The sun was out but for a few hours when the Company's camp received the visitors they had been waiting for: envoys from the main Nuniel's army. The camp itself was well hidden and less than a full day's march from Flemont, which was their target.

The war had been raging on for two years now in Eastern Latis, and Nuniel was fully intended on seeing it through. However, with the threat of reinforcement from Coris, the Empire had to reinforce the West. As such, they left Eastern Latis in the care of multiple mercenary groups that had been hired for this war. One of which was the Red Branch Company; a group of misfits from all over the continent, brought together by fate or, perhaps, the promise of a few coins and another meal for the day. While there was more than one group of mercenary hired by Nuniel, The Red Branch managed to stand out enough that they entrusted the, with the crucial task of taking and holding Felmont.

The city was the biggest in the region, and Latis' last point of resistance. It was through there that they received reinforcements as well as supplies and the reason they held Nuniel from having full claim of the region.



"We trust you understand the importance of the task the Empire is entrusting your...group with."

Said the Empire's envoy to the leader of the Company, both hands resting on the table where a large map had been spread out. He, and the rest of the small group of envoys, were all standing inside Aria's tent with her, the Lieutenant and whoever else presence those two allowed.

Flemont was clearly situated on the map, as well as their camp and all possible routes to the city.

The briefing was short, but thorough.

"Our intelligence tells us that the city is very lightly defended...but with the walls, even few defenders pose a large threat for a frontal assault. We strongly suggest you try to scout the city and gather as much information as possible before launching any kind of attacks. Deception, or any other route inside is preferable, but the choice is ultimately yours. Just remember; the Empire will not tolerate defeat here.

Furthermore, there are two additional objectives to be achieved here. First, we need you to secure what supplies are stored in the docks for the war effort. Do not let any ships leave the docks, but do not destroy the supplies neither. Second and most important, we have reasons to believe a highly important individual is currently hiding away inside of Felmont and we will need this person captured alive. To this end, we are leaving a small contingent of Empire soldiers to you to use as you see fit and so that you deliver the prisoner to them once they are captured and the city is taken. They will arrive to your camp tomorrow.

I hope everything is clear...once again, we cannot tolerate defeat here. If you have any questions, now's the time. Otherwise, we will be on ours ways."

The soldier straightened out, both hands behind his back in a very disciplined fashion.

Still early in the day, an attack was out of the question. Especially with what information was shared so far, thus it seemed like there would still be a moment of peace before the storm; a moment where all company members could relax or indulge in whatever they'd want. It was not often that such free time was available for the common Mercenary, and even though most would find it dull and want nothing more than to fight, they knew fight was coming soon enough.

@Cu Chulainn@SimpleWriter


"Well, If I didn't understand the importance of the event, Sir I wouldn't have been directly contacted to perform it by your superiors would I?" Aria said, dressed in her characteristic formal outfit, Her hand gentle tugging on the cusps of her sleeves as she studied the map, her eyes drifting over the ink as she began thinking carefully about the routes being presented.

The Empire presented a sound concept. Scouting was of course the fundamental to any large scale military campaign. But they needed to take a whole city, with the lack of a strong foundation force (The Mercenary company was smaller then an army she'd like to have in this scenario). She had to likely breach the cities defences and take it without causing the people within to enter a defensive panic.

If they had to fight an entire city due to being the hostile force, that would only complicate manoeuvre, The additional objectives also certainly made the approach difficult to go in head on. Thus, Aria theorised a trojan horse tactic to be most suitable. Once the entire contingent of mercenaries was at key positions across the city then they could conquer it. Though she had a question. "Sir, if the city has a sea facing port, does that mean it has a sewer system we could potentially breach as a method to gain entry?" She asked. A core lesson in tactics. Find all possible entrances, because they are also possible exits too.

"Secondly, what are our restrictions on collateral damage, I believe siege tactics are out of the question? Though that is a very applicable method of taking a city.." Aria continued, flexing her fingers slightly as if to act the motion of casting a spell. Collateral let a raiding party be a bit more... aggressive in its tactics.

"Lastly, If we are to act under such strict regulations, we are going to need a larger payment. I might be partial to my empire, but many of my men are not so keen, I will require a larger payment if you want to be strict in how I go about it." Aria said strictly While it was true the envoy held some cards. She held the rest due to her position in the scenario and she'd be damned if she had to send her men into a mission that was made much harder then normal due to the bourgeoisie wanting worthless architecture

That being said, she turned to her Lieutenant. "Well Protelo, you heard the man. Go and find a small contingent of our aerial combatants. Inform them strictly to approach the city from the sea-facing side and to maintain at an altitude above the range of arrows. If they startle the cities defences the entire process is going to become more difficult." Aria said, the gears in her mind whirring. Giving her Lieutenant a few precious minutes to speak their mind before continuing.

"And you. Envoy. Tell me more about this special target. What am I going to have to direct my men to go out of their way to seek?" Aria said softly. Tapping her finger against the button of her cusps. A habit of hers when she was busy thinking. She'd host a full briefing of her company after this.

click click click

The Red Branch was not an organisation known to fail. Aria made sure of that.

---

It had been some time since Shirley had felt this excited. Getting orders directly from the Nuniel Empire had to mean they had placed some good amount of trust in the Red Branch Company. Or they were just the cheapest the Empire could buy out for their services. Whatever the case, it mattered little to the Mercenary. Gold was gold, no matter what hands it had to slip through to be acquired. Their mission alone promised there would be a fine amount of it.

