Where Only Mad Men Go

[Malcolm]

109 Vhalar 716

It was with watchful caution that Malcolm’s eyes went over the group of one hundred and some knights on horseback. Ten captain's, each with eight to ten men under their command. Murphy Webb’s men were placed at the centre, most of them specialist swordsmen with talents in one on one combat. Benjamin Beaujeu’s men, much the same, were stationed beside Murphy’s, and the newly appointed captain who had been under Malcolm’s command for the last three years, Nathan Coats, was positioned near the front with his team of archers, next to Lance Stone, and Rachel Henderson, who also commanded a team of archers and scouts. Morgan and Ashley Radon, two brothers, made up the wings, each of them trained in shield combat, and masters of their chosen weapons. And Henry Whitelock, Gregory Steele, and Kris Oswald made up the back, their men trained in a mix of ranged and hand to hand weapons. Elyna would lead any skyriders in attendance, planning to join them at a later date, and that only left Malcolm, the leader of the group.
The Warden had been reunited with his squire, Rafael, and would choose to travel with the second unit, the one hundred broken up into three groups, most of the men and women he knew tagging along in the middle. Here he could keep an eye on Murphy, his least trusted captain, and listen to the talk in camp. Each group had a flagmen who had been trained to direct the units with different flag moments. Malcolm bowed on his horse to give orders to one of the men who was yet to mount up, and told him that they would be taking the main road from Andaris to northern Venora, and from there make camp before nightfall. They had many days of travel ahead of them, but on horseback, Malcolm was confident no one would struggle to keep up. Once arrived in the mountains by the thirteenth, the skyriders would join them for scouting, and hopefully, they would be able to corner the remaining Qe’dreki rebels.

That evening the horses were fed and watered, and Malcolm walked about the camp, giving some of the men a hand to put up their tents and get their gear set away and out of the weather. The temperature had dropped significantly in the last few days, and Malcolm informed the men that it was probably best if they got as much sleep as possible. A man from each quarter would go on patrol for three breaks, before they were replaced by the next. He planned for them to be out of camp by the fourth break, giving most seven to eight hours rest if they got to bed straight after dinner.
Malcolm kept his horse, Mithril, a grey Andalusian, tethered close to his tent where there was plenty of long, wild grass for her to graze on. He put his gear just inside the entrance way, all stacked and polished neatly, and lit an oil lantern to hang beyond the door, hoping to keep the bugs from the tent. He had offered to share the four man tent with Rafael, but also gave the young nobleman the option of setting up nearby if he preferred.
Hand balled against his mouth, Malcolm coughed and made his way to the dining area set in the middle of camp where he found Avari and Godric already seated. Malcolm dished himself a meal and joined them. He cleared his throat and stabbed his spoon into the stew, holding the warm bowl close to his chest. “How did you find the road?” he asked, knowing both of them were new to Rynmere.
“Fine,” Godric, a tall thin man with beady, blue eyes, answered. “Very pretty countryside in Venora.”
Avari sat, fair of hair, her lips painted rouge. “Very,” she agreed. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, just a bit of a chill I think,” Malcolm admitted, and looked up to see a few unfamiliar faces join them. “All right, men?” he inquired. “Make sure you help yourselves to some stew and bread won't you?”

[Kylar]

