Private Thunder

[Walter Thornley]

The weather was turning, into cloudy but relatively dry, and by the time the grey began to lighten in getting ready to meet the dawn, the clouds broke, letting the pale rays through the jagged fissure. They shone onto the cold moors, dry clumps of shrubbery and thin moss-grasses shivering under the autumn breeze.
Somewhere, the builders were congregating towards the alehouse - their work in an attempt to reinforce, repair and build was desperately short-handed. The Masons' Guild was coming, surely, soon... the stone-weavers would build the walls tall enough to withstand a siege, and surely assemble enough housing before the damp winter that came with sleet, ice-skin on the ground and frost flashes, to spare sickness.

Besides housing these men, one had to feed them, however. And the caravan headed towards Arpa was one of many holding provisions for the locals and the garrison both - was under the risk of getting swallowed by the amasssed undead.

Dorothea rode in on Eisenhut, the muted navy-blue drakehorse's clawed padding resembling a prowl on slow gate. Bowed her head to the Captain, and offered a missive to her before falling back into formation. Behind her, Lancel emerged on a dusty-pale broad-chested beast of his own, Bö. It was easy to tell the wayfaring expert and the field alchemist, not only by the color of their horses but by the contents of their field belts under the thick cloaks of grey wool. On the belts of both hung the cages of bronze holding glass, faint blue glimmers dancing at the core, too weak to give off any meaningful light.

"Captain Agatha, we are here to provide aid at lord Thornley's behest," Lancel informed, unnecessarily, before settling his drake in pace next to the stalking Eisenhut.

The missive was penned a little unevenly and with no embellishments, but nevertheless remained annoyingly legible.

Dorothea has reconnaissance among her talents besides trapwork, roundabout logistics and weather-telling that involve divination, move her wisely. Lancel is a field alchemist, expertise in stable solutions and is carrying enough to experiment as necessary, can act as healer in a pinch, keep him in the back at skirmishes, he's a good aim. The paladin, despite appearances, is unfinished work. May whatever gods you worship bless your passage. I will not be joining you, belatedly or otherwise.

Both of them inclined their heads to Aelius as they paced around him, only once, to take a really curious gander. Made one wonder which of the gossip they've heard and from whom, and when.
"Lord paladin, good morning!"

 

[Aelius of the Dawn]

Despite the few hours of sleep he'd gotten, Aelius was cursed to always wake up in time for his morning prayers - usually to greet the sunrise with them, though today he was up earlier to get them done before heading out. His prayers that morning were... a bit different than normal. Five minutes of sitting there just outside, face scrunched, trying to think of what to say, what not to say, why he shouldn't say things, what the Heavenly Father had already seen and heard, if he even cared... Ultimately, mental static. His prayers accomplished nothing.

In a huff, he abandoned his prayers for his duty, and armored up. Grabbed his glaive as he passed through the door, and...

Jingle

...paused. The lone talisman decorating his glaive dangled from the blood-red rope just beneath the blade. Aelius eyed the medallion - a golden symbol of the sunrise - and reached out to hold it still as he looked it over, brows slowly lowering. Then, it was torn from its adornment and tossed into the mud. He stormed past it, fuming quietly inside.

Much of the tension in his brow eased when he got to his steed's side. For just a few moments, he could forget the world and ready his horse, hand feed him a few treats and redo one of the braids that fell loose in its mane, then finally after giving it a good pet, pulled himself up onto its back and eased into the saddle.

"Alright Sunny, let's go."

...He was not a creative kid. And who was going to tell the sparkly-eyed god-child not to name his golden horse 'Sunny?' The answer was no one.