But that was for another day. No, on this day, there was nothing going on. No sparking events happening; at least, not that she had heard of from their leader. Shirley had spent her last hour dozing off a few yards away from the main camp, sprawled along a grassy hill. Hands behind her head and eyes to the sky, she pondered the kind of missions they would be sent out to accomplish now that the Empire was running the reins and controlled them.

Not that Aria would ever admit it of course, but surely everyone knew they had sold out, right? Though was it really selling out if they were on the winning side? “Who cares,” was the answer Shirley gave to herself, yawning as the cusp of a nap almost had her dozing off. It was only by the heavy beating of wings and the gallant, tell-tale winds of flyers that kept her from doing so.

Gaze already upwards, she would spot the flyers Aria had sent off to spy on the city, likely their next target. “Either that or they’re flying in for supplies. Not sure if it makes sense to be sending scouts on horses with wings.” A snicker escaped the bloody Mercenary and she finally did close her eyes. There was no harm in resting now, was there?

“If the leader needed me, she’d have made a request for ground troops. Guess this means I get the day off, heh.” Stretching out a leg, she crossed it over her knee and positioned herself into a more comfortable posture. With luck, this would be an overall easy-going day without much fighting. But should combat need to be required…she was dying to paint her coat a new shade of red.

---

Protelo nodded as strategies were discussed, acting like he was paying his upmost attention. In truth, however he was only half-listening, hoping that the others wouldn't hear his stomach grumbling . Of course, he made sure to take heed of the secondary objectives given by the Envoy. The first one seems rather standard; defend the ships since they've got some of the best shit in 'em, and find some "important" person the Empire wants alive. Neither of those tasks seemed exciting to the Lieutenant, though the second one did give him a rather sinister idea. What sort of person would the Empire want alive, anyway?

Before Protelo could ask his question, however, Captain Aria began to chime in with her own questions. Out of the two ways she suggested taking the city it seemed that the sewer method might be best. Using siege tactics may prove troublesome, especially with one of their objectives requiring that damage must be minimized within a certain portion of Felmont. The sewers were one of their best bets, though Protelo was not keen at all with the idea of having a victorious battle whilst smelling like piss. In the end, while Protelo does believe that the sewer idea was a good one, he decided not to say anything about it just yet.

"Might just be a good idea to send only two or three of our flyers, Cap." Protelo stated as he was addressed, adjusting himself to look more attentive. "It's a good idea to focus on taking a look at how the harbor looks as well since that's where we'll be doing most of our holding out. One thing I recall the Zuiterrans doing when we're closing in on their encampments is resolving to scorched earth tactics, shit like burning their food and throwing out their water. Those sandeaters were used to the heat, but knew we'd have a harder time finding water... Point is there might be some really nice shit they've got on their ships that they might not want us to have, so we should be keen on making sure they've got no way to get rid of it.

"We might want some of our men on the inside, too. One or two, the ones that are good at sneaking around. I might take a step in as well, take the guise of some traveler and get a good look at how Felmont looks from the inside. Maybe you should send me in, as well? Might be a good idea if one of us had our own ideas of just how the city looks and manages, especially from a veteran's eyes..."

Protelo grinned, suggesting only slightly that he had ulterior motives to volunteering himself into Felmont. For one, it would mean that he wouldn't need to crawl in through the sewers, if there were any, to make entry into the city. Two, it'd mean he'd be out of this sweaty, boring tent sooner. Three, and most importantly, however, it would mean that he could finally eat some real fresh food. The thoughts of freshly grilled fish filled Protelo's mind, a vast improvement from the travel rations he's normally forced to eat. Surely he should be allowed to indulge himself a bit before it all goes to hell, anyway, right?

"Ah, right, before I forget," Protelo cleared his throat before looking at the Envoy, his expression being one much more serious. "You said you wanted someone very important alive, right? Just what sort of person are they? Actually to be frank, I don't really care who they are... but I am right when I say it's important that they're handed over alive, right? We could get them out for you, sure... but if you want to guarantee their survival, like having, say... the White Streak himself escorting this VIP out, we may need a bit more incentive for the job."

With a smug expression filled with pride, the Lieutenant raised his neck high as he looked down at the Envoy. In reality, Protelo was mostly bluffing, using this opportunity to "flex" his reputation just a bit rather than trying to weasel out a bit of extra cash. He cared more about fighting a good fight than getting paid, anyway. Still, Aria had a point; with such specific objectives needing to be met, the company was entitled for an increase in payment, provided they meet their objectives. It would mean better equipment for the Red Branch, after all. Maybe they could use the cash from this job to buy out their own personal master chef, actually...

Even outside of battle, a mercenary company never lacked things to do. In the wake of every skirmish came maintenance, each setting-up of camp took a lot of work from its occupants, and since an army marched on its stomach, every meal became a sizable endeavor. Lately, Fenne found herself lending such efforts more of a hand than she might have otherwise. She told herself that she merely played her part, but in the back of her mind she knew what spurred her to contribute so.

