After Westmarch (IC)

[Rowdybull]

"So now you tell me why an old man like yourself has joined when you should be resting your feet by a fire and sipping on soft food." Oh! That boy had his own worth in salt, Kollskeg chuckled inwardly. Maybe this boy is not so green after all. He smiled with yellowed teeth as he felt the presence of another person, another young boy. His attention turned away from Tristan for only a quick moment before giving the boy a cold nod after they were intruded upon.
"And while you're at it, what are we going to do with the ginger arse?"
Thats right, the arch alchemist, the grand magic user of this group. And as if the All Father played a cruel joke on the three of them
"Drownin' in the wet, eh, ge'tlemen?" The accent of the familiar man announced, plodding up to them on his horse
"S'pose ye could use a good rinse! Ha ha! So. 'Aven't seen the lass yet, 'ave we?" Thats right the woman's place was being taken by the new boy.
"Well if it isn't pissing from the sky its coming from his mouth." Kollskeg grumbled to himself before clearing his throat and piping up over the now soaking drizzle.
"She seems to have better things to do, this new boy is covering for her, never got a name but I'm sure we'll find out soon." He pointed his thumb to his side towards the new member of their merry band.
"And if that is everyone, may we move this along? Us common folk hate having mud in our toes, my thane." He chuckled, patting Higela on the neck, she was a sturdy mule, but in no shape to carry all of the gear and a rider.
"So far this is our only pack animal, if anyone has any gear that is not suited for the long haul, Higela can take it."

 

[Applo]

Tristan didn't bother with wondering why this black haired boy was standing in front of them instead of Ophelia whatever her name had been. Partly this was because there was little point in trying to understand the minds of nobs, they lived a life so different from everyone else they might as well be foreigners. And partly because Mercer chose that moment to arrive on a horse looking every part the twerp that he seemed. Tristan chose not to engage with the man, instead shouldering his pack and adjusting the straps.

"Everything I need I can carry myself, I don't need some half dead mare to carry it for me"

With that Tristan stalked past his traveling companions and through the city gates. There was coin to be made and standing around talking all day wasn't going to get him anything.

 

[An Otaku]

"She seems to have better things to do, this new boy is covering for her, never got a name but I'm sure we'll find out soon," said the Northman.

That was not good, not good at all.

Ophelia had seemed the most civil and intellectually inclined of Mercer's compatriots, second to himself obviously, so to be left with these two wasn't exactly a blessing.

No, no. T'is be fine. Nothin' wrong with a bit o-course correction, none at all… The mission, and reputation gained thereof, came first. Noble Ophelia being with their group, that was luck, a gift, but also a distraction from his modus operandi.

Kollskeg gruffed amore, granting a cultural lord's title of the North to Mercer, perhaps the barbarian's equivalent of viscount or the like. Tristan meanwhile was brooding at the group's end, keeping to himself as before. The kid – kid, huh? Mercer really was getting up there… - practically oozed knavery alongside other secreted intent, not unlike a certain alchemist back in his own day. If there was one thing Mercer could trust, it was that deceitful heir of the rogue; and honestly, you could always trust the dishonest ones to be dishonest. On the other hand, there was the brute.

Kollskeg was half mutter-guffawing with his food-stuffed pack animal about mud or the like. Though the man had implied raw intent with a sticker of sorts, he appeared of the simple variety; one to wear whatever occasional feeling or shallow thought on his hulking sleeve. Though however minimal, such thoughts could still prove dangerous, particularly in the devout. The clerics Mercer dealt with on a daily basis in Britannia had proven worse a hundred times over than the dregs or other scoundrels he'd associated with beforehand; so that was just one more point towards Kollskeg being the worst to handle.

Relaxing chin-stroking bones from his face, the alchemist produced a newly enveloped parchment from his coat, held it up afore his eyepatch and violet eye. "Say there, speakin' of gear, might ye be interested in t'is… Mister Blackbanner? Our guild contract it is. Decided t'at perhaps it was a mite forward o'me to be takin' such a slip so casually. Party leader as I am, be best to work it over with ye gents t'an assume some dictorial heir of pompous propriety, yeah?"

