Brianne took the stage with a flourish, smiling widely at everyone in attendance. While the cheering was minimal due to the relatively small audience, there was a smattering of whistles and whoops nonetheless.
"Thank you all so much! It's a pleasure to be here tonight," Bri began with her typical lead-up. "As you may or may not know, I am one of several members of the Jackal's Grin Irregulars and many of my songs are dedicated to our-"
Her sentence was cut off by the abrupt slam of the front door of the bar opening. Standing in the doorway was the imposing visage of a Cygnaran military officer, clad in the brilliant blue and gold of his station. All eyes in the tavern turned to regard him and the well-polished military pistol and saber hanging at his waist. He bore the countenance of a man on a mission - a mission of dire importance.
Claudian recognized the man...
The man's boots clopped noisily on the hardwood floor of the inn, each step seeming to reinforce the importance of his visit. He strode up to Faro's table, directly next to where Ashleigh and Claudian now stood, and stabbed a finger into the Tordoran's chest.
"Faro, you son of a b!@!$," the man seethed. "Give me one good damn reason why I shouldn't have you hanged tomorrow morning."
Faro stammered, completely taken by surprise. "I... wha..." he swallowed hard to regain a bit of composure. "What on earth for, Colonel?"
The man grabbed a meaty fistful of Faro's shirt and pulled his face close, only inches from his own. "Transporting enemy troops into Cyngaran territory, s$$@head!" The officer pulled the heavy pistol from his hip and pointedly cocked the hammer back, pressing the barrel tightly into Faro's temple.
Faro's face nearly fell off his head. "WHAT?! I've done no such thing! What in Morrow's name are you talking about?!? What enemy troops?!"
The Cygnaran officer shoved Faro away from him and into the bar with a resounding thud. Then he leveled the pistol at his face, his face twisted in a near-snarl. "Then you've got exactly ten seconds to explain why a pack of thrice-damned Cryxian necros came crawling out of your rig in the Quad!"
Faro blinked, obviously stunned and completely baffled. The Cygnaran started counting. "One... Two..."
Claudian had watched the officer arrive at first with a kind of startled smile, which - as he watched the man's head-forward march and resentful scowl cross the room - changed to growing alarm. Sitting beside Faro, at first Claudian thought that he himself was the reason for the visit, but when the soldier's seething anger boiled over, he watched the exchange with growing alarm. Finally, as the pistol whipped out and clacked a deadly shot into place, Claudian stood, and while the newly arrived officer was big, Claudian was bigger.
"Captain Graves!" he shouted, as loud as a hail of cannon-fire from a man used to giving commands in just such conditions. "Enough!"
Through clenched teeth Claudian spoke, grabbing Graves' wrist in one meaty hand and lifting the pistol-arm up and away.
"This is not a gallows, and you haven't the law to kill a man at a bar." Claudian held the captain's arm fast, forcing himself between Graves and Faro, looming over the other man like a mountainside.
Graves focused his steely grey eyes on Claudian, and his anger did not appear to subside as his pistol was pushed aside.
"It's Colonel Graves now, Claudian. These aren't the trenches, but this sure as hell is Cygnaran soil and I've got more power here than you do, that's for damn sure." The colonel jerked his arm away from Claudian's grip, sending several patrons to the floor in fear that the firearm would discharge in their direction.
"The Cygnaran army is the law in Corvis and I'm none too pleased to have a handful of innocent people headed down to the morgue tonight on behalf of this bastard. You're lucky the Thunderbirds and I were out on patrol nearby, Faro. Otherwise you'd have a few more corpses on your hands and I wouldn'tve given you the luxury of ten seconds. Now answer me! Why the hell are you smuggling Cryxians into a Cygnaran city? Are you that daft and desperate for coin?!" Graves spat back at Faro, whose face was twisted in bewilderment.
"I swear on my family name, Colonel, I wasn't smuggling anything! Especially not Cryxian raiders! My team and I had a run-in with some Cryxians out west about a week or so ago, but we shot 'em up and cut 'em down! My people were all there! I've got good witnesses!" he gestured to Brianne and Ashleigh. Brianne nodded silently.
