Wagon Wheel (Edreina)

by **Razkar** on August 30th, 2013, 12:06 am

88th Day of Summer
Fields South of The Main Gate
9th Bell

"Bloody disgraceful, s'what it is."

"Gods, not this again-"

"What, are you bloody happy with it?!"

"No, I'm not but-"

"There you go, then"

"-but, Mister Albrecht said Valini wants it that way, so that's that. Now help me pack up this sodding tent!"

The older sellsword, Sebastian, continued his mutterings and grumbling as he worked, litany of endless complaints, curses and queries to the gods decrying the bloody injustice of having to work under a... a...

"I mean, all I'm saying it-"

"Oh, for the love of Cheva's cunt, will you give it a sodding rest?"

"You don't know, Manny!" Sebastien pointed a quavering finger, knuckles still flushed from the early morning cold and face rough as a cheese grater. "I've seen this before! Boss starts hiring on bad help-"

Two tent poles were lashed to his mare, along with their cooking pot and sleeping bags. That was their usual arrangement; everything else went on Manny's mount. And it was "Manny" because the younger man hated his full name of "Mandfred", saying it made him sound like some gold man in weird pants that began with an "L" (Sebastian always assumed it was some strange cultural quirk of the boy's Taldera homeland).

"-just because he's got a flashy reputation and a dose of... of... what's that stuff, begins with an "e"? Lassies love it?"

"... exotic?"

"That's the thing! Exotic, and suddenly, WHAM!" He tightened the roped on Angie's side a little tighter than he needed to, shushing and stroking the old girl by way of apology. "Suddenly, some savage bastard is in charge and poor Ekvan gets shoved to the side."

"He got stabbed in the eye!"

"By that bastard!"

"While trying to kill him!"

Sebastian actually ha the gall or the delusion to look offended; Manny couldn't tell which. He didn't mind the old man, really, but sometimes... gods... he was a natural-born complainer. The food, the weather, the caravan boss, the sellsword commander, any passengers, any-bloody-thing drew his ire.

"Oh, petch's sake, Seb!" The younger man shot back, a strange sight, the two of them arguing like an old married couple while dozens of tents collapsed around them, scores of animals were roused and saddled and a quarter-mile's worth of wagons and donkeys were prepared for a long journey ahead. "You were cursing Ekvan by every god out there at the start of the season, and now, what? He's a petching martyr?!"

"Just... we don't know everything, do we?"

"We don't need to! We knew Ekvan! He was a grasping, bullying bastard and whoever this 'Myrian' is, he'd have to work bloody hard to be half as bad." The younger man swept a few strands of burned brown hair from his face, that damn forelock that wouldn't quite just settle. Then he went back to Teranto, his steed (Manny always called him a steed, which never set well with Sebastian; only Knights got steeds... the bastards). "Honestly, Seb, you put too much stock in where someone comes from. Just 'cause he's not human."

Manny heard the outraged gasp and groaned inwardly, eyes turned up in desperation at rising and unsympathetic Syna. He sent up a silent plea to the waking orb of fire: please, for the love of your dearest and the warmth you give the world, please make this old man shut his-

"Now you know that's not true! I like working with whosisname, the Akalak, even if his... y'know, other half, if a bit of a twat! I don't mind the Isurians, the little bugger make fine blades! Benshira, Inarta, Kelvics, I've worked with them all and-

Oh, well, thanks for nothing!

But, apparently, his prayers were answered. Seb's words were cut off as surely as if his head had been cut off, and considering the line of work they were in, Manny's head whipped around sharpish just in case that was true. Apparently not: the older man was squinting towards the gates of Syliras, walls of the citadel so tall they case a shadow even over the vast assortment of men and animals mustering outside of them.

"What are you...?"

He squinted in the same way, hand up against the sun. Two riders... horses loaded down and in no hurry... one, smaller, by the looks of it, riding a little ways behind and to the side of the leader, who-

"That's him."

Manny just nodded slowly, taking in the site of "The Myrian" for the first time. He knew the man had a real name, but he couldn't for the life of him remember. Besides, "The Myrian" sounded better in the stories at the Arms, the Stallion, the Coin and a half-dozen other dives around town. A warrior from the far west, apparently, those fetid, impenetrable jungles that swallowed explorers and armies alike.

Not that the human was overwhelmed, of course. He'd seen a lot of things, working since he got to manhood as a caravan guard and sellsword. The Wildlands were home to a world unto itself, with nightmares and wonders both. If Mizahar had produced the race, he'd seen it... but not many Myrians.

So it was more with curiosity than fear that he gazed, as if trying to memorize every detail. The tall, lithe but well-muscled physique; not the body of one who spent ours lifting weights or pounding around in circles, but one who had simply been raised hard, and now his body was a lifelong testament to it. As the two of them rode closer, he could see darker patches and strands on already-tanned flesh... realized they were... ink marks? No... tattoos! He'd seen those, too, in Riverfall-

"I tell you, boy, it's the beginning-"

"Shush!"

There was an indignant huff by Seb held his tongue, merely shot the kid a wary look. Manny was a good lad, smarter than some, quicker than most and he wasn't a shirker. But he was too... well... young. Green. Oh, he'd ridden the Kabrin a few times, sure, but had he been in a stand up fight? Had he really seen much of life? No and no, but did he listen to wisdom?

Bloody kids. They think they have all the answers.

"Gods..."

The older human looked over Angie's rump and saw the savage bastard riding by. Every inch of him looked like something ripped from the dark, lost ages before even the Valterrian. A cloak covered in hair and made of dried flesh covered his torso, but not enough to hide the weapons and leather hanging from his chest and waist. He wore breeches and sandals, but no armor, and there was...

Is that a bloody skull on the back of his horse?!

"I know, lad. See what I mean now? Mark my words-"

"Not him!" Manny rasped, for the riders were getting closer. "Her...?!"

Seb adjusted his vision and peered to... oh. Oh, well... that was... very unexpected. He had to be seeing things. Perhaps the spirits of his dreams were distorting his vision, like his Mum used to say. They would linger during the waking hours, not wanting to be forgotten, making you second-guess if your eyes really were open.

All that superstition flooded back at the sight of the woman. How else could he explain a beauty like that riding with a beast like him?

"Well... one for the books, that..."

Razkar heard the fragment of conversation but kept his face neutral. He was sure the rumors and griping had already started, men who sold their blades for a living suddenly finding the gall to gripe about "honor" and what was "right". The Myrian (minus quotation marks) merely sauntered past the pair of gawking sellswords. Plenty of time later to meet them.

Instead he kept Mrrko pointed at the main tent at the center of the camp, being taken down in sections under the stern eyes of a wildly-gesticulating bearded man (or, as Razkar saw as he got closer, more like a beard with a human buried in it).

Razkar permitted himself a slight nod of recognition, and made a little kik-kik sound to spur Mrrko's feet faster.

