((OOC is here, click.))

Sooo... What sweet way the wind blew in, from the horizon's direction onto the ship. Not really a battling vessel: it was large, coated in an earthy tone over the iroko wood structure. Several oarsmen worked on an underground floor of the craft, and only their tools were seen stretching out of the sides. Usually the four sails would prove enough for propelling, but what seemed like a kind breeze to the mercenaries aboard was a disaster for the actual soldiers manning the vehicle.

On deck, at the front was the captain, along with a few men maintaining course and organizing provisions. There were several rooms atop, but the beauty of it was below deck: four stories, out of which only the first one down housed the sellswords. Most were forced to be atop to defend against pirate ships on the way to Sayn Isle. The floor had been swept recently, and blood stains from a recent assault had already adorned the boards, particulary those near the edges.

"About fifteen to Sayn Isle, captain!" Yelled a sailor on the lookout, atop a species of wooden tower.

Not a reply back, perhaps the mercenaries too, would go unthanked; it didn't matter so long as they got their pay. Most had little clue as to the others' pay, which was fortunate for Nath's kingdom - the less they knew, the less they'd get paid. On one of the rooms on deck was a recovering hired soldier. Jessica Ivot, a tactician that dwelled in the fields of water magic. The woman just out of her teens, was healing off a minor wound from an arrow shot.

For a room, it was awfully small. But it held the basic needs in it, -and for times like these- it was perfect. A simple desk; a hard, tiny bed; two jars of ink, some feathers to write with (which she'd forgotten previously) and scrolls to write plans in. Jessica sat atop the old, though clean mattress. Holding a right hand to the opposite arm's shoulder, it was here her tactical prowess had failed.

"Ngh! Hellish archer, I didn't even see him."

She groaned out loud, the rooms above deck were too small to give a wrong idea, though some sailors did chuckle at the sound.

"Jessica? Perhaps you should leave the wound alone and just bandage i--"

A man's voice came in from the outside, likely close to the door. He sounded concerned and humble. But quickly interrupted with a prompt know-it-all reply.

"I know what I'm doing, Alfonse, thank y-- Gah--"

Jessica broke the yell by biting on her lower lip. Alfonse Bart, a companion of herself and quite a fatherly figure, had always been concerned for the woman's health, and viewed her as a daughter, albeit a bratty and sometimes proud one. The door squeaked after being opened, the tactician left the room with an awkward grin in her face, as if having defeated an enemy.

"So! How's bandage white look on me?"

The question was followed by a show of this mark - both white sleeves were pulled up, the left one revealing a bandage damped with opaque red frontwards.

"It looks very nice, Jessica. We should get ready for arrival now, I've fed 'Alan' and drawn the caravan from the third basement."

It was all so true, they'd be arriving to start their mission in about ten minutes now. 'To colonize Sayn Isle with Nath's religion and have it become a mirror image of the western continent.' It all sounded so far fetched, but their job was not to question: it was to reap. With a loud thud, the ship had arrived. Several soldiers slid down on ropes to the docks, cutting the ropes from behind and using said tools to tie the vessel.

"They're actually working, what a sight to behold!"

Jessica was loud with that cruel remark, it was her belief the soldiers were to blame for the minor wound. Had they followed the overspecific plan properly, they'd have come out of it unscathed; at least their provisions did, and there weren't any casualties. The few horses were brought to land on a huge wooden bridge, going from the transport to another wooden structure, but a land one at least. So far there didn't seem to be people close, just some palm trees, shacks and lots, lots of sand.

"I'll be taking 'Alan' now, get on the cabin."

Usually, the mage went comfortably inside the caravan, but for the time being, Nath's soldiers weren't trustworthy and traveling in the back with them may not be too convenient. Whilst Jessica acknowledged that, it was their job to strategize and transport respectively. This was just more time to plan their attack; word of their assault had reached the island, and chances were they'd be in for an engagement at shore.

"It's alright, I'll just go in the back, thanks!"

With that, she stepped inside the caravan: it was open at the back and usually a leather cover was the only thing to protect that. Whereas the rest was coated in iron sheets for an unknown reasons - bandits are attracted more to secure vehicles...

"So be it, kid. Don't step out complaining if they're vulgar."

From the cabin, with the door open, Alfonse yelled out to the mercenaries arriving to the docks.

"Hey! Any of you without a horse, hop on the caravan!"

Boat rides, or water in general, were never really Vincent's thing. The entire trip was more of a dreadful adventure, but soon they would be reaching land. Vincent ran a hand along the mane of Traziel, his stallion, as he pondered the reasons of him even accepting this job. He was a wanderer, not a mercenary for hire. While the pay was the least appealing aspect, Vincent's mind began to branch out to the possibilities of knowledge he may find on the island. To some, their job was simply to purge the land and make it the King's, but Vincent questioned the magics he may come across; that is if there were any he had not already come across. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs as the ship had come to what seemed like a halt.