Kylar walked along, Hunter at his side. He kept his hand on the Lion's mane, brushing it gently. The white fur of the lion was almost pristine, except for the occasional speck of dirt and earth. After some walking, he found a place to settle down. He laid down his tent and made it, then knelt down in front of Hunter and spoke. "Stay here, Hunter".
He knew the lion only understood the word "stay", but he spoke to him as if he spoke fluently. He liked the connection they had, the bond that grew when he spoke. Hunter sat down by the tent, far enough away from the horses that he wouldn't cause problems. He trusted that people would leave the lion alone, as it was clearly trained. Besides, few people wanted to go near a lion, soldiers or not. Especially one that wasn't theirs.
Kylar checked his blades. Dagger up his wrist, Stiletto by his side - perfect. If someone had a crossbow to spare he would probably take that as well, but that was optional for him. He could use some blade practice anyway, what better than a couple of bandits for training?
Kylar walked in to the big dining area, not knowing anyone here. He had told some friends about it, but he didn't know if they actually decided to turn up. Either way, this was a chance to meet the people he would be working with. Maybe he would even make some new friends. As he entered he saw some people eating stew and bread. The stew would probably work for Hunter, if it had meat in it. If not, he would try and find something along the lines.
"Good evening, all" he said as he walked to the others. He was nervous, and it showed, but he kept his cool as best as he could. As he entered, he heard Malcolm tell people to help themselves to the food. As much as he wanted to be polite and wait, he was starving, and Hunter would be as well.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all, and thank you - I think I'll have to take you up on that" he said to Malcolm as he approached the food. He got a bowl and filled it with stew, with a small chunk of bread to go alongside it. He probably overfilled the bowl, not all of it was for him though. He sat down beside everyone, trying not to draw too much attention. Then, he dug in to the food.

► Show Spoiler

ooc: removed 815 gn from Ledger for trained lion and 1-man tent

[Atashi]

Cold. So very cold. Why in Ethelynda's name did he let Kylar talk him into this? He wasn't going to survive the journey to the camp, let alone the entire journey to wherever in Idalos they were going! He was shivering to a point that his chain mail had started to clink against its own links, distracting himself from the cold would be near impossible with the racket he was making! Regardless he pushed forward, the cold made it difficult to move, especially on his tail. Though, carrying his Tower Shield on his back along with his War Hammer in hand did help to keep his blood flowing, especially considering how heavy both pieces of kit were. The muscular strain, despite being minimum, felt like bliss underneath the cold evening air. If only he could move faster, he'd be both out of the cold sooner and warmer doing it! A lesser man would have turned tail and gone back to the sweet warmth of their home, but he was determined to reach his destination now, he'd passed the point of no return after all. Digging deep, he pushed through the chilly winds and slithered over deathly cold grounds. He wasn't religious, but contemplated praying that he was going the right direction. If he had been going the complete opposite direction the whole time, he'd kill Kylar, Or would he? He wasn't sure he had the strength to make the journey twice. Feeling low on will power, he thought checking on his progress would give him the motivation he needed to keep going, he turned ever so slowly to get a look at how far he'd come. He saw his house thirty feet in the distance. "N-n-no..?" he spoke under his breath, shivering like a mad man. "N-no...!" he said a little louder, though it was getting difficult to even speak. He clenched his fists"NOOOOOOO~!!" He screamed to the heavens.

Sometime later he eventually reached the camp, or what he believed to be the camp, no one was around? Perhaps they were all congregated somewhere. Panic set in suddenly, like a knife to the heart, was he late? Had they already gone? In a mad rush, he threw off the cold and searched the camp frantically, it didn't take long however, he saw lights and heard chatter in the distance. He approached, like a moth to a flame. He had found it, this is where everyone had gathered, they were eating stew. He immediately looked around the camp, searching for the stew. His eyes passed over a group of rather important looking people, two men and and a woman, seated together. Trying to save face, he straightened up his posture, stopped shivering and looked forward. He saw the stew-serving-station they had set-up. He immediately pressed forward, but did so in a natural manner, and helped himself to some hot stew. He held on to the bowl with both of his hands as he scanned for a place to sit, the warmth of the stew started to warm up his hands through the bowl, which he appreciated. He then spotted Kylar, the friend of his that had talked him into going on this expedition. He would be furious if it weren't for the warmth of the stew. For now, he was just grateful for the warmth that had been given to him. He approached the seat next to Kylar and lowered his torso to mimic the height of sitting, as he usually did when sitting with legged-people, and looked forward acting as natural as possible. He wasn't mad at Kylar really, he knew deep down he exaggerated the cold. Kylar had not noticed him, so he leaned over and said "Nice weather we're having, right?" playing it as natural as possible.

