Elric remained silent as Kace provided his backstory. He, too, had heard of the Seven Month War, and was impressed with Kace's service in the war, given his young age, and even more in his diplomacy in ending the war peacefully. Surely the abilities of someone like Kace would become valuable assets through the course of their quest. He was about to say as much when Roland responded in a way that was far less complimentary. Instead, Elric rolled his eyes at Roland's condescension and muttered some very unflattering remarks in Falkmor, somewhat hoping that Roland did not speak the language of Falke since the tone of Elric's words was revealing enough of what he thought of Roland's remark, as well as about Roland himself. Roland was such a cocky jerk, so intent on upholding his own high status that he had to somehow try to take Kace down. Having no way to actually belittle Kace on his merits, Roland instead decided to attack Kace's parentage.

Elric continued to listen to Roland as he gave an explanation of what he considered to be worth sharing, before not so subtly suggesting that Elric had no meaningful accomplishments to speak of. Elric again rolled his eyes and muttered some further unflattering remarks regarding Roland's ego, though more quietly this time, even as Roland declared that his reputation must surely have preceded him, making any talk of his own accomplishments unnecessary. If Elric were a less cautious man with his words, and more prone to lashing out in anger, he would have responded with a biting remark and his accomplishments of being the youngest person to have ever been accepted into the Dragoons at the age of 18, and being the youngest man to ever achieve the rank of High Dragoon only 10 short years later. He would also have mentioned how at least a third of the men under his command were older than him and at least a quarter of them had been in the Dragoons longer than he had, yet they all still respected him and followed his orders without question. Surely that would be something that Roland would consider to be worth sharing. However, Elric remained silent. Speaking in anger was foolish, and Elric had trained himself to always let his anger cool before speaking. He also had no desire to see what sort of condescending remark Roland would come up with after hearing Elric's accomplishments since, if his reaction to Kace's story was anything to go by, he certainly would find some way to attack him, and Elric had no interest in self-inflicted pain.

Kace spoke with a kind tone, expertly hiding the anger he felt, not letting it show through his words, “Tell me Sir Roland, have you ever seen true battle? The type of bloody struggle where you can barely tell your friends from your foes? Have you ever led men to their deaths? Ever held a dying brother in your arms and watched as the life faded from his eyes, not being able to tell if the blood covering you is his, or yours or that of an enemy? Have you ever actually taken a life Sir? I can’t imagine tournaments, with your thick armor, blunted blades and flowery smells and the comfort of food and drink only a moments walk from the list would give you much cause to kill. But I assure you, this quest will be no walk in the park, no trot down the list. The enemies we face here won’t cower at the sight of a glittering knight, flowing with banners and ribbons, whose horse has a braided mane and silken caparison. And as for my parents, I’d ask you kindly not to speak ill of them. They’ve given you no cause to do so, and it’s rather cowardly to speak of someone when they’re not present to accept or challenge your words.” He smiled to the Ethorian as he finished speaking before turning to Elric.

In very broken Falkmor, Kace managed, “Agree a lot with words you spoke. He is rabbit nostril.” He gave an apologetic look, hoping he hadn’t misspoke and unintentionally offended Elric.

“I learned a bit on a trading expedition with my father when I was young. I hope I was at least coherent.” He said, laughing a hearty laugh. “Tell me Elric, what’s your story? I encountered some Dragoons at a port in Falke, and if I’m not mistaken, you bear the crest of the High Dragoon? Yet you can’t be older than twenty-five or thirty. That’s very impressive my friend. How did one so young achieve such a prestigious appointment?”

Roland was quickly becoming annoyed with the half-dwarf, half-Highman. Kace's tone may have been inviting and friendly, but the Ethorian Knight had been around politics long enough when one can be putting up a farce. Even if Kace wasn't, Roland's previous disdain for his appearance and origins was well enough for Roland to respond bitterly.