The sneers. The whispers. At every turn she could see those scathing faces and hear those derisive murmurs, and practically none of them were driven by dread or superstition about her red eyes and the heritage they supposedly evidenced, which she would have welcomed gladly. Since her arrival to the Red Branch not too long ago, she had gradually become aware that her attitude both on and off the battlefield won her few friends. In the town of Gespenst, such behavior brought the woman respect, but here she found herself greeted instead with contempt, disdain, and dismissal. Rumors flew not of a legendary warrior reincarnated, but of an egotistical lunatic kept around solely because, at the end of the day, she could swing a hammer well enough. The unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling of isolation had begun to gnaw at the edges of her mind. Warfare she could handle, particularly since the politics and logistics of it all concerned her little, but this more internal conflict troubled her.

Not too many of the combatants among Red Branch could beat her decisively, but over the weeks those who could did not hesitate to teach her a few lessons, each of which served to multiply her doubts. The stubborn scar across Fenne's face, still not healed a month after her sound defeat by Aria, stung when hit by any strong gust of wind. Every ensuing lance of pain told Fenne that things had changed—and that she, too, would need to change. Of course, she refused to betray herself or her mission, but the pressure remained, weighing in on her from all sides. In the end, whether motivated by the necessities of being a mercenary or by a new, insidious wish to be wanted, Fenne chose to serve the convoy in surly silence.

That impetus led to a lot busy days, but today, with camp already set up and most duties attended to, was an exception. Try as she might, Fenne couldn't find much to do, and after some wandering around she sat herself down by a tent to focus on the finer details of her equipment. Before too long her armor sat next to her in the grass, free of dirt and grime, and Fenne turned her attention to her scourge. She straightened its claws, then sharpened them with a whetstone, turning the lash over and over in her hands. After that Fenne worked to tighten and trim the interwoven lengths of hide that formed the bulk of her belonging's length. Tough but supple, it cracked like a whip in battle, and the strain of use threatened to render it useless without proper care. Fenne's mind wandered as she labored at the task, drifting back to the handmade charms she had fashioned in her youth back in the mountains. A little demon's talismans, she remembered, recalling the times she terrorized the other children with those 'cursed artifacts'. Not for the first time she thought about how easy it would be to leave this gaggle of hoodlums and return to a cozy life in Gespenst, but just as before she set the notion aside. My time being a big fish in a little pond is over. Having opted to let such thoughts be, Fenne honed her focus on her scourge to make the finishing touches.

A few minutes later, she was done. “There,” she said aloud, pleased with her handiwork. Reaching over to her pile of armor, she grabbed a vambrace, fastened it on her left arm, and wound the scourge around it. Eager to try it out, she hopped to her feet and sent it flying with a powerful cast of her forearm. The scourge unraveled, shot out, and dug its claws into the side of a tent a half-dozen feet away in the blink of an eye. “Hahah!” Fenne chuckled through a toothy grin. “Back in business.” She gave the scourge a tug. It ripped free from the tent, leaving a few small gashes in the canvas. “Hm.” Hopefully nobody would notice.

---

Running a hand through the beginning of his long hair, Cael let out a low breath. The fishmonger in front of him couldn't have been more obstinate on the prices for his stock. "Sir, I'm buying more than just one serving, surely there's a different pricing for bulk orders." Cael's verdant eyes stared at the older man, and it took most of his self-control to remain in place. I can't afford anyone else's prices. That thought alone was enough to keep the former lord from making any unwise decisions. Stormy eyes rose back to meet verdant as the fishmonger let out a harsh and condescending laugh. "Kid, no discounts. What did I just say not even two minutes ago?"

Sighing, they Wyvern Rider counted out a good portion of the coin that he had left and handed it over to the fishmonger. It took all of Cael's restraint to keep himself from saying anything rash to the man as he received the cloth sack filled with various fish-fillets. Luckily for Cael, the stubborn man had at least placed the fillets in their own separate packaging before slinging them into the bag. "Well, at least I have some for the wyverns and some for the camp." The young man mumbled as he looked down to the bag, then let his eyes wander around the 'market' quarter of Flemont's docks. Green eyes caught many different stands and checked their wares, only noticing items of value every once in a while. Not that I could afford much right now. The thought might have been rooted in his lack of funds, but Cael truly didn't care if he couldn't go buy a new spear for the moment. We've got food, and a tent over our heads. Not much more I can ask for, considering the circumstances.

The Wyvern Rider made his way through town, passing by townsfolk and travelers alike, before leaving the town's gated walls and heading back towards the Red Branch's campsite. Cael had been careful not to bring Verdan in towards Flemont, as he'd had a feeling that the port was the very reason that they'd been stationed in the area. Since he'd had the time to forget about the stingy salesman that he'd dealt with, Cael was doing much better by the time he got back into the camp. Ducking around a regiment of soldiers, there with the envoy from Nuniel, Cael wove his way back to the makeshift 'stables' for the various mounts that worked within the company. The former noble had originally been surprised that there was another wyvern outside of Verdan and Kieran's mount. There was also the pegasus that Cael had seen occasionally, though he didn't know as much about the majestic creatures as he did the wyverns.

Delivering most of the fish that he'd purchased to the 'mess' area of the camp, Cael made a mental note that he'd probably have to go back and roast the fillets before the end of the day. Assuming the Lieutenant doesn't go and have someone cook them up for him first. Shaking his head at the thought of the ever-hungry man, Cael finished his intended journey. "Hey, Ver. How's it going?" The Wyvern Rider asked his partner, reaching into the sack and pulling out a handful of the packages and unwrapping them hastily. Verdan let out a low growl, though the sound wasn't frightening to Cael in the slightest. He could see Kieran's mount and the stranger's wyvern as well, and planned on at least bringing them a few of the pieces of fish after he'd fed his own. Finishing the process of unraveling the terrible packing done for the meat, Cael simply tossed each piece up and allowed Verdan to reach his neck and and catch them happily. "'Atta boy. I'm going to go pass the rest out while you finish toying with that last one." The lack of response was enough to make Cael chuckle again, before moving to bring the other two wyvern's a few pieces of fish as well.