Vincent and his steed were on a lower deck where supplies was held. It seemed to be the most peaceful of places to reside due to the lack of commotion down there. It was obvious they had arrived when his once quiet haven began to bustle with people gathering their things and heading off a ramp to the sandy shores. Vincent mounted upon Traziel and slowly trotted down to the sands. His eyes carefully gaze at the tropical scenery with great interest. A group of mercenaries he had formerly came across seemed to be gathering, and without specific orders he decided to linger amongst them. "Hey! Any of you without a horse, hop on the caravan!" yelled a very stout man. The call was not meant for Vincent, but he headed towards the caravan regardless. During his travels he had come across a few of them and found it to be beneficial in terms of enlightening himself. Travelers often had lore and wits of whereabouts.

Lucard De'Monte. Mage. Adventurer. Mercenary...

He leaned over the safety railing on the top deck of the ship and retched up his lunch, the bile falling to the rolling blue ocean below. He groaned and held his stomach, his face a sickly green color. He heard yelling from "The Crows Nest" and turned to the bow of the ship. There, ahead, he could make out the details of the dock. Too long had he been on this boat, and he wasn't one for sailing.

A laughing sailer, shirtless, tan, and hairy walked by and slapped Luke on the back, obviously finding joy in his ocean sickness. At the start of the journey the same sailor told him that he'd find his "Sea Legs" in no time.

Well the journey had not been kind, and Luke had spent most of it leaning over the side of this rail. Other mercenaries were aboard the ship, though he hadn't had much social time with them other than when 'dinner' was served.

Bells rang as the ship pulled into port. Luke sighed with relief, thanking the Gods that the trip was over, and picked up what few belongings he had brought up with him to the ships topmost deck. He carried them off, being the first off the ship, and stepped onto the wood of the dock.

Luke turned as he heard the yell. The shout came from a caravan that was covered with sheets of iron. Seeing as how he didn't have a horse, he decided to climb onboard.

Luke stepped through the open back and into the caravan, then stopped when he saw a woman in there with him. He had seen her on the boat, but had never really introduced himself. He cleared his throat to get her attention, then held out a hand to her. "Hello.. I'm, um, Lucard De'Monte, but you can just call me Luke."

((Sorry about the short post, I'll make sure to make longer ones in the future. I'm tired and can't get my creative juices flowing))

Eyes parted open, deep earthen green hues scanning the ocean. The strange woman seemed to glow a radiant honey color under the sun's glare. Her body was hunched over the edge of the deck, long dark braids hanging over her back with white beads at their ends, clacking together with each breeze.

Over the sea she watched, mind dancing over different thoughts, remembering and thinking ahead. What did it all mean? Pandora's thoughts were scattered, and were probably going to stay that way for a very long time. But overall, she had enough collection to herself that she could create something of another persona, like an autopilot of her life. Another ego that controlled her while the real her sank deep and hid from the world. Her shield from the world was something of an alter ego named Jinx.


Jinx, the killer. The thief. The mercenary.
Pandora, the kind. The lover. The mother.



The woman leaned back at the sound of a voice, loudly calling back about a caravan. Almost mindlessly, Jinx turned, eyes dull as she walked softly across the deck. She was silent, the boots upon her feet being of a sturdy rough material and of a white color, with two-inch thick heels. Climbing off the ship, she started for the caravan, giving only the ground and the horizon her eyes' attention.

Jinx raised her hand, drawing two fingers over the blue tattooed lines that fell over her right eye, like an old habit to remember.

Then, she stepped inside, crawling nimbly into the open back of the caravan. Once inside, she took a seat next to another man and stared ahead, just barely catching the end of his introduction.

"Jinx." She gave a solemn nod, looking about, before sitting her right hand between her knees, the small blue charm resting upon the white fabric with a strange oily look to it.

"You can call me Jinx."

Arthur Ranghin, Battle-Mage, had been in his room reading Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar' when they got to the dock. "Well, old Arty, looks like it's time to earn your pay." he was in the habit of talking to himself as he never really had any friends. He got up and walked to the top deck, where they were just unloading his black-flecked white stallion, which he would be riding.

He climbed down in short order despite his elaborate robes and his rather unusual pointed hat. He immediately walked over to the stallion and pet it, "How was the ride, Gus?" 'Gus' was a nickname, short for Augustus. He made a general movement with his head, "Well I've never really ridden ships either so I didn't know you'd get seasick, I'm sorry, old boy." Gus brayed, "Thanks for forgiving me, Gus. Now let's ride!" he hopped up onto Gus' back and tapped his side with his heel, he preffered to ride bareback as it was more comfortable for the horse, whom he loved like a brother and could understand almost perfectly.

