First Few Steps

Lyke


While she was able to communicate fairly simply one on one, a conversation with lots of people tended to drown her out. Usually there were two distinct paths of action she could take in this kind of situation. One, she could clam up and wait for a better chance to speak or two, she makes a grand physical gesture to pull eyes back onto her to communicate with. This was much more of an option one situation, Lyke burying her earlier wroth and putting her hands down while she listened to them.


There was a lot you could tell from a voice. Something people that could speak never would pick up on. The one she'd entered into contract with for the battle, Bavric, his voice a clear melodic tone with the fresh hint of Hrothgaard flavoring the end of each word. The quiet one, a nearly blotted out figure under his furs giving out gentle subservient chirp of an almost incomprehensible tongue. Osric, his voice ripe with self importance but not a false bravado, tainted with the feeling that he measured each word before it escaped his mouth. The Agent, Ealhstan, a gruff authoritarian voice, barking despite speaking softly trained into him from a lifetime of working with people that didn't ask to hear something twice.


And of course the new one, another mouth to feed, even as she secured her rations inside her pack she was listening in. Proper, proud, another of noble blood maybe? Either way his tone was like salted meat, only with-


Lysander? She knew that name. Mounted company? Yes that was him. He'd gone down in the battle, Lyke had seen it. He'd been unmounted, a dozen or so billhooks jabbed into his gut. She'd rolled dice with the man the night before. Knowing he had coin, she looted his body mid battle.


She snaps a couple times, getting the others to turn their heads at her and withdrew the symbol of his company he had on his person. The cloth was bloodied. She tosses it over at the man, Abram, and goes to her neck. She drags a finger across her throat and falls back flat in a facsimile of his death.


@KamiKahzy
 
Abram


Abram had started to zone out of the conversation, his eyelids falling from sheer exhaustion as his entire body ached for rest. But out of the corner of his eye he saw the only other female in the group make some snapping motions and pull a tattered banner from a nearby pack. She tossed it to him, then drew her finger in a slitting motion across her throat. She followed it up with a rather humurous falling motion that looked similar to a child playing possum. A mute? Abram couldn't care to ask right now, or even attempt to catch the cloth chucked his way. He looked down at the insignia and noticed the crude rendition of a flaming lance sewn into the fabric, signifying Captain Lysander's company. Apparently the woman had seen him die on the battlefield, which only caused Abram to snort and shake his head once at the news. "Figures."


Abram wadded the cloth and made a weak attempt to throw it back to the woman, perhaps surprising a few when the cloth landed neatly in her lap despite his fatigue. He settled back against the tree and resumed resting in silence, attempting to keep his eyes and ears open enough to catch the important parts of conversation yet offering no input for now. Thinking took energy, and he had little to spare right now.


@Teh Frixz
 
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Lyke


She gives a bit of look at the cloth, then at the man as he got up to get some rest. A wry smile on her face, she stuffs the symbol back in her pack. Right in beside the other dozen or so she recovered.


They didn't mean much to her, the symbols. She'd worn dozens but experience taught her it was good to have the colors of both sides on hand.


Hells, maybe she'd make a quilt out of them one day. Might make a good couple coin on it.


For now, in the pack it goes. Lyke scooting in closer to the fire. Discussion seemed to be turning to business and she wanted her hands visible.
 
Ealhstan nodded in agreement with Osric, then watched the exchange between Lyke and Abram. When the mute indicated Lysander's death he sighed softly.


"Pity. Lysander was a good man."


He allowed silence to settle as Lyke stowed the banner back into her pack. Then the Inquisitor spoke up.


"I've already introduced myself. Ex-Inquisitor and sometime doctor. I wasn't in the battle," Ealhstan indicated his leg, "But I was running the triage by the wagons."


He glanced around the group.


"Some of you I've met before, but for some I've never had the pleasure. If we're all that's left of our respective companies, it can't hurt to be familiar with each other."


Ealhstan then turned to look at Osric.


"I've led men before, but..." He grimaced. "Last time it didn't go so well for me. I'd rather not."


Ealhstan recalled the last time he'd led men. A mob of armed peasants and Inquisitorial soldiers, wading through a swamp lit only by the flickering flames of their torches. The night had been black as pitch, and they'd never seen their attackers coming. The fight had been quick, vicious, bloody; only Ealhstan returned from that expedition. His fellows likely still rest where they fell, preserved in the grip of the swamp, surrounded by the corpses of over two-dozen ghouls.


The Inquisitor shivered, chill night air breaking his recollections.


"I'd rather not," he repeated, quietly.
 
Sam


"I am Sam called is me,"


I know I fucked that up... he frowns to himself.


He quietly smiles at the present company with large awkward teeth, "Was ... servant. Hard work. Master have dead. I am free of now. In big fight I shoot,"


He points to the ironwood bow sitting by his side, "I am on trees. Shoot the...


Um. Word. Dammit. Word.