Claudian moved out from between the two men, but stayed close. His own anger had subsided almost immediately as the situation was defused into harsh words instead of gunshots, but he wasn't about to have a man shot in the Rusty Jack, especially not without due process. He stood to one side and simply remained a presence, a calming effect on the altercation and a ready hand if tempers should flare again.
"What he says is true, sir. I'm an officer in the Jackal's Grin. We laid their whole party low and burned what corpses we could find - I have 3 score souls within a quarter mile who'll swear the same. It's a sore point in fact, we lost more men that night than in any altercation in the last three years. Sir - if there were Cryxians in the Quad tonight, I'm damned sorry I wasn't there to run'em through myself." Ashleigh's smile did not complete vanish from his face, but it was a small, closed, uninviting smile now. There is steel behind his polite words and though his posture is still relaxed, his elbow is cocked on the bar in such a way that he fingers are but inches from his pistol. "Additionally, if we were in the business of smuggling that hellspawned scum, why in the name of all Ascendants would we be casually tipping pints in a local bar? When did all this happen anyhow?"
Graves turned his withering gaze on Ashleigh now, narrowing his eyes through thinly veiled infuriation. "A little more than an hour ago. And if you weren't involved, as you claim to be, maybe you'd care to explain to me why the Cryxians were aided by a half-dozen of your own men? There was a hell of a firefight down there and we lost more than a couple to shots fired by people we thought should've been on our side. Have you got a bit of a mutiny problem on your hands?" The man's eyebrow raised in suspicion, waiting for an answer.
Claudian turned as well to regard Ashleigh, scowling a bit at the idea of treachery. He still stood nearby, as this was no place for bloodshed, but the tangle of events had softened his conviction a bit.
"There's been a mistake or there's compulsion magic at work here. Even the few Scharde in our ranks have proven themselves time and time again willing to bleed for Cygnar. And if there is a mutiny we've got no wind of it prior to your announcement, and they're not really Faro's men at that point are they...sir? You can't honestly believe we had anything to do with this, else you would've had Thunderbirds kick the door in and we'd be dead or subdued before we'd set down our pints. Instead you came in alone full of kak and bluster, hoping we'd give something away. Well I'm sorry Johnny, but there ain't nothing to give. So now are we going stand here swaggering and waving our thompsons or are you going to let us see to our men?" Ashleigh has stood to his full height now, arms crossed against his chest, far from his weapons. His smile has melted into a grim smirk and he wears an insolent chin-jutting expression.
The Colonel's expression was just as smug as Ashleigh's. There was not one bit of treachery in his words, and that fact filled him with pride. "See to your men if you wish. The live ones've holed up at the Church of Morrow. The dead ones oughta be at the morgue still. None of the ones who turned on us are still breathing. Of course... that fact doesn't stop most Cryxians, does it?" The implication of treason hung heavy in the air, regardless of the fact that it went unsaid.
The tavern door was still hanging open, and Ashleigh caught a glimpse of blue outside before it dodged away from view. Perhaps Graves was not as alone as it seemed...
Claudian stood straight and proud, and while he still bore the sneer that was scarred into his lip and the patchy salt-and-pepper hair of a man who hadn't shaved in a week, some measure of his military bearing returned to him then. He ceased for a moment to be the slovenly bouncer of a dive bar and was a leader of a squad of selfless soldiers. The moment passed before long as he met the Colonel's eyes, but it was clear that Claudian had not always been as the Rusty Jack knew him.
"Sir," he started, dusting off the reverence with which he'd addressed officers in the past. "Jackal's Grin Irregulars have been loyal to Lady Cygnar since the start. Might be there's more to the story. If I vouch for their good faith with my own service, will it calm your nerves so we can dig down to the bottom of it instead of swapping eye-knives all night?" he asked reasonably.
When the Cygnaran officer thrust his way through the tavern door and straight across the inn into the face of Mr. Thatcher's companion, the strained smile on Sy'yll's face finally melted away entirely, to be replaced by curiosity rapidly followed by mild annoyance and then outright apprehension.