He heard someone saying something about horses and the caravan, "Well, Gus, looks like we're following the train." Gus made a sound like a laugh, "Really, Gus, you should be more concerned, it can get boring as you well know, we've been on the tail end of plenty of 'em." He brayed again, "Alright, then let's mix it up a bit and go in the front." Gus made a nod-like movement and went forward. "I wonder who's in that one, or if it's just supplies?" he said, to Gus and himself, "Oi! Who be in this wagon?" he asked loudly.

Jessica's idle hand movemnts were interrupted by the arrival of a companion. A mage, he had a relieved apperance to himself, as if just recovered from disease. She hesitated for a moment to take his hand, having heard the man's name. Lucard De'Monte: the tactician had either heard the name or seen that face, perhaps he too, was battling during the pirate assault on the way.

"Jessica Ivot. Pleased to meet you."

Well, that wasn't so awkward. Seems friendly enough, at least, I wonder if we'll leave with just two-- Her question had been answered before asking, as Alfonse's yelling had attracted a third member, introduced as 'Jinx.' Up until that moment, the person had gone unnoticed, but she'd likely heard the introduction.

"What say you we start planning? From what I've heard, we'll raid a close village from initial supplies. I don't know much of the layout but if we take--"

Yet another pause, this time the abrupt scream of an experienced, all-around fighter. He resembled a walking weapon store, what with both a staff and a bastard sword on him. At least I won't be on my own here, that's good.

"Uh, we. We be here!"

She spoke from the corner of the left bench, it was always by preference that seat. It was comfortable, as the others, but far from carriage's opening, and the thick barrier to lean on was convenient.

"The man riding the caravan is at the front... Ask him if you can attach your own horse, if you like."

Speaking of said caravan rider, a small multitude had accumulated outside, Nath's army organized in their own vehicles and parties. On the closest bunch, Alfonse had taken attention to a fellow rider: an opaque red cloak, it seemed washed in blood. If that person was a mage, he seemed experienced in darker matters... Intimidated, though it was a polite thing to offer him company.

"Y-You. Traveler... Yes, the one on the horse? Would you like to come with us? It's not a good idea to travel alone-- Not that you couldn't, I'm sure-- What I mean is... Yes, that, w-what I asked before."

Alfonse shivered, in unison with snickering from the back. That kid better have a good plan... These mercenaries are not people to be interacting with, and we've been with many before.

They'd likely be departing soon; the wagon could hold more people, and the cabin had room for another. But their pay wouldn't come from preparing - it would come from killing. Their first instructions were given by a tall man in grey, torn armor.

"Maggots! You ride with me, leave the sellswords alone! And that bunch over there!"

The likely war veteran screamed at the top of his lungs, the thick black beard shone lightly with the morning sun. It added a more mystical appearance, that is, if one could tolerate the spit coming out.

"Hired worms! You'll go north to Sannas! I'll give you some men to go along.

With avid pointing, a group of five was alloted to Alfonse's wagon. They all ran around and hopped in the back, dodging the man outside. All of them male, and rather vulgar judging from the perverted grin on their faces. The clang metal produced made silence grow in their expressions. Solemn, as in a king's funeral, they turned to the outside: there he was, Karl Nath, a general the Holy King had named after the land. And sadly, their boss.

"If I hear the slightest whisper that you've been wooing ladies... I'll make you eat your eyes."

Karl chuckled, and gave a wink at Jinx after leaning in. With another hearty laughter, the bipolar leader walked off, garnering blank stares from the rest of the men. 'Not again' was the likely universal thought, as the king's favorite soldier had a reputation for being sleazy.

Watching the approaching island shores, Lhomas stood, arms crossed, aboard the royal vessel. Beneath his feet in the lowest deck of the ship, many soldiers and sailors pulled heavy oars back-and-forth. Lhomas thought he could feel the heave of human power against the unforgiving sea. With the crew down below, the top deck was sparsely manned. If it weren't for the pathetic winds today, there'd be a great busle on top-side. Instead there were just the mercenaries, the passengers, shifting their feet and being useless. Lhomas, himself, was eager to get on that big, long island before him and get to work.

Finally, the great vessel slowed down to a rocking, back-and-forth motion made by the sea waves. They had stopped at a ship's docking port; a lonely, wooden structure on the shore. Crew mates busily climb topside and put a large boarding bridge down to the docks for the now ever- crowding merceneries, soldiers and other unloaders. Lhomas made his way down through the unloading cargo and horses to the edge of structure, then stepped his boot into the sand. Glad to be back on dry land, Lhomas took his time to readjust to steady ground beneath him while he waited for orders.

Sure enough, a caravan was set up a whiles ahead of where he stretched his legs. He saw a man call out from that vehicle, offering the riding space to horseless passengers, and then saw several characters jog up there and get in. Not over-joyous to go on another long ride, Lhomas wearily rubbed his forehead and reluctently made his way there.

