Death Throes [3.5e]

[CaptainPlatypus]

You were in Norun when the disaster struck. You heard rumors of healers gone mad, dying alongside their patients instead of curing your ills. By and large, however, life went on as normal. The water kept running, though hot water was but a dream. It took seven days before you heard of the full scope of the disaster - before the Baroness announced she had confirmation of Isadore's demise.

The city could have fallen into a panic, but she didn't permit that to happen. Every able-bodied citizen that could be spared was quickly drafted into some sort of work, be it military service, routine maintenance that was previously handled via magic, or tending the fields - which fortunately the planting was complete in the majority of.

You and your comrades were selected by the Baroness for various reasons to participate in a special mission. Rumors have been spreading from the southlands, in the ancestral home of the Empire before Isadore grew to encompass the world. Dark rumors, of loremasters who have survived but somehow turned...wrong. Evil, some say. The baroness is concerned, and while she cannot spare any of her guardsmen or typical agents for this task - their services are required for far more important duties - she can spare four decently trained and able-bodied individuals, and that means you. Setting out well-supplied with arms for self-defense, food, and water, you were instructed to head south, determine the situation there, and report back safely. The imperial highway was still there, and even without horses, you traveled quickly.

Four days into your journey, however, you woke naked and in chains, instead of in the bedrolls you had nodded off in. Ralden has a throbbing lump on the back of his head, and remembers nothing other than a sharp pain there while he stood watch - the rest of you are even less informed, but uninjured.

Looking about, you see that you are in a well-made khaki tent. Your chains, marked with the Imperial crest - a badger standing proud before its den - are gleaming, and the tent's metal structure, which the shackles are securely attached to, is in similar condition. The floor is even covered with a similar but tougher form of fabric, instead of simply being exposed to the earth. Everything looks not only shipshape, but ideal - the model against which all other prison-tents, if there are indeed others, would be compared. The tent is empty, with the flaps tied closed. You can see, however, that it is daylight outside, and the shadows of two tall persons fall against the fabric. They appear to be wearing legionary half-plate.

[Sucrose]

The room slowly swims into focus. As Raffael comes to understand his present predicament, his eyes widen in shock, followed by some measure of fear. However, his combat training prevents him from crying out, at least.

...Focus, Raffael. Figure out what needs to be done, and accomplish it. ...Start with assessing the situation.

He takes a few steadying breaths, then looks around, at once relieved and dismayed to see everyone else here as well. Seeing that the others are beginning to regain consciousness, he whispers out to them.

"Is... is everyone all right?"

[PersonMan]

Esille frowns, shifting to cover herself and glad that it was late spring-had this happened too much earlier all of them would be freezing. Of course, if their captors had shining manacles and tents this well-made, they probably would have provided blankets of some sort if it were cold. This, of course, made her wonder why these people hadn't done so in the first place. The moment someone with authority came in here, they'd be getting a so-called piece of her mind.

"I guess I could be described as 'all right', although I'm pretty sure that the situation we're in isn't." Esille says in response to Raffael's question, curling up with her head on her knees. She speaks softly, to avoid being heard by the guards and hopefully gain some sort advantage in this situation-if someone had seen anything the night before, it could be helpful to share information before their captors knew that they could. "Who was on watch when this happened? Did they see anything?" Esille asks. As the first person on watch(to allow her to get a full night's sleep in one portion and keep her magic fresh) she wasn't sure when the attack had happened-or even how long ago it had happened.

[Quietus]

"That would be me. They sneaked up behind me and knocked me out, I didn't see anything." Ralden's voice, like the others, is kept low, and carries his usual monotone detachment; the fact that his eyes remain in pained slits, however, hints at the throbbing pain still coursing through his skull. Unlike Esille, he doesn't seem too perturbed by their lack of clothes, shifting himself just enough to provide the barest level of modesty. Whether that's due to his usual lack of concern for most things, or because his skull hurts too much to bother doing more, it's difficult to tell.

Looking around, he forces himself to think through the pain. A well made, well kept tent, and the fact that none of them had been killed, suggested that they were being afforded some level of respect - the lack of clothing suggested otherwise, though. Perhaps they were intended to be hostages? Or intended as conscripts into some faction's numbers? The latter was unlikely, but what Ralden could tell was that it was probable that they would at least be addressed, and probably interrogated, before they were killed. As he strains to hear any useful details from the space outside the tent, he asks, "Has anyone else been in here while anyone was awake?"

[Ajadea]

Caelin shifts his legs to cover himself, keeping his eyes tactfully averted from Esille. His eyes flicker around the rest of the tent, and he groans softly when he sees the chains. "Didn't see anyone," he whispers, frowning. "You'd think, if they had enough to make and keep a tent like this, then they'd have enough to give us something to cover ourselves with," he says. With that tone, he could have been remarking upon the weather.

They were smart enough to come before the dawn. If they had come at a sensible hour, he might have seen something. His goal, before, had been to get south. Right now, it was a lot more short-term: get out of here. "I don't suppose any of you are strong enough to break these?"

[Sucrose]

Raffael shakes his head.