"Very well," Roland interrupted as Kace asked a few questions to Elric in Falmor, a language Roland hadn't bothered to learn, but had a feeling the two were in some way referring to him. "I shall then directly to you, sir," Roland began, emphasizing the mocking tone he addressed Kace. "With the Lionsguard, I have slain bandits seeking to dispatch high lords. I have executed men for treason, beheaded dis-loyalists, and sentenced men to die," He explained, with each syllable he uttered becoming more and more distasteful. The Ethorian grabbed onto the hilt of his longsword and gave Kace a smug smile. "And if you would like, I would be happy to demonstrate that to you."

Elric listened once more as Kace quite diplomatically rebutted Roland's attack, though he also included a few unnecessary remarks calling Roland's skill and experience in actual combat into question. Kace then turned to Elric and spoke to him in Falkmor. Elric could not help but smile somewhat as Kace agreed with the sentiments he had expressed, though his Falkmor was not perfect. It had been spoken well enough that Elric had been able to understand him, and the fact that Roland seemed to not understand the language also gave Elric some small amount of pleasure.

Kace had then asked Elric for his story, but before Elric could respond, Sir Roland responded to Kace's questions of his skill and experience in combat, and then made ready to draw his sword and directly threatened Kace. That was too much for Elric who, in two short strides placed himself between Roland and Kace, holding his spear out between them to keep them apart, with the point directed at Roland.

"That is enough," he declared clearly and forcefully. "We are all on the same side here, and fighting amongst ourselves will only aid the enemy." His next words were directed more to Roland as he said, "You yourself said that we are all on this quest together. You would do well to not strain our relations by insulting us or worse, threatening us." He spoke once more to both Kace and Roland. "Both of you, opposite sides of the ship now, and don't either of you come near the other until we arrive at port. I don't want to hear any more fighting between the two of you." He glared at both men and waited to see if they would obey or argue the orders he had just given, admittedly without any real authority to force their obedience.

Kace grinned at the sight of Roland gripping his sword and subtly began moving his hand to where his own axe and sword lie next to him, propped against the railing of the ship. Before he could grip his blade, however, Elric stepped in between them. The words he spoke were true, and Kace felt a sudden pang of brotherhood and camaraderie with the Falkian. He could tell almost entirely in that moment that Elric would be a steadfast friend. Though, however much Kace valued the words Elric spoke, Roland had insulted Kace, his honor and the honor of his family one too many times. The generally amiable half-dwarf also knew when to defend his name, and now was that moment.

He picked up his langes messer and acted as if he was about to follow Elric’s suggestion of standing on the opposite side of the ship from Roland before spinning around the Falkian and drawing his blade in the arc of the spin. Kace was a lefthanded swordsman, making him an unconventional and difficult opponent, as most knights were trained to fight righthanded opponents, therefore all of their muscle memory needed to be reversed in a duel with Kace. The half-dwarf knew how to effectively use this to his advantage.

As he completed the spin, he threw his scabbard like a kunai, striking Sir Roland squarely in the forehead. Kace used this moment of confusion to launch his attack. He jumped and kicked off of a barrel, leaping high into the air to bring down a thunderous overhead strike, gripping the messer with both hands, roaring like a lion as he went. His cut was intercepted, however. The two warriors exchanged a furious flurry of blows before both disengaging and stepping back to quickly catch their breath.

“I guess tourney melees are at least good at preparing you for dueling,” Kace said behind a smirk, “I’m actually impressed neither of us have disarmed or dismembered the other yet. Let’s try and change that, shall we?” he said insolently before stepping forward to engage again. He feinted an upwards slash before redirecting to a hanging guard cut, hoping to catch the Ethorian off guard. Time seemed to slow down as Kace waited for his sword to either connect with Roland’s skull, Roland’s blade, or for Roland to duck under Kace’s sword, making the feint miss entirely.

Elric watched as Kace seemed to follow his orders, only to spin around and attack Roland. Before Elric could do anything to diffuse the situation, the two were locked in combat for a few moments, giving Elric no opportunity to come between the two again until they had disengaged. He listened as Kace gave a very insolent and undiplomatic remark to Roland before moving to strike again. As he raised his sword at Roland, Elric twirled his spear between the two combatants, striking at the handle of the weapon of each, forcing the weapons from the hands of both knights. He once again forced himself between them. "That is enough!" he declared again, more sternly this time. He once again used his spear to force the two further apart, this time with the point directed at Kace. "We are not here to fight amongst ourselves, and I will tolerate no more of it! If you will not disengage of your own volition, then so help me, I will force it from you even if I must knock you both unconscious to do so!" He glared between Roland and Kace, daring either to try to defy him again.