Terrified when the gun came out that this situation was going to erupt into violence, she backed up a half step from where she'd been leaning with her hands on the table a moment before, ready to listen to Brianne, and glanced sideways at her claymore where it rested now, upright, against the wall in the corner.
However, when it gradually became apparent that, between Mr. Thatcher's diplomacy and Galbraith's menacing-yet-righteous mien, that lives would likely not be lost this night, she stepped yet further back away from the table and into the relative obscurity of the shadows crouching in the corner and, with a gentle tug on Yfel's sleeve, drew the other woman back toward her. Speaking in Khadoran, she inquired in an undertone, "These men---knowingly or unknowingly---provide harbor and transport for Cryxian necromancers? Perhaps, my friend, this is not the kind of company we wish to keep." Her eyes, when she glanced sideways toward Ashleigh Thatcher and his friends, were narrowed slightly in suspicion.
Yfel folds her arms conspicuously, shifting her gaze back and forth between Sy'yll, and the spectacle. "I had no intent to keeping." She shrugs. "I was hoping I would go to rest and not see him again in the morning. He is eager and asking too many questions. I do not like him. He is too nice, and very small." With a frown, she sighs. "I come for dinner. I get show."
"At least this should, in theory, encourage him to focus his attention elsewhere than upon our rather fascinating and outlandish personages," Sy'yll comments lowly, rolling her eyes at that last. She sips her ale once again and then continues contemplatively. "Still... although I am certainly weary, I am suddenly not so very eager to retire. I must confess myself curious as to how this petty human drama shall play out. Go if you must, then, but stay if you will; I would appreciate the company of one who is of a like mind and hear what your thoughts on this spectacle are."
"I do not think I am comprehend all of it, though. Why is the small one so happy? And her," Yfel points to Bri and tilts her head. "is she mating with the small one? They look like they are having mating. And does this have anything to do with the angry one, or the scarred one? And who is dead?"
“You ask nearly as many questions as the esteemed ‘small one’ himself,” Sy’yll rebukes jestingly, but is scrutinizing Ashleigh as she speaks. “I do not believe the prying Mr. Thatcher is happy, to tell you the truth. Knowledge that the Cryxian presence here is at least partially the fault of his fellows---and then having the blame levied upon him by this pompous military man---cannot possibly bring joy to his petty little heart. At least I should hope not; he is an infernally irritating individual but I did not get the impression that he is of a poor character. However, that rather indolent smile appears as though it is just begging to be knocked off his face by this Colonel Graves, deservingly or not!
“As for whether or not Mr. Thatcher and Ms. Applebury are... mating... to be honest I have not thought on it and would prefer not to. The notion of humans engaging in their sexual practices…” She shivered lightly and a look of utter disgust crossed her face.
Yfel gave her axe an absentminded pat, almost as though she were about to apologize to it instead of her friend. "I am sorry, Elf. There is much talking, and I do not always understand the why. And what is this indolent?"
Sy'yll raised her eyebrow slowly. "Why, it is indolent because Mr. Thatcher is clearly a man attached, in some arcane manner, to a military unit. And undoubtedly this Colonel Graves outranks him and expects at least a modicum of respect, which Mr. Thatcher is clearly not giving."
Yfel furrowed her brow, slightly annoyed that their lowered voices had caused Sy'yll to hear her incorrectly. "I said what, Elf, what." She flailed her arms slightly, even farther agitated than she had been. "What does this 'indolent' mean!"
Sy'yll stared blankly at Yfel for a moment, then blinked and laughed. "Forgive me Yfel, my Khadoran is not as fluent as i would hope. I meant insolent or impudent or impertinent... not indolent."
Yfel stared blankly right back! "...I still do not know what it means. Never mind, Elf." Reaching for her beer she smirked. "I wonder if someone will die. Maybe I will need to axe. Or laugh."
"Sir," he started, dusting off the reverence with which he'd addressed officers in the past. "Jackal's Grin Irregulars have been loyal to Lady Cygnar since the start. Might be there's more to the story. If I vouch for their good faith with my own service, will it calm your nerves so we can dig down to the bottom of it instead of swapping eye-knives all night?" he asked reasonably.