Albrecht. Caravan master. My partner, superior and underling, depending on the circumstances.

Time to introduce myself... The he remembered, with only a faint tremor of unease, quickly overshadowed by a quiet reassurance that warmed him more than Syna creeping over the woods far to the east. Ah. No. Ourselves...

by **Edreina** on August 30th, 2013, 2:15 am

The morning began, for Edreina, with tears. Not the silent, stomach turning sort as she woke from a nightmare, but the silent ones that slid down her cheeks as she stood on the railing of the Goldengrotto, her home, overlooking the Suvan as it stretched out before her, inky blue is Syna's rising light. Her breath was slow and even as if to spite the signs of her discomfort as they made their tracks down her cheeks. With every fiber of her being, the Svefra wished to throw herself into the Suvan one more time. But no, it would only make leaving so much harder. In a voice seldom heard, Edreina began to sing, quietly, to fit the silent dawn, in her lilting Fratavan.

The song was as old as the Suvan itself, and was normally sung when members of the pod set off on their own for the first time. It spoke of the ties that bound a family, and how that was their strength, how eventually it wold allow them to be united once again. It spoke of distances crossed, and a heart's longing. But, Edreina sang it not to her parents and her siblings, but to the Suvan itself, to Laviku. She could not help but feel as if she were betraying her heritage by embarking upon this journey, but she had to put stock in the wants of her heart less she fall prey to a lonely life.

When the song ended, Edreina whirled and dashed below deck, gathering together her already packed saddle bags. Her skirts and most of her belongings would be staying on the ship, locked away in a chest next to her remaining book shelf. Nearly all that was in her saddle bags was new, save for her bone hair comb and a faded yellow bandanna. Three pairs of leather pants with a softer, more flexible fabric lining the thighs and behind her knees, along with the one pair she was hopping into, had been purchased the day before, along with a pair of leather boots that came up to her knee, bearing a slight heel that helped her better hold onto her saddle's stirrups, a blue cloak made of durable ramie, and a bedroll.

Finally, she emerged from below deck, cloak strapped about her shoulders and billowing as she moved in a way that made her heart ache for the gentle waves of the Suvan, saddle bags slung over her arms. The woman that had sold it to her had said that the color complimented her eyes, hair, and fair skin tone... being a painful reminder of the Sea she loved had not been mentioned. With a sigh, she made her way over to Jorven, petting his silvery flank for a moment before she started to belt on his tack. First went the saddle blanket, padded and dyed a dark blue similar to her cloak, then his black saddle and matching saddle bags. Finally, she slid his bridle over his head, minding his tall ears, smiling as he accepted the bit on her first try. His halter and leadrope were then removed and stowed in the saddle bag.

She watched in silence as her beloved warrior did the same, strapping equipment to himself as readily as to the ebony creature, Mrrko. Before he pulled himself into the saddle, doubt and a lack of surety had made this morning a silent one, the Svefra strode over and pulled Razkar in for a long, gentle kiss. There would be many days and nights from that point on where their interactions would be rigidly controlled as they donned the guise of mentor and student, of mere friends. It would be hard, but it was for both of their benefit. Then again... they could always get a brief respite on "patrols"... or at least so Edreina hoped.

In the cool dawn, they had mounted up and continued on into the city. As they rode, Edreina had looped the reins around her saddle's horn and turned to pull her leather vambraces and gloves from the saddle bags, pulling them on over her long, elegantly boned hands. And with this, the facade was complete. In the days since deciding to travel together, Razkar and Edreina had conceived a plot to make Edreina look the part of Razkar's student to some degree, making those who saw her question if she was a brawler, a reimancer, or skilled in the use of the wakazashi sheathed and attached to her saddle on the opposite side of her coiled whip.

To some degree, Edreina had to admit she cast a striking visage as they rode into the camp, at least judging from the whispers that raced around her. Dancing locks of copper hair lay unbound, cascading down over her blue clad shoulders. All they saw was a lithe, honey-colored figured adorned with golden freckles and a harsh black tattoo that marred her from breast to hip riding astride a silver and ivory gelding clad in black leather tack. Two pairs of equally wide, thickly lashed, bright blue eyes roamed the crowd, though Edreina kept her chin high, peering over her high-cheekbones at any she noticed. The only thing marring this facade was the large white "rat" standing on the back of Jorven, legs splayed slightly to keep his balance as the horse walked. Navis was, of course, coming with Edreina. He wore a thick leather collar, the one she had purchased the same day as he but had never put into use. Large, white ears were on a constant swivel as they moved through camp, and somehow it made Edreina feel safer. At least if someone attempted to slip a knife between her ribs, Navis would attempt to fend them off with furry vengeance...

But perhaps it was not her at all drawing attention, but the man behind whom she rode. From her vantage, Edreina could only see broad shoulders, a cloak hewn from countless enemies, and an inky black topknot. The tips of various weapons gleamed at her occassionally as he shifted, and she knew there to be many more decorating his frame. He was imposing to say the least, absolutely terrifying to some.

On another hand, it could be, as it usually was, the differences in their appearances that drew the stares and inspired the whispers. Why would a man so fierce ride with a woman who appeared to be more siren than human? Surely she was not a warrior, though her garb depicted otherwise; there was an obvious innocence, a naivety in her eyes of one who, in spite of her age, was still new to this world.

When Mrrko was urged into a trot, Edreina followed suit, couching slightly in the saddle - in order to maintain her delicate balance - and resting one hand on the saddle horn. When finally they pulled up to stop, Edreina remained respectfully behind her lover-... her mentor, and forced herself to be quiet while he spoke, nodding politely when introduced, but otherwise silent unless Razkar demanded an answer or response. As the Myrian spoke, she fought the urge to fidget in her saddle as excitement flooded her veins, making it harder than it already was to play a subservient role.

This trip, she could already tell, would test the limits of her self-control... In more ways than one, she realized, finding herself distracted by Razkar in a way most un-student-like. No, apparently they had not, despite their valiant efforts, gotten everything out of their system the night before. Her fatigued muscles thought they had... her growling soul? Not so much...

ReceiptLeather Riding Pants = 7 GM, 2 SM
Leather Riding Boots = 2 GM
Blue Ramie Cloak = 1 GM, 4 SM
Bedroll = 1 SM
Leather Gloves = 1 GM
Two Leather Vambraces = 20 GM
Total = 31 GM, 7 SM

by **Razkar** on September 1st, 2013, 8:22 pm

"No, lean it to ya left! Yer left! Yer other left! Ruros' balls, how many fucking lefts do you have, you fucking-"

Albrecht was about to launch into another lengthy and creative soliloquy on Jerald's incompetence (probably involving allusions to his parentage, sexual prowess, mental aptitude and hygiene), when he was aware of the two silent riders stopping to his right. His head whirled around, beard down to his waistline flapping like a dead beaver nailed to his chin, and thick eyebrows looking like smaller versions of it crushed down, his eyes narrowing... then shooting back up.

