The ride to their destination was long but not entirely unpleasant. He had grown more used to horses since leaving the wild woods, and considered himself to be quite an accomplished rider. The way in which the Lizardwoman rode was quite, amusing. But her race was an old one, and his respect kept any perhaps unhelpful comments in check. The other elf rode far too well, and Thirodaen suspected that she was cheating.
In regards to his companions, he was usually quite interested in what they said, and replied courteously, if curtly. Trust was a two-way relationship, and only a fool shut himself off from any to whom he may owe his life. It was highly, highly unlikely, of course, but there was a first time for everything. He needed to learn about how they fought, anyway.

Upon their arrival, Thirodaen was secretly glad that someone knew how to take charge. Otherwise, they usually turned to him, and despite how little he admitted it, that never ended well. When the dwarf spoke to him, the noise grated on his ears, and he winced slightly, but smiled back nine the less. How could you not, the little thing was so cute. "I would be more than happy to shoot people. I think I do it quite well. Don't make me have to come down there to help you though. Blood goes everywhere when I have to use this," He gestured to his glaive, "It takes an age to wash out. It is fun though." The dwarf would certainly make an eager ally, if his attitude stayed the same, and if he wasn't always drunk. So far, he liked him. It probably won't last, and he definately won't show it.

Veryon, during the ride, fared much like the Dwarf, although to a lesser extent; not entirely used to horseback, he'd stay mostly quiet during the rides and try to imagine he was back on a ship. While he was sure his fellow Knight wouldn't want to be back on another one anytime soon, Veryon was a Ranirocan and a Captain besides, and nothing so minor as a shipwreck would deter him. He speaks fairly openly, to the others, telling them of his and Vycker's exploits, along with a party of other Knights in a distant land. He also drinks, heavily, at all hours of the day, though it only seems to catch up with him at night, when he bellows sea shanties and laughs heartily at everything. Occasionally, though, the old sea dog falls quiet, staring into their nightly fires and stroking his hand down the length of his axe's haft, whispering apologies to someone named Nadia.

When they arrive at the bandit camp, Veryon slides from his saddle, staggering only slightly as he rolls his shoulders. He looks down at the encampment, snorting with brief laughter, and then back at the others. He shoulders his axe, approaching everyone else as they make their plans, and speaks loudly, talking over Thirodaen with a boisterous tone.

"Aye, there's a few bandits down there, lads. Just make sure you leave one to question, and leave room for me to swing my axe. We'll fuck them all up good an' proper, and when we're done, we'll find their boss and fuck them up better! Ain't nothing fancy to be done, me and Vycker've killed a Pit Fiend! ... With some help, but, all the same. We know what we're doing!"

He laughs, thumping the haft of his axe against the ground repeatedly. The motion causes his mixed and matched black plates of armor to jingle and clang against his ill-fitting chainmail beneath, and he grins.

Nicholas waited a bit after asking his question, but as people began talking amongst themselves, he sighed. Eventually he speaks up again, saying

"I suppose rush in and do what you're best at is as good a plan as any. I'll try and capture one, unless anyone else would rather do it."

Nicholas is pretty unsure about how this is all going to go, and feels as though there's a strong chance they might accidentally kill all the bandits. Still, as far as mistakes go, that wouldn't be one Nicholas would be too broken up about. Nicholas readies his sword and shield, getting prepared.

"Either way, I'm ready when you lot are."

The morning they were to reach the criminal safehouse, Rhindani took care to make sure her belongings were secured in her bag rather than scattered in the saddlebags and gear strapped neatly to her dun-coloured palfrey. If she needed to move quickly to tend to an injured comrade, or even to one of the outlaws they had come to route, the dragonkin needed her kit in its entirety.

"I have no skill to aid you in combat," she shrugged at Nicholas, a motion that shifted her wings under where they had been concealed by her cloak. "Unless you wish me to fight like a beast." It was not common for her kind to be born with wings, let alone a set that appeared strong enough to carry her weight rather than stunted vestigial things that had no purpose. But Rhindani concealed them for the most part, taking time only at night when camp was made to practice with them, the leathery whooshing echoing from where she lingered away from the others.

And so now they were hidden under the blue shawl-robe, though her hood had been pulled back from her scaled face, the smooth ridges of her crest sparkled oddly. The dragonking held a pot of some salve in her hand and smoothed the yellowish concoction over her face and skin, rubbing it in until her scales no longer glittered. It had a faint scent, not floral as one might expect but more earthy and woody like an incense.

