The Approaching Storm

She nods, meeting each of your gazes as you swear. "Good. Good. Thank you."

She sips from her drink, a large tankard of some foul looking bitter ale that smells poorly made and stored with even less care. "This must be kept secret or other factions will move. The Queen's position is precarious is some matters, and if her enemies sense an opportunity, they'll press. She would respond, and it is no exaggeration that war could break out." She looks at Aolita and Vargos in particular, and they need no reminder that the last war cost thousands of barbarian lives, and countless more lives wasted in slave labour building the Ambrian city of Yndaros.

She pulls out several sheet of parchment as she talks, sorting through them. "This noble, let's call him Wagner, went into forest in search of an old ruin, as many do. He was properly authorized," she holds up a parchment, showing a blank Explorer's License. "After five days, his guide returned, babbling about dangers in the ruin. Wagner had been taken by things inside, by 'arms of darkness and hate' and that the guide has barely survived the slaughter of the goblins among them. Elves, as far as we can tell, and not the little ones you see from the ones sometimes, not elflings, but proper elves. Ancient and terrible."

"An Explorer's License, for each of you, for a month. If you bring Wagner back, alive, these will be extended to a year. A thaler each in advance to outfit ten more, each, on your return with Wagner, or what's left of him if you're too late." Eleven thaler, that's a proper knight's wage for five days, a sellsword's wage for months. You could live without any other income for months, if you lived modestly.

"We put out the call this morning, and we've wasted enough time as it is. You'd leave tonight."

The large barbarian leans forward, though it is hard to tell if it is the coin or the possibility of finding this noble that intrigues him so. Of course the noble would go by another name, he wouldn't want the rescue party blabbing his true identity all over the Hold. A bad look, you see. Turning towards Aolita, he gives her a glance and a quirk of an eyebrow that asks 'Think this could be our Devil?'

"We'll find your nobleman, and drag him back one way or another. We'll need the name and whereabouts of the guide. Addled or not, he'll have answers for us." He looks to the other volunteers. Dumb saps, each one. Misguided fools. "And I'd have words with you before we set out. Set some things clear. And get names." That names was last on his list spoke volumes.

Perhaps. No way yet to know.

Aolita's voice inside Vargos's head is, as always, lilting and a little lyrical. It carries with it more than just her words... and sounds accented somehow -- even in their home tongue.

Would be wondrous turn of fate if it is so, and that he and his lie dead and dismembered already.

What the little witch hears from Revora concerns her, though, and she comes forward, her stout staff thumping on the wooden floor as she raises a hand to her guardian, telling him to stay his wagging tongue. There have secrets of their own that need to be kept.

"Ambrian Lady. We are clansfolk. We need no permission from Korinthia to walk the Davokar. For generations my people have lived in harmony with that great and dark wood. And you are a fool if you think just anyone can plumb its depths and return with this man, or his remains. Ten of your thaler is an insult! Risking an encounter with the Iron Pact alone means peril well beyond anything inside your walls here. This should be one hundred thaler rather than ten!"

The witch then cocks her head, canting her masked face almost forty five degrees before she looks at her fellows and goes on.

"But we will accept twenty. And the writ. For this we will find this man, and be discreet."

Orlan raises his eyebrows at the diminutive woman’s outburst. He’s used to automatically taking charge, especially amongst his fellow soldiers, but there seems to be quite a few headstrong people at this table. If she wants to argue for a better wage, he certainly won’t put up a fight. He shrugs, leans back on his elbows, and watches the argument unfold.

Oh Gristle, you nearly spoiled that meal She had very nearly acquiesced but then the witch woman turned it into a negotiation. Gristle herself would never dare to negotiate with one of the tall-folk, too easily replaced, but if the witch woman wanted to she certainly wasn't going to get in the way. Unless she upset the apple cart. Gristle squinted hard willing the negotiation to go well.

The guardian remains silent as his ward negotiates. He never had a mind for this task, nor any other that required clever words and discretion. His eyes move around before settling on the goblin. Curious little creature. He observes it for a while, silently.

The witch ponders the offer for a moment, then she gestures to her fellows. "I cannot not speak for everyone. But I will accept five more of your southron coins and the license to wander my own woods."

"Fine. If you're successful, 5 extra thaler each." She leans over to offer her arm to seal the deal with a forearm shake.

Vargos grunts.

Works for me, Orlan says with a grin.

"The Pact is more clay than Iron anyhow. It's the rest of what's in the forest that you want to be wary of."

Vaila taps her lips with a finger. "It's been more than a short while since I've been in that direction, so I'll go. I'd rather go alone, but this group seems noisy enough to distract almost anything, so it could be a boon." There might have been the crack of a smile there.

"A good deal for all of us." Gristle says hopping down from the chair. She's not sure if she should approach the woman to engage in the customary shaking, but figures it's time for bold moves so she steps over and offers her hand. "Most tall-folk took to calling me Gristle and the name's stuck, as good as any other, and better than a fair number of them I've been called in my days."

Forearms are grasped; a deal is struck. Aolita steps back when the others also agree, bowing her head slightly in deference.