"Ah. You... would be Razkar, yes?"

The rider dismounted without a word, and his... very pleasant to look at companion did the same. Landing on the ground heavy but controlled - evidently unused to horses - a scared and ink-covered face turned stony eyes towards the human and the Myrian gave a short half-bow of greeting.

"I am Razkar of the Shorn Skulls, Son of Yurta and Zek, Child of Myri, Warrior of the Taloba Army..." The Myrian straightened and Albrecht cocked his head slightly at the gleam of wry intelligence he saw in those savage eyes. "... and now minion of Leo Valini. At his service."

"Y'know, it's custom to say 'at your service'."

Razkar nodded, ghost of a smile on a face as clean of hair as Abrecht's was covered in it. "Yes, I know. But I am not. I am at his service; I am here to lead sellswords that protect caravan."

"Yes, I was told, and-"

"This-" Razkar broke in abruptly, in no mood to have his introductions staled. Edreina and him had been over this exhaustively the night before... well, when they had time, anyway. Suffice to say, concern over the journey was not the only reason they didn't get much sleep. "-is my apprentice." A short, polite nod from the Svefra, but no words. So far, so good. "And I would like to meet sellswords I will order, now."

Abrecht blinked, the domineering caravan master taken aback by this... this... perplexity. He'd worked for Leo Valini for well over fifteen years, ran dozens of caravans to Kenash, Zeltiva, even Ravok and Sunberth. In that time he'd seen a score of mercenary commanders come and go.

Some, like a disgraced Knight whose name he forgot, were stern professionals whose expertise he appreciated (shame about those wolves, though he was warned about going hunting alone). Some, like the late and unlamented Ekvan, were nothing more than petty tyrants who had an ability with blades and an affinity for inspiring fear and thus obedience.

He did not know which Razkar was, though based on the rumors, the savage could easily have been both, or neither.

That said, there was a way of doing things that the human thought all of them would understand. A protocol, a series of instructions and documents that had to be perused before they could just... take over!

Don't over-react, the patient human told himself, taking a deep breath and fixing a polite smile on his face, savage just needs an education, that's all.

"Razkar," he began in a well-practiced tone that resounded somewhere between a stern teacher and concerned parent, "I know you are new to this business, and Valini wouldn't have hired you if you weren't competent, but there are certain niceties to be observed."

The Myrian cocked an eyebrow, expression neutral but that wry, amused gleam was shining in eyes that Albrecht would never have thought capable of humor. Razkar clasped his hands behind his back, voice the epitome of patient indulgence as he said, "Such as?"

Albrecht decided to ignore it, rummaging in his cassock-like coat for his scrolls instead. A practical and pragmatic man, he was led by the belief that if it isn't broken, don't fix or replace it. Nothing lasts forever, true, but getting rid of something old because you thought something new would work better? That was just foolish.

His way worked; his way had worked for years, and the Myrian would learn the wisdom of listening.

"Namely, the full complement for this caravan-" he held up the first scroll, thick, expensive paper covered in neat, cursive Common, detailing every last ounce they were transporting "-from the crafts produced by the Iron Works, hundreds of pounds of grain and seeds, not to mention wagon loads of timber, precious metals and jewels from across the Suvan... and the rations and feed for all that travel with us."

Razkar blinked. "Are we taking passengers?"

Albrecht nodded, enthusiastically. Ah, he was warming to his new role! Good! "Yes, we are, as a matter of fact. Valini usually makes provisions for a dozen or so passengers on his caravans, for the right price." A short laugh accompanied by a shrug. "Not the most luxurious traveling, for sure, but very well-guarded. I have the passenger list here, and if you will-"

"No, I will not, and you can stop speaking now."

Albrecht just... stared. His laborers stared. Even Jorven and Mrrko seemed to exchange a surprised glance. The only ones who seemed to find that short, terse sentence unsurprising were Razkar and his female partner, still standing silently behind him. For a few ticks the human just stared, then shook his head as if dismissing a bad dream.

"Wh... What did you-"

"I said, you can stop talking." Razkar's voice flowed well and easily, feet taking slow, unhurried steps around Albrecht as he scanned the vast plethora of donkeys, horses, wagons, piled crates, boxes and scores, maybe hundreds of people. "I do not need to know what we carry, or who we carry. That is you concern, Mister Albrecht. My concern is making sure you, you people and Valini's goods make all to Zeltiva. So, for now, I would meet with sellswords. All of them."

He turned and found the human still in a state of mental paralysis, but slowly coming out of it. The pavilion was down but the tenting still unfurled, a half-dozen laborers standing around and whispering, as if amazed that someone was talking back to hoary ol' Albrecht, terror of all those adventurers who worked the Kabrin Road caravans.

"M-Mister Razkar," Albrecht tried again, but now Razkar's face split in a soft smile at the tone. "With respect, you don't know what you're doing, and-"

"-and you not knowing who you are speaking to."

Iron crept into that voice, as easily revealed to the world as a cat's claw. Just a little change in his manner, a slight shift in his tone, his chin, his hands, and Albrecht saw the Myrian for what he was: a polite, efficient and unrelenting warrior. Razkar let him see that reality and then continued.

"I not want to offend you." He lowered his tone and stepped forward, keeping his voice between him, the human and the Svefra. "And not want to have you men lose respect for they master. But I am not Ekvan. I am not other men who lead sellsword. I am warrior, not man who care about pounds of grain or smiling at passengers."

Razkar's eyes hardened even more, and that glint died. Albrecht looked into them and saw nothing but his own reflection... and why did he look so frantic in them? So lost?

Nothing lasts forever...

"I hear rumor that Drykas make raids. I know bandits are on Kabrin; I know because have killed some. Further south we go, more likely to meet Zith, Earth Demons, even Glassbeaks... and scum from Sunberth, maybe, who travel long to raid road." The Myrian shrugged and folded his arms, the universal gesture of imperturbable decision. "Not care for caravan. I care for caravan's safety. For that, I need to know sellswords. My face and face of my apprentice, they are not known. But your people?" He nodded behind Albrecht's shoulder to the gruff-looking men there. "They know sellswords. Have them bring all here. Once I meet, give orders, can let you and you men get to work."

Albrecht was still clinging to his convictions, shaking his head minutely but quickly, rejecting this new and unfamiliar reality. "I-I really must insist that-"

"Do. Not. Bother." Another step forward and Albrecht smelled the sweat and bitter tang of sharpened iron he reeked of. Saw the tattoos up close, and Razkar smiled again, letting him get a peek at those sharp point he had for teeth. "I am being polite. I am using reason, for you sake. But not try to make thing how you want, human. Not work, and I not care if you think other way. Use your people. Send for sellswords. We still have time, if want to send man to complain to Valini."