Reiko Hayakawa

War was never comfortable, but Reiko had to admit she much preferred to be fighting down here in Latis than in Zuiterra. For starters, the climate was just so much more mild. The heat of the Zuiterran deserts never sat well with Reiko, while Latis' temperate farms and rivers were much more to her liking, and even reminded her just a touch of home. On top of that, the structure of warfare here was somewhat simpler to handle, at least as far as Reiko was concerned. Whereas she could hear Latis' cavaliers charging from miles away, the Zuiterrans were used to irregular, skirmish warfare. It was easy for Reiko to dance circles around rank and file soldiers acting in predictable patterns, but when someone got down on her level and fought dirty, it meant she had to try harder to bring them down. Life was better when it was simpler. Reiko did not relish challenges nor did she enjoy second guessing everything happening around her. Of course, even if she didn't enjoy it, it was all part of what she was trained to do. The Hayakawa clan taught her to be wary of her surroundings at every moment, both through formal instruction and through a certain life lesson they inadvertently imparted on her.

It was perhaps partly due to that wariness that she found herself idling at the camp for now. She was well aware that their next target was to be the port city of Flemont. If she were the enterprising sort, she might think to sneak into the city, do some scouting, or perhaps lay in wait to throw open the gates for the company. She would not be doing any of that. At least, she wouldn't be doing any of that right now. Experience had taught her that taking initiative with one's superiors was always a highly risky endeavor. Maybe you could set forth and achieve some great goal that would have them singing your praises till dawn, but you could easily end up blundering into an ambush or otherwise ruining a well thought out plan just because you decided to act alone. It was even worse when it came to military types. Officers were obsessed with order and obedience, and she had seen more than a few soldiers be punished for stepping out of line. Certainly, the Red Branch Company were a mercenary brigade, but she was aware the captain had military ties, so she was in no hurry to treat her like anything less than a officer. In line with the mercenary line of thought, it was practically in her job description to only act when made clear of payment, so Reiko was going to sit here, practise her marksmanship, and wait for very clear instructions on what she would be doing next. The last thing she wanted was to get her pay docked because the captain decided it was actually too risky to send anyone into the city prior to their formal assault.

---

---

Stian woke up at dawn, and before donning his armour, performed a long series of stretches to warm up for the day. The exercise in the mornings and evenings also prevented his muscles from aching too badly or cramping. As fun as flying was, and he could do it for hours and hours, his muscles and joints always started complaining once he hit the ground. And he was barely twenty! So, he trained and worked on improving his agility almost religiously. He dared say he was good what with the way he could easily do handstands or splits or bridges, and moved as swiftly and sinuously as a snake in his attacks and dodges even from a crouch. He didn't neglect to practice his footwork and grip-power, because, yes, if the situation ever called for it, he was crazy enough to attempt standing on his wyvern to tangle with another flier.

After completing the thorough work-out, Stian washed up in a nearby water-full barrel, honestly almost tempted enough to take a drink from the filthy water. With what he deemed a great self-restraint, he waited until after he clothed and armoured himself properly before fetching himself a water jug and draining it like the savage he was, trails of water left running down the sides of his mouth unattended for a moment or two until he finally wiped them off with a sleeve, burping contentedly. Right, still have to eat, he scratched at his head, slightly sheepish. He was always half-expecting that a long-stretch of time where food would be unavailable was just around the corner, since he’d often had to ignore hunger in the past and was now practiced in doing so. However, the Red Branch was fairly decent as far as providing daily meals went, a fact both he and Gamleen were very well pleased with.

The thought of Gamleen sent Stian into a dash, and he rushed to grab some nondescript foul-tasty but filling ration food for himself to munch on and a bunch of dried jerky for Gam, which he stuffed into a small string-bag. Carrying those, he practically jogged to the stables, managing to eat his ration on the way, but stopped and barely prevented the rest of his foodstuff from scattering at the sight he waiting for him. Cael was feeding his wyvern with fish, Gamleen warily accepting each while staring at the male, the wyvern’s gesture conveying a warning for Cael not to attempt anything but feeding it. True, this wasn’t the first time for someone other than Stian to feed the gorgeous creature, and yet, the blonde couldn’t help but be reminded how long it had taken for Gamleen to warm up to him. Just shows I did good by him, it does! ‘Sides, he likes me way better. While his thoughts took a teeny tiny bit of a possessive, maybe, just maybe, even jealous streak, Stian approached with a perky bounce to his step, his trademark grin plastered on his face.

“Gamleen, ya cheatin’ on me, darlin’? And here I thought we had something special between us,” he drawled in a sullen whine, fluttering his eyelashes in obvious exaggeration at the wyvern, his disappointed tone belied by the mischievous sparkle in his eyes and the miniature laugh-lines on his face – though the latter were admittedly somewhat hard to see past the scars he still sported. The wyvern, on the other hand, didn’t react past a snort that somehow managed to convey its disgruntlement and a what-can-you-do-about-this-idiot sentiment.