Catskull's ears pricked, his nose upturned, and his eyelids fluttered, a light shiver coursing up his body like an electric current. A blade loosed from a scabbard, a sound he'd never mistake. His shadow flit across the hull and in a trice he'd be crouched just behind the doorframe where the knights were concluding their feud. His body had already been relaxed, but his mind followed suit only after learning that it had just been a scrap, and not an attack. Kase, Roland, and Elric were they?
He had to think logically. Infighting wouldn't be advantageous if a real attack did occur. He had to settle it now or risk future dangers.

He slowly turned into the doorway, black gloved hands held peaceably up, palms open. He addressed the knights.

"Hark! Thy quarrel has gone and disturbed mine rest. Now, thanks to thee, I must open yonder cask of fine ale in the hull to quench mine frustrations. Shall then we have a mug or two and tranquilize ourselves well and damn good?"

While the blow to his head was enough for to disorient the Ethorian Knight, Roland was able to recover and engage Kace. His style was unconventional. He was trained, but it was unique, as Roland could see. After an exchange of blows, the two stepped back. Roland gripped his sword tightly as he gave the half-dwarf a subtle nod. Maybe out of some respect for his skill, maybe out understanding of the situation, perhaps a bit of both. Kace quickly went in for the second blow from above. This one was more anticipated from Roland, and the Ethorian prepared to parry.

That is, until Elric much more fervently intercepted and screamed for them to desist. Catskull, who had been lurking below deck until now, had made his presence known, and suggested a drink to settle everyone down. Roland glanced between Catskull, Elric, and Kace, before he inhaled sharply through his nostrils and exhaled. He sheathed his sword and scoffed. "It seems the Falkans never heard of a sparring session," Roland walked to the far side of the deck and sat on top of a barrel. He glared at Kace once more, before he stared off into the sea.

"Come, my lords," Captain Crewe called out, as he had witnessed their altercation, but had been silent on it. "It'll be two weeks until we reach our destination. Rest and relax. Enjoy some Raelusian Ale, liquor from Miraheim, Falken brew, whatever your heart desires." He gestured to the barrels close to him, which his sailors had already began to uncork in preparation for the knights.

Kace smiled as he sheathed his blade. “You have skill. I apologize for my rude comments, veiled as they may have been.” He extended his hand to Roland, inviting him to shake it and squash their quarrel, “Come Sir. Share a drink with me.”

Tankard in hand, Catskull filled it near to the brim with a thick, dark, frothy stout from the Northern provinces. He probably liked his coffee black too. It seemed uncharacteristic of him to merrily drink, and without his sword by his side at that. He smiled easily and sat down, chair creaking.

"Savages are more courteous than civilized men, as they may be impolite without having their skulls split. Tis a saying from a distance land, one mine ancestors had migrated away from many generations ago. Let us do away with formalities and toast to savagery. Skumps! Skumps!"

He cocked his head back and swilled half the pint down.

“Ah, you are here!” The merchant announced his presence with a wave of his large, meaty hand. He nodded at Varian and looked over at the rest of the troops. The merchant had to do a double take when he saw the half orc.

“Umm, yes.” He finally articulated. “I am here to dispense the funding and relay any other information to yourself and your group, once the rest of them appear. Speaking of which, how many more are we expecting, sir…?”

“Sigmund. Varian Sigmund.” Varian replied without looking at the merchant, but rather to the interior of the city as he scouted for the rest of the troop. “This will be it.”

“This... this is all, my lord Varian?” The merchant questioned. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his corpulent face. “I assume that all of the individuals you’ve selected are in fact capable fighters. Am I correct?” The merchant said, eyeing the orc and other female fighter. “I wouldn’t want to sending any of them into danger.”