[Rafael Warrick]

109th of Vhalar, 716th Arc

When Malcolm had told him of the expedition to try and locate the remaining rebel forces, and more importantly, the nobles who commanded them, Rafael hadn't hesitated for a moment to join. If there was ever a chance of finding Zvezdana Venora and the Qe'dreki, this would be it, and he much desired to speak with her. Besides, he'd made the mistake of not accompanying Malcolm before and lost a great deal of time he could've spent furthering his skills because of it.

More than a dozen tents had been pitched by the small army under Malcolm's command. While impressive at first, Rafael couldn't help but wonder if Malcolm overestimated the fighting capability of his troops. Certainly, there were more than a hundred Qe'dreki remaining. Even if they were no match for the Iron Hand as some of the men in the company boldly claimed, Rafael worried that the rebels might surprise them along the way. It did not do well to claim victory beforehand. Then again, someone had brought a pet lion along and he certainly didn't wish to have to fight it.

Crunching frozen leaves underneath his boots, Rafael was passed semi-circle of gruff men, huddled around a fire. One of them sent a nasty scowl his way which he pretended not to notice. The men under Murphy Webb's command were excellent swordsmen, from what he had seen, but their arrogance and apparent dislike for Malcolm was extended to him. Perhaps they'd tone down their muffled chuckling a little if he got a chance to show them his best. While of noble birth, he'd chosen not to don himself in fanciful clothing, and so it was unlikely any of the soldiers would know him to be one. Even if they did, he was but a lesser noble. It was better if they didn't know even if it meant he'd have to suffer through some disrespect because of it.

For the moment, he simply ignored it and made his way to the center of the camp where a makeshift table had been constructed out of wooden beams, planks, and thick rope. He was glad to recognize Malcolm, Godric, and Avari sitting at the table. After he'd gotten himself a bowl of stew, Rafael sat down opposite to Malcolm and shot a glance over his shoulder at Murphy's men. "I hope the weather stays like this," he mumbled in a low voice, "I wouldn't mind if they freeze half to death. Perhaps then they'll focus on doing their jobs instead of antagonizing everyone else."

While he took note of the two strangers also digging into their hearty meal, he made no effort to introduce himself yet. There was no point in trying to get to know a hundred men and women. Yet his curiosity was stirred by the man with the long, blonde hair. "Is that lion yours?" he asked, unable to keep a dimple from showing on his cheeks as he contemplated owning one himself someday.

[Aeon]

Was the entire world against him? The entire Hand out to get him? Every single higher ranking officer hated him from the bottom of their heart? Even though Aeon had been receiving flying lessons for several weeks now, he was still forbidden from flying. His wounds were healed, and only scars remained, and yet the chain of command within the skyriders deemed him unworthy of flying. Was it because of his one hand? Or becuase of whom his previous mentor was? No matter the case, it was outrageous. Was he given the silver wings for no reason at all? Did he not receive an audience with the bloody king himself. Who was this colonel to decide that the King was wrong when he promoted Aeon to a sergeant? Who was the new colonel indeed.

Still, all no's to flying a volareon meant a certain yes to going on foot. He was still a soldier on active duty, and not even the bloody colonel would get to deny him that, without discharging him from the Iron Hand, and the Seven knew, the Hand needed its men. The skyrider was going after the rebels, one way or the other, it was only better for his, and for the Hand's sake that they allowed him to join a campaign of the hundred or so men.

He was slowly moving through the camp which contained all of the soldiers, divided into several groups. Many looks were raised in his direction, considering it was clearly visible that beneath his black cloak he was missing a hand, and the scarred, one-eyed face didn't help. He could ride, and fight, probably better than most of them, so there was no reason for him to be worried or frightened of any of them. The horse which he was riding was a rented one, simply taken as a means to an end, but it was serving its purpose extremely well so far. It was the exact opposite of Aeon, purely white, with only small black dots near its darker tail.

Another cause for the looks of the captains men was the fact that the young sergeant didn't appear to be wearing any kind of armor, only a long black cloak with a blue dragon on the left side, along with his silver wings still in its pockets. That was not the case, like with most prejudices, since beneath the cloak Aeon was wearing the mastercraft leather armor he was given by the ancients, or..by the Immortals? The young man wasn't sure who to thank for such good leather, but whoever it was, they deserved the gratitude.