Stian chuckled at the wyvern’s reply and approached as Gam gobbled up the last fish, waving at Cael. “Hey, man, thanks for the fish! You’re almost as good at spoiling the old man as I am,” he smirked, patted the wyvern’s neck, and nuzzled briefly up at him. Gamleen nipped at the blonde youth's ear, and Stian still couldn’t tell if the action was playful, reprimanding, or both, but either way, it did sting enough for him to ease up on the affection. Stian lifted his hands, still carrying the dried jerky bagged in his left, and said “Easy, easy. So, still wanna share this?” he drew a piece of meat from the bag and waved it in front of the wyvern.

Gamleen snapped at the piece lightning fast, chewing and swallowing it with a pleased growl. Stian proceeded to share half the dried jerky, alternating between eating a piece himself and offering one to the wyvern. After finihing, he stashed the now-empty-bag in a trouser pocket, led the wyvern outside the stable, got him ready for flying, then climbed onto the saddle easily. Stian briefly turned towards Cael again. “Oh, yeah, if anyone asks, we’ve just went for a bit of a fly. Just above our camp, so no worries, alright? If anything’s urgent, just give a whistle and even if I don’t hear you, Gamleen sure will. But if you’d rather join the fun, that’s cool too, man!” With that said, they were both off in a great whoosh of a rise, some dust flowing freely at their ascent.

@Levias

---

The first shy rays of the sunrise found Kieran dutifully, with half lidded eyes, at work. The mud in his hands was cool to the touch as he rather haphazardly worked over the subject of his labor. After all, there was no real finesse required when it came to painting a wyvern with a fresh coat of mud. Or at least that's he had woken up believing.

The half-conscious mercenary jerked back just in time as Tiaramut’s sharp set of jaws snapped shut within kissing distance of where his face had just been. “Oi, we're having none of that,” he dispassionately chastised his disgruntled partner, far too tired to put all that much effort into it. Kieran didn’t even have to look at his wyvern to see how displeased she was with this oh-so-terrible treatment, as she somehow had found a way to radiate the feeling. Honestly, he would have been amazed by the phenomena if it weren’t for the fact that it was all directed squarely at him.

“Look,” the redhead muttered in exasperation, scooping another handful of mud as he did so, “You don’t like this, I sure don’t like this, but we’re just going to have to put up with it until those Nuniel envoys clear out.” Without breaking eye contact with the wyvern, Kieran unceremoniously glomped said handful onto her hide, further diluting her usual red luster to a drab brownish red.

In Kieran’s head, the logic certainly checked out. A red haired wyvern rider wasn’t that uncommon. Likewise, a red wyvern was somewhat rare, but far from being unheard of in the world. But combine the two and even a self-absorbed Nuniel envoy may start asking questions that Kieran had no interest in answering. So here he was, risking his appendages to obscure Tiaramut’s true color.

With a final plop of mud hitting wyvern hide, Kieran dusted off his hands and looked over his shoddy work. “There, all done Mutt.” While he was almost positive that Tiaramut couldn’t understand a lick of the human tongue, the way she always bristled at his pet name for her never failed to cause him to wonder. “Huh, this might actually be a good look for you girl. Maybe we should splash some color on you more often.”

A rumbling growl was the only response Kieran got, which once again got him questioning just how much the oversized lizard really understood. Or maybe he was just naturally offensive, regardless of language? That little thought caused a wry grin to spread across his expression as he shuffled back to his tent.

---

Kieran was once more unsuccessful at stifling the umpteenth yawn of the day as he strolled lazily through the Red Branch’s encampment. While he would have rather kept his head low until well after the envoys were far away, there was far too much to do around the camp for a newbie to the company like Kieran to be allowed to take it too easy. It had only been a few weeks since he and Cael had signed on with the outfit, creating an atmosphere that pretty all but explicitly told them that they had to prove their worth. Regardless of the fact that to do so they were being dragged straight into the very conflict that they had sworn they wouldn’t get involved in.

Thankfully, the wyvern rider was ripped from that unwelcome train of thought as, coincidentally, his attention was drawn to the sound of ripping canvas.

Turning the corner, Kieran found a fresh looking set of tears in the innocent tent’s exterior. And it only took the briefest of glances to find the offending party, one red eyed fighter with a scourge wrapped around her vambrace. Despite how new he was and the fact that they had never really spoken before, it was hardly difficult for him to pick out who the figure before him was with that iconic scar of hers. Amber eyes flicked from the scourge at her wrist back to the newly ventilated tent, his face betraying none of his thoughts on the matter.

Dramatically, Kieran swiftly raised his hand, as if to cut off whatever excuse Fenne may have thought to offer. “No, no, I’m with you on this one. This tent definitely had it coming for all of its grave sins against humanity,” he stated dryly, but he wore an amiable smile as he turned his attention back to the culprit. "The world is in your debt for showing it the error of its ways."

@Lugubrious

---

Bow string tied between two grounded stakes at the entrance of his tent and his blade by his sleeping bag weren't enough to ensure the best night's sleep, yet Mirza wrestled with whether or not a more elaborate trap or snare would have made the difference. While taking down his makeshift attempt at insurance that morning, he had to admit to himself that he probably wasn't as concerned with security as he could have been. For instance, he actually slept inside said sleeping bag instead of making a decoy out of it, wanting at least some reprieve from the freezing coastal winds that only had a mildly harder time of piercing through his tent than it did any exposed part of him. So in facing the first full breeze out in the open, the quint essential misfit of this band had dawned his black cloak, his arms grasping its ends closed over the warmest materials he had on hand.