"Stray runnings...?" is his answer, "I shoot. I helping, but not of leading, Sorry,"
 
Abram


Abram couldn't help but overhear how the conversation was going and quickly looked over those gathered around the fire. A motley crew to be sure, and none of them showing any real potential as a solid 'leader' for this hastily formed company of sellswords. Only one logical option stood out to Abram, and he made the effort to voice his thoughts.


He slowly gripped his poleaxe and pointed the head towards the woman on the wagon, waiting for her to spit before he spoke up. "I say put the caravaner in charge." He lowered his weapon back to the ground and took a slow breath before elaborting. "Woman that lives that long among freemen... Way I figure, she be wiser than all of us combined. She'd be dead otherwise."


@Silvertongued
 
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Lyke


Her eyes widen, Lyke gripping her sides and emitting a scoffing barking laugh out her nose. The sound dripped with incredulousness as she starting flinging her hands around again.


The old woman is pointed at, then she circles their group, raising her hand then the hand pointing at the old woman and putting her hand far below the other.


She shakes her head, waving her hands in displeasure. She points at everyone in turn and puts her hand up high. Everyone equal, everyone leads.


Lyke circles the group again, pointing east before shuffling in her pack for the old contract. The x she signed clearly evident as she points to it. They needed new work, nothing crazy but they shouldn't sit around bickering about it.
 
Osric Silkhand





"You can call me Osric. Most call me Silkhand," he said, continuing the chain of introductions and claims. "And damned if I'm following a driver between battles. No offence," he added, glancing to the woman.


"I do my best work in the dark," he continued, twirling a fine stiletto around his fingers, "but since we so clearly need someone willing to step forward and take the reins, in might as well be me."


He rose, tossing the weapon into the air and catching it, in spite of the flickering shadows, then looks sharply at Lyke,


"No one better, Quiet, but we're not barbarians. Going onto the field without a chain of command will land us back here."


He glanced into the night, sniffed the air.


"They won't be done burning bodies for another day."
 
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"I aten' jus' a driver!" she snaps again, before continuing, calmer. "But you got the right a' it, 'cause I aten't a leader neither,"


She makes a show of peering around the common.


"And truth, you got more a' tha' look a' tha' leader 'bout ya than the rest a' them," admits the old woman grudgingly. "Leas' more so than tha' mute, tha' cripple, tha' southie, and tha' lute plucker,"
 
Abram


Abram listened to the verbal exchange, took in the information, and simply shrugged. "Makes no difference to me who leads, so long as ye don't get us killed."


He now looked at the man name Osric and spoke to him directly across the flames. "So... Silkhand, were it? Where's the next venture?"
 
Ealhstan nodded his approval to Osric as he took command, grateful but not surprised. The man had an air about him, a sense of gravitas and assurance that Ealhstan couldn't quite put his finger on. The ex-Inquisitor glanced around the party, listening to the conversation before throwing his own voice into the mix.


"So now we have a leader," He smiled slightly. "Good."


He adjusted his cloak about his shoulders and shivered, huddling closer to the fire.


"So now we just need somewhere to go." Ealhstan made an affirmative noise as Abram asked his question.


"Mm, I'm curious. What's the plan?"
 
Lyke makes another rude gesture at the driver pantomiming what she thought of the name of 'Silkhand' in a vigorous fashion.


Seemed she was never going to be short of things to say.


Lyke does, once her gesticulating ends, give a little bit of a smile at the word 'plan'. Having a goal was more warming than the fire before her. If anything, it was a chance to spend a night someplace besides a field.
 
Sam


He raises a hand timidly, "My ideas?" He gestures to each in turn.


"Eat," To the Rations.


"Sleeping in turnings," To each person individually round the fire.


"Move place when sun?" To the horses grunting in the glade behind them.


A few more sticks are tossed on the fire, giving it a poke, "I eat now please. Join?"
 
Adelaide Auerstedt


The battle had been a bloody disaster. And Adelaide could see it developing that way, long before that stubborn fool of a company leader realised it. Sure, they had been been courteous enough to let her help with the quartermaster, as incompetent as he was, keeping the inventory in check. Nevertheless, she found out that she was not respected when it came to tactics on the battlefield. And now they are here, their blood is frozen on the field, under the snow. When did I become so lacking in empathy towards others? Perhaps when it is the third company whose existence I've outlived. No, I'd care for them if they'd listen to me. If any of them would...





The sounds of conversation drifted across the still night as Adelaide finished scrapping the blade's edge along their chin to the point of almost drawing blood. In this cold, the red flush would quickly disappeared. It was one reason they enjoyed the freezing weather, though it could take the flush of life from them altogether if they stayed away from the fire much longer. Their steed's hoof scrapped at the snow, impatient to move towards the source of light and heat. "Alright, Abacus, we'll introduce ourselves."