Through the camp, not a lot of things attracted the skyrider's attention, but one of those rare things was a lion, neatly parked. A lion? A bloody lion? What, for the sake of the Seven, was a lion doing in a war camp? Of course, it must have been a mount, but who actually mounted a lion, over a horse? What for was the lion better than any ordinary mount? Surely the knight mounting it didn't expect it to fight for him on the battlefield? Would it? A bloody lion in a war camp? Aeon wondered endlessly before he got off the white horse, since the beast was truly something that confused him. Really confused him.

Still, he left those thoughts along with his mount, as he got into the circle of soldiers. Several of them seemed more confident than the others, they must have been higher ranked. Perhaps one of them was the Warden that led this whole campaign. The others didn't seem like the group that would be hanging around a Warden though. They seemed more like squires, and an Ithecal, and..and bloody Rafael Warrick. Aeon couldn't hold a chuckle as he once more saw the boy. They met once again.

He sat on the far side of them all, keeping at least a meter or so of a distance from the Ithecal, not because of his snake-like appearance, just because he thought it best to keep his distance. Who knew if these men were like the others, not trusting, judging. The skyrider did not take the stew, being the only person around without it in his hands, well, the one hand he had. Instead he briefly felt the hilt of his sword before relaxing slightly.

"An interesting choice of mount." He mumbled, barely audible, at the noble boy's words about the lion.

Off Topic

21gn 8sn will be taken from the ledger for the following: one man tent, bed roll, large sized bag with waterproof leather and shoulder straps. Mount renting cost is 8gn/trial, will be taken from the ledger at the end of the thread (once I figure out for how many trials he'll be renting it)

[Malcolm]

Malcolm was a difficult man to read, and though new recruits often found themselves at ease in his company, he had a demanding, authoritative manner about him. Perhaps it was the dissatisfied line his mouth drew at rest, or the way his dark, green eyes never settled on any particular thing or person for more than a few seconds. It had often been put down to his height and dark features, but for most, there was something unnerving about the way he sat, speaking only if he felt the words were important, never tempted to fill the silence just for the sake of doing so.
He greeted the newcomers with a nod and sat bent over his stew, dressed in plate-armour, and a thick, dark cloak fashioned from wolf pelts. He was a man of Krome through and through, rugged, unpredictable, and battleworn. Malcolm had more scars than most men took to their graves after a lifetime of working for the Iron Hand, but unlike the poor sod that had just joined them, he wasn't missing any limbs. In the v of his armour, there was a scar about three inches thick at the base of his neck, and visible just below the cuffs that hugged his forearms, was the burnt skin that stretched from wrist to elbow on both arms, the flesh twisted and patterned like warped honeycomb. There his tendons and muscles were more prominent, flexing beneath the thin sheath of mangled flesh each time he raised the wooden spoon full of stew to his mouth.
“If you don't like the weather now, you'll hate the Burning Mountains,” he warned without lifting his gaze to look upon the half-man. “During Saun the rock gets so hot, that if you were to fall against it, you would come away minus the skin on your back. And in Cylus, it's said to be so cold that air burns the flesh in a man’s lungs, turning it black as the night sky.”
Malcolm got to his feet and left the small party for a spell to fetch Aeon a bowl of stew. He held it out to the man and spoke. “An honour to have you with us, skyrider, perhaps you would like to share the story of the beast that took your hand, with us, for those who were not there to witness with their own eyes, the horror we are bound to face up there in the mountains,” the warden pointed, and even with no light in the sky, the white peaks of the Burning Mountains could be seen from their camp all the way on Venora. “Eat, or you might not get another chance until this time tomorrow.”
The mortalborn returned to his seat on the old log Godric had claimed, and finished his stew. All around them the camp was alive with the low hum of activity, with men and women settling in for the night, sharing stories by firelight, and resting aching bones. Riding all day was harder on the body than it looked, but most of the knights were used to it. Malcolm had glanced at Rafael, and hidden a knowing smirk behind folded hand. Murphy had been put in his place once, and Malcolm would be more than happy to do the honours again if the old captain continued to make a pest of himself. “Did you manage to find the tent?” He inquired, directing the question at his squire.