Before now, Lhomas had only glanced on occasion at the other passangers, not taking a good look at them. He'd noticed earlier how some passangers weren't equiped to be merceneries or soldiers, and assumed they were experts or navigators or sailors. Now, Lhomas looked into the hooded wagon and met looks with them directly. These couldn't be the other hired warriors, could they?

Lhomas climbed into and found an open seat beside a soldier, getting as comfortable as he could in the tight space. His shoulder-armor rubbed against the leather wagon-cover and made a distinct noise whenever he moved his arm. Getting comfortable, he took the time to consider the odd characters sitting on the seats beside him. This wasn't a royal colony quite yet, he knew, so they weren't settlers. They weren't soldiers or proffesional, company or veteran merceneries; not equiped for the life he had lead, Lhomas figured, or any proper military man for that matter.

This experienced sellsword now knew what he'd gotten into. These barely suitable combatents were to be his brothers-in-arms. He hated the idea of using greenhorns on such an obviously uphill campeign. To take control of this island, with the new warriors infront to take the arrow-shots from defending natives. 'We've all got to start somewhere, then.' Lhomas thought, 'maybe by the end of this they will earn a plot of land, and live the rest of their lives as one-eyed pig farmers.' He shot the merceneries an unhappy 'smile' and dreaded both having to deal with greenhorn glory-seekers and seeing their barely-armored bodies fall to spears and arrows infront of him.

Luke smiled as Jessica shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you as we-"

He was interrupted as a woman entered. He turned to face her, sitting on the right bench as he did so. He nodded toward her as she stated her name. He again introduced himself. "Hello. My name is Lucard De'Monte, but you can just call me Luke." He flashed her a quick smile, then reached within his robe to pull out a small spellbook.

Luke had not yet created a staff of his own. His method of spell-casting consisted of mumblings, 'finger wiggling', and emotional outbursts. Luke has not yet been allowed to create a staff because of these outbursts.

His magical ability is great, great enough so that his peers both fear and admire him. But his emotional control greatly affects his magics. During times of extreme anger or other emotion, his magics have been known to affect the areas around him or simply go off on their own, reflecting on his emotions.

This was first seen when Luke was merely a teenager, seventeen to be exact. His instructor at the time was a very cruel man, but also a very efficient teacher. His constant anger and threats built up on Luke, which resulted in Luke blowing up on him. Luke yelled and yelled at him, his fury rising, until his anger became so great that his eyes turned into balls of fire. The fire, unknown to Luke, flared out and grew hotter as his anger rose. By the time he finally calmed down his instructor was looking at him in horror. Luke was sent away to find another instructor willing to teach him.

Luke snapped out of his memories and returned to reality. He began reading and memorizing spells from the small leather book, his mind already containing the knowledge, but it never hurt to go over them again. From basic to advanced spells, Luke memorized them all. His eyes flew over the pages, his reading speed the fastest he had ever seen.

He barely noticed when the suggestion to tie up someones horse to the caravan had been said...

Jinx raised her eyes for a quick look about the inside of the caravan. The look was not a nervous nor the fleeting glance of a child. Instead it was just a solemn stir of sights to create recognition of each character here. Mostly men, she thought distastefully. But then again, she didn't like women either. Jinx didn't really like people, although she was easy to satisfy and hard to agitate.

And bringing her eyes back to her usual blank stare, she caught the faintest look of a man winking. No, not at her. She twisted her eyes without moving her body to even force a breath. And she saw him, a softer look of distrust. In less than seconds, the look was drawn back to her lap, to her limber caramel-colored fingers sprawled contrastingly over her white shorts. Her nails were shiny, almost wet looking. And along her right wrist, where her charm was, was a small wet path where a drop of water had trickled loosely. But from where?

Jinx took a long breath, and turning it into a nostalgic sigh. It was perhaps the only thing about her that gave off the air of longing. The way she breathed as though she didn't want too. As though she wished every breath were her last.

Turning her head, she was able to see yet another enter. How many would this caravan hold? It was getting crowded, and she didn't like big crowds. She was a woman born and raised in a smaller place, where things were always calm and easy to maintain. Big crowds tended to have conflict, and become hectic. And Jinx didn't like hectic.

Once the man, from the corner of her eye, disappeared, she let her thoughts creep into play, as though she had even refrained from pure thinking when others were around. Much was the way of putting life on cruise control.

I'll pluck his eye out and no one will be able to tell if he winks at them ever again.

Turning her head up, she stared at the ceiling then. The crowd was getting on her now. The amount of people. It was much easier to dismiss how many there were when they were on a larger space, such as a boat with multiple levels. Ah, at least they wouldn't be on here long. They'd go and do their jobs, and then they'd have plenty of space.
Then she turned her eyes to the newest member, if he was. Maybe she had lost count of the members by now.