The chill that nipped at his face had forced him to his feet sooner than he'd like, well before Nuniel's emissaries would meet with the Captain and Lieutenant, a conference that he had no misgivings in not attending. If anyone actually wanted him to be present, he highly doubted it'd be for his strategic insight. War wasn't normally his business, let alone his area of expertise. If anything, the more time he spends around soldiers, the more likely one of them is to start getting nostalgic, or perhaps feel the urge to show him the tallies they've carved onto their equipment, if he's lucky.

Instead, Mirza departed from the camp to make himself useful, going about his routine and essentially seeing to his final preparations. Truthfully, he really wanted to visit Flemont before the incursion began, but was in no position to make the journey on foot by himself. The port will be largely remembered as a major intersection of trade in the region, an excellent place to come across all manner of things, likely even two years into Nuniel's encroachment. Only one way to know for sure, as far as he was concerned.

As a start to generally wake himself up he'd head for a mildly wooded area and spend around two hours in total to help replenish the camp's reserve of fire wood, mostly relegating himself to collecting all the suitable fallen branches and any other potential kindling he could carry. Given that he only had to account for a camp of a little more than a dozen individuals for perhaps that night alone, felling an entire tree didn't really feel necessary, not that he was at all eager to handle the task himself anyway.

He made two runs like this, but before returning from his second trip, he'd take the opportunity to brush up on his swordplay and throwing accuracy, honing his form, the motions that had seen him through many of his scuffles as of late before continuously embedding his throwing daggers into a large tree from ten to fourteen feet away. With a fair amount of tentative concentration, he managed to get the second and third blade to land less than an inch from the first one. The fourth one however spun off-center and smacked against the hilt of the second, sending both tumbling to the ground. Mirza still had his arm raised from the throw, his fingers slowly curling back into a fist that trembled and bobbed slightly under his tense breathing. Swallowing as he lowered his arm, he'd walk over to the tree and collect his knives, not a second thought given before he took up the last of the wood he'd gathered and carried on back to the camp.

The meeting was well underway by the time the Zuiterran mercenary sought to occupy himself with another task, taking up a hunting bow from one of the racks and a quiver of arrows. The company wasn't in dire want of food as far as he knew, but hunting on his own behalf meant he wouldn't be a burden on the company, something he touted while negotiating for his life a little more than a year ago. And if he came back with more food than he could eat himself then all the better for him. The thief hadn't seen to his tent since he'd risen, but decided that one final meal before his debut into his first theater of war would be more important than sorting his equipment. He could use the distraction.

---

George kept a firm hand on his mule's reins - the last thing he wanted to do was cause an uproar or some kind of commotion with the envoys, in case one of them broke from their harness. The city of Flemont couldn't be seen from their distance, but George was well aware of their proximity - if they were ordered to, it would take less than a day to be upon them. George really didn't like thinking about that kind of stuff though. The killing was something he disliked greatly, and if he could, he usually ran from a confrontation or tried to deal non-lethal blows.

Besides, the chances that they would attack today were pretty much impossible. They had gone over planning, but George felt fairly confident that they were not close to being done with a concrete execution of it. The envoy was inside of Aria's tent and, in his usual distaste for the high-stress environment, George chose to remain outside with the mules. If he had time, he'd recheck their food and water supplies, maybe polish his armor and maintain his weapon if he had time. Work was a far preferable alternative to lazing about, in his opinion.

Unpacking some provisions for the mules, George gave Cocoa and Gus their feed and some of the water. Maybe he could take one them down to the creek he saw on the march over to the campsite in order to replenish the water supplies? Being responsible for the food and water was his main goal since he was the one who carried the most of it, and he really wanted to serve something special tonight. If only he was a hunter - then they wouldn't need to stop at cities to replenish their supplies nearly as much.

Rising from his seat, George grabbed the harness that was connected to Gus' bridle, shifting it to a leash instead. He then gripped the saddle and saddlebags, before throwing them over the Mule's body and fastening them. It only took grabbing several empty water skins and canteens before George was on his way, gently leading the apathetic mule towards the nearby water source. At most, it'd take an hour walk there and back - plenty of time to prepare for tomorrow and cook a good dinner.

As luck would have it, mere moments after Fenne's 'accident' with the tent, some red-haired bozo rounded the bend and stumbled onto the scene. Though the recognized the wyvern rider on sight, his name did not immediately pop into her head, and her focus split between struggling to remember it and hoping that he wouldn't bother her as he approached. Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, she urged as he strolled by. His pace convinced her otherwise, however, moments before he turned those mischievous, amber eyes of his on her and started talking.

Fenne could not say she liked the guy. His smug aura mocked her, and either due to his gear or proportions his torso appeared overlong but almost girlishly narrow toward the waist, and that put her off, too. That said, his joke, however unfunny, did not annoy her, and after being treated to a friendly smile she found herself rolling her eyes. “Hah hah hah,” she fake-laughed, crossing her arms. ”If you've got the free time to putz around, why don't you get the blood pumping instead? I was just about to go on a push-run in a big circle 'round the camp.” A derisive grin appeared on her face. “Maybe if you make something of yourself you'll be worth fighting.”