"Fine," the Colonel huffed, but seemed to be calming. "Head down there and poke around if you want. The Watch is all over the place down there and my men have posted themselves all around the Quad. There's not much left to see besides a few bloodstained cobbles and one o'yer wagons plus a few holes. We're headed out first thing in the morning to post a Khadoran border patrol near Llael, so after that point this becomes the Watch's problem. You're not likely to be well-received 'round here after that, so it might be good to watch that smug tongue of yours." He directed the last statement at Faro and Ashleigh. "You might want to get your supply wagons out of Corvis, too. Folks might take to pillaging you out of spite... and Morrow knows if there's any more of those damnable things crawling around in there that you don't know about."
Claudian nodded once, looked up at Faro and Ashleigh, the glaze of the night's slow drunkenness seemingly gone from his face and manner.
"Gimme a few minutes to be ready and I'll come with. My hours are done here at the Jack for the night, and tonight's little drama has me on edge. Reckon I could do with seein' for myself before my head hits the pillow."
Claudian didn't wait for confirmation but spoke the last few words as he was ascending the stairs.
In his room, looking at himself in the mirror, he examined the haggard face for a moment. He frowned, looked into the corner where a small bag lay covered in dust. This he opened and fetched out a straight razor. Dipping it in the bucket of cold clear water beneath the sink, he began meticulously shaving away the patches of black and white hair along his jaw and cheeks.
That done, he put on an overshirt and shouldered his Cygnaran-blue greatcoat from the coatrack by the door, then began to step out. Here he paused for a moment, turning back in.
Lastly he retrieved his locharn, a six foot long spear with a mace-head as a counterweight, and left to head back downstairs.
Faro nodded at the Colonel's statement. "Right," he turned to look at Ashleigh. "Why don't you head down to the Quad and take stock of the situation. I'm going to head over to the church with Bri and check on the wounded men. When you're finished sniffing around down there, come'n give me an update, yah?"
The question was rhetorical and no sooner had the words left his lips than Faro was out of his seat, beckoning for Bri to follow him out. She nodded, looking grim, and cast a worried look at Ashleigh before being ushered into the night by the Tordoran.
Meanwhile, the Jack's crowd had quietly begun to thin. Herod himself looked wearily at the Colonel who apologized for the disruption and made his exit. Finally, Herod clapped a wooden mug on the bar while Claudian was upstairs getting prepared. "Last call for alcohol, ladies and gents. We're closing the bar in just a few minutes. Those of you with rooms here for the night are welcome to stay down here, but the liquor cabinet will be locked and there'll be no food served 'til morning. Thank you."
Only a moment later, the night attendant for the inn walked through the door and took a set of keys from Herod who removed his apron and made his way out the door, headed for home along with his daughter. Many of the bar's patrons followed him out and the night attendant, a thin, haggard-looking man began to lock up the spirits, hardly paying any attention to the few people who remained behind - not even the one-armed trollkin.
Ashleigh stiffened into a military posture for a bare moment giving Faro a nod and a brief "Aye, sir" then turned and watched Claudian clump up the stairs with a curious expression. He glanced around the room for a bar moment then his eyes lit up. He crossed the room in a few long strides to the door and gave a quick whistle to get the retreating innkeep's attention. "Oy, Herod! Don't suppose I could buy a half firkin of whiskey off your night man? I'll make it worth your while..."
Claudian descended the stairs a few minutes later, looking cleaned up and awake. His face was still damp with a splash of cold water to give him back his senses, and his hair was corded and tailed severely close to his head.
"Let's get to goin' before the blood's tried and trod on, huh?" he gravelled, watching Ashleigh cross the room to shout at the retreating Herod. Claudian shouldered the locharn, bare and dangerous and black in the inn's halflight, and waited.
"Oy, Herod! Don't suppose I could buy a half firkin of whiskey off your night man? I'll make it worth your while..."
Herod narrowed his eyes incredulously at the young man. "What in the Ascendants' names would you need that much liquor for, boy? Moreso... where're ye gonna put it?" The weary bartender groaned slighly. "Oh fine. I s'pose 'twouldn't hurt none to make a few coin before bed. C'mere."