Varian snorted. He knew what the man was really asking. He wasn’t concerned about the well-being of his mercenaries, but rather the welfare of his pockets. He wanted to accomplish the job with as little muscle needed as possible, as the merchant agreed to pay 70 silver to each of them. Even in the situation of his daughter’s life hanging in the balance, the merchant still sought to be as frugal as possible. Yep, it was safe to say Varian was beginning to like the man. “Don’t worry about them. They all know what they’re doing.”

The merchant nodded, reaching into his own bag for a rather large sack, from the sound of the shingling Varian was certain was payment, and a marked map of Ethora. “Very well. First, the matter of payment.” He said, reaching into the large sack and pulled out a smaller sack from inside. Varian was able to peer into the large sack and see a bundle of identical sacks in the larger one. The merchant handed the small sack to Varian. “If you would, inspect the contents of the sack, sir.” He articulated to the Highman, who grabbed the sack from the merchant peered inside. Within it, he saw a bundle of shining silver pieces, the promised individual pay for the completion of the job.

“I’d say there is about 35 pieces in here.” Varian declared.

“Half the individual pay.” The merchant confirmed, distributing the smaller sacks to each of the other mercenaries. “To each of you, 35 pieces of silver handed out now, and the remaining 35, as well as the 200 surplus, to be given out once my daughter has been returned to me.”

Varian counted the coins once more to confirm the amount, before looking up to the merchant and nodding his head. The merchant returned the nod, and opened up the map he had with him. “If you would, good Sirs, gather around.” Varian obliged him, walking up next to the merchant and squatting down to look at the open map. It was a rather detailed map of Ethora, marked up with certain important cities and locations, as well as landmarks and trade routes. “Here we have our current location at Dalenham.” He pointed with one of his large, sausage-like fingers. “Over here is Curilan.” He said, his finger moving north to point to the city on the map. The fort is about four kilometers west of the city. It was once a heralded fortress under the control of the Ethorian government, but as the economy declined, many forts like this one were abandoned because of the impracticality of maintaining them.”

“How many men are we expecting inside?” Varian asked the merchant. Even through the hood, he could see the man’s anxiety rising as he answered the Highman.

“About twenty, maybe as many as thirty.” He said, watching the expressions on the faces of the mercenaries to see how they would react. Varian didn’t give much of a facial reaction, but followed with an additional question. “Anything special about these bandits? Do they have an affiliation or benefactor?”

“To my knowledge, they are simply a group of brigands from around the area. Nothing remotely special about them, as far as I hear. The only problem is their number, and fortification.”

Varian examined the map once more, before standing up. “Alright. We’ll get it done.”

The merchant also rose to meet his gaze, beaming at him. “Excellent! I cannot thank you enough, Sers. Here.” He said, handing the marked map to Varian. “I’ve taken the liberty to mark another area on the map, on the outskirts of Curilan. When the job is complete, proceed to the inn there, known as the ‘Strutting Stag’. I will be awaiting your arrival with the remainder of the payment, in full. Do any of you have any additional questions?” He inquired of the rest of the mercenaries.



Roland glared at Kace and his extended hand. Instead of grasping it, the Ethorian knight returned his attention to his drink handed to him by one KD the sailors and took a satisfying gulp.

“How about a story, hmm?” Captain Crewe sat near the other knights, a tankard in his hand as he gazed across the faces of the other knights. “Have you heard of The Knight of Gold?”

“Every Ethorian has heard of that fairy tale,” Roland replied as he rolled his eyes. “A boring children’s tale to ward off young noble lads from being too greedy.”

“But of course, my lord,” Captain Crewe stroked his black beard and smiled. “Of course every tale has a hint of truth in it, do they not?” The captain extended his arms. “The knight of gold! Born in riches, born in beauty and revelry. A strong fighter too, but he had always cared more about what he wore than who he stuck,” The sailors around him laughed merrily at the captains jest.

“Ah, gold. He wore it. He bathed in it, he consumed it,” The Captains smiled quickly faded. “Until it consumed him,” a silence overtook the group as Captain Crewe finished the contents of his mug.