Razkar stepped away, hands at the small of his back, as straight and proper as if he were on a parade ground. Once again, that tight, infuriating smile that never reached his glinting eyes.

"But I think we know what Valini will say... and you know stories about me. I run swords; you run caravan. We will protect, you give us reason to protect. Now get men."

Albrecht stared for maybe half a chime. Part of him - older, more inflexible and readily indignant - thought sending a man to Valini sounded like a petching fine idea! Yes! Have his lordship come down here and straighten this savage out, surely there was some mistake, he wouldn't... would he?

Another side of him spoke up; a side that had seen and in fact personally replaced men who'd gone from strapping to bent and weakened, because they could no longer take the pace. Albrecht was not without compassion, but he was in charge of scores of men, hundreds of animals and tens of thousands of mizas worth of goods. He had no time for softness... and this Myrian was anything but soft.

Why else would be be here?

"I... I will send my men."

He did, and in short order almost half-a-dozen men were scurrying away in all directions, spreading the word to those sellswords not already converging on the downed pavilion. All except Jerard, who was kept where he was, face befuddled and confused.

"Wait, why am I staying?"

"Because you still have a tent to pack up."

"By myself?!"

Albrecht whirled and a moment later his beard followed suit, smacked against his side, so fast was the movement. Jerard quailed under his glare, knowing the old man well: if he couldn't exert his will over this implacable savage, then by Rhysol's withered pecker, he'd exert it over him.

"Then you should't have been staring, should you?!"

"But everyone was-"

"Now, boy!"

The boy worked, the old man griped under his breath and the Myrian just waited, along with his apprentice. Edreina had emoted less than Razkar, as it happened, the slight twitching of her fingers as she drummed a steady, fast beat on her thigh the only sign of her nerves.

Razkar reached over and grasped her shoulder, gaze hard as he nodded and spoke: "Take hold of your feelings, apprentice." Then he added, with a wink that was for her alone, so fast and fleeting it was, "You good."

Fragments. That was all he had been teaching her of his tongue, but such simple words were well within her knowledge. She nodded back, corners of her lips quirking for a moment... and then he turned to the sound of marching feet.

A small crowd of hard-faced armed men marched towards them. Razkar instinctively put himself between them and her... then stood aside. No. They discussed that before: she had to stand on her own two feet on this journey. Showing weakness to men such as this was suicide; Razkar's patronage would protect her to a degree, but still...

If she's going to walk my road, she has to learn how.

Razkar crossed his arms as they trickled in, mostly in that big clump, the rest coming in couples, ones and twos, like that Old-And-Young double act he'd seen when they first arrived. He waited for the last to arrive, still silent, watching for five chimes to make sure no-one else was coming... just long enough for the chatter to start-

"Who among you," His voice barked and rose above the chatter, cutting it down like a sword through a throat, Myrian now channeling every memory of his merciless, saditic instructors from Taloba as his black gaze swept his new charges. "Does not know who I am?"

There were forty men... and some women, he was surprised to see... arrayed before him. Only... seven... no, that one was a little slow... eight hand raised. The Myrian nodded and lowered his crossed arms, letting his right hand just happen to caress the bone hilt of his gladius.

"My name is Razkar." He didn't bother with the rest of his title; they wouldn't care and he cared not to educate them. "I work for Leo Valini, as you do, and I am in command."

"What happened to Ekvan?"

Razkar's eyes flashed to a youngish mercenary who eemed to shrivel under it. Watery eyes glanced around, looking like a rat for somewhere to hide, finding no support. Razkar's voice was a low growl as he spoke.

"I put this-" he gripped his gladius "-through his eye and brain and skull. He tried to rob me and kill my apprentice-" now he gestured to the Svefra with his other arm "-Edreina. So he died. So did two of his scum. And I not ask for petching questions yet, did I?"

"I'm just-"

He moved fast, and without hesitation. One moment he was before them all, the next he'd strode in four fast steps to the unshaven sellsword, looming over him-

"Just. What?"

"... n... nothing..."

"'Nothing' what?"

"... sir?"

Razkar let him squirm; he didn't particularly enjoy it (well, not very much), but it was necessary. These men (and women) understood naught but strength and skill. Some of them had a cunning to them, shining like opportunity given intelligence in their eyes, but for most, it was like back in the jungle.

Might makes right. Be the mightiest, and you shall survive and prosper. But they have to know you are the apex, or the challenges will never stop.

Finally he turned away, voice low as he looked over the ragged and disparate crew. Humans, mostly, but that was unsurprising, considering they infested every corner of Mizahar, or so it seemed. Some were old, faces like granite walls, heavy with bad memories and fatalism. Most were young, adventurous, enamored with the mercenary image and hacking their name through the world with a sword in their hands.

There was an Akalak, too. He towered above them all, green skin marking him out for hundreds of yards... but Razkar wondered if that aided him in the Woods? Probably.

"I am Razkar. I am your master on this trip. Not Mister Valini, not Mister Albrecht. Me. I will organize defense when caravan is moving, and when it stops. I need to know archers and riders, men good with horses and bows."

About a third of the group stepped forward, bows on some shoulders, chaps on others. Like all the rest, the clothes, armor and equipment was worn and old but by experience, not by inattention. If a sword was known to be sharp, or armor proven to turn one aside, you kept it.

"Good..."

Suddenly Razkar stopped before one sellsword. A female one, actually. Tall, almost his height, with broad shoulders and a firm jaw. Eyes unlike those of the other women he'd met in Syliras: flinty and confrontational, almost... Myrian. He flicked a glance up and down her body. Well-muscled, small-chested, but that probably helped her accuracy with the shortbow across her back... and the riding boots she wore.

"You name?"

"Moretta."

"You are riding archer?"

"Yes, sir."

Razkar nodded, appreciating not the concern for etiquette the the fact this one learned fast. "Scout?"

"Yes, sir."

"Drykas?"

A short pause, long enough for Razkar to tell she was weighing her answer... and for her to look into his eyes and see that thought. Finally he exhaled and nodded sharply.

"Half. My father. I don't ride with them."

"Drykas are raiding the Kabrin Road. Taking slaves. Something about... plague, in their moving city. Now they take new mothers, new sons and daughters. Have sympathy for them?"

"Yes." Razkar approved again; at least she was honest. "But like I say, I don't ride with them and I'm not fond of slavers."

"Some would say is not slavery."

"Some would be wrong." Ah, that got a smile from the Myrian, and something red-haired crackled with a sudden jealous voltage behind him. "If the gods have cursed the Drykas with plague, so be it. Doesn't give them an excuse to steal people."

Razkar nodded slowly and seemed to measure her as one would a side of beef. But eventually he continued his walk up the line of sellswords, shrugging lightly.

"Not think you lie... but keep watch, anyway."

"That'd be the smart thing to do."