[Sintih]

The road had been long and cold and Sin regretted every second of it. Why had he even decided to volunteer for this? Sure, fame and fortune where probably in store for whoever survived at the end of it all but neither of those would heal frozen limbs. The frozen ground cracked under his feet as he walked through the camp. His breath formed a short living white cloud in front of his lips and nose as he breathed, letting him know that he was still alive. The camp was put up quickly and efficiently, which told Sin that the soldiers in the unit were experienced in this sort of thing, whether it was from having spent time on battlefields before or because they'd spent most of their noble hours playing soldier, Sin couldn't tell.

Unlike most of the people he could see around, Sin didn't wear the colors of Andaris, which always seemed to get people to ask him the same questions. Covering his set of Iron Hand issued leather armor was a purple and white tabard marking him as a squire from Gawyne. He wore it with pride, not because he was from or ever even had been in Gawyne but because they used to be his father's colors. And Sin had found that their virtues worked well with the vision he had of himself. The scales on the buckle of his belt completed his set. But for now, the cloak he wore kept all of those peculiarities from the public eye as it was wrapped around his entire body in an attempt to stop the cold wind from freezing even more of his body.

Pulling his cloak tightly around him, Sin continued walking, trying to ignore the cold air. The gloves belonging to the armor set were doing their job. His nose and lips, however, weren't too happy about the current temperatures. Sintih had been assigned with a group of other squires to the campaign, providing glorious support in the form of boot shining, horse feeding and tent building. He'd been lucky and drew the long straw for cooking duty so Sin had quickly escaped from his little group and started wandering the camp. Looking left and right, Sin quickly noticed that the camp was made up of various separate units that formed the army as a whole. Their choice of weaponry seemed to be the defining factor for their divisions. Being new to the group and the campaign, Sin had no idea who was who around here so he stuck to watching and walking, keeping to himself.

He walked towards the middle of the camp first, where the commander had set up their tent. He figured he'd get a glimpse of whichever golden spoon fed noble was in charge of this expedition. When he got closer, Sin noticed a group of people eating outside the tent, sharing stew among each other, talking as they warmed up by their fire. Out of all the people sitting there, Sin only recognized one, the sergeant whom he had shared a duty during the King's visit to the theater. When he spotted the outfits and rank of some of the other people there, Sin quickly turned away, continuing his tour of the camp. Neither his father's fame nor his own rank were enough to allow him to share dinner with the higher ups. Not yet, anyway.

His mind wandered as Sin continued walking around. "Hey. Hey!" At first, he didn't realize someone was calling out. When he did pick up on it, Sin figured it wasn't for him, nobody here knew who he was. Probably some rougher soldiers about to get into a fight. "Little Jacadon!" Sin's attention jumped as he heard the name. Nobody should know about that nickname! Before he could turn around, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around. Sintih came face to face with a large smile mostly hidden under a massive beard. "It -is- you, little Jacadon. My goodness, you've grown. By the Sacred Seven, what are you doing here?"" The man burst out in a boisterous laugh as he pulled Sin into a hug. Still shocked from running into a familiar face here, Sin barely managed to avoid most of it as he felt the earth underneath his feet disappear. "And still light as a feather as well, hmm?"

Heran Dreim had been a knight under Sin's father for most of his career. Sin hadn't seen him after the death of his parents but apparently the man had decided to keep on soldiering. He counted at least two more scars on what little was visible of his face, as well as some strands of grey in his hair and bears. The earth returned under his feet when he was dropped down. "Heran Dreim. Still in the Iron Hand, I see." Sin reached out with a leather glove to clasp hands with the soldier. They exchanged quick pleasantries before Sin was dragged of to a nearby cooking fire where five others were sitting. Sin recognized two other faces, neither of whom he knew the name, as Heran introduced him. "This is Sintih, the little Jacadon. He's the son of Rudi." Where neither his name or his nickname seemed to do anything for the group, the name of his father did spark a reaction on the faces of the people around the fire.