Dismounting as they approach, Adelaide called to the ensemble, "Greetings. Adelaide Auerstedt." She nods politely, looking between them, they settle their gaze on a surprisingly familiar face. "Osric Silkhand, a pleasure to see you survived the day." Aware of who they are, Auerstedt is careful to state their assumed name. Either we both play this game, or things won't last the night.
 
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Osric Silkhand


"Adelaide," Osric says, nodding, a smile coming to his lips. "Good to see such a familiar face." And a known quantity.


"I was just suggesting these fine folks accept my command, and we all go east in the hopes of gainful employment."


He raises a brow, glancing to the assembled crowd once more. "Although until a proper contract is agreed upon and signed, it's all a matter of mutual respect..."
 
Abram


Abram raised his head slightly to look at the... woman? They spoke in a higher pitch and had a clean face but something seemed off about this person. Regardless, they didn't seem hostile so he brushed the matter off and turned towards Osric when he spoke up. To the east was dangerous, lots of unknown peoples waging their own wars out in the Frontier. But it was guaranteed employment, and if Abram heard right the only other option suggested was to the south. Monsters supposedly dwelt there, and the Inquisitorial looking man seemed adverse to the idea. Abram was inclined to agree, as people were at least predictable in their deceitfulness. Better the devil you know after all, and Abram knew nothing of what lie to the south.


"Contracts are a weak man's splint for deceit. We'll keep our word, elsewise we'll all be dead in a month. We haven't the bodies to spare for those turn craven."


Abram adjusted his posture against the tree and slowly stretched out his bruised leg, pushing down on it slightly to increase the pressue and release the tension. "East sounds fair, no shortage of work anywise." He looked pointedly at Osric as he continued his thought. "Just be sure they've means to pay 'fore we muddy our blades, aye?"
 
Osric Silkhand


Osric raised his hands, conciliatory.


"Of course." If there's no innocent lives at stake.


Osric's mislike of this man was growing. Fine for him to speak of cowardice, considering.
 
Lyke


A loud disruptive grunt eminates from Lyke, directed both at Abram and the newcomer.


She shakes her head in disagreement. Pointing at her throat and miming a scroll before signing an 'X' in midair.


She'd have a contract or she'd be doing her own thing within the group. A sentiment that didn't find a great deal of traction within groups not composed of fellow bandits.
 
Adelaide Auerstedt


"The east, you say." She looked in the general direction, eyes piercing the darkness. "I do believe there is opportunity to be had for those daring, and with the guile, to survive out there. "If Osric is on board, so am I. Adelaide mused to herself, in more ways than one " Though contracts will be needed eventually. And we want to avoid what happened here." Her hand gestures loosely to the field they are in, before wrapping up once again underneath their cloak.
 
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Ealhstan shrugged.


"Sounds like we're decided then; east it is." He glanced around the group.


"So when do we intend to depart? First thing in the morning?"
 
Abram


A hearty grunt of agreement came from the large man in armor at that thought. Since the important business seemed to be settled he allowed his head to fall gently back against the tree. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply then exhaled as the day's exertion finally caught up with him. Oddly enough it sounded exactly the same as a dog might do before they fall asleep, and it was something of a comfort to Abram to relax his own body before sleep. He couldn't care less that his bedding was snow and his pillow was bark, right now he was stationary and that was enough. Abram lazily listened to the conversation pass as his mind began to doze off and begin the healing process for his aching muscles.
 
Osric Silkhand





Osric pulled out a bedroll by way of answer.


"Out with dawn. Damned if I'm walking anywhere after today without sleep."
 
Adelaide Auerstedt


After tying up Abacus, Adelaide unfurled their bedding near to the caravan. Morning will bring the light, and hopefully a better start. Pulling the bedding tightly around themselves, they drifted off to sleep, one hand griped about their knife under the pillow, while thoughts of warm fires flickered in their mind. One day...
 
Ealhstan dragged himself to his feet, using his crutch to haul his body up.


"Now that we're decided; I'm going to catch some sleep. Someone give me a kick when its time to leave."


With that he hobbled over to the bedroll that he had prepared early, a short distance from the fire and the others. With a sigh, he lowered himself down onto the leather mat and tugged his cloak tighter around him. He laid his sword and crutch beside him, keeping them close. He lay there, his cloak pulled up to cover most of his face, one eye open. He would continue to listen, and refused to sleep until the others had drifted off on point of principle. Not a matter of trust; just of habit.
 
Sam


The poor man's mouth was full of hard tack and dried pork when their latest member rolled in. A minor struggle to get it down his throat before he looked insulting follows. With considerable frantic silent effort. He recovers in time to nod inelegantly at ... at... Alel... Edel... Ada... damn.


That name was going to take time to get his tongue around.


With everyone settling down for the night, he instead stands, and grabs the bow settled beside him.


"I watch,"


With that, he scampers off to sit in the nearest Y-bow of a tree, pulling his furs and cloak hood up around him, huddling down to become some odd cross between a nest and a furry humanoid squirrel, arrow nocked just in case.
 
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