Herod opened up his liquor cabinet as the night man entered, pulling out a three-gallon iron keg. "Will that do? It'll be five crowns if you want it... though you might do better getting it wholesale at the Quad in the morning. Plus it'd save me the trouble of tellin' folks we've run dry until I can send Sarah down there to restock me. I've got maybe a pint or two left in th'other keg for the first couple that walk in after sun-up."
"Aye, the sooner the better. Give me just a moment." Ashleigh stared at the keg for a moment, his head tilted to one side as though doing mental math. A quick nod and he reached into the side pocket of his backpack coming up with his coin purse. He produced five and half crowns from his pouch with a smile, "Little commodity tax figured in there, and thank you right kindly, Herod. Have a pleasant night." Ashleigh unslung his backpack onto a bar stool and rummaged around a bit in it, then seemingly satisfied he hefted the iron keg off the bar and slid it carefully into the main pocket of the the backpack. He cinched it shut and glanced around the mostly empty room. He regarded the trollkin as though for the first time, blinked, decided it was none of his business, and turned to his erstwhile companions still seated at the table. "Well ladies, unless you fancy yourselves a little midnight stroll out to the Quad for a chat with the local constabulary I imagine this is goodnight." Ashleigh still seemed pleasant and genuine but it was obvious that his brain was partially engaged elsewhere.
Claudian blinked and turned to the corner where the Jack's last two patrons remained, with a look on his face as if he only just remembered they were there. In particular he regarded the massive Khadoran, but the Nyss had a reputation for being dangerous in their own way, and with the wicked curved blade beside her, this one seemed no exception.
"Might be the two of you could find a bit of excitement if you were t'come along, and a pair of extra blades wouldn't be amiss if we ain't seen the last of the Cryxian folk," he growled as pleasantly as he could from across the room. "'Jack's closin' anyway unless you plan on shackin' up."
He glanced back to Ashleigh and the departing Faro, then again to the Nyss and her axe-wielding companion. "What say?"
As Claudian addressed them a soft snarl cut from Yfel's lips and she gripped her axe so hard the leather squeaked in protest. She turned her mask of extreme displeasure back to Sy'yll, hoping the honed diplomacy of her friend would keep her from removing the gruff man's limbs.
Did he somehow think that the two of them were interested in such shaites and laughs? That it behooved them to just throw aside whatever plans they may have? (How could he know?) As Yfel thought these caustic thoughts, she gripped the axe tight. Clearly this man did not come from a culture where women did the asking and the telling.
Well, (squeak.) ...He'd have to learn.
"I..."
Sy'yll's eyes cut sideways to Yfel, whose face at this point was positively beet red with anger. The elf paused awkwardly for a moment, unsure why, precisely, Yfel was suddenly infuriated. Was it the ugly man's suggestion that they join in on this madness? The manner in which he had communicated his suggestion? The mere fact that he had dared speak to Sy'yll's rough companion at all?
Sy'yll wasn't particularly sure what Yfel was suddenly feeling so murderous about, and frankly, she wasn't entirely positive she cared at the moment. At this particular moment, the idea of making sure that these Cryxians were now gone before she decided to stay in Corvis another day seemed important than the large woman's unfathomable, rough-cut sensibilities.
Offering up a silent prayer to Nyssor that Yfel's anger wouldn't find its release through the burial of an axe in her delicate Nyss head, Sy'yll nodded to Galbraith. “Yes, I for one will accompany you. If I am to remain in this place any longer than strictly necessary, I would prefer to verify for myself that the Cryxian threat is over.”
Ignoring the larger woman's posturing - After all, I tried to be civil. Cryxians are nothing to shrug off. - he nodded abruptly as soon as Sy'yll had finished. "Good, let's go," he said, turning toward the door.
Ashleigh gave a brief bow of thanks to the elf, "It will be a pleasure to have the company. Of course, before we depart, there is one small matter. I took great pains to make reparations for my failure to give my own name when it now dawns on me that I failed to collect on yours. It would be a shame to strike off with such a debt over our heads, don't you think?" Ashleigh grinned and effortlessly swung the knapsack off of the barstool and onto his back.