When she was done dulling her scales she dropped her sleeves and her hood back where they belonged. "If it didn't seem that we were in a hurry I would offer to go in alone. Even bandits might be reluctant to turn away a healer or a pilgrimage, especially if she offered her services." The proposed pretext was so in-line with her true purpose in the People's Conglomerate that she shouldn't have any trouble holding it up as a charade. "I would be able to get an idea of their forces and the design of the building inside and report back. It may take longer but may help you all approach more wisely." She didn't seem to think anything of putting herself at risk.

But her offer seemed to fall on deaf ears, so eager they were to get started. Her long tail undulated with no small amount of annoyance but in the end she was not in charge here and had no intention to be.

"If you'd rather go now, I will stay with the horses so that we don't become victims of theft ourselves. You can signal me if my skills are needed. Saida can mend some injuries but anything truly grievous I fear will require the blessings of my own Patron."

She tucked her ashy salve back into her bag and waited, patting her horse on the neck. At first the creature had seemed quite reluctant to carry a dragonkin but with the elf-woman's assistance Rhindani was learning better horsewomanship.

Saida nodded in the with a quick smile at Rhindani, her deep blue eyes matching hers for a moment before she looked onward towards the bandit camp forming some many paces away. A small breeze tickled the edges of her cheeks whisking in a direction that seemed to be pointing to Rhindani as if helping them make their decision. ,"My friend, I believe your idea to be a favorable one, to know the layout of the camp of those lost souls would be preferable for a quick completion. Perhaps, while you are amongst their company, should you hear of any plans or of whom their leader it is, I believe it'll help us substantially. I would offer to accompany you but, I fear one of your grace on a pilgrimage with an elf would raise more suspicion then your sudden appearance already would."

Saida smiled gently, glancing about the crowd for a moment before speaking again. "If everyone else is on board with this plan or does not have an opinion either way, is there a chance a horn could be leant to our friend, in case of misfortune or discovery?"

Saida felt her hand move up and touch her pendant of the sun that lay against her chest marking the symbol of Deum Lucis. As her thumb traced the moulding and inlay she felt the three gems that had been place within it as focusing crystals for magic use, a Citrine was the largest of the three as it was needed the most, next were the Diamond and the Amethyst, both about the same size. She closed her eyes for a moment as if in a deep trance of concentration before walking over the the lizardfolk woman, placing a hand on her shoulder, or what she thought was her shoulder discovering it was what could be a wing instead. The sudden surprise only briefly detained Saida before she closed her eyes and whispered a small and simply incantation of illusion, a spell that would make you seem more welcoming and less dangerous to an enemy. Her hand glowed gold for a moment as the spell took hold of it then an orange gold shroud of light seemed to encompass Rhindani, hugging her in the warm light before disappearing, leaving the gentle kiss of warmth around her body.

Saida removed her hand and looked her in the eyes one final time, "As the warmth fades, so shall the spell, may it help you should the others agree in this course of action." Saida glanced up once again and looked around at the others both, waiting for a response and hoping for an agreement. She did not know her companions well enough yet but, their decision on this matter would set the final form of the base in the mould that was the impression of each of them in her mind. Whatever they decided to do, Saida was ready, she would heal, she could fight but her peaceful nature seemed to ever steer her towards the gentlest, and most subtle approach.

The guards at the gates either don't notice the party or don't care. There is some commotion at the gates as the guard changes, the former shift returning to within the walls while the new shift takes their places. It's quick and efficient, but has the repetition of those long used to schedule. Those standing guard now seem to chat quietly with each other, leaning against the gate in their boredom.

Inside the walls, there's the unmistakable crack of a pistol.

The guards flinch, but otherwise don't react. Whatever it was, it seems as if it were expected or at least not out of the ordinary.

"Can't say I think your plan'll go well." The large Ranirocan watches the group as they talk, leaning a bit on his axe, shifting his feet a bit. He hesitates, as he considers leaving it at that, before he sighs. "You're right that they wouldn't turn you away, but they might not let you leave... and if you're lucky they'd leave it at that. There's also a very real possibility that they'd execute you out of fear, or just to feel good about themselves. 'Course, you can go through with it if you think I'm wrong."