When the paladin arrived at the gathering, as always, he stuck out like a stray sunbeam peeking through the curtains hitting right in the eye as one was trying to sleep in. "Good morning!" Far too cheerful and bright. Gold and ivory armor catching the few rays of sunlight, smile shining, though today he didn't jingle quite as pleasantly as usual - the talismans usually decorating his hair were gone. He held his glaive in one hand and the reigns of his steed in the other. The horse was massive - had to be to accommodate him - and had a few scars of its own, though they were clearly healed well. It was still decorated blatantly in not just sun imagery, but of course the horse's caparison baring the Arshakan Empire's colors like teeth - in a show of fangs, a snide smile, or an earnest one... hard to say.

As Thornley's aid arrived, Aelius turned his smile to them. "Good morning!" They circled him, and he was sure to give each of them a very clear and conspicuous once-over, his smile tilting into a small smirk. He leaned forward and rested an arm on his steed's neck as if he were leaning over a bar. "And here I'd been scolded for checking someone out so early in the day. Looking for something in particular?" he offered a wink to the pair, who were certainly looking him over out of curiosity rather than interest. But, well, he was a simple creature. And, any distraction was a good distraction.

 

[Agatha]

They convened outside Arpa's tumbledown walls, in the shadow of some once-lively taphouse. Well-rested though hardly eager, the two handpicked Blackshield squads mingled as was tradition, commenting on the weather -bleak as Hel- and catching up on recent goings-on, the welcoming party they had enjoyed the first among many topics to be discussed.

Specialists drawn from several different cohorts. Pyrotechs, geomancers, scouts and sharpshooters. Boar riders.

Movers and shakers. Not so much a combat patrol as a patrol capable of fighting its way out of combat. The veterans were an insurance policy, there in case the sortee went to Hel in a handbasket. The day is young, thought the Captain, and this may well take a few. At least the mixed bunch tagging along appeared to know what they were about. Aelius. Walter's coterie. Praise be, he saw the Light! There last meeting had been a tad tense, to say the least.

Slipping the letter into a saddlebag, Agatha regarded the newcomers, a small smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

'Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lancel, and to see you again, Dorothea.' The beasts they rode were somewhat exotic, insofar as local customs went. So were the boars - a Company staple, as rare in the South as it was here.

Glancing around, Agatha nodded to her bodyguard, who rounded up the rest with a shrill whistle.

'Mount up!' The Captain ordered the gossipmongers. 'It's nigh a day's ride to where the incursion has been sighted, so we'd best be making tracks.' A pause as she let the weight of what they were about to do settle in. 'Redbad and Grey will be leading the advance. Jules, Offal, you two lucky devils get to eat our dust.' A few snickers and grins, enough to take stock of.

'Saer Aelius,' she turned Big Hoof about, signalling to the outriders with her offhand, 'ride with me, if you will.'

 

[Walter Thornley]

The look spared to Agatha was respectful, followed by a nod, muttered 'pleasureismine's and falling behind obediently. The drakes could carry them as far as necessary, being slower than horses at full tilt, but far more maneuverable and more than matching stamina. Mattered the world off-road. The boars clearly intrigued Dorothea. Lancel seemed to dislike the odor, but kept his face in check. Schooled. As polite as it was going to make. Two pairs of sharp, clever eyes, following moves and capturing details - a staple of their profession.

They fell in line quickly after the small detour to Aelius.
Dorothea smiled in a way some wild cats snarled - mostly upper row of teeth bared, corners of the mouth seeming to pull in rather than outward. As far from playful as one got, the way the woman held herself at work was a stark contrast to a slightly lost presentation in the drinking hall.
"Yah," she huff-hissed a chuckle. "Lost a bet, neverthemind, don't let me keep you."

She slapped the neck of her drake as she turned it, and trinkets clacked in its tightly coiled coarse mane. Beads, talismans of some kind, evenly spaced in order not to jingle, the metal ones dimmed to reflect less light - but there.
Both Huntsmen would remain in callout distance, relaxed just enough for standby. Clearly not their first nor tenth foray. Sometimes, they spent a moment or two taking in the others in the squad, equipment, bearing, those sorts of things. Didn't strike much conversation, however.