Sigmar exited the carriage, his prison attire loosely hanging on his body as he look around, taking a huge whiff of fresh air. Now that he was far away from that hell hole, the realization that he was no longer going to rot in a cell he threw his head back, letting out a thunderous laugh which sounded more like a war cry to his peers then jovial laugh

He would closely follow the group from behind and down the cellar. It was somewhat weird being in the room, being led out of a dark claustrophobic cell and led to another basement, albeit a n,significantly bigger claustrophobic room. But either way he took his turn, walking to the tub before wandering to himself

‘umm I believe the tub is to small for me’

He looked around trying to garner the attention of anyone as the water was being redrawn but to no avail. Shrugging he would pull out his shabby prison shirt, reveling his muscular,greenish and scar-ridden torso however he didn’t remove his pants and just step into the tub, sitting in it cross-legged as the tub wasn’t large enough to accommodate him lying down, scrubbing his body

After washing his body he changed into a fresh pair of leather trousers like the human: kayden and a linen tunic which was surprisingly oversized for even Sigmar

Entering the kitchen his sense of smell was bombarded with the scent of amazing food however his old knight habits kicked in, being as courteous as possible, sitting down only once all of his peers had and adhering to the table manners Lady Celina had taught him

Kayden ran a hand through his thick hair, and smoothed a bit of it behind his ear. He wasn't nearly as pompous as many nobles, and indeed didn't always feel the need to stand on ceremony. But he was going to dine with a, admittedly very attractive, patron who saw him as a potential gain for her. Seeing as he'd rather be employed than imprisoned, it did well to make at least a competent impression.

He strode into the room, and immediately he was assailed by various smells of different foods. He breathed them in, closing his eyes and he tilted his head slightly, savoring the aroma. "I haven't eaten in far too long," he said aloud. The Prince found himself seated next to Lady Dulcena, giving her a polite nod, before plopping down and anxiously awaited permission to eat. Oddly enough though, he already found a chicken leg in his hand and some beer down his throat.

He supposed he'd been in the dungeon far longer than he had thought.

"Sit and eat," she waved a hand over the food invitingly, encouraging those who were still holding back.

She eyed the newcomer, Zarwin, acknowledging his presence with a nod when he bowed. He must have been found and brought here by Oldrik, her trusted right-hand man. A solid addition to the party now assembled in the room.

She gave the prisoners time to sate their hunger and quench their thirst, sipping at her own goblet as she studied them again now that the grime and stench from the prisons had been mostly cleaned away. But once they seemed to be mostly satisfied and some quiet conversation began to replace chewing, she sat up straighter in her chair.

"Each of you has accepted the offer of a forgiven sentence in exchange for your service to me," she reminded them, taking time to look directly at each person, looking for indications that any might be having doubts about their decision.

"Whitehall has stood sealed now for over a century, its knowledge thought lost forever. But there is a way to open it and we are going to do so."

The party was just starting to have a good time, if not quite forgetting the prison they had left, when the Lady of be house got down to business. Whether it was just something about her presence, or the circumstances of her introduction to them, her quiet speech rendered them all silent almost immediately.

Rolf was taking a sip of beer as she continued. His eyebrows raised as Whitehall was brought up, but when the intention to unseal it was announced, Rolf dropped his cup and spit his drink out.

”What? Just put me… no, don't.” He crossed his arms and slumped deeper into his chair. “Better madness by magic than by isolation. What do you want from there?”

@Gisk

Dulcena's attention moved immediately to Rolf, her lips tightening in irritation as he came dangerously close to outright refusing her. "I would have expected someone like you to not quiver at the mere mention of magic," she scoffed at him.

"People fear what they do not understand," she continued to the group as a whole. "They dismiss solutions to problems because the thought makes them uncomfortable."

She was really referring to those ignorant fools that made up most of the High Council. They'd been wringing their hands and dithering for months now over the fact that tensions with their northern neighbor had been ramping up. "If and when the peace talks with Erilona fail, they will bring their army south. There is knowledge locked within Whitehall that I believe can help defend our land."

Kayden had to admit he didn't enjoy the idea of indentured servitude to anyone, but one did what one must in order to survive. Plus, he wasn't about to go back on his word. He'd become a sellsword captain to experience new lands and places, and make a name for himself. He supposed infiltrating something as mythical as Whitehall fit the bill quite nicely. That is not to say he wasn't filled with trepidation. He didn't blindly go into danger, and from the stories, Whitehall was incredibly dangerous.

He had eaten his fill, and now (attempting to be) casually sipped his drink as he lounged on his chair next to his new 'employer.' "Your concern for your country is admirable." he said, eyes on her from behind his mug. He was glad he was wetting his throat. His mouth felt dry at the prospect of going into such an eldritch place. "And if we were to find any items of note within?" His eyes glinted from the prospect.

“I'd be ‘fraid of a viper because its bite could kill me, not because I don't like the feel of it on me skin. But I'll go. You need someone who does understand, to stop brasher fellas from looting cursed rubbish.”