“As I said,” Roland interjected in the silence. “A children’s tale to stop boys from being too greedy. Nothing more.”

Kace, expecting Roland’s response, simply shrugged, walked to the nearest barrel and filled two mugs. He took a seat next to Elric and handed him one of the mugs, as Captain Crewe began his tale. The people of Miraheim had a tale similar, though instead of a knight it was the greed of a thrall that brought a dragon down upon the kingdom when the thrall stole the dragon’s favorite cup from his treasure horde and the aged king, who had once been a great warrior and slayer of many monsters, donned his armor and took up his sword one last time to defend his people, though the battle between he and the dragon ended in the death of both. Kace tried to ignore Roland and his comments for the remainder of the journey. He figured the rest of the Knights and members of the crew would soon do the same.

Kace took a long draught from tankard and turned to Elric as the Captain continued speaking and in a hushed tone, so as to not interrupt, said, “My apologies for earlier. I typically have better control over my temper, but the customs of my father’s people demand that I answer a slight against my family’s honor with steel. Now I’m still curious as to what your story is Elric. I wonder how you achieved your rank at such a young age? You must be a most impressive warrior.”

Elric was grateful when Catskull appeared and suggested they all have a drink to calm themselves. The suggestion seemed to be heeded immediately, and somehow the simple suggestion seemed to put an end to the fighting between Roland and Kace, though Roland, in what Elric was beginning to realize was the man's typical fashion, seemed to reject Kace's offer of friendship. Still, the fighting was over, at least for the time being, and Elric quickly calmed down and allowed himself to relax, taking a seat amongst the rest of the knights. He glanced at the casks of liquor, considering getting up to get something for himself, but before he could, Kace handed him a mug. Elric nodded and gratefully accepted the offered drink

Kace apologized for his part in the short bout between him and Roland, but also defending his actions. Elric could certainly sympathize with Kace's willingness to defend the honor of his family, especially given the nature of the insults Roland had delivered. Even so, they would have to all get along throughout this quest if they were to have success, and despite Roland instigating the fight, and despite him insulting the honor of Kace's family, in this situation, it still would have been better to ignore the insults rather than responding in kind. Still, Elric did not berate Kace for his actions. His anger at him and Roland had cooled, and while all were behaving civilly, he had no desire to bring hard feelings between any of them. Instead, he responded finally to Kace's query about his backstory. "I wouldn't necessarily say that I'm a very impressive warrior; I've simply dedicated a great deal of time and effort into honing my skills," he explained. "I'm the second son of a minor noble in Falke, and with my brother the heir, I could not inherit my father's county, and so instead, I chose to serve in the Dragoons, and while it's true that the Dragoons are considered to be the most difficult branch of the Falkan military to qualify for or ascend the ranks of, I'm a firm believer in the virtue of hard work and dedication, and that nothing is truly impossible with enough of those two virtues."

Edon Wolf
Broken Keg Tavern
Dalenham, Ethora

Edon didn't seem thrilled with his new companions. The orc was an orc and the woman was a woman. He wasn't excited about any manner of baggage either would be bringing with along. The orc even had a war mount of sorts; something as big as a horse but also much more dangerous if spooked.

The Raelusian nobleman gripped the shaft of his halberd tightly out of frustration but remained silent. Memory of his last encounter with orcs was still fresh in his mind and he watched Folkmar with a critical glare. Being who and what he was, Edon usually came across as arrogant and snobby under the best of circumstances. His expression could easily be misunderstood as hatred toward the gray-skinned male orc.

Absently, he noted that he was now, likely, the third strongest member of this group in terms of raw phyiscal might. He wagered he was also the quickest. The woman looked like she had seen a fair amount of combat but, he conceeded, he wouldn't know anything significant about either of them until he saw how they fought.

Eventually the portly tradesman arrived and distributed their initial pay. He then produced a map and, on a busy road in full view of anybody coming or going, proceeded to brief them on the oh-so-secret mission details. For just a moment, Edon felt both physically ill and murderously angry.

