The Marid's attempt at a scathing assessment of Saptheth's attitude was noted, but ultimately dismissed with narrowed eyes and a light exhalation through his nose, rather short of a snort but with similar intent. Besting an attacking and likely superior army in combat was one thing, and on its own at least somewhat admirable; deliberately hounding them back to their homeland, to slay their civilians, destroy their cities, and ultimately shatter their race, spreading the remnants through the world like so much sand, was quite another. At least the Elf, Gweluon as he dubbed himself, had not had the audacity to suggest the Balchothi's offensive against the West, and indeed Saptheth's own annoyance with his race's destruction, was in any way hypocritical in nature: clearly, based on his description of the Anvil and the one who sought it, he understood the threat posed to any and every race by the enemy, who he named the Dark Lord. Were he of lower class, the Golden Serpent might not have been informed of the existence of this being, though his people oft referred to a devilish entity called Iblis in their mythology; those of the upper two classes, who did understand that he was real and very powerful, simply called him Magician in their tongue, though Saptheth was sure more appropriate words existed in the Westron languages. When he commanded, be it through messenger or a rare magically-imbued instruction, they obeyed, and whether the lessers of the Balchothi knew their true master mattered not.

Even so, it seemed he was to be led back to his homeland- or at least to the continent containing what was left of it- a mere two years after he had left it to be ransacked. Hardly an appealing thought all things considered, one that even seemed to echo (though likely for different reasons) in the Westron knight's discomforted actions, but considering that the alternative was certain execution, he couldn't exactly protest it. Still, every other individual within the room left quietly, up to and including the Elf vanishing into the shadows once more; Saptheth, rather than simply leaving quietly, proclaimed 'Let it be known that I would be [i]most pleased[/i] to join this quest, and shall meet whoever is present at the right time and place,' making it clear in his tone that "most pleased" meant "least displeased", but that he was nonetheless invested into helping save the world if it meant a somewhat lower chance of death, before the cadre of guards surrounding him led him out of the hall once again. Of course they could not leave him be, though if they were coward enough to train all arms on him before he had insulted their so-called king, then they'd certainly be obliged to continue doing so after the fact.

Needless to say, they weren't particularly talkative as they led him through the castle, and then into the pouring rain toward the stables, though the Serpent made a token attempt or two to rile them into giving him an excuse to defend himself. Wiser than their leader, then, whose cool facade had broken all but immediately. In any case, whilst some of the others in that hall had found themselves at the stables too, Saptheth found himself more interested in the horses than any human or dwarf present at the time. Though certainly sturdy mounts, none seemed to immediately suit Saptheth's tastes - this one too bulky, this one too light, that one far too short along the body for a good gait... alas, he was quite certain armouring them in the manner of a kataphrakt was beyond these fools, for the chances that they had not left the armour of his prior mount to fade and crumble with the faithful creature's body were about as high as those of his being selected for a second chance at survival (but since they'd preserved his armour and clothing anyway, it wasn't as though it was an impossibility... bronze of enough quality to use in battle was a reasonably valuable material, surely). Even so, he was used to a certain animal, and if he found one which matched its proportions, he'd be blessedly lucky.

It was not so. It seemed he was to be forced to pick the next closest match, then. He looked around for a while longer, before he laid eyes on a handsome black-coated stallion of proportions quite similar to those of many Balchothi horses. Not an exact match, alas, but close enough to suit the Easterling's needs, if only it had been trained correctly; and in fairness, though he approached it in full and likely unfamiliar armour, even withdrawing his axe and clashing it against his chestpiece to cause a ruckus - the guards and horses both were upset by the movement, the stables filling up with whinnies whilst the guards only just relented on an attempt to slay him for having the weapon - the stallion barely reacted, simply flicking its ears at the discordant noise. An appropriate attitude toward the song of battle, perhaps. He hoped it would be so polite when he was on its back; if not, he would simply have to break it in as he travelled. Or, if all else failed, to simply break it until it did what he wanted.

Whilst he was at least familiar with the procedures involved in maintaining a horse in travel, in-depth care before and after was often left to those who were familiar with the horses, both here and in Rhûn. Saptheth therefore waited until the stableboy in the area was finished with whatever work he was involved in, before waving him over and, gesturing to the stallion, stating 'Prepare this horse for travel tomorrow,' in Westron. He had no idea whether the boy recognised the language, but it seemed he at least understood the intent given the context, as he duly began to prepare the horse in whatever manner was required of him; that said and done, Saptheth espied the Ifrit and one of the humans from before wandering off in some direction or another, and decided that perhaps they would make good guides for the town, guards trailing after him be damned. He hadn't yet had the luxury of exploring this town himself, and though he lacked the funds to so much as stay a night in whatever local taverns this place of wood and grass held, he might at least get to know the place, and maybe even figure out whether his would-be companions were at all worth interacting with beyond commanding them in the inevitable battles they'd face. He was, after all, a leader of soldiers; it was only natural that he, or at the very least another of the group who was actually capable, might take charge of them in at least those situations.

[@Jbcool][@DrunkasaurusRex][@Vor][@POOHEAD189][@Sigurd]