Razkar walked on, and Moretta locked eyes with the still (almost) stoic Edreina. Something innate, primal and clashing flashed between them. The half-Drykas narrowed her gaze slightly... then looked away-

-back at Razkar.

by **Edreina** on September 1st, 2013, 10:31 pm

Yes, Edreina's dismount was a bit shoddy, but Jorven helped her play it off, tossing his head slightly. Immediately, Navis moved to sit in the warmth of her saddle, resting his head on the horn in a pose nearly comedic. But Edreina could not smile. Albrecht's eyes were already glancing at her as he and the Myrian spoke. Already she could tell that there would be a quiet struggle for power between these two in most things until finally the master of the caravan got the picture: Razkar is not like other mercenaries.

"This is my apprentice."

The Svefra's first instinct was to wave and grin at Albrecht. But... mercenaries did not do that. Sadly. So, instead, Edreina nodded once, hair bobbing merrily despite her silent urging. Perhaps she truly should have bound it. Blue eyes watched in silence as the caravan leader chewed on Razkar's following statement making every mental attempt to bite through steel. Eventually, she could see him decide to, instead of breaking steel, work with it.

"Razkar, I know you are new to this business, and Valini wouldn't have hired you if you weren't competent, but there are certain niceties to be observed."

Composure broke for an instant as Edreina made a choked snorting sound as she muffled her laughter. The instant after it left her lips, she cleared her throat and averted her look to Jorven, adjusting his girth and hiding a smile behind her hair. As expected, Razkar's amusement rang through in his voice. How many times had he used that same tone when Edreina came running up, shouting about something that the city dwellers did that she found to be utterly fascinating? He was indulging this stranger and he would continue to do so until his patience wo-

"No, I will not, and you can stop speaking now."

Well it was inevitable. Next, the human will be surprised, pretend he mishear-

"Wh... What did you-"

Apparently, everyone reacted the same to Razkar's gruffness. It surprised most, angered some, but was accepted by Edreina. These city-dwellers wasted too much time with pleasantries, pomp and swagger. Razkar knew Albrecht's job just as he knew the Myrian's. Why did Albretch - and most she had met - feel the need to concern others with the happenings of their assignment? On a ship, that would get you thrown overboard. If you were a supposed to help turn a ship on its side so that the bottom could be scraped, you did that. If you were supposed to be scraping barnacles, you did that. You did not see someone shouting about the best way to scrape barnacles while busy tying a ship's mast to adjoining ships. It would get someone killed.

It was the same here. If Albretch wasted his time wondering about where every sword was placed, cargo would get lost. If he expected Razkar to waste his time knowing the facts and figures about what was being exported and who was on the caravan, people would die. It was simple logic to the savages. Edreina had never really understood being called one until she started to realize how much she had in common with Razkar than those that lived in the cities, that called themselves civilized. Something about considering the way that things worked overall instead of what was going on in that exact moment had helped calm her, slowing her facial and physical ticks to naught but a light, rhythmic drumming of her fingetips on the tops of her hips.

"You good."

Edreina's full lips quirked for an instant, the ghost of a smile flashing across her features for only a tick. It was exactly the reassurance she had needed, but it made it even harder for her not to slip her arms around his waist as they walked. Outside of the walls of Syliras, they had been able to be themselves. Now, the open air was as much of a prison as the walls themselves.

As the small group gathered, Edreina watched Razkar carefully, noting the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly before stepping just to her side, fighting his natural urge to protect her. They had discussed this at length, even argued over it until it was decided that Edreina would have to create an image comparable to her master's from the get-go. Where they feared Razkar's trembling anger and reputation, her mystery would create a natural distance. Who was this apprentice of a warrior so fierce? What had she done to draw his eye and inspire his tutelage? Why was her body not adorned with countless weapons as her master's was? Those questions would be Edreina's saving grace until she grew strong enough to fend for herself.

Blue eyes twinkled with amusement as Razkar descended upon a sell-sword who thought himself well enough hidden to speak up about Ekvan... The name nearly curled Edreina's lips in a snarl and set her scar throbbing... The bastard was good and dead, held beneath Laviku's waves by stones fastened to his ankles as his children feasted upon his bloated flesh. For a tick, Edreina's own ferocity surprised her. But, if she were truly to walk alongside Razkar, her heart would have to be hardened. Ekvan had attempted to kill her, to destroy Razkar. It was only right that she viewed his being with animosity and his death with pleasure. There would be many more Ekvans in her life, perhaps lying even in this crowd. And so, she had to harden herself...

As Razkar stepped forward to inspect the arms that would be under his command, Edreina's eyes roved the masses, fixing them in ice as she assured each and every one that was curious enough to meet her gaze that she would put them down if they tried anything funny. It was true enough, the humming in the bones about her neck bolstered the animal light in her eyes. Razkar was hers, and if they threatened him, they would have to deal with her. She doubted, deep down, that anyone would be stupid enough to bum-rush the Myrian in front of so many eyes, but it felt good to see some actually shirk from her gaze. The more problems she quashed now, the better this trip would go.

And then, her head whipped to the side in a whirl of flame-tipped locks as she registered a familiar expression dance across her lover's features. For some reason or another, Razkar was smiling at one of the female sellswords and Edreina felt a shock of jealousy, hot and bitter, course through her veins. Its strength surprised her, but was not brushed aside. There was an appreciation in the woman's eyes that unnerved Edreina at a primal level. The way she looked at him, so cold and calculating but oddly satisfied... Was that how Myrian women chose mates? It took everything in Edreina's thin frame not to curl her lip at the woman, to keep her eyes even, fingers still. The only sign of her... annoyance, was the way she lifted her chin slightly.

A chin life. So simple when viewed out of context, but Edreina had learned from Razkar the nuances of a mercenary. By lifting her chin, she was subtly asserting her dominance. By baring her throat, even as slightly as she was, Edreina was displaying the fact that she did not fear the other woman, that she was no threat. All of these things, so natural, registered on a primal level.

Though the woman returned her eyes to Razkar, a sort of energy danced between them, warring in a way that told Edreina this was not over. Far from it, actually. From that point on, whenever Edreina noticed the woman glancing at her or at Razkar, blue eyes as cold as the northern Sea would lock onto her in that way that made a person's skin itch. The woman was a snake, as far as Edreina could tell. And was it not a student's job to protect their master from snakes?

As quickly as the energy had consumed her, it dissipated the Svefra found herself fighting the urge to smile at her own witticism. Jorven huffed in annoyance - but was too lazy to do much else - as Navis climbed up his neck and leapt onto Edreina's shoulder, scrambling lightly to retain her balance when Edreina started. The little fox had sensed his mother's distress and come to her aid. Sure. A fearsome eagle perched on her shoulder would have done more for intimidation. But, the fox was an enigma just like its owner. Why on earth would the woman have a scrawny-looking creature such as that for a pet, and why would she allow it on her shoulder? Surely, as its freckled-owner, there must be more to the enormous-eared animal than met the eye.