Sy'yll gaped at Galbraith for a moment. "Wait... what, now?" she asked incredulously, thinking suddenly of the comforts of bed and what was assuredly about to become the lack thereof. But the hulking man had already turned away toward the door before she could frame more than this stuttering protest, and Mr. Thatcher was asking her for her name... again.
Sy'yll chuckled to hide her irritation that he'd already forgotten and began reluctantly to gather her belongings. "But Mr. Thatcher, I already told you my name!"
"So you did, so you did...but humor by saying it for me one more time, if you don't mind. I'd hate to butcher it by trying to imitate those sibilant sounds after but a single hearing." Ashleigh did not break stride or smile on his way towards the door, but glanced over his shoulder with a twinkling eye and switched to accented Khadoran "And will you be for joining with us also Madame Yfel? It would be bringing of me great happiness."
Sy'yll nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "You are right. The pure sounds of the Shyr language are, at times, difficult for foreigners to pronounce. I once heard it said that there is a fundamental difference between the anatomical mechanisms of a Human's and a Nyss's capacity for speech. That being said... my name is Sy'yll Abidne." She drew out her name ever-so-slightly for his benefit, pronouncing it Sigh-yill Ah-bead-neh.
"Claudian Galbraith," the big man rumbled as they stepped out the door. "Glad to see you're coming."
Claudian peeked his head back in the door of the 'Jack, nodding his acknowledgment of the night man and giving the 'just a second' gesture to indicate that he'd probably be back for his room before long, then glanced across the common area to where the Khadoran woman waited, seemingly obstinate in the face of the excursion.
Sy'yll turned over her shoulder as she joined Galbraith and Mr. Thatcher and raised an eyebrow at Yfel. "Do you wish to come? Or are you going to retire to our room for this evening?"
[ooc]Yfel has been staring, slack-jawed, for 5 days.
13 days. Last post on the 5th. :P
Yfel sighs, shaking her head at the elf and the others. "I am not in hurry to see monster things at Quad. You go. I will sleep."
With that, the barbarian stands and stretches, claiming her axe and moving upstairs. Her heavy footfalls echo down the stairwell until she reaches the second level and, presumably, her room.
Gazing after the woman's retreating hulk, Sy'yll sighed, then turned to regard the others with her unfathomable blue gaze. She nodded curtly to Mr. Thatcher and Galbraith and tilted her chin toward the door. "Shall we, then? The night grows ever shorter."
Yfel sighs, shaking her head at the elf and the others. "I am not in hurry to see monster things at Quad. You go. I will sleep."
With that, the barbarian stands and stretches, claiming her axe and moving upstairs. Her heavy footfalls echo down the stairwell until she reaches the second level and, presumably, her room.
Claudian sniffed derisively at the retreating Khadoran's back, watching her disappear up the steps.
"Figures," he says scornfully, letting the door fall behind him and turning down the street, eyes now alert and focused. He held himself high, back a little straighter now than the slouch it had held in the inn.
"Where's the ship, Mr. Thatcher?" he rumbled to his companion as they went.
"Where's the ship, Mr. Thatcher?" he rumbled to his companion as they went.
Ashleigh stopped just outside the door of the 'Jack, unholstering and checking the load in his ornate weapon by the lamplit rectangle extending from the door. "Actually all of our goods were already unloaded. We got permits for temporary space in the Quad, so the wagons should all be there." He snapped the breech shut with a click, "We came to the Jack by way of the DeCoeur lane bridge, Claudian. If you happen to know a faster way back I'd appreciate your lead..."
Claudian smiled knowingly and tapped his temple, then nodded sidelong toward the rim of the sidewalk where it fell down to the waterside. "'bout a half-mile this way, ol' Thunker might still be pullin' his ferry along. 'bout the only ferryman I trus' this late. Nice enough gent if yer carryin' coin."
Claudian turned and began down the sidewalk without waiting for a confirmation.