The Royal Alchemist took a moment to ascertain just how far the Northman was following before continuing. "As such, might ye be interested in safe guardin' our most precious o-contracts?" Mercer's skeletal hand extended the envelope to Kollskeg. "Seein' as 'ow you're a venerable warrior of ta north lands, I know I can trust ya with an equally important, respectable slip!" Mercer grinned with his half-smile and eye, feigning a genuine sense of camaraderie and respect...

 

[Rowdybull]

Kollskeg shouldered his shield and stomped his way over the Alchemist. Tristan's disrespect towards his mule ticked him the wrong way. He muttered under his breath
"My apologies guild master, the boy died bravely, bandits got the drop on us, axe went right into his head during one night the poor bastard."
He stopped before Mercer, and ran his fingers through his now sopping beard.
"As such, might ye be interested in safe guardin' our most precious o-contracts?"
Mercer reached his skeletal hand towards Kollskeg, earning him a grimace but he still begrudgingly snatched it.
"Seein' as 'ow you're a venerable warrior of ta north lands, I know I can trust ya with an equally important, respectable slip!"
"I'll keep it on my person for now Ginger." Kollskeg said as he stuffed it into his saddlebag and stole another handful of oats from his preserves before chewing on them.
"Now, lets get a move on, before mushrooms grow out of my arse." He chuckled as he led Higela behind him, giving a wink to the new boy as he said it. He trudged on through the now wet dirt, following behind Tristan that stayed a few paces in front of the group. He thought to himself how his new life of adventures will be told in his book, and quietly hummed a song he heard to himself as he marched along.

 

[Spectre]

Guy gave a light smirk as the group seemed to at least 'act' like they've worked together before, what with their banter. Though he couldn't be thinking anything further from the truth in reality- as they have literally just met.

"I'm called 'Guy', by the way." Guy spoke as he pulled his hood back, shortly after the drizzle had stopped. They all seemed intend on heading beneath the large rectangular gate, so Guy began to walk that way, slightly behind the others. With a shrug of his shoulders, he re-situated his traveling pack, and picked up his pace to catch up with the others.

"Thankfully this trip shouldn't be long. I've got a basic map of the area that my lady and i made when doing some paid scouting." He smiled, thinking on the memory of it. He didn't produce the map by any means, however, as it was still pretty fresh in his mind. Truly, he'd miss training from sunup to midday for the next few days, but getting some experience on his own was something Lady Oakheart suggested to him. "The quarry shouldn't be more than a few days travel."

He flipped his poncho-like cloak over his shoulders, and placed his hands comfortably beneath the shoulder straps, hanging on to them at his chest.

---​

As they passed beneath the gate, a single rider trailing a small wagon carrying some wood passed by them. The wheels of the wagon cutting lines into the fresh mud. The skies were now overcast, and it appeared as if the weather would allow the travelers to dry for a bit. It was truly beautiful countryside, a light fog due to humidity caught the sun's fickle rays. Plenty of green around them, too.

A dirt, and mostly mud path snaked between the hills of the area. Atop and around some of the hills were scattered groups of trees... however most of the area was grass, and brush. It was clear they were headed to a more forested area, though for now, they could enjoy the open road- as it were. They wouldn't be able to be hidden in case of highwaymen, though if anything would happen- they'd be able to see it coming.

As they walked for a few hours, they came to a creek running north to south, and the trees began to pick up. The day's sun had cleared the fog, too. The town behind them was no longer visible due to the hills and distance. Though they could see across the way the top of a small mountain- and they all assumed that would be close to where the quarry was.

At the creek they had a few options. One of which was to cross the shallow creek and take what seemed to be an easy path- following the creek toward it's origin- likely the mountain. There was also following the 'road' west- though open, would likely take a little longer, due to how it snaked through the hills. Or they could just head in a straight line, across the creek, and into the thick of the forest that rolled over the hills.

This was only their first day, and it would still take at least another full day's travel to arrive at the mountainbase.