He had relaxed some, having gotten used to the idea strangely quickly. He had to admit, if only to himself, despite his protestations it held a certain attraction to him. But that was the problem, wasn't it? To someone whose life is bound by rigid rules, the allure of breaking them is often greater than his reason.
He had taken up a stick that he'd brought with him from the courtyard, and was carving at it thoughtfully with a table knife.

He looked at the other man over his carving, “The magic of Whitehall is the less friendly sort. You oughta be careful what you even touch in there. Forget about taking things with you. Though,” he looked back to The Lady, “I s’pose there's something you do mean for us to bring back.”

Zarwin shrugged to himself. Magic, the gods, that type of stuff didn't bother him too much. He thought himself to pragmatic to be superstitious. Now he knew why Dulcena had him brought here. He was an archer. But more importantly he was a thief. He bragged..maybe once too often... that there wasn't a lock he couldn't pick.

He didn't give a rat's ass about defending the land. But if this job would buy his freedom, he would be in.

"er.. M'Lady? You said the place was sealed for a long time. How was it sealed? Is it a mechanical lock?"

"Any magic items found are to be left untouched until there is time to study them," she replied to Kayden, pleased that Rolf seemed to recognize the danger. "Though if you seek means to start your life over once Whitehall is opened, you will be rewarded in gold," if the simple threat of being hauled back to prison might not be enough to keep them on track, keeping a carrot in front of their noses wouldn't hurt.

Dulcena nodded toward the hedge wizard's question of what she wanted them to bring her, but declined to answer him immediately.

"It was magically sealed," she said instead, glancing toward Zarwin, then back around the table, gauging the reactions of those who had stayed silent. "Other attempts at entry have failed. Which brings us to the first task I need from you."

Some attempts, of course, had ended quite badly. Including one report almost 50 years prior of a small company that had simply disappeared. If they had managed to get inside, then they never made it back out.

"There is a boy you must bring to me, a descendent of Allele Flur, who was one of the mages who sealed Whitehall. I have traced the lineage. His family name is Thindrel now and I believe him to be in Ethanfeld."

Sigmar quickly ate in silence and rather timidly compared to the others who ate like lions in comparison

“Magic…”

Sigmar mused softly. Apparently he came from a long line of orcish shamans according to Lady Celina and now he wondered how his life would be if he wasn’t adopted. He would probably be a shaman right now

Quickly he would wipe his mouth and sat up as Lady Dulcena gave further details regarding their mission. The half-orc nodded reluctantly before asking

“And how are we going to obtain the kid, kidnapping?”

Although he wasn’t a lawful or law-abiding individul, Lady Celina was. Comically he shuddered as he could practically hear her scornful sneer from beyond the grave

"I need him alive," Dulcena replied as she looked toward Sigmar. She thought she might detect a hint of distaste for the job in his tone and had to wonder if Celina had never asked any uncomfortable tasks of her protector.

"How you do it is up to you." She said, certainly not ruling out the need to bring him by force.

"However, only half of you need go for the boy," She indicated toward one side of the table. "The others will retrieve a key, hidden away in the Blackmarsh."

"Thash me den." Bergoda said, swallowing the last of whatever it is she'd put in her mouth. She hadn't stopped eating since entering the room, and honestly hadn't even cared to look once their host got to talking and became the center of her attention. She wiped whatever residue was left of her face with her sleeve. "Less any of you know your way around muck better'n me, which I don't figure you do."

"What key then, huh?" She asked, grabbing something that felt bread-ish. "Thought the boy was the key?"

"They are both required," Dulcena clarified. "The mages hid away a key, a pendant, I believe, in the event they needed to get back into Whitehall, recognizing that unforeseen events may make it necessary. Long hours of research have pinpointed the location to a small, ancient building almost in the center of the Blackmarsh. It may have once been a temple, but at the time the key was stored there, it had long been abandoned.

"The boy, on the other hand, will be required to activate the key."

She took a final sip of her wine, then stood. "I've arranged sleeping quarters for each of you tonight. Supplies are being made ready even now and you can depart first thing in the morning. If there is anything specific you require, ask Oldrik."

She indicated to a middle-aged man near the wall who had come in quietly at some point during their meal. He nodded without smiling, he did not seem to be one to smile often.

Zarwin looked up at the older man. "Oldrik, I will need a good bow and arrows. Also, a lock pick set if you want me to open any locks in the old building in the marsh." Zarwin didn't like the idea of kidnapping the kid. He was more bugler type. He didn't mind breaking in to places and taking what he wanted. He was also a fair archer. He's killed before, usually from a distance. He liked it better that way.

While Olrik went about gathering up any supplies needed for the missions, the newly freed prisoners were supplied with plenty of wine and food to last the evening, then given beds: one room for the men and a separate room for the few females among the group. The quarters were nothing particularly fancy, but infinitely more comfortable than the dingy prison cells.