"Come, come, take a seat. Let's talk, we haven't seen you in a long time." Before Sin could protest or agree, the hand on his shoulder dragged him towards the fire and pushed him down on one of the logs that were positioned around it as seats. Looking around, Sin saw only shields and swords as weapons, placing these men in some sort of defensive infantry group unless their horses had been put somewhere else. Sin wondered if there were actually any infantry units in this entire camp. He really hoped there were otherwise he as wholly out of place and this campaign wouldn't end well. Stupid aristocrats with their Mounted Iron Hand-Best Iron Hand mentality.

[Kylar]

Kylar dug in to the warm stew, leaving any chunks of meat aside that he could. He ate some, of course, the journey would be rough on him as well. He was then greeted by Malcolm, who he met with a small yet uncomfortable smile. From his demeanor, Malcolm was not only important - but he knew it. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, by any means, a good leader should have the air of authority. If anything, it gave Kylar confidence he was under good supervision - not that he needed that with the preparations that were made. Against bandits, their odds of winning should be phenomenally high - or so Kylar prayed.
"Atashi, friend!" Kylar exclaimed and patted the Ithecal on the shoulder. "I wish you knew how relieving it is to be working alongside for this endeavor. I trust it will be your shield to keep me safe in any battles we have to fight, bad weather and all" he said jokingly. With that, he carried on eating heartily. The stew was good, no denying it. But then a comment was made about the lion, and his nerves kicked in.
"Oh, yeah, that Lion is mine" Kylar said, ignoring the mumble from another man. Then looked up to the man who asked. His face didn't show fear, more like interest, which shot down every nerve Kylar had. His smile was hard to hide, but he kept it small and confident.
"Hunter, is his name. He's trained, if you want to see him at any point, but probably safer if you wait until I'm there as well. Wouldn't want to startle him, he isn't great around new people." With that, Kylar smiled politely once more to the man, then carried on eating.

When Malcolm stood and started talking to people, Kylar watched carefully. He watched as he approached the man that had muttered a comment, and heard he was a skyrider. The beast that took his hand made Kylar ponder. He was working with people who really knew what they were doing, and he had no clue. He had just come from his wedding to this, a time so peaceful - and now he was under more pressure than he had imagined. He knew it would be harsh, but not quite this harsh. He turned back to Atashi.
"How was the journey? I hope it wasn't too hard. Also, how did you find the wedding - we never got much chance to talk about it afterwards."

[Atashi]