Kieran. That was his name. While Fenne never took the time to get to know this soldier in particular -partially because she was almost as new here as he- a single characteristic served to identify him in her eyes: as of this day, she had not seen fit to test his mettle. Many people, many warriors even, fell into that category, since Fenne did not care to learn what every random mercenary stood for on the off-chance that their principles bore harder scrutiny. Still, she didn't mind going a few rounds with any of them who met her standards. If Kieran decided to join her exercise, such information might happen to come to light through casual chitchat, hence why she extended him the invitation. After all, that fancy armor of his surely belied a more sophisticated background than the typical army brute.

---

Lost in the meander that was blood-drenched thoughts of violence, Shirley was rather enjoying herself. The day may have been colored a bit boring, but that was the price of peace. Soon, very soon, the Red Branch Company would be engaging in combat once more, and it was that reality that had Shirley’s fingers twitching. She could almost feel the hilt of her blade sliding into her hand, ready to cut short the life that needed to be spilled…but alas, all good things came to an end.

Such was the case of her daydreaming, disrupted by a very familiar, very chirpy voice. Shirley sighed loudly, making it known to Chiyuri that she didn’t want to be bothered right now. But she knew more than anyone else that the swordswoman would not leave people alone unless explicitly told so. As she opened her eyes and dully stared up at Chiyuri’s beaming face, she accepted this fact as reality.

“Fine, I’ll humor you. What do you want,” she asked, eyeing the fruit held in Chiyuri’s hand. Apparently Chiyuri just wanted to sit around. With her. Shirley almost gagged at the thought but didn’t make a motion to budge. Laziness was more potent than any high from a bloodlust. “I don’t see why not, I suppose. And that apple is rather shiny and red…” Not liking one bit of it, Shirley flickered her gaze to her side, a notion that Chiyuri could sit where she pleased.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever, give me an apple.” Arms crossed behind her head, Shirley sighed; soon enough, one arm was freed and held with palm splayed out to accept the fruit. It was healthier than bread and broth certainly. “Did you just come here to watch the sky or something? That’s a bit nostalgic and kiddy. Or did you just want some peace and quiet too?” Shirley said, chomping into her apple with munching teeth and mutters.

---

---

With a bag of apples in hand, Raina made her way to the makeshift stables within the camp. Her main thought was to treat her stead to a snack, though she didn't mind handing them out to anyone else would wanted to help themselves. She had already delivered some to the mess hall, noticing that someone had delivered fish just a few moments ago.

Reaching the stables, Raina noticed two of the camp's wyvern riders conversing with one another. She believed the one wearing the green armored was named Cael, the other was named Stian. Cael was feeding the wyverns some fish and talking Stian, she wasn't sure about what though. She eventually made her way in front of Guinevere, who raised its head at sign of its master.

"Heya, girl. I've something for you~ You hungry?" Mused Raina as she rubbed the mount's head. She reached into the bag and pulled out a bright red apple. She head it to the pegasus's mouth as it began taking big bites from the fruit.

She didn't know much about wyverns, but their masters seemed like decent enough people. She had been on some missions with them and they seemed to be capable fighters, and didn't have much issue following orders. Raina remembered that some of her childhood friends once told her that wyvern riders were brutes through and through - violent, simple-minded, and general louts. Seeming them converse with such a friendly tone made Raina think differently however.

"That's a good girl~ You'll get some exercise soon, don't worry." Raina was aware of the assignment that was given to the camp by the Nuniel Empire in addition to its importance. She wanted to make sure Guinevere was well rested and fed for the upcoming sortie. Still having some leftover apples in the sack, Raina decided to share the love. She noticed that Stian took his mount from the stable and made for the skies after biding farewell. Cael stayed behind, however, it seems he wanted to feed the other wyvern.

"Hello, you're Cael, right?" Said the pegasus knight as she made her way to her fellow mercenary."I was just feeding my darling Guinevere some red apples and happened to have a few leftover. Would either of you like some?"

@Levias

The Envoy turned to the company leader speaking only to retort sharply "The target is female and will look relatively young. When you get a hold of her, do everything to keep her in custody and alive." he answered to both the boasting young man and the Captain. As they were about to leave the tent, Aria mentioned the payment, to which the envoy stopped and slowly looked up at the Captain from across the table "Mercenaries...always so greedy." Aria crossed her arms and took on the staring contest, but it proved a no contest. Not even a few seconds later; "Fine. We will see what can be done about it - but you best not fail the Empire."

"The Red Branch Company do not fail. Remember that when you'll bring my query to your superior. Now, get out of my command tent. We have a siege to plan."

Slightly annoyed, but not unhappy to leave the lowly Mercenaries to themselves, the envoys promptly left the tent and headed for their horses. Meanwhile, Aria kept her eyes riveted at the map of the land around the city, taking note of what Protelo said "Protelo, find the flyers and ask them to scout the docks. Tell them to fly high - there are few pegasi in Latis and no wyverns. They would recognize them as enemy as soon as they set eyes on them. They should focus on spotting the ship those envoys mentioned, as well as the shortest way to it." As she said this, Aria sat down at her table and began writing something with ink and feather.

"You will take every other persons and lead them South West from here. The road to Western Latis goes through a river. You and your group are to find the bridge and make it unusable as to stop any unwelcome surprise in our backs later on. Chances are Latissians have it guarded since Nuniel mostly vacated this area." Finally, her eyes left from the paper to her Lieutenant as she rolled the peice of parchment and handed it to him.

"Take every available man; except Felix, Reiko and Mirza. Give them those orders, they'll do the rest. As soon as your own mission is completed, come back to camp. By your return, we should be able to make way for the city. Am I clear?"