The new one, Luke, seemed to be a spell-caster. She didn't really consider herself a Mage because her abilities only really found interest in one major area. And that was the manipulation and raw creation of water. But that itself was a raw ability. She had never had anyone to teach her, so she had trouble controlling it. Usually she relied on her inner emotions, drawing them out like carefully picked threads to invoke a certain type of magic.
But regardless, she looked away yet again.

Braids slipped over her shoulder, falling long enough so that the white beads of the few renegade braids softly brushed against her stomach, one or two clanking her silver naval-piercing when she breathed.

"Shall we continue planning now, or will we wait to see if any others want to introduce themselves?" Jinx said, her voice portraying strength and yet some other factor that was gentle, but more-so enigmatic.

*Groan*

The increase in shouting and general bustle from the deck woke Randolf Campbell, boxing champion of Abroath and practitioner of the Way of the Storm Hand, from an inebriated slumber. One crusted eye cracked open and watched the people running back and forth. If he knew more about boats, he might surmise that something was happening, but as a man perfectly comfortable with his feet planted on stone a mile about the sea's surface, he didn't. Aching muscles managed to place his feet beneath him, and legs that felt like they'd been through a lot while he was asleep put him upright. Staggering a bit, he made his way to a waterbarrel and dunked his head, which didn't really make him feel any better but did help the stale-booze smell.

Dear gods in heaven, what's in this grog?

Some serious concentration allowed him to make out what the shouts were saying. Land. That meant work. Bugger, this wasn't going to be pleasent, working while hung over. He shook the water from his crazed mane of hair, raked his fingers through it a few times, and called it good. Walking carefully, he made his way to the deck just in time to catch the orders being shouted back and forth. North, then, to whatever kind of town Sannas was. He continued his slow, deliberate shuffle to the wagon the rest of the North-bound group was clustered around and pulled himself gingerly aboard. Once seated, he stowed his pack behind him and began systematically working the kinks out of his joints while he looked over the other mercenaries.

His accent was thick, and difficult to understand. "So this be the ragtag crew we got assembled, aye? I 'ope yeh lot are better in a dust-up then yeh look, or they'll be puttin' me to work diggin' yeh graves 'fore long." With a final crackle from his shoulder, he deftly rolled a pinch of tobacco, tamped it down in the bowl of a rather homey briar pipe, and lit it from a bit of phantom flame called up at the snap of his fingers. A long, hard drag helped his hangover far more than the dunking had, and went a good ways towards clearing his head. "Ser'usly, a gud brawl and 'alf you lot look like you'd be pickin' yer noses out of yer pints and carryin' yer ears 'ome in yer pockets. Course, I suppose yeh could just be gud enough that yeh never picked up the scars an' bruises that go with most fights. That'd be a welcome suprise." He wrenched his neck around at an uncomfortable-looking angle and was rewarded by a popping sound like ice cracking in the dead of winter. "Name's Randolf Campbell, and I be the meanest sonoffabitch yeh likely ta meet."

Vincent's gaze was analytical from the start. After he had finished daydreaming on the horizon, he had begun to take notice of every figure that approached the caravan. The magical energies that flowed from the previous mage was easily felt in the air. The black runes along Vincent's body would itch as they glowed slightly in response; the reaction hidden underneath his clothing. The next to enter his visage caught much interest from onlooking merchants, as well as from himself. Though female mercenaries were uncommon, when they were present the populous tended to offer themselves at her feet. Of course, female mercenaries were also the most dangerous, and from the looks of things this one was no different.

Attention soon drifted to another on horseback. A slight smirk of approval was given at the sight of his steed, as questions of who was faster literally raced through a scene in his mind. Unfortunately this minor daydream was abruptly caught short by the rider's yell. A slow shake of the head signified his dismay, but stopped as Traziel shifted his weight slightly. Vincent took notice and very quickly realized the cause. A very burly and rugged figure approached the caravan. Without question Vincent considered this man to be of possibly high capabilities. Luckily he was on their "side" in this campaign.

"Y-You. Traveler... Yes, the one on the horse? Would you like to come with us? It's not a good idea to travel alone-- Not that you couldn't, I'm sure-- What I mean is... Yes, that, w-what I asked before." The deep red in his eyes seemed to flick as Vincent turned his head to face Alfonse. After taking an unnoticeable short moment to look the man over, it seemed as if he would be the one driving the caravan. Traziel would trot up beside the front of the caravan.
"Your offer is very plausible. I'd happily oblige to be of your company." Vincent took notice of the man's stumbling of words and gave a somewhat forced smirk of assurance that he wasn't here to use him in some ritual.

As Vincent's decision to accompany the caravan had been made, 5 other mercenaries would soon scamper over to join. It was then that Vincent began to question the capacity of the vehicle, but due to its armored appearance he assumed everything would move fluidly. Slow, yet fluidly. While others gave blank stares, Vincent delivered a stern glare of disapproval. The conduct was expected, nonetheless. "The name is Vincent. Battle Mage and resident of Rweng." The words were directed at Alfonse, despite Vincent continuing his glare amongst the band of sellswords.