All this standing around was making Edreina antsy. She could not help herself from shifting from foot to foot, from fidgeting with Jorven's reins, as Razkar continued his examination of the forces. Being on the road would make things better, she hoped. Then, people would have more to do than stand around staring at her whenever they were not cowering beneath Razkar's obsidian glare. Despite all of their... discussions... Edreina realized that Razkar had not actually told her what she would be doing. Would she be forced to exemplify the role of Razkar's student by being his second-in-command or would she be removed from the process entirely? Once again, the sooner they were on the road, the better.

Maybe then Miss Tall-With-Short-Hair-And-No-Boobs would have something better to do than eye her Myrian. Gods dammit... This was going to be a long journey.

by **Razkar** on September 2nd, 2013, 12:44 am

It was a struggle, putting her from his mind, but like most things Razkar attempted, once it was succeeded, he wondered why he worried so much.

Then he remembered: because it would not get easier with time.

The Myrian pushed the thought aside and continued organizing his "merry" band of blades for hire. That was what he'd been charged to do, after all: not just swing iron and slaughter enemies, but lead others in doing the same. A map had been swiftly obtained thanks to a quick command to one of Albrecht's lackeys, and now Razkar had the contour- and settlement-marked parchment stretched down a pavilion pole for all to see.

The Myrian turned and regarded his newly-shaken sellswords. Three distinct groups were now obvious. In the middle were the largest, perhaps two-dozen mercenaries with swords, axes and maces on their belts, shields on their backs. On his left were ten others, most of them with riding boots, men (and woman) who could ride well. The final group of half-a-dozen all had bows across their shoulders, a coupe actually carrying them, as if having the ranged weapons in their hands soothed them.

"Not expecting much trouble until we cross Avitar River." The Myrian said, pointing at where the Kabrin Road crossed the squiggly blue line on the yellowed map, a day's journey or so from the Fortress of Peace. "Knights make plenty of patrols there, and in good numbers. So, can depend on our shiny friends to help us that far..."

It was the merest inflection of sarcasm, but as his eyes darted over to them, he saw he'd struck the right mark. Wry and sarcastic smiles alighted more than a few faces, eyes were rolled and even mutters exchanged, followed by smiles and chuckles. The sellswords were a breed apart from the Knights: lesser in equipment and training, if not experience, and dedicated to shiny gold discs rather than a dead god. Razkar was willing to bet that most had previous run-ins with the Knights at one point or another.

"But after that? The caravan will go through Bronze Woods" His finger wandered the distance between the big black blotches that were Syliras and Zeltiva, the land between the two largely faceless aside from the black slash of the Kabrin Road and a few patches of forest and woods, small on the map, but translating to tens of miles in reality. "Then to hills for most of journey..."

Razkar glared at the map as if it had done him injury. Hill and mountains... he knew from experience just how useful they were for bandit ambushes. The Kabrin Road was funneled and constricted by the valleys and canyons created by those ageless peaks, getting progressively larger and forbidding until-

"... then we come to Zastoska Mountains-" He tapped the map outside Zeltiva, to its north-west, where the landscape seemed to constrict around the city like a massive, rocky fist, but miraculously leaving a long, flat floodplain it was built on. "-until Mirahil Pass. Then journey is over."

The Myrian straightened up and took in his audience. Still their attention was focused on him, as much to follow his accent as the words themselves. He was just refreshing them to things they already knew, of course; many of them had worked that caravan route a dozen times, maybe several dozen, but as with any lesson, you had to have a grounding.

"So, this is how it will be." He pointed at the riders, his horsemen, nominally led, it seemed, by the dark-haired and grey-eyed Moretta. "Riders? You will be scouts. You will range ahead, a mile, two miles. Look at everything caravan will pass. Anything suspicious, anything looks like trap, ride back and report to rest of caravan."

"We don't try to stop 'em?"

A gruff, dreadlocked horseman asked that and Razkar saw no fear in his eyes when he faced him. But Razkar expressed no annoyance: he appreciated such courage, even if it was far from battle... but he still shook his head.

"We are not Knights. Not here to wipe out enemy, unless enemy attack. We hired to protect, so we protect. Group is... ten horsemen? If ambush if strong, and you attack, and you lose, what then? Caravan lose quarter of sellswords and you not live to spend mizas."

The horseman nodded slowly, clearly unhappy to have his bloodlust reined in, but Razkar knew better than most that such a thing could hinder more than help.

"No. You group scout. You look, you make..." He paused, frantically rifling through stacks of mental notes until he found it. "... reconnaissance. Make sure way is clear. If ambush is made, will need you to be on horse, keep enemy busy, chase enemy down... from main group."

Razkar's arm swung around to the bulk of the sellswords, the cannon fodder, the armed and armoed meat shields that would be most useful.

"You will ride on flanks of convoy. Ten riders, either side. If you do not have horse, ride on wagon." He straightened a little, chin tilted a touch as his eyes swept across them. "If ambush comes... and it will probably come... remember you job is protect caravan. Not chase down bandits or whatever else. Leave that to horsemen. You defend wagons and passengers and pack donkeys, all things that have Mister Valini's goods. Clear?"

The crowd vibrated from the neck up in a sea of bobbing head and lips murmuring an indecipherable chorus, which all seemed to sound like "yes, sir". He noted the frustration in their faces, too, especially the younger ones. To older sellswords, like Sebastian, staying with the goods and away from danger, yeah, great idea. But Manny and the younger mercenaries, they exchanged glances, lips pursed... and Razkar sighed.

"Know many of you want to fight. But what we are paid to do is protect. Remember that. For rest-" He nodded to the archers, still, watchful men and women with worn hands and unblinking eyes "-stay on wagons. When ambush or attack comes, you job to fire and fire and keep firing. Not point trying to use sword or chase down. Best with bow? Good. Then stay behind main group and use."

Razkar let his words sink in for several ticks, eyes sweeping left and right, trying to ferret out some signs of doubt or derision. So far, so good... but just in case...

"Any questions?"

A hand was raised: the Akalak. "What about at night?"

Razkar nodded, appreciating an intelligent question to a pointless one.

"When caravan stops, sellswords will sleep in shifts. Half will sleep, half will watch. Five chimes of watching, then wake next group. Yes, yes, I know, will not get much sleep this journey, but being paid not to. Men who are awake, make sure can see other men around caravan, but not light torches." Razkar smiled wryly as he saw the confused looks... then it widened as the older heads among them nodded their understanding. "Bad for seeing at night, too much light. Makes you blind, and when torches go, so do your eyes. Better idea? Use ears. Any problem, any hint of attack, wake all group. Better to lose half-bell of sleep than try and fight bandit group with ten men."

The Akalak nodded his assent, lips curling up in thought as he ran over the idea. Ideally they'd have more men for this job but Larivaris wasn't overly-worried. He had over a century of experience behind him, for one, and for another... well, he was a sellsword.