 

[Applo]

Tristan sat on the bank of the river watching the twigs, leaves and other debris of the river flow past his feet. Bathing his feet in cold water to ease the soreness from a day's walking had been one of the first tricks he'd learned when he joined the guards. Tristan could almost picture Sergeant Dickens now, sprawled in his favorite chair in the station feet resting in a bowl of water. The man had always had a mantra or saying for everything but his favourite surely had to have been look after your feet and they'll look after you boyo. He had made sure to say it at least a dozen times to every new recruit that had passed through his guardhouse. It was kind of a shame the he'd drowned trying to bathe his feet in the river whilst pissed as a newt though.

With that cheery thought Tristan lifted his feet out of the river before shuffling backwards on his bum up the side of the bank. After he'd reattached his sword belt Tristan grabbed his boot and walked barefoot back towards the rest of the party. A day walk with his compatriots hadn't really warmed them to Tristan and even a few minutes away from them had been a relief and it had given him time to think about their options without having the sound of Mercer's voice assault his ears.

"I say we follow the creek" Tristan said as he sat down by his pack. "The sooner we get to this quarry, the sooner we can head back to town and get paid."

 

[Rowdybull]

"And the sooner we further the plot in my book, it's turning out to be quite boring." Black banner agreed, as he tied off Higelas lead on a nearby tree trunk. He stomped forward and dropped to his hands and knees before dunking his face into the cold creek water.
"Alfather, now thats refreshing, eh boy?" He chuckled after breaching for air. Squeezing the water from his beard and mustache, he produced a thick book and stick of charcoal from a bag around his waist, and began etching angled lines into the paper.

 

[An Otaku]

His boots planted atop the jutting rock face, metres over the nearby creek, Mercer gazed through his spyglass toward the looming forest's mountain. One foot was raised onto a higher segment of stone in order to nail the dramatic, explorative posture that so many Britannian nobles were fond of in their self-portraits. Mercer's back was specifically angled to his compatriots so that none might notice the spyglass was, in fact, over his eyepatch. Its unpatched, violet hued counterpart keeping close watch on his peripherals, ears on high alert, specifically to his rear.

As Mercer subconsciously wondered about how quickly he could dodge a throwing knife from this position, his conscious mind thought, Where ta effin 'ell is everythin? This was supposed to be unexplored country of ancient "magicks" brimming with the remains of civilizations lost to the aegis. It was not supposed to look like the arse end of New Vales, minus the rubes.

Honestly, t'ere's jack all in t'is place. Sure, I enjoy rollin' 'ills much as ta next gent. But for the love of all t'at's 'oly – ta 'ell is everythin'?

To be fair, the obvious relics would have been plundered, and it would be remiss of him to think this country was chock full of mossy temples and the like. Though he was expecting to be feel some fashion of mana, an emboldening of the spirit to denote their ethereal venture toward... wherever they were going. So far, the only ethereal spirit he'd felt was the northman's cow. The smell was nothing short of "unholy."

Speaking of which, Blackbanner's unmistakable gruff sounded off right on cue.

Without departing his postured sight from the spyglass, Mercer said, "Oh, ye be writin' a book, eh, Mister Blackbanner? Didn't fancy ya for ta intellectual type, but just goes to show not every northman's the same, eh? Good on ya!" And, quickly changing subject, he brought up their current travel plan. "As for our course, I have ta concur with Mister Conrad t'ere. I don't fancy leadin' ye gents through that slick o' mud there in t'ose hills, so you can forget about t'at, gents! As for the forest, well, be a right surprise it would be ta traverse through without privledgin' ourselves to the company o' highwaymen. Well suited as we may be, no reason for needlessly exposin' ourselves to ta less natural or welcomin' elements."

Sliding from the rock onto grassy turf, Mercer bounced easily up despite how uneasy that landing had affected his knees. Resting an elbow against his steed's saddle, Mercer leaned into the horse while twirling the spyglass with his ivory hand until snapping it into a point toward his compatriots by the river. "Me point bein', I say it's only obvious we be takin' ta path just short o' tat creek, eh, gents?"