After the awkward, mutual stare between herself and a new companion, yet another one joined the fray. A man with a very odd accent, not to mention quite the tongue. They were a mismatched group at best, and the two latest additions didn't seem too interested in teamwork, or at least the first, as he didn't even say his name.

"I suppose corpses have no business telling their names, huh?"

Jessica spoke in reply to the silent member with the hypocrite smile.

"You, on the other hand, are nice to meet, Randolf. My name is Jessica, and before this little meeting, we were planning the first assault...

One of the soldiers got up and shut the leather cover on the back, not before signaling the man outside to go to the front. The tactician pulled out a scroll and gently drew out a jar of ink, being careful not to brush against the people next to her.

"Before you start, woman. I've been here before with General Nath... S'not crowded, and last time they just had archers. We'll need to get close."

'Woman', How sexist. I thought mercenaries were the vulgar ones, and just what is that smell of liquor?

She didn't dare ask out loud who had drunk before stepping aboard, but her guts pointed at the soldiers either way.

"In such a case, the distance should get cut; if the ground is sandy, and the place isn't too full, chances are there won't be cover. We'll rely on the caravan for protection, we shouldn't stay in formation - if they're scouts, they'll speak of our prowess to a superior, no doubt. Just basic strategy, let's pair up a magic user with a swordsman. Sayn shouldn't have a military, or at least, one that we're aware of... Any questions?"

None of them had the apperance of a tactician, but it'd be embarassing to see another one; that was the only reason she attached that last question. With her left arm extending up, the wall was hit a few times, much to Alfonse's dismay.

"Yes, yes! We're leaving now! Feet inside the caravan!--"

Alfonse turned to the rider, who'd answered back now. He'd accepted the offer to join the group, and even smiled, if only to ease his nerves. Then his name: a common act of politeness, as those who chose not to give it were considered arrogant and unwilling to 'speak to a dead man.'

"I'm Alfonse, the carriage's rider and usually that demon child's guardian-- Never mind my rambling. Let us ride!

Outside, the soldiers had marched off with their respective leader, Karl's troops taking an eastern gallop and going by the opposite side of a thin river. Actually, he only chose that path for himself to keep an eye on the mercenary group sent to Sannas...

A series of thuds indicated the stone wheels rolling along the docks, then grabbing onto sand as the movement smoothened. Having mentioned the basics, Jessica proceeded to bend downwards and lay the scroll on the floor, holding the jar up with her teeth. Boy, I hope Alfonse doesn't ride over a stone... I'll have a black face for a month, but it's so tight in here, tight... Like these bandages, they're itchy too. After the glance at her left shoulder, she noticed the sleeve was covering it again, then, a sketch of the current path was begun.

"About fifteen to Sayn Isle, captain!" yelled a sailor from the Crow's Nest. "Land..." thought the young Thriv Tok, eyes popping open at the sudden increase in activity on the deck. Sailors running this way and that, yelling constantly told him that "about fifteen" was very close, and that it would soon be time to work. "Blood will run today." he surmised, pushing himself silently up from the hard wooden bed he had made out of the deck. Quickly checking to make sure his gear was ready and still there, Thriv shrugged his pack on his cloaked shoulders, threw up his hood, and began to make his way toward the fore of the ship, and on toward the sandy beachs of his new battlegrounds.

A multitude of cracks, ones made from a neck being cracked, not broken, noted Thriv, coming from a large, burley man, another merc, in heavily armored wagon met him as he stepped onto the docks. Though he was uncertain as to whether or not he would like to be acquianted with such a person, the wagon seemed to be well protected and, though he was unpleasant, the man did seem a formidable warrior. As such was the case he began toward the wagon, hoping it would still have some room inside for him, he hated sitting on the roof. Wiping the frown from his face and pasting on a fake smile, he approached the caravan, noting the leaving soldier, and called inside "If you don't mind, can I put my gear in here? If your seats are already full, I would gladly sit on the roof!"

"I wonder where the comma-" Arthur was cut short by a command from behind to go north. "I guess that's where." he mumbled to Gus. "Alright, seeing as I'm one of them 'sellswords' looks like that's where I'm going." He decided he'd better aquaint himself with his commander. He rode over to what looked like the command wagon,he got close enough to knock on the iron side and said somewhat loudly, "Hey, if this be the command wagon then I ask you this: who's commanding this raggedy band of mercs?" Gus brayed in what was probably a laugh, "Now Gus, show some respect." he said to his stallion.