If it got too hot for him, he had no problem running. Razkar doubted any of them did, and yet couldn't fault them for it, not in any deep and bitter way. What was the point of fighting for something you'd never see if you were dead? Who would die for mizas? Where was the honor, the nobility, the sheer common sense in such a thing?

"Anything else?"

Silence. It worried and heartened the Myrian at the same time. It either meant his words were completely understood and his authority trusted (doubtful), or the sellswords were being cagey and would wait to see how and when his plan fucked up before speaking (more likely).

Nothing you can do for now. And, you have to touch on the other issue...

The Myrian inhaled deeply, forcing the stoic mask not to slip, to stay in place, for he felt it jar and threaten to fall from his savage visage. How strange, that after all that, this was the part he was dreading.

"The female behind me-" he jerked his head backwards a little to Edreina "-is my apprentice. Her name is Edreina. When you cannot find me, you bring all questions to her. But she is... proxy," he stressed the word, because of its importance and, frankly, because he'd had to struggle damn hard to find the right one "-and I make decisions. She trains with me, learning to be warrior... and she is under my protection at all times."

Another pause, another silence, but this one was far colder. Probably because his gaze was only a touch away from a glare, almost challenging the hulking, scarred collection of testosterone-fueled private militarism to dispute the twin facts that a) Edreina was off-limits to all harm and b) that point was backed up by the fact that he would, could and would have no problem with choking any transgressors on their own cocks.

"There is no question to this?"

There wasn't. After a few more ticks Razkar turned to Albrecht, the fully-risen Syna now throwing into stark relief every tangled inch of that incredible beard. The caravan master watched with a terse, frowning face but Razkar was polite and commanding as ever.

"When will be ready to set out, Mister Albrecht?"

The human frowned a little deeper and looked out over the controlled chaos with one long turn of his head. Razkar had to admit that he found it amazing he found the answer he gave so quickly, but the human had been doing this for years, after all. The Myrian looked out across the field and saw nothing but anarchy, scores of humans all jostling and arguing and laboring vainly.

Albrecht saw sweet familiarity, and nodded.

"I'd say half a bell, Razkar."

No "Mister", Razkar noted, but overlooked it. Let the human have his passive-aggressive revenge, if he wished. It did not harm his hold over the sellswords. He nodded and turned back to his men.

"Get ready to move out. You know you groups and duties now. Get about it and not waste time." Just as the words left his mouth and the group began to break apart, Razkar's voice rang out again. "Oh! And one more thing. All have bedrolls, horses, weapons. When questions you have with rations, for you or horse, you speak to Mister Albrecht, since he has all feed and food. All others, everything, to me or to Edreina. Do not bother Mister Albrecht with such things..."

His voice was almost gracious and Albrecht looked stunned at the turnaround.

"He is busy enough. OK... get to it."

Now the group broke up properly, splitting into small knots or couples, even solitary individuals keeping their own council. Razkar noted that Moretta walked off with another pair who looked like they had some Drykas in their blood, also, and resolved to keep a close eye on them.

"That was... very good of you, Razkar."

He frowned and turned to the incredulous voice from behind him. Albrecht stood there, all erect and magnanimous, making far too much of this than he needed to. Razkar fought to keep the confusion on his face, rather than smug satisfaction.

"What was?"

"That whole thing about leaving me be." The human nodded, mouth curled inwards as if deep in thought. "Not many of your kind would do that, keep 'em off my back, I mean. Most times they badger me all the time-"

"They may still."

"I doubt it. Food and feed they have already, and they get their ration daily before the caravan moves off. Everything else, well... like you said... that's your business, not mine."

Razkar nodded respectfully, and Edreina had to bow her head so Albrecht couldn't see her smile. The Myrian was further proof to her that people so often underestimated something just because it was "primitive" or "barbarian".

But those two words did not automatically mean "stupid".

"We do good job together, Mister Albrecht. I will let you get to work."

"And where will you be, Razkar?"

Razkar waited until he had thrown his leg over Mrrko's back, settling into the saddle before answering. Edreina did the same thing... on her second attempt, but Jorven was patient with her.

"In the middle of the caravan. From there, I can see front and back and sides. Any trouble comes, I know it. I shall see you on the road, human. Apprentice? Come..."

Come she did, following close on his heels as they made their way to the flat, wide highway that was the Kabrin Road. Broad enough for three wagons to pass side by side, already there was a trickle of wagons and horsemen going to and fro up and down it. Razkar wondered at the chaos it would cause when Albrecht veered this huge, many-legged and uncoordinated monster that was the Valini Expedition onto the road...

But that's his probem, he thought with a touch of relief, not yours.

They stopped and faced the readying caravan, far enough so their words would be their own and none else's... but Razakr still kept his face stern with her.

"Like we said last night, Edri," he said, soft and reassuring voice clashing with the unforgiving mask of the tough teacher he showed to any who would be watching, "Most times, you will not leave my side, and so any question will come to me. But if I am not there... use common sense. And be safe. Think of safety for all, too. All caravan."

Razkar sighed, wishing he had more to tell her, but... the truth was, he had no great knowledge of wisdom as to being a leader. He'd led his fang back in Taloba, now he led a sellsword company... but passing on that knowledge? And in so few nights and days? It wasn't possible. The only thing that he could offer was the experience... which was exactly how he got his-

"Education, Edri." He said, and rubbed a hand over his chin to hide the sly smile he gave her. "That is what we'll be getting on this trip..."

by **Edreina** on September 2nd, 2013, 1:43 am

The longer Edreina stood there, watching, waiting, thinking, the more she realized what this reminded her of. Deepseekers. A pod infamous for doing the Suvan's dirty work in many ways, a pod with whom her sister, Zindr, now sailed. They escorted merchant vessels, killed those who had earned Laviku's disfavor, and threw amazing parties. For part of a season, Edreina had joined up with the pod on her way back to the Anchorage, had seen them kill an entire ship filled with pirates, the vultures of the sea, then party on the alcohol they had below deck. But, that was off topic. Edreina had seen the way that the Deepseekers organised themselves, breaking off into specialized groups - harpooners to cripple the ships, archers to attack from afar, and brawlers to swarm onto the deck - and attacking in the most efficient way possible as the pirates attempted to fall upon them in the night. They had even been smart enough to send defenseless Edreina sailing off with the children until the fighting was over.

My, how things were changing.

"Apprentice? Come...

It took nearly a tick for the command to register and then a tick longer for Edreina to convince Jorven to turn, to follow her as she followed Razkar. Once they were far enough to observe the entirety of the caravan - and speak without being overheard - they stopped, standing side by side, separated by painful inches with their horses on either side. The animals seem to have picked up on the nervous, excited energy of the caravan as even Jorven was shifting his weight continuously, as if anxious to be moving.