He glances to the elf with the bow, grunting. "Unless you could guarantee her safety with your fancy shooting. Then, maybe. Or I could go in as a bodyguard, or some shit, although that might interfere with your plan, I dunno. I ain't a strategist." He then has a seat, taking the time to hone the edge of his axe, testing its edge a few times by taking it up and shaving off a few of his beard hairs, not settling until it's razor sharp.

Personally, Hiroden thought that they were making quite a meal of this. They should just surround the building and attack, maybe even not bothering with the former. It wasn't exactly well guarded, he could take the guards outside before they knew he was there, then fire through the windows until they came out, and then shoot them some more until they charged. If there were too many, that was what they were allhere for. Then again, he just admitted to himself that he wasn't a strategist. If he let's someone else make a plan and it goes wrong, then it won't be his fault, at the very least. But he was getting impatient. "Yes, I can shoot things, and shoot them really well, and unless you make a decision, I'm going to start shooting things very soon, so I suggest you make up your mind."

"I'd have to agree with Veryon on this. It seems like a bad plan. We're better off just attacking. If something goes wrong while you're in there, I doubt you could fight them off alone. The risk of your idea outweighs whatever information you might manage to gather, if there's anything even worth knowing. Knowing the layout isn't worth very much either, and I doubt you would uncover any secret rooms or the like. Plus even if it succeeds, even if you somehow find out about the organization these people belong to, then what? We can't just leave them. They're extorting the populace. Either way we're going to have to fight, but we may as well do it now instead of sit on our haunches and hope that your incredibly risky plan succeeds. So then, as I said earlier, let's just rush in, and do what each of us does best. Thirodaen, if you would be so kind as to start picking off those guards, I would appreciate it. I am going in. Its about time to get this over with."

Whether or not Thirodaen starts shooting or anyone follows him, Nicholas begins headed towards the gates. Something is clearly going on inside, and the longer they delay, the higher the possibility more people might get hurt. They have no time to stand around bickering, and he will fight his way in alone if he has to, but he hopes that the rest of the mercenaries join.

The stocky dwarf let out a deep, grumbling sigh. The plans that had been formulated both seemed reasonable, and the thought of sending in the dragonkin was a solid one. Stroking at his beard and leaning on his hammer's pommel, Abet looked on toward the mansion as the rest of the party talked among themselves, pondering to himself about the men down below. The gunshot that split the air earlier seemed to unsettle a few of the guards, though they quickly resumed a sleepy posture as they chatted to each other. Abet thought of what the shot was for - perhaps a peasant that would've been better off had the party acted already. With this thought the dwarf stood upright, taking a final swig from his waterskin, stuffing it into his pack.

It wasn't too long after the gunshot that Nicholas suddenly trudged past Abet, a determination in the man's gait. Abet turned his head slowly to his companions, his puzzled brow furrowing before he finally piped up.

"Well, ladies and lads, don't suppose yer set? Fey, mind yer aim toward the brave lad's arse, for me - I wouldn't mind a bit of aid draggin' him back 'ere either, me blades-men!" the dwarf smiled at the two knights and the wood elf before jogging down the hillside, warhammer slung over one shoulder, lifting his helm onto his head, praying under his breath to Aznathin for the energy he would need. As he caught up to Nicholas, the dwarf beamed with boastful assurance, laughing heartily to himself as they approached the manor.

"Now look 'ere, lad, the two of us can make good scraps of those halberd-swingin' apes, but mind the gunners - don't suppose you would care for a few holes in yer belly, though, if ya don't mind yer drink runnin' straight through ya!" Abet let out another quick chortle, before seeing that the guardsmen had taken note of the duo's approach. "Ready yerself, lad!" the dwarf cried out as he picked up his pace, ready to face his foes head-on, a wide grin spread across his face the whole way.

The dragonkin stood serenely by while the others quibbled among themselves, arguing the merits of her plan. Rhindani's tail weaved slowly back and forth under the hem of her robe. She was nodding her hooded head agreeably at Hiroden's naysaying, having expected to be contested, but by the time Nicholas had ended his overly long-winded and not-quite-sensical diatribe she was sharing an incredulous and somewhat exasperated look with the female elf.

"The risk of my plan was only to myself, Nicholas. If I were to be captured or killed it would hardly be any detriment to the rest of you. I have faced the same risk many times on my pilgrimage from Metal City. I have treated patients who are more dangerous by themselves than an entire garrison of hired swords. But rest assured, I am perfectly content to remain here while you rush in." The horses would be better company, it seemed. It was difficult to suppress a smirk as the human stalked off, having played directly into her hands. Oh, she would have gone in if they'd agreed, but she never thought for a moment that they would. She could hear the dwarf's exuberant voice as he move to join the taller fighter but they were already out of earshot by then.