The orders on the parchment were clear; Find a way in and either sabotage the gates for easy entry, or find an alternate way into the city. They could do this by infiltrating incognito, or waiting at night of they want access to the walls.

---

The hardest part about mercenary life wasn't the combat. It wasn't the constant trudging from one warzone to the other, or the lack of infrastructure and support that went to a formal military unit. No, it was quite clear to Cecilia that the most miserable aspect of her new career was the sheer volume of downtime she was left with. Sitting the on the gentle rise of a hill with her knees pulled in and a healing staff laid beside her, she glared holes into the side of the Captain's tent and had been doing so since the messengers had walked in.

"Come on, finish already so we can get moving." The dark skinned cleric grumbled, her chin resting against her knees with an air of childish impatience wafting from her. She was a working woman, and she had gotten used to long hours with ample entertainment between patching up gruesome injuries. Sure, Cecilia could appreciate vacation time but it wasn't like she could just train the day away like the other mercenaries here seeing as that necessitated a near constant stream of injured and dying to get any progress in. "And it's not like I can even go into town and start selling my services cause then we'd be fighting healthy people. Gah!"

Overcome with nervous tension she flopped onto her side and tumbled down the hill, the lingering grass stains in her pilfered maid uniform speaking well to the repetition of this course in just this day alone. Coming to a stop with her cheek in the grass she didn't bother to rouse herself from the ground, content to wallow in her lethargy, till at last a miracle happened.

The messengers departed, riding off on their horses without a second glance sent their way. "YEEEEEES!"

With the speed of a mounted cavalier she tore across the camp on all fours, nearly barreling through the parted tent flaps onto the pause with her outstretched hand brushing the fabric. "Whoops, that would have been embarrassing."

Rising up onto both legs like a civil human being, she maintained said ludicrous speed in going back for her staff, collecting it, and rushing back headlong through the tent only to collide with the broad chest of Protelo. With a complete lack of consideration for personal space she buried her chin into ribs and gave the man a look like a puppy begging for a treat. "Do we have our orders? Well, do we? Do we?!"

---

There was a pleasant predictability that came with hunting wild game, that consensus reoccurring even after similar excursions under duly tangible stakes commonly spurred the rogue to muse as regards the hearsay of the pastime attaining to the level of sport among certain circles of nobility. Justifiably enough, the reasonably consistent state of his circumstances had largely led to a lack of detailed cognition of the affairs belonging to members of higher stations, people who have reached a state where survival itself is a trifle and diversion is an event all its own. One imagines they might have weighty responsibilities just like anyone else and the amusement, however peculiar, may go a long way towards enrichment in the face of life's uncertainties.

He did have to admit, after a particularly stiff breeze rushed passed his hair and his resulting annoyance over his situation led his gaze to wander across the setting, from the late morning radiance that sparsely fell through the highest forest canopy and to a nearby crystalline stream set in a nigh timelessly verdant backdrop, that perhaps here lied a natural beauty that in some ways might make for an experience that can be appreciated regardless of one's position along the scale of affluence.

The branch crackled minutely in complaint underneath his boots, a shock that forced him to refocus and curse his luck that the five hundred pound wild bear showed itself just after he had successfully pinned an arrow to the side of a young doe's neck a few inches from the shoulder. The would-be prey frantically darted off. Securing it should have only been a matter of tracking it down and dispatching it when it's weak. Instead the chase was interrupted by the altogether more ferocious predator, Mirza breaking away from the chase and scrambling his way up the first large tree he could find. There were certain measures in mind in the event of the beguilingly fluffy monster tailing him, but his luck wasn't that terrible as it turned out and after waiting for a generous amount of time with no bear in sight, he dropped down to the forest floor, miffed and finding the scenery to be of lacking consolation in light of his gnawing hunger.

But whereas the sense of adventure was enough to satiate the thrill-mongering wealthy, Mirza wasn't giving up until he had something to show for his efforts, though preferably something better than the prolific dark berries which he suspected were poisonous. In the end he returned to camp with two skinned rabbits, a very embellished story and a small bagful of tart but not untasty berries. At one of the campfires, the "hunter" could be found sluggishly preparing a pot of stew, enough to easily last him the whole day with some left over. He hadn't the slightest clue where the deer he shot had ended up, his thoughts dwelling upon its enigmatic fate.

---

“Terrific.” There was no short amount of sarcasm in Shirley’s voice as she listened to Chiyuri’s reasoning. It was almost like talking to a child; which wasn’t too far off when she reminded herself of the other girl’s age. All the same, of all places to relax did she have to choose her green hilltop? She did bat an eye at Chiyuri though when she realized she was being mocked. “Funny, kiddo. Did you waste a night getting that pitch perfect?”

She ignored whatever there was to say about the girl’s former trainer, finding it irrelevant in the long run. But the proposal to team up? Now there was something she couldn’t inherently or outright refuse. It was only now Shirley had paused in chewing on her apple, having eaten more than half of the fruit. The red hue of its skin still clinging to some of the flesh, she batted an eye at Chiyuri with an interested gleam.

“Yes, I’ve seen you fight. You’re not half bad on the field with a blade. Not as good as me obviously, but good enough to warrant my time,” Shirley said. Another chomp of the apple was given, teeth grinding in tentative, thinking chews. A swallow later and, “You know what? Why not. If anything happens, I can always let you sacrifice yourself for me kid. Free of charge, and all that.”

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