"Like we said last night, Edri... Most times, you will not leave my side, and so any question will come to me. But if I am not there... use common sense. And be safe. Think of safety for all, too. All caravan."

Despite her habitual urgings - the redhead feared her ability to smile after this trip - Edreina kept her face expressionless. She knew not how to face an expression, so instead she kept herself from having one all together as her mentor spoke, voice a parody. "Worry not, R-..." she frowned for an instant, realizing that she would likely petch up more than he did."I will treat them as my pod, master. What is best for them will be my only consideration." She wanted so badly to make a remark about the woman earlier, but she doubted Razkar had even noticed her. As long as it stayed that way, they would have no problems.

Not wanting to linger any longer, Edreina turned and let Navis crawl onto Jorven's rear before pulling herself up as well. After a second's thought, she turned in the saddle, somewhat awkwardly, and opened up the saddlebag containing her clothes. It took her only a tick to arrange the clothing and then place a content Navis in the saddlebag. The Svefra had to fight the urge to giggle as his white head peeped out of the flap, enormous ears pinned down by the saddlebag so that he gained a bug-eyed appearance. Only when she turned and sat properly in the saddle did Edreina consider how much trust she put in Jorven not to bolt while she finagled about.

"What will our job be, exactly?" Edreina asked quietly cocking her head to the side. Before he could give her the answer she knew was coming, Edreina felt the need to clarify. "I know that you are in charge of the others and I am your apprentice, but will we be riding alongside the caravan or a short distance away from it or will we be circling it?" Back on Jorven, Edreina felt a measure of her strength return. Something about a powerful beast between her legs- Well that could be taken the wrong way... Edreina felt, by being atop Jorven, a natural sense of superiority compared to those that milled about on two legs.

Eventually, the call to move was given and Edreina turned to Razkar, waiting for his cue before doing anything. Speaking of powerful beasts and the strength their presence gives... Edreina smiled to herself, looking down at the stitching in her saddle. If only she knew a Fratavan song to fit this moment... Humming might help soothe her soul... But they were not setting off across a landscape that was exactly song-inspiring.

by **Razkar** on September 2nd, 2013, 3:19 am

"It depends... but mostly? Among them."

Razkar turned her question over a few times before answering. Beside the caravan? Well, there wouldn't be room for that, especially in the hills and mountains. Behind it? Tempting, but it would take valuable ticks or chimes to get to the head if something happened there. Circling it? Razkar grimaced at the idea, though it did have a few merits.

But Mrrko won't last if you push him all day like that.

"We stay in middle, like I say to Albrecht, so we are protected for one thing, and for other thing, can see whole caravan."

He pointed to the whole motley procession that was, he could see, now gaining some coherence. Wagons were lining up, their oxen hitched and drivers in position. A hundred pack mules were roped together onto strings, their drivers mounting up or limbering their legs for a long walk. Finally, a couple of large carriages were near the center of it all, right behind where Albrecht rode, obviously for the paying passengers.

But Razkar noticed that all of it, every beast and man, now seemed to have some direction, some purpose... and that was the road. A tide of living flesh, bristling with hooves, feet, teeth, wheels and loaded down with tons of goods, was moving slowly, tentatively towards the road ahead of them. He pointed to where Albrecht was, bellowing orders across the vast horde from the center.

"See where human is? He is in the middle, because from there, he can see all. That is good idea... and where we shall ride from."

Razkar licked his lips and narrowed his eyes, sweeping his gaze around and picking out his sellswords at work. They were easy to pick out in their leather or chainmail armor, most of them on horseback on the edges of the forming caravan like cattle hands safeguarding a herd. The Myrian smiled thinly as he saw his orders were being followed, too.

The archers were perched on wagons, bows in hand, eyes already watchful and narrowed.

The main bulk of the sellswords were flanking the procession, and the horsemen...

"Female knows what she's doing."

At the very mention of the first word, Edreina colored, but followed Razkar's gaze to the Kabrin itself. He couldn't hear very well, but keen black eyes easily spotted Moretta leading her riders, pointing and shouting orders as the ten of them sealed off a section of it, broad enough for the start of the Valini Expedition to touch onto the Kabrin... then begin to slide onto the paved road like lava down a canyon.

The Myrian chuckled, watching for several chimes until the caravan was passing right in front of them. Moretta tossed him a nod as she and her people rode by at a clip, ranging ahead as he'd ordered.

"Useful female, I think... what?" He frowned at the dark expression on the Svefra's face, so very unlike what he was used to when he looked upon her. "Are you well?"

She seemed to shake it off and Razkar shrugged, inhaling deep as he giddy-up'd Mrrko into the river of moving commerce. Carried by the black gelding and Jorven, the Myrian and the Svefra ambled around wagons and sullen donkeys laden with sacks and boxes and crates lashed to their backs.

Flanked by over a score of mercenaries. Archers along the length of the main wagon train, scanning left and right... and Razkar was watching the watchers. He sighed as they took up position just in front of Albrecht's wagon.

"This is our main job, apprentice, right now." He said, gesturing around them as the caravan truly began its journey east, heading for the crossing at the Avitar River and the looming tangle of the Bronze Woods beyond it. "Watching. Observing. Keeping our eyes open and keen. Not just outside, for attackers... but inside." He turned to her, seeing the slight confusion he expected. "First job I did for Valini? Ambush on slave caravan. How we knew where and when to ambush? Because one of men inside caravan told us."

The two of them looked down the wagon train. Drivers, some sullen and already tired. Some whistling happily. Others just chewing on corn stalks or chatting with their partners. Guests in the carriage, doing the same, ladies gossiping... sellswords tight-lipped but sometimes talking, the very image of professionalism...

So many faces. So many intentions and agendas. Is one of them working against off? More than one? And if so, how will you know until it's too late?

Razkar smiled. "That is why we watch, Edreina."

They rode on, all of them, and after a few chimes Edreina frowned. Was that... humming? Within a tick she knew it was coming from Razkar. She just stared at the Myrian, looking ahead of them to the crossing, a lilting, jaunty tune vibrating from his closed mouth... and then whistled.

"Tune from Riverfall I heard." He said, smiling broadly at her, and for a beat, a blink, a moment for her to hold all day long, he was not master; he was her Raz. "Made for the road, Edri... made for journeys..."

by **Perplexity** on October 6th, 2013, 8:15 pm

Riddled with Rewards!

Razkar

Riding: Horse	+1 XP
Intimidation	+2 XP
Acting	+2 XP
Rhetoric	+1 XP
Organization	+1 XP
Land Navigation	+1 XP
Leadership	+2 XP

Lores :

Edreina

Singing	+1 XP
Organization	+1 XP
Observation	+2 XP
Riding: Horse	+3 XP
Philosophy	+1 XP
Acting	+2 XP

Lores :

Note :

Closed Wagon Wheel (Edreina)