Pulling her claymore over her shoulder and tugging her long black hair out from under the weight its strap, Sy'yll trailed a half step behind the others. "Mr. Thatcher," she asked as they passed beyond the doorway and out into the night, "Where was it that you encountered these Cryxians, and how long ago?"
She walked quickly for a moment to catch up to the other two and fell into step next to Galbraith. The large man's odor was strong and sour, not unlike that of a good deal of the Rusty Jack's patrons, and the Nyss breathed lightly through her mouth. At the moment, she trusted the scarred man-at-arms a far cry better than she trusted the smooth-talking Ashleigh Thatcher, foul scent and all.
Ashleigh scowled a bit at the memory. "About a week or so off from Corvis it was. Just about where the Thornwood quits being a forest and starts being a bog. It was getting towards dusk and we were trying to push on through the muck and find somewhere more amenable for the night's camp when we came upon them. They weren't laid into an ambush or anything of the sort - our scout caught sight of their scout and then all bleeding hell broke loose. Lucky we'd already struck torches or it might've got quite different, but between the firelight and Bri's magic that swamp shone like a fairground. Blight-ridden scum fought like demons but we outnumbered, outgunned and outmanuevered them. Wasn't a body left that weren't slit through and put to the flame, but those thrice-damned fiends never seem to go down for good. I've been a mercenary for coming up on a decade and I've seen some right awful things but there ain't no thing that raises my hackles like the soulless cretins that crawl from Cryx."
Claudian nodded approvingly, brushing at a patch of greasy stain on his greatcoat's sleeve and shrugging his shoulders more fully into it. "Right words spoken. Lady Cygnar ain't faced a worse threat, though Khador wanders close lately." This last he muttered darkly to himself.
Once he was satisfied with his presentability - the stain was clearly not going to come out and so he decided others would have to accept this about him - he struck off in the direction he'd indicated. "Hope Thunker's moored up here, be a damn shame t'walk all th'way off for naught."
He walked heavily, his stride rolling his towering frame slowly back and forth. As he settled into the movement he tossed the locharn over his shoulder and carried it with one hand.
After a suitable distance had passed from the 'Jack, he snorted powerfully and hawked a brown blob on the sidewalk.
Disgusted blue eyes followed the arc of viscious fluid from the hulking human's lips to the sidewalk, where it came to rest, glistening in the dim glow of the street light. The Nyss flicked the bottom of her greatcoat sharply to prevent its hem from sliding through the glob and took the smallest of steps away from her lumbering companion.
She tore her attention back to Ashleigh. "You saw all of these Cryxians die? Every last one? And did you say that you watched as all of the bodies were consumed by flame?"
"Neither I nor any of the rest of the Jackals caught sight of any of them escaping. All we saw, we killed and all we killed, we burned. That's about all I can say for certain. Unfortunately magic does funny things and doesn't only function for the pure of heart. While I harbor no doubt about the loyalty of my men, it does seem a bit too coincidental that the hellspawn came pouring out of our wagon. I'm placing my bet on sorceries afoot." Ashleigh stepped quickly along side Claudian's slow rolling gait, wishing the big man would move a bit faster. Shaking his head he reached into his coat and withdrew a thick, black cigar. After patting down his pockets he produced a tindertwig, and proceeded to light up, trailing blue-gray hooaga smoke behind him. He pulled thoughtfully on the cigar for a moment and then spoke around it "The real worrisome thing is that Cryxians aren't stupid. It's a safe bet that this little mess in the Quad was only distraction for a larger plan - or somehow lying the seeds for one. Seeing their scum this far inland is disconcerting enough, but the thought that they have designs on Corvis? Or my men? That's enough to take the spring out of anyone's step. Where's this boatman, anyhow?"
"Ain't far," Claudian said curtly.
A few minutes of walking later, he frowned a bit and glanced back at Ashleigh. "S'what yer sayin' is that there's maybe a whole pack'a Cryx out in the fens and you guys only got a tiny clip of 'em? Ain't likely they jumped you just fer the chance'a gettin' a half-dozen folk into the city to soak up Long-gunner shot..." His grating rumble trailed off slowly as he thought to himself. Walking with his head down, the big man rolled the ideas in his head and remained silent from then on.