He wanted to ask for details about the fortress but, considering what he had just witnessed, he decided against it. The fat bastard probably didn't know a thing about forts. So instead he stayed silent and bided his time.

“I’ll drink to that. Skál.” He said, using the Ormurmal word for cheers, and clinked his cup against Elric’s before taking a swig of his drink. “I have to say, that’s quite impressive. My father would like you Elric. So tell me, what do you think of our quest? Do you imagine we’ll encounter more than bandits and mercenaries trying to harrow us and impede our mission? Or do you think more sinister forces seek the shards of the Orb as well? And though I’ve heard of the Orb in passing on my travels, I don’t know much about it. I don’t really know what to expect in the way of opposition or what trials we will face.”

Kace felt as if he was walking almost blindly into a web of events that was much bigger than he or the Knights alone. He wished he had asked more questions on Ekilore, but something about the place and the monks made him feel compelled to agree with whatever the monks said and to get on his way to fulfill their quest as soon as possible. Though, now that he was many miles from their shore, with their tower only a fading fixture on the horizon, his mind felt clearer and his own thoughts began to return, leading to these new concerns which he was now bringing to the attention of Elric.

---

Drostan's eyes widened in surprise as Varian's two new recruits. When Varian had mentioned he'd found extra people, Drostan had figured he'd grabbed a couple of sturdy-looking millers bearing battered militia gear and in need of extra coin. Or else a couple of dumb, eager youths from the outlying farms, in the city looking for money for their families. Expendables, he'd figured. Extra muscle to bring along for the mission, pay well, and never think about again. Even if he'd been expecting something different, he could not have possibly come up with the "Orc and woman" combo. The woman, he supposed, wasn't all that surprising. In his years as an Ethoran noble, Drostan could count on one hand the number of time he'd ever seen a woman fight, but since becoming a mercenary he realized that the exclusion of women from combat was largely a classist one. Among regular people, women taking up arms seemed to be much less rare, even common. No, it was the Orc that really threw him off. It was strange, that he'd just been thinking about the possibility of orc civility, and here was one now that seemed, or acted, perfectly personable.

Neither introduced themselves and even though Drostan figured that was probably proper, given the situation, his upbringing made it hard to not feel impolite about not introducing himself. He tried to keep it business-like, and with the low, tired quality his voice had by default, the effect was somewhere between boredom and disinterest.

"Osmund. Osmund Griff." He figured he didn't need to clarify that it was his name since most people weren't in the habit of greeting strangers with other people's names.

---

When the merchant and Varian had both finished talking, Drostan found himself a little concerned, and that concern put an edge in his voice.

"Twenty?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. He was aware that the merchant had said there could be as many as thirty, but the lower figure was worrisome enough. "Twenty men in a fortified position? Is there more than one entrance? Because if there's only one gate and we charge it..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "If they've got even one good archer, one or two of us are down before we ever get to the gates. And then they could choke us off at the gate, if it's narrow enough." He frowned. He didn't like this. At all. But if the merchant intended to have them killed at this fort, why pay them so much in advance? Was the man stupid? Or was Drostan simply overestimating how difficult this would be?

His frown deepened.

"Folkmar am I," the grey skinned man declared.
Even as the drunkard he had met the night before, proven not to be a lying drunk, made some form of introduction, Folkmar could see the unease in the faces of those before him. A large, toothy grin spread across his face as he sought to set their minds at ease.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, fellows!" he declared rather loudly, dismounting his beast, and allowing it rest, "Orcs don't fear ghosts. Gor-Gashuur gives us strength," the orcman remarked in an almost compulsory way.

He seemed heedless, or at least unphased, by the various creeds, heritages, and origins that were laid out before him, as well as the fact that a woman stood amongst them. They were all armed, and that was enough. Seeing one individual gripping a polearm nervously, Folkmar nudged the leather pouch at his beast's side which contained his wrapped lance, giving a proud smirk. It appeared as though he was attempting to incite kinship with those who also favored weapons of superior reach.