Lhomas humored at what the short woman meant by 'corpses needing no names.' Considering her appearence and mannerisms, he decided that the woman was a foreigner to Lhomas' homeland of Nath, and that the comment was some foreign, colloquial phrase or insult. Lhomas paid no more attention and tried to forget he'd heard it in the first place. Though now he expected more odd speech from the other merceneries, who he now noted to not looking like Nathian natives, either.

Again irritating Lhomas, the little woman confidently declared her tactical ideas in responce to a soldier's concerns about the island's archers being a main threat: "In such a case, the distance should get cut; if the ground is sandy, and the place isn't too full, chances are there won't be cover. We'll rely on the caravan for protection, we shouldn't stay in formation - if they're scouts, they'll speak of our prowess to a superior, no doubt. Just basic strategy, let's pair up a magic user with a swordsman. Sayn shouldn't have a military, or at least, one that we're aware of... Any questions?"
'Who put you in charge?' crossed Lhomas' mind. He didn't say that. Instead, leaning foreward and speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear, "Here's a question, rookie." starting with a very condescending tone, "What makes you think that this metal box will keep us safe?" His deep voice was held with a steady level of aggression, and appropriatly so, he spoke again before anyone could answer, "Well, it won't. You hear those beasts pulling our deathtrap around? The arrows won't kill us, they'll kill those not-so-heavily armored horses. Then we'll be sitting ducks here. If they are smart warriors, they will crowd around our only exit and butcher us as we try to exit." He didn't stop to let anyone else talk, "Even if they don't know what they're doing, defending their own homeland, we'll still have dead horses. Who wants to pull the wagon around?"
"No" he started to finish up, with a more relaxed tone of voice now, "what we are going to do, is we'll pull this big metal cart in a circle until the horses are behind it from where the archers are shooting, then wait for the cavalry to rush the enemy. That's right, we're going to let the soldiers attack first. In any encounter. We're merceneries, not heroes. We came here to make money and live, not die for our country. If you disagree, just remember you're best use to me is a walking shield." Lhomas leaned back, satisfied he'd gotten his points across.

Sevick watched the waves hitting the side of the ship. this was the largest ship he had even been on has his home island only had small fishing and trade ships. Sevick talked to few on the ship as they all seemed to unwashed heathens. He heard the call of the lookout and welcomed the soon coming of land.

Sevick exited the ship and walked toward the caravan that was forming. He talked to no one as he fell in step behind one of the wagons. He didn't care about the others at the moment he only cared about bringing honor back to the Osthelm name as his father had commited the worst sin of his people...the slaying of a dragon.

Great ones hear my plea. Help bring honor to you, to my people, and to my name Sevick prayed as he walked spear in hand.

Rege had to laugh, he couldn't help it when he first arrived here and ordered onto the caravan he was bored to tears but this man just made up for all of it, he was aware of soldiers staring at him so he quiet down into chuckles before speaking "Tactics are alright but do you really think things will go just as planned?" he stood as high as the wagon would allow and spread his arms "I've seen plenty of tactics gone wrong, me being the cause of most of them" he sat down again with a gleam in his eyes "And you my friend best not underestimate anyone the woman may be you better, or mine" he cracked his knuckles and streached apparently comfortable in the crowded space on the wagon "I will tell you one thing" he said "I'm willing to go first in battle as and give these guys a chance to live longer, i'm getting excited just buy listening to the arrows"

"I'm Alfonse, the carriage's rider and usually that demon child's guardian-- Never mind my rambling. Let us ride!"
Vincent nodded with approval, and halted momentarily to allow the caravan to move ahead of him. Since there was no given formation for travel, Vincent decided to allow his steed a little running room. He feared what may happen to his fellow companion, deep at heart, but after running a hand along the iron sheet under his saddle his hopes lifted slightly. With a swift kick to the underbelly, Traziel would take off with a bolt. The horse would rumble forward, the rattling of his covering producing a heavy gallop. While the horse had age, it had been raised to carry such loads at average speed. Soon, the duo would have caught up with the caravan, now trotting alongside it.

Vincent continued to watch his surroundings for signs of any danger. A lack of knowledge was a peeve for him. He knew not where his enemy was, or whether the enemy was structured or confined of mere civilians. Though there is never a hesitant swing of his blade, money does not warrant the slaughter of those not skilled enough to defend themselves. It was then that Vincent started to realize that his job was a lot more grimier than he expected. His initial idea was to come and gather lore and possible magics, but it seems he would only be here to slaughter. "Sir Alfonse. After we arrive at our destination - Sannas, was it? - are you aware of what may happen? " The open-ended question was meant to pull out information, but his answer may also provide Vincent with character to judge accordingly. Be they people he had to work with, he found it necessary to at least acknowledge who could be trusted. As well as who would be valuable to keep ties with.

((I will accept both people into the wagon... But guys, read all the previous posts before posting one yourself! The rules got an update on this. Read them again, everyone.))