Mission: The Boy

Wren thought perhaps she could sleep for days on the straw-stuffed mattress and warm wool blanket, but she woke early, rested, and ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. She was determined not to disappoint Lady Dulcena; determined never to return to that dismal prison cell. Kidnapping some kid was a small enough price to pay. It wasn't like Dulcena was planning to kill him, right? He'd open Whitehall for them, then go home, simple as that. Maybe with a little luck Wren could even find a permanent place doing work for the noble woman.

She stood up from the bed and stretched. She found a comb on a table in the room next to a bowl of water and tried to tame her hair down a bit before just tying it in a pony tail and heading outside.

Olrik was preparing horses for them, even including one extra that Wren assumed was intended for the boy. "I've loaded that one up with a few extra days provisions," the man was saying. "Ethanfeld is a few days away even on horseback."

Kayden listened intently to the instructions, keeping tabs not only on their objectives, but the mannerisms of his team. One curled finger at his lips, and his other hand idly toying with the fork he'd been given once he had finished. It paid to know who you were dealing with, and who was dealing with you.

He found his room accommodating, the prince tired enough not to care overly much the conditions of his bed. It was far better than the dungeon, and after a bath and good food, he found the bed heavenly. He could have used a woman though, but then again he couldn't exactly have everything.

When he awoke, he found a bucket of water and washed his hair, loosening the small string that tied up his shoulder length hair as he did so. His dark hair was thick and unruly, and he fixed it up again once it was dried. Some might say it was mere vanity, but longer hair did not help out in a fight if it got in the way. Now why he didn't cut it? That was vanity. Stripped to the waist, he was fit and trim, albeit with a few scars from years of fighting. He donned his chainmail and leather trappings, before heading out to the stables.

He'd asked Oldrik for some small provisions, as well as a shortbow and about twenty arrows. He was no incredible archer, but he knew a thing or two. "Morning," he said lightly to Wren, reigning in his horse as she walked up.

Mission: Blackmarsh

For the crew going in search of the key to Whitehall, Olrik had prepared a wagon pulled by two horses with an explanation that he'd accompany them to the docks, where he had arranged a small boat to get them as far as possible into the Blackmarsh.

He did not bother to make small talk with any of them. Chances were... not many would be coming back.

Once any last minute items were gathered and loaded into the wagon, they started off.

"Lady Dulcena says you should take this," he said, handing over a sheet of parchment to whoever was closest. It appeared to be map of the swamp with a mark made almost in the center.

@Garth@Gentlemanvaultboy@Gisk

Mission: The Boy

Wren gave Kayden a smile and an appraising look as he halted his mount. There was something vaguely familiar about him now that she was seeing him clean. In the dim light of the prison, they'd rarely had any opportunity to come face to face with other prisoners. She thought he looked very much at ease in the saddle. "Were you cavalry?" she asked casually, reaching out a hand and rubbing the horse's neck gently. She'd spent a good amount of time herself around the animals as her father had been a stable manager in Taldene and she'd grown up riding and tending the horses.

Olrik looked between Kayden and Sigmar. "You know how to get to Ethanfeld?"

@POOHEAD189@ProfessorLambo

Mission: Blackmarsh

Bergoda plucked the map from his hands and started going over it, sucking in a little air between her teeth at the sight of it. Twisty turny waterways cut through dense groves of whatever could find root in the swamp. A complicated journey by normal standards, but other little details caught her eye. "What's these little blobby bits all over?" She asked, holding the map extremely close to her face. "Oh." she said, a bit hollow. "Them's ghosts. Well, s' good thing we got our magic boy here. Oi, Rolf. How ya' feel about ghosts?"

Sigmar nodded and continue to eat neatly despite his huge orcish frame, after everyone finish eating and were dismissed back to their quarter he approached the man named Oldrik and requested in his most posh tone “Mister, may I request for a tower shield?” and quickly retreated back into his quarter. The half-orc didn’t respond nor talk to any of his peers as he took the most comfortable sleep he had in years

Waking early in the morning, during the twilight period and slipped out of his bed, sighing as he stare at the wooden floor of his quarter before dropping on the floor to begin doing push ups

An hour later as the first of his comrade would wake they would see the half-orc slowly pushing himself up, his whole body convulsing as he softly whimpered “ two thousand and forty twooo” before collapsing on the floor, breathing heavily and muttering a simple “ good morning”

After resting for half an hour he quickly washed his face and dunked the remaining water over his body and quickly exit the quarter and seek out assistance, while the said Mr Oldrik was preparing the horses he had prepared a basic leather armour, a short sword and a tower shield and oh the shield was something to be admired. It spans the whole width of his body and 3/4 of his height and weight roughly 20 kilogram, a heavy piece of artwork. Apparently no human could wield it efficiently in the household so it was given to him, it had four different strap and two handles which allowed it to be wielded vertically and horizontally. When asked for what weapon he wanted he merely asked for a short sword and strapped it against the back of his waist walked off to meet for the start of the mission.

Approaching the group he quickly scanned the horses available, wondering if any of them could actually carry him but taking from what little he knew of Lady Dulcena she probably had him covered. He would scratch his scalp and reply “If you could tell me where we are I can roughly gauge the direction mister” the huge shield strapped to his back