"I'll just keep my crossbow at the ready in any case, you never know."
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"We could certainly try, but I doubt we'll have an easy time of it, especially if they've claimed Ascanor. Could anchor the boat in the middle of the river, give us a range advantage if things turn for the worse."
Edward:
"We're in accord then, let us depart before we out stay our welcome. I heard stories of Ascanor in my youth, I hope it lives up to its reputation, in scope at least." Henric fills his pipe as he looks down the river. "With a little luck, we might bring it back to glory. A rare thing in these times."
"I can't see in the dark myself, hate to miss my target." Henric pats his crossbow.
Millair steps back onto the boat, setting his crossbow on top of his pack. He starts prepping his pipe for a smoke as he watches the others discuss their next step.
"You all look wore through, and we're missing one...he didn't make it?" Millair takes the bolt out of his crossbow, and slings the weapon over his back, eyes keenly focused on the group, waiting for an answer.
Millair takes the key, but doesn't leave the gate, propping it open with the heel of his foot. "Fine, see about the rooms then, better plan than what that lot is doing."
Millair gives Ky a long, hard look, then unslings his crossbow, "I'm staying here. Don't call for me if you get into trouble."
Millair scratches at his beard as Aldous' "assistant" materializes. "Well, that's comforting..."
Henric almost answers Aldous, but Edward's introduction silences him. A slight frown tugs at his face as he reciprocates the handshake, hand still gloved. "Caromarc. Right."
Henric stays on the boat, and doesn't take his eyes off the port, or its hardscrabble inhabitants. As Aldous settles in for dinner, Henric inclines his head toward him, "Reminds me of some of the places I visited in the east, I only needed one lesson to learn that people like this, they'll eat the flesh off your bones if you aren't careful."
"Just something I picked up by the bay, it has a nice aroma and a smooth taste, better than some of the expensive tobaccos they sell at the gentleman's clubs I've been to. Ustalav feels like a different place than I remember, colder maybe?" Henric glances over at the keelboat, "Anyway, how much for the crossing?"
After many hours of work and changing my mind a few times, I'm pleased to introduce to you all Henric Millair, whose aim is just as dangerous as his crossbow.
A grey-clad man, carrying a heavy pack, face hidden under the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, steps toward the group. He takes a white clay pipe from his cloak and starts to light it as he considers the group boarding the keelboat. After it's lit, he pushes the hat back on his forehead, to reveal piercing grey eyes. "This the Beauturne expedition?" his right eyebrow perks up slightly. "Millair, of Redleaf," he pats himself down and pulls out a wrinkled, yellow letter with decaying embossing around the edges and hands it to the nearest person willing to read it, "Henric Millair. Forgive my dust, I've been on the road non-stop since the early Summer." |