CRASH! The loud, unexpected noise of more people... Getting inside a moving wagon?! Trying to ignore it for the most part, however difficult that may have been.

The still unnamed mercenary had snapped, a trait not unknown to the one on the receiving end: 'Who put you in charge?' It was clear experience hadn't done the slightest for his attitude, though frankly, Jessica was on the same scenario. The situation happened frequently, most mercenaries didn't feel comfortable, or even free around orders from a female tactician. A fairly new one to make matters worse. She took a deep breath, unwilling to fight against anyone not of Sayn, at least for the time being. Her planning proceeded with a muffled voice, its source the navy blue jar held by teeth.

"Say we turn the wagon, that's fine. The horses are still exposed, they'll just need to walk a little more, and that's nothing judging from our intel; there's little cover, remember? Regarding their death, we can likely get more lent off another group, or take some from an assault. Worst case, we walk.

Now, releasing the cavalry first? It's risky, I realize we're in this for money and money only. But I pray I'm not the only one who thinks we're human beings first and sellswords second. I agree with taking the offensive, but in such a case we can't risk survivors - a single scout leaves and our entire squad is dead. If we can take their forces entirely, by all means. Any other comments?"

An open question, hopefully future insight wouldn't be so blunt. The sun brought more light, but the only thing to show it inside the dim wagon was heat - it was growing warmer. It may have been a little better outside, Alfonse could feel the wind passing by, even if the beams disliked the thought of being at ease, the breeze was just that kind. Of course, the psycho-analisis from Vincent didn't agree with the vibe.

"Well, I'm afraid we do our job then. Which means I'll run to the wagon and take my crossbow out... If things go as planned, it also means I'll fight..."

His eyes focused on the horse at the front for a moment, mesmerized by the idea of risking his life directly. And if I do battle, may God have mercy over my soul. What an odd question to make, what kind of mercenary asks his job halfway into it? Ah, likely just needs reassurance. Terrible place to seek it, if you ask me.

The sound of purring, then vibrations on the floor, it was time. Judging from the outside, a stairway far, far into the distance and no more than three wooden shacks within the battleground. Ground's surface transitioned from sand to grass, short and spiky in nature, it'd provide no defense to either party. All trees were deeper into the village, starting at the height of the huge staircase, which, after a second look, was found to be grey with red adornments.

"Looks like we'll never find out. Let us see another day after this, I plead-- No, I thank you in advance."

Jessica gripped a thin book now, having left marking utensils at the side. Hugging the piece of knowledge, as one would a brother. It was now they'd officially start the job: colonization of Sayn Isle. Pock, pock, pock! Knocking beside the cover was Alfonse, after signaling Vincent to stop the horse.

"I see approaching men, Jessica, we need to move out! Make me room in the caravan!"

They switched places then, Alfonse took the initiate mage's seat inside and she stepped out, leaving the prized possession in the pseudo-father's hands. Hopefully the rest would soon follow. A look outside showed a bare field, with tiny specs of red flowing between the trees, rapidly so in their direction.

Though his "entrance" into the wagon was ignored, Thriv decided to move toward the front of the wagon, carefully taking his load of supplies off his back and trying to push it into an easyily accessable corner. Arguements and counter arguements over tactics filled the wagon as he untied the lengths of rope holding his luggage together, humming a small tune that went with a hunting song he had often sang on the tundra of Silia. After untieing the knots he placed them aside and carefully opened the top of his pack and peered inside, searching for his longbow and barbed arrows. As he took them out of his pack, leaning both on the wall, he started to ponder over whether or not he should put poison on them or not. The driver of the wagon interrupted his thoughts as he called inside "I see approaching men, Jessica, we need to move out! Make me room in the caravan!" Sighing once more Thriv stood, pushing his body against the wall as to make room for the large man and younger woman that were switching places. Shrugging and giving up the arguement that had been commencing in his head as to whether to use frigen root or horthrow leaf for the poison, he slung the quiver of barbed arrows over his shoulder, picked up his longbow, and quickly reaching into his pack for a bowstring, preparing to head out to battle.

As he stepped out the back of the caravan, the sudden blast of sound at the increase in activity nearly knocked him over, or at least the soldier running past did. Calming his nerves, he moved to the left side of the wagon's back exit and began to string his bow, bending it nearly to the breaking point and carefully placing the loops in the bowstring on each end. After he finished he did a quick check on the supplies he had brought. This included only the armor he was wearing, his bow, now complete with the string, the quiver of arrows, his gray cloak, and the twin daggers sheathed at his hips.

Smiling at the thought of the coming gore, he made his way to the front of the wagon, hoping to find the female tactician. She seemed to create plans more quickly than the man, though her's also held the some flaws. When he reached the front he quickly glanced up at her, then switched his view back to the coming men. "So do you have a plan, mistress?" he asked quietly, his lips twisting into a cynical smile.