were a throng of loners and drunkards sitting at the bar, mooning into their drinks in varying states of drunkenness. A pair of men sat at the far wall trying to figure out what to do for their friend, who'd had a gash along his shoulder that yawned open every time he moved it. Not far away, a man with a knife lay on the floor, thoroughly concussed, Brynn could tell. A troupe of whores posed themselves around the stairs up to the rooms, where a man tumbled down the stairs and failed to faze them one bit as the big Orc bouncer picked him up and hauled him outside. He passed a group of men dressed in leathers and green clothes sat talking far too loud and challenging each other to a game of five-fingers or arm wrestling. Oh, how Brynn loved that game, splaying your fingers and then stabbing between them faster and faster before you lost one. That's how Half-Hand got his name. He missed Half-Hand. But, again, a story for another time. Brynn strolled easily enough through the tavern and sat himself at a table big enough for their crew to all have a seat. "What'll it be, lads and lasses? Ale, mead, whiskey?"

[color=gold]"Whatever the fuck isn't watered down with goat-piss,"[/color] Cedric replied with a grin, swiping an untouched bread roll from the table behind him, where a Breton man in chainmail was soundly passed out, drink spilled over, and utterly unattended. Cedric bit into it, was surprised it didn't have a tinge of sawdust to it, and chewed mirthfully while the others filled in, disgust on some faces, concern on others, enjoyment on a select few. In the corner, a band sat with a wooden tip bowl by the lute player's feet, and a large fireplace had a pig on a long spit rotating absentmindedly by a straw-haired lad with a wool vest covering his bare torso. He was reading a book one-handed, as if losing himself from the rowdy, boorish world he earned his coin in. A harried-looking waitress strolled up to the table, looking like she hadn't slept in three days, her features otherwise fair even as she approached middle age. 

"What can I do for you lot?" she asked, her accent not of these parts, not unfriendly.

Cedric offered his winningest smile for the lady's benefit. [color=gold]"My friends and me are a bit peckish and parched after quite the day of traveling, which I'm sure you hear a lot, so I trust you'll know what quenches the thirst of a few weary souls."[/color] he looked over at Brynn, trying to recall what he said. [color=gold]"Y'know what, a couple pitches of mead and ale and some tankards to pass around should set us up nicely, and whatever's fresh for food. A couple loaves of bread, I'll have an ear of corn and some stew, that sort of thing."[/color] he said, before she scribbled it down on a well-worn booklet before moving down the line. Cedric stretched an arm behind his head, pulling on his elbow until his shoulder popped. Setting his hand down on the table and drumming his fingers along to the music, he looked back at Brynn. [color=gold]"So, you seem to be a take charge sort of lad, disposition of a man who's stabbed his share of folks over disagreements. Would that be unfair of me to say?"[/color]

Brynn tapped a finger on the table as he looked away in thought, then shrugged and chuckled, "Hells no. I been fighting since I was a lad who left Morthal not knowing that there was anything but swamps and mires. Roving with a fighting band was something I chose over digging up clay and peat. Fought bandits, fought Stormcloaks, fought rival bands, fought Forsworn, fought Orcish warbands too, and earned my share of feuds in my time." He sighed, a wistful twinkle in his eyes, "It's a life, alright. I liked it well enough, I suppose. Now, I'm here. I'm sure you know how Brynn Tiptoe ended up in the jail in Meir Thorvale. Either way, I think I can grow to like this lot. How about yourself? You set a good pace in the wilderness and you're obviously a damned fine scout. You done time in a lord's levy? With the Legion's rangers?"

Cedric snorted a laugh. [color=gold]"Oh, that would be a sight, me wearing the Legion's skirts. No, friend, I've always been a hunter, raised to string a bow and take me keep from the day I was born. Made a living selling cuts and pelts to the merchants in the Rivenspire regions, up in the foothills. It was a quiet life, stuck to me own with me father and me dog mostly, didn't have friends, probably because I beat the shite out of the little town boys who ain't worked a day in their sodding lives for flappin' their gums in a manner I did not much appreciate."[/color] he chuckled, a faint smile creeping upon his lips. [color=gold]"Other than that, the troubles of Lords and Empires and all that other political shite never much effected my day to day, so I simply didn't care. Biggest problem I've ever had to deal with were bandits, a couple of vampires, and a werewolf. You don't treat a hunter like prey, else you get an arrow in yer heart and he keeps your chompy bits as trophies."[/color] he said, reaching into a pouch and placing a pair of vampire and werewolf fangs on the table. [color=gold]"Always wanted to harvest me a mammoth at some point, I heard they're fookin' huge. Not sure How I'd carry around those big fook off tusks, though."[/color]

"Aye, now that's a fuckin' sight, friend!" Brynn had a childlike grin as picked up a werewolf fang and twisted it between thumb and forefinger in the half-light of the tavern, "Bagging a fucking werewolf, by the Nine. Aye, now that is something. I've got a damn good arm and a damn good eye, by all accounts. I could loose an arrow with the best of them, my old bow was a warbow with a draw weight of a hundred and six-score pounds. Could shoot it faster'n anyone I knew, farther'n anyone I knew, and more accurate'n anyone shooting back." He put the fang back on the table and patted his chest, "Now that, I swear on my Ma for. I've bagged many deer, but I always love the surprise in some puffed-up knight's eyes when my bodkin punches through his mail or my broadhead reaches out and touches his horse before he can poke me with his lance."

By then, the drinks had arrived. Brynn wasted no time in pouring himself a tankard and he toasted on Cedric's own, "I like you, friend. It ain't just because we're both Reachfolk, neither. Something about you, reminds me of a dear friend long past, a good man at that." He turned to the rest of the table, offering a friendly grin and toasting them too, "To the living, lads and lasses. Let's laugh as much as we can while we're among them, it'll be hard to after. Now, Faruq, how's about a story or somesuch? Or Cyrodiil, what's it like hunting witches and demons?"