Atashi looked about the camp, more and more faces had joined the company and all of them were so serious. Perhaps they also hated the cold? Or maybe it was the expedition itself that bothered them, though he couldn't tell why. All he had been told was that a group of skilled warriors were gathering to take care of a bandit problem somewhere, he did not know where or how many bandits there were meant to be, or if they were even bandits at all. He began to comprehend just how unprepared he was for this, at least he bought a tent earlier that day.
He laughed sarcastically, "Ha ha. Well you did invite me, Kylar. It would be daft to bring my shield and leave you to your knives!" He felt a chill on his hands mid-sentence but hadn't taken much notice of it. Then it struck him like an icicle, if his hands were cold, the stew was also getting cold! His heart sank a little at the revelation. To save whatever stew-warmth was left, he quickly dug in, eating as much of it as he could.
One of the more serious men sat down with the important looking people and started a conversation with Kylar about his lion. At first, he didn't take much notice of it, he carried on with his stew. But as he ate, he realised 'Lion? He actually went and bought that Lion!?' Crimson had told him in the past that Kylar was terrible at managing his money and he'd tried to keep that in mind, but a Lion? Was it at the camp? How had he missed a lion!? He waited for the conversation to end before asking Kylar about it. "Please don't tell me you actually went and bought a lion in the end, Kylar..." They had a conversation about it a little while ago and Atashi had tried to talk him out of it, after all his wedding present isn't as cool next to a lion, but it would seem that the Lotharro would achieve whatever he set his mind to, in this case: spending money.
The man wearing plate armour and a dark cloak then raised his voice, it sounded as though he was directing it to Atashi, but he wasn't sure. He spoke of some horrific weather patterns in a place called 'The Burning Mountains' the first was that at a certain time of the year, the rocks could skin you alive due to the heat. He pondered that for a moment and for a second, even thought it would be more pleasant than this cold weather, after all, he'd shed his skin once an arc anyway. The thought of such a place made him feel a little warmer in the cold air at present. The second description however made his heart sink the rest of the way. Air, cold enough to burn your lungs into tar. The thought was terrifying, he couldn’t hold his own against the current weather! How would he manage such a place!? He started to shiver once more, had it gotten colder since that man spoke?
He felt pity for the man that had lost his hand, but tried not to stare, he did not want to be disrespectful. He was a sky rider like Kylar, he might even own a lion of his own. And getting on the bad side of a man who owned a lion was not on his agenda for the expedition. Kylar then started a conversation with Atashi, "The journey...? It was... Umm" He thought back to the blistering winds and glacial grounds that he had horrifically traversed in his efforts to get here, "It was alright I guess."He spoke, choking a little, then shivering some more. "The wedding was wonderful, Kylar. I'm so happy for you and Crimson, again, I'm sorry for being late with the wedding present, you'll have to come with me after we get back from wherever we're going to get it." He said, smiling, but he was starting to doubt whether he'd make it back from this.
(ooc: deducted 15gn from ledger for 1 man tent)

[Aeon]

Could he be.. Malcolm Krome..the new warden..impossible, thoughts raced and smashed into the young man's skull as he first heard the older man speak. Malcolm Krome was Lady Burhan's husband, wasn't he? But then, he was a captain, not a warden. Of course, the "new warden of Andaris" There were several rumors up and about the city that someone was getting a promotion, and this man knew of him. Knew of the beast. Knew of it all. Not many captains did. Malcolm Krome, wasn't he sixty seven arcs old? This man did not appear to be sixty seven, not in the slightest.

"The honour is mine, but I don't believe we have officially met, you are Malcolm Krome, if I'm not mistaken? I am Aeon." There was no reason not to be blunt and straight forward with the man. After all, the only way for troops to survive in a campaign like this one was to have trust in their leader. "I'll tell each man here the story from the beginning to end, if it so pleases you, but I wish to do it once we have safely returned to a city, and have caught the rebels. Praying we don't encounter the monster will do us more good than making a strategy for when we face it, if we do. I'd say that there was a bigger chance of an Immortal helping out, than us being able to kill it. Aeon noticed that there were some rookies around, but the truth was always the best option. He hadn't the patience and the wits to play the endless game of lies the Rynmere nobles played. Well, most of them (with Tristan as an exception). The newbies needed to know what they had a chance of facing, even if they didn't want to.

Glaring at the hot stew in the bowl that stood there, in the warden's hands, the young skyrider simply smiled. "I'm well aware of that fact." The food, it was a pure distraction. If he truly felt hunger during the night, he'd grab some bread on the way, but eating and living luxuriously wasn't going to help them catch the rebels. A man that ate well moves slower than a man that ate only what he needed to, and Aeon had eaten before he left, just the amount to keep him going on enough energy. It might have looked rude in the eyes of those properly schooled in noble etiquette, just to turn down a meal that a man even brought to you, but being polite was way down on the skyrider's list of priorities. Being polite wasn't going to save lives, being as effective and productive as possible was.

As the lion topic was introduced, the young sergeant made sure not to miss anything. It wasn't every day he met a lion-rider. What possible division of the Hand was the blond man in, when he rode a lion? Where for the Seven's names did he even find a lion mount in Rynmere. Enough sitting around quietly, he needed answers, and he needed them fast.

"Tell me, where do you even buy a lion around these parts? I've not seen many lions, and I've lived in Rynmere my entire life. Is there a lion trainer even, you did say it was trained, correct?