When the rotund merchant arrived with jangling pouches adorning his person, Folkmar raised an eyebrow curiously. Never had he seen someone like this, all soft and taken with riches. He seemed to have some worry about the group, particularly aimed at Folkmar and the woman.
"Something in our teeth?" he remarked quietly, but allowed the conversation between he and Varian the ex-drunkard to continue.

The more that the situation was described to Folkmar, the wider his smile became. The raven that followed him perched momentarily on the merchant, before fluttering to cling upon the haft of a nearby halberd, hanging off the side and bobbing its head to keep balance.
"Thirty men in a fortress you say. Shouldn't be a problem," Folkmar replied, rolling his shoulder to remove the shield from his back, tapping it against the divot in his armor which served as a couch for his lance, "Shouldn't be a problem with this lot to back me up," the explanation was for the most part done, but one fellow, calling himself Osmund, had seemed worried at the prospect of twenty blokes, while one seemed ill.
The raven's head quirked to be almost parallel to the ground, but upsidedown compared to it, while perched sideways on the ill-man's halberd, before cawing out.
"You alright there fellow?" Folkmar asked, gesturing with a leather clad hand to the one his raven had deigned to accompany, "You look a little clammy around the neck. Got a bit of a shake, have you? Hope it won't disturb your haft-holding arm."

Folkmar then turned, standing proudly, with his best winning grin, and leveled his eyes to the merchant, to address him directly for the first time.
"Now, why would honest working folks such as ourselves feel a need to have pay come at any time other than after a job's done? What honesty's in it being split into three sums now? What honesty would there be in not doing a task that's agreed upon, eh? No, I think there's better reward than your two hundred pieces after the spoils are laid bare."

Catskull's tankard sat by itself on a table, abandoned, half empty. He'd only taken the one drink and then, true to his namesake, slipped quietly away like a cat the moment they had taken their eyes off him.

He was in the back of the hull once more, and had a wooden bowl on his head. He cut around it with a knife. How else do you give yourself a bowl cut?

"One would think that an orb that brings everlasting peace would be much more accepted," Roland interjected himself into the conversation, though he refused to actually look at either Elric or Kace. Instead, the knight's eyes rested squarely on his mug, which he had recently refilled. "Though I suppose it is hard to bet against the stupidity of man," Roland's tone was pompous and condescending, but mixed inside was a hint of intrigue. The monks had talked about the orb possessing great power, which made Roland believe there may be more than one use for it.

Roland snapped out of it and questioned the others. "So! Has anyone actually been to Miracia? I hear the woods are so thick they cast spells upon the visitors to go mad. Any truth to that?"

Kadrin nodded stiffly as a way of greeting the other mercenaries when Varian acknowledged her presence to the group. Her eyes settled on the orc for a moment and her brows furrowed together. It was an unusual choice. Kadrin had found herself working with an assortment of people. Never an orc. She lacked the manners to introduce herself, but felt the courtesy was likely necessary.

“Kadrin,” she stated simply.

---

When the merchant made a remark about the capability of the group and looked towards her, Kadrin sneered impudently. Even if he was paying them well, she took his look in her direction as a reason to question the sincerity. She didn’t care what the reason was, but she was prepared to take up arms against him once he said it. The only thing holding her back was the fact that he was paying them for the job. She didn’t want to cause a commotion before they even left for the mission.

The pouch containing thirty five silver pieces helped to soften the irritation and distract her from the previous ill-conceived notions she held about their employer. It had been a while since she had such a large sum on her person.

When the merchant asked if they had any questions, she wanted to query about the number of entrances and how well guarded they were. Since Osmund beat her to it, she instead asked, "What kind of details can you give us about these men? Do you know anything about their weapons or fighting experience?" It wasn't a question that she felt the merchant would be able to easily answer, but she liked to be prepared. It could inform any strategies that they might choose to use.

Kadrin showed no physical discomfort when told the number of men in the fort. Although, it seemed a formidable challenge for a group of that size. She just hoped the merchant’s numbers were accurate, and that there weren’t any surprises. Her eyes fixated on the orc as he spoke. He seemed pretty naive. She didn’t know what she had imagined an orc to be like, but that wasn’t it.