Preparing to spend a boring couple of moments waiting for the rest of them to smash their way into the guarded manor, she only wished it would be safe to meditate.

To Saida she smiled warmly, daring to clasp the other woman's bicep briefly. "Thank you for the protections of your patron, friend. At least it will be a comfort while I wait here. Trust a bunch of males to stir into action only after a female has elected to step forward first, hm?" She chuckled, a rather gravely sound in her inhuman throat. Assuming she remained behind alone, the healer settled herself in the shadow of a tree where she could see the gaggle of horses and the manor at the same time. Her heart pounded at the thought of having to be called upon to restore a life today, and she hoped that the rest of the group would find some manner of unity during the skirmish ahead to possibly minimize the need for her services.

As the first two begin to approach the manor, the squad of guards quickly rouse themselves. Looking at the men with brandished weapons quickly approaching, the guards waste little time on formalities. The front two stand shoulder-to-shoulder, raising their halberds and leveling them with the party. One of the riflemen behind him them fires a shot, the thunderclap almost drowning out the sound of the bullet flying over their heads. "Stop right there, or the next one's in your head!" He lowers the rifle and begins to reload, yelling. "This is t'Baron's manor, and you'll keep your distance if you wish to keep your life!"

The gunshot seems to rouse some sort of movement from within the walls, as voices shout about--almost with excitement. However, from this distance, it's impossible to make out the exact words.

At long last, things were beginning to happen, people move forward, shout, sword, et cetera, et cetera. Guns were a problem, Thirodaen had never liked guns, bullets were too small and too fast to dodge, but luckily from the distance he usually operated at, they rarely hit him. He stood on the edge of their range, targeting the gunners first. Almost every arrow found its mark, loose, two steps left, loose, one step right, just to stop them drawing a bead. Most gunners were dead before they could even reload. He was worried that he might run out of targets all to soon, but for now that didn't seem to be a problem.

When Veryon steps forward, he does so in two quick bounds, closing the gap as quickly as he can on the guards. The massive Ranirocan lets loose a roar as he targets the first of the two melee-oriented bandits, not bothering with any sort of coherent word or battle cry. With a hearty bellow, he brings his axe up, gripping the haft tightly with both hands around the middle so that he has a balance between range and control, and goes to slam it down, towards the first guard's head. It's a predictable attack, and telegraphed, but it's delivered with the speed and power of a veteran Ranirocan berserker.

Nicholas follows up behind Veryon once he sees Thirodaen taking care of the gunmen. He uses his shield to slam the guard's halberd aside and swings his sword down for where the guard's neck and shoulder meet. There's no flair or style to his actions, not even a warcry. His combat is plain, but fairly efficient.

Saida stood before her new friend and comrade Rhindani she heard her words and her voice and nodded at her almost sympathetically. At the shutter of a gunshot and the large wooden doors to the estate opening a few of the fellowship marched in and began their divergence through the gates, arrows being flown and swords being slashed. The sound of the air being obstructed by the clattering of metal and the screams of pain.

Saida stood still for a moment, as if pausing time within her taking in the scene. Heavy running inwards, gunners falling distances to their death as arrows artfully pierced their skin, ending the light that once filled them and silencing forever the never to be accomplished dreams of their past. The wind picked up her long hair and brushed the exposed skin of her torso as if speaking to her in a language only she understood. She clasped her hands together for a moment and held them close her chest below her chin, whispering quickly in elven tongue a prayer for herself and her comrades to Deus Lucis and also praying that the announced enemies lives would end quickly should they end, without too much pain or suffering. Her hands glowed in an amber golden light for a moment as she muttered, her voice sounding almost as if singing a lullaby.

After the moment end and time seemed to resume, the wind calmed it's gust as Saida strode towards the large and thick wooden door, carefully stepping over the broken splinters that released themselves upon a large impact that no doubt smashed into it to gain entry. The rubble under her feet was grey and lifeless, telling a sad story of misfortune and echoing a warning from a past no longer known. As she crossed the threshold of the gate the voices and cries of many unified, slipping past the point of single recognition.

