The prospect of taking a walk with 'Uncle Polly,' as she used to affectionately call him in her youth, was a most welcome one, especially given the bizarre nature of the castle this morning. He began the conversation on a light note, asking about the quality of her sleep. She let out a sigh, nodding at his question.
"Though I'm remiss to admit it considering the events of last night, yes, I slept like a rock!"
Upon finishing his small talk, he moved into the crux of Sierra's concern, to which she listened intently. She smiled at his gentle concern when mentioning Lord Alterez, honoring the fact that Poliferous was probably not near as tender-hearted with the rest of the castle residents.
"Well, I'm sure as long as you're here, I won't have to worry about getting taken advantage of. Father always had such a black and white view on these sorts of things, but you were always better at helping discern the shades of grey!"
He would go on to discuss the nature of the mercenaries and to speculate upon the benefactor of the Rebel Queen. She merely nodded at his rationale, having nothing further to add.
The mention of Baron Vreakalks, however, was what almost shattered Sierra's impeccable composure. She had only encountered him once before, and it was a visit that she would rather have forgotten.
"Ah, yes, the Baron..." she grimaced, recalling that look of unsatisfiable lust in the Barons eyes, "I'm sure that our forces will be much better served by the presence of his troops..."
Admittedly, the mention of the Baron proceeded to infect her mind, negatively impacting her ability to process the crux of the rest of the conversation. It was when he posed a question directly to Sierra that she managed to snap out of her unintentional stupor.
"Ah yes, the mission. Truth be told, these investigations the queen has been sending me on have become successively more bloody with each mission. What was supposed to be a simple black market bust turned out to be an assassination of one of the top dealers in the trade..."
She needed to choose her next words carefully. Though it wasn't Poliferous's judgement she feared, Lord Alterez had plenty of eyes and ears hidden about the castle- especially that enigmatic mercenary Phoenix, who seemingly appeared out of thin air!
"It's not that I distrust the Queen's judgement," she began, using her eyes rather than her words to convey her concern to her old friend, "but I can't help but shake the feeling that I'm resorting to killing far more than I should. Perhaps there is an error in the manner in which I'm conducting my investigations? I hope that the Queen will be able to provide me with more counsel..."
The distress in her face would speak volumes more than that in her tone, and just as quickly as it had manifested, she had withdrawn it, adopting yet again her poised posture. Her smile also returned, as though it had simply vacated the premises for a brief moment.
"But, enough about that! How is Vincent faring with his lessons in swordplay? Him and Father can't be bothered to write, so you're the only connection I have to my family!" She paused, remembering another concern that had been bothering her, "...speaking of family, you haven't heard from Wolfe perchance, have you? I haven't spoken with my elder brother since his abrupt departure from his employment..."
Before she could get an answer, however, the elusive Synclair made himself present, looking rather harried. She knew very little about the man, save that the tragic loss of his wife had kept him in mourning for the better part of a year. At the mention of a report, Sierra became unnerved, yet compliant.
"You needn't be afraid to speak your mind around me, Sir Prunson," Sierra started, noticing his hesitance to present his report, "I can take leave should you wish to confer your report in private."
As this 'Gregora' appeared, Wolfe felt several negative sensations- deflation from the departure of his newfound wenches (both physically and emotionally,) uneasiness at the man's lack of understanding of the finer points of 'personal space,' and utter disgust at both the toothless visage and the gag-inducing stench which protruded from his unkempt person.
The man began by making small talk. No man approaches another man in a tavern to make small talk, unless of course he fancied the company of other men. Wolfe's worst fears were potentially realized when something large and firm pressed itself against his leg.
"Dear God," Wolfe thought, dread gripping his very soul,"PLEASE be a dagger..."
A quick glance would prove that Gregora indeed had drawn a dagger to Wolfe's exposed leg. Crisis averted.
"Well friend, that's quite an impressive blade you've brandished!" Wolfe responded, choosing not to pay his accusations any mind, "However, they say that the size of ones sidearm is inversely proportional to the size of his other 'prized weapon.' Judging by the impressive girth of your dagger, I'd imagine that you have several 'small issues' to work out, along with whatever animal droppings you've opted to bathe in..."
Wolfe could have spent the entirety of the day indulging in his new witless acquaintance, but the appearance of an older 'friend' of his shattered his charming first impression. It was none other than Sergeant Antorak, perhaps the sketchiest higher-up in all of the Purplexian Army. His appearance was enough to get Gregora off of Wolfe's back- a favor that he would not soon forget!
He simply smiled coaxingly as Antorak put on a wonderful facade of toughness. Wolfe knew better than to take him seriously, especially when he went on a self-righteous tirade as farcical as this. He often wondered just how strenuous it was to make Sergeant in the Purplexian Military, given all that Antorak was good for was hiding behind his soldiers.
Upon the conclusion of his speech, however, Wolfe's smirk transformed into a focused frown. His vision obscured by the ensuing chaos, he kicked his table onto its side, shielding him from thrown glass and blades. His aegis would only last so long, however, as one of the thugs he had spotted earlier lunged his way with a short blade drawn.
"Why must we resort to being so uncivilized!?" Wolfe chided, rolling out of the way of a lethal strike. He then followed up by nimbly withdrawing his right hand dagger, Fortune, deftly slaying his pursuer.
Almost as quick as it had started, he noticed the Lady Dream, the pirate girl, and a new face (presumably her Captain,) gathered at the hind end of the bar. He knew that it was going to be tough for the three of them to get away without some form of distraction...
"STOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!" Wolfe bellowed, his voice carrying over the commotion, "Antorak, surely even you are capable of a more civilized endeavor than this? Skirmishes like this are beneath even the likes of you! Cease this dreadful commotion and speak to me like a man!"
He wasn't sure how Antorak would react to his odd outburst, but his reaction was not integral to his plan. Unbeknownst to the Sergeant, the words 'dreadful commotion' were part of a series of key words developed by himself and the Lady Dream. 'Dreadful Commotion' was used when a situation dictated that one party should exit while the other party acts as bait. In this scenario, it was fairly obvious who was doing the baiting and who should be escaping...