She watched as elf known as Thirodaen used his bow with extreme accuracy, watching his foes drop stories below sometimes with a final desperate cry, others without a word, all shattering at the mocking steps of the manors building entrance. The one named Veryon, causing catastrophic damage with his axe, splattering pools of blood in a trail that marked his path. Smeared red paint and broken bodies lying here and there. Nicholas working his way through the small weak points in the armour of his enemies, going in head first and attacking with a calm fury.

Saida kneeled down and touched her fingertips to the floor, hearing the vibrations of footsteps echo through her body, feeling the whereabouts of friends and foes and placing them in their locations on the map of the estate slowly forming in her mind. She felt the rumble of heavy steps and the gentle touch of light steps, the steps of a small group no doubt attempting to flank from around the left side of the building that sat within the large courtyard.

Saida stood from her crouched stance and with swift soundless steps waited at the corner of the building for the group to emerge, their steps growing less faint with each step forward they took. She pulled a throwing knife from her hip and held it at the ready by her side, her other hand pressed against the wall of the manor feeling for movements and sounds echoing off of it. As the first of the group stepped from around the corner, Saida quickly placed a hand over the bandits mouth, pressed her knife to the man's throat and in an elegant and swift motion sliced, spilling blood like a malfunctioning fountain from the wound. The man fell as Saida quickly worked her way towards the next of the five men in the group.

The second man who was aware of Saida presence dodged the first advancement of Saida and retorted in a thrust of his sword, managing to graze her skin enough to cut it but not cause any real damage. She moved in again, this time from the side and jammed the knife up the jaw and throat of the second man, causing a gurgled scream of pain as a response before the blood of his throat pulled in his mouth and dripped down his chin and through the slit in his jaw, tumbling him to the floor at Saida's feet. With the fast approaching of the third man, Saida twisted around to avoid a spear tossed her her direction avoiding it by inches as her hair danced with her twirl, throwing the knife in the mans direction and smashing it's blade square in the center of his forehead. The third man was down and Saidas skin was drenched in blood that wasn't hers aside from the cut on the left side of her torso that caused her little to no pain.

Saida began to approach the fourth man as the others in the fellowship began entering in the fight as well.

A great bellowing hurrah sounded from Abet Drakethorn as the boulder of a dwarf lept into combat, the great Warhammer of Drakethorn swung behind his helm. As he fell, he brought the smooth, flat stone upon a swordsman's head, cracking through the steel helm the man wore and crushing his skull. As the mercenary screamed out in pain, Abet gazed briefly at his side, as a musket man aimed the barrel of his gun at the stocky dwarf. In an instant, Abet swung his free right hand in front of him, calling out to Aznathin with a boom of his voice. Just as suddenly as he spoke, the fire of the gun burst through the air toward Abet.

A cracking of glass pierced the air as the bullet fell upon the ground, a yellow wall of mana fading from sight. Smirking, Abet shot himself forward, his hammer trailing behind him, swinging his left arm toward the rifleman, bringing the edge of the hammer into the man's side. A burst of icy-blue light shone from the contact, freezing the flesh beneath the silk shirt, the blunt force of the hammer striking it causing the wound to nearly shatter. The rifleman fell to the ground, wheezing up blood, his body nearly broken in half.

Abet turned to Nicholas, whom the dwarf had recalled having just a bit too much to drink the first night of their travel; really caused by Abet's pressuring of the man. An axeman had set his sights upon the simple warrior, who was in the midst of a duel with a gunner who had drawn his blade. Abet began running toward the gap between the two, lifting his hammer behind him as he charged; the axeman had already lunged, swinging his arm down toward Nicholas. Abet brought his warhammer down, striking the earth, shouting out a great roar of the words of shielding. A small crack in the ground pierced through the dry soil toward the axeman, and as his arm fell, it smashed into the same amber wall of mana Abet had conjured before. The axeman let out a cry of pain, before Abet jumped forward again, slamming his hammer into the man's chest.

Catching his breath, Abet set his back up to Nicholas, shouting out a bit of combat wisdom in a few gasps for air. "Ya owe me... A pint fer... That one, lad!" The sweating dwarf chortled, swinging his hammer at a charging swordsman, shattering the man's collar bone. "'Ow many ya think there be?" Abet shouted to the Ranirocan fellow, Varyon, before forcing his hammer's pommel into the stomach of a nearby swordsman.

@BlackFlag@LasgoulDraconia