"...I, um, I don't think I could, Mr. Caelin. Not quickly enough or quietly enough to avoid those two-"

he jerks his head toward the guards-

"rushing in, anyway. And with respect, I think that I'm probably the physically strongest of any of us. Still, whatever they want us for, it probably requires us being alive. Otherwise, after they knocked out Mr. Ralden, they would have just gutted us. We might be able to negotiate."

[Quietus]

"Not quite." Ralden is unlikely to surprise anyone with that admission, given his compact, light frame - emphasized by its current lack of clothing. In fact, given how little muscle can be seen on his wiry body, it's hard to believe he's much of a combatant at all. "If they've kept us alive and more or less unharmed, perhaps they wish to speak with us. If they just wanted us dead, they could already have done so. I suggest we wait and see what they want from us, gain an idea of what sort of camp we're in before we move.", he says, agreeing with Raffael's assessment.

[CaptainPlatypus]

Without turning towards each other, the guards outside begin speaking in low voices. A bare word or two is heard, but it's clear that they've noticed your renewed consciousness. One of them reaches to his left and pulls a cord sharply, first twice and then again, and a bell rings out clearly from above the tent to match his tugs.

[PersonMan]

Esille considers shouting at the two guards for a moment, before deciding against it-she'll save her wrath for whichever officer enters the tent.

"I can't remember what the bells mean-they do mean something, don't they?" Esille asks, unable to remember much more than the range of pitches that were possible for the bells to reach-she was fairly certain that they were used for something, but what it was she couldn't say.

[Sucrose]

Raffael glances directly at Esille, then swiftly turns his gaze at a particularly interesting part of the floor on the other side of the tent. He's sufficiently flustered that he doesn't keep his voice low, so it's rather fortunate that what he's saying doesn't require subterfuge.

"It's, ah, just a long-range message system, Esille. Pitch determines who the message is for, and the rate of ringing the urgency. Seems likely that they were just letting whoever wants to talk with us know that we're up."

[Ajadea]

"Keep your voice down," Caelin says, a slight disapproving tone the only hint that his words were meant as admonishment. "Whoever these people are, they can't be that badly off. They've got the bells, and their guards are in proper plate. I'd guess they want to intimidate or humiliate us. Though why they feel the need to is anyone's guess."

[Quietus]

"Remaining quiet is unnecessary, if they know we're conscious. Perhaps we'll get some answers as to what's happening, and why we've been taken prisoner." Ralden's tone is light, with the barest touch of curiosity to it - if their captors intended for this situation to humiliate or intimidate them, clearly it had failed in at least one person. And given Esille's personality, Ralden figures it's more likely she's angry than intimidated. In response to Caelin, he says, "They would feel that treating us like this puts them in a position of power. It's easier to break someone if their resolve is weakened by their circumstances. They're likely aiming to put us on the defensive, to more easily get whatever answers they're after.", though with his standard monotone it's difficult to tell if it's just him being his usual detached self, or if Ralden has had some experience in that area.

[CaptainPlatypus]

The tent flaps are opened, and sunlight streams into the tent, the glare hurting your eyes a bit. A squat man of average height in the freshly shined and pressed uniform of an Imperial lieutenant enters, sword arm first - he examines your chains from just outside your reach, and only when he has determined them satisfactory does he step back - but not sheathe his blade. "Clear," he calls in a gruff bass, and a second man steps into the room.

The man who enters behind him would seem the height of military discipline in any other company, but feels just a bit more relaxed, somehow, compared to the lieutenant. His uniform seems to have been pressed and shined just slightly less recently, or slightly less expertly, and he's much less careful about his entry - his only visible weapon, in fact, is a dagger at his belt. His uniform, however, gives him away, if the circumstances of his entry did not - he appears to be a colonel in the Imperial legion, typically responsible for an entire brigade of three thousand men. He removes a monocle from his pocket - you note that it appears to be marked with the Loremasters' sigil - and examines each of you in turn expressionlessly before returning it to his pocket and clearing his throat.

"I am Colonel Graves of the Second Legion," he says softly - not self-importantly, simply stating fact - "and you will tell me why the short man is capable of using magic and yet still alive."

[PersonMan]

Esille twitches, once. It's the only warning that anyone in the tent has before she explodes.

"Excuse me?!" The girl shouts, her face contorting into anger. "Are you saying that you attacked and kidnapped us just to ask why one of us isn't an insane monster?!" Before the man can reply she continues. "Don't you know anything about basic courtesy?! Since you obviously don't, I'm going to inform you: It's usually seen as impolite to attack, without provocation or warning or even an attempt at communication, people sent to investigate reports of insane monsters running around in the south by the Baroness Iltessa Norun. It's also seen as bad manners to pointlessly strip anyone, even prisoners-really, what are you afraid of? Are you worried that four people wearing only clothes will destroy your Legion?" With barely a pause for breath, Esille continues with her verbal offensive. "Speaking of which, what sort of Legion is this, anyways? The 'sneak up on mostly-sleeping people who aren't even hostile and attack them' Legion? Really, back in the city I heard that the Imperial Legion was a well-trained fighting force, not an army of thugs in uniform-speaking of which, what about yours? Have you been too busy sneaking around attacking sleeping people to take care of it?" It might have become obvious, at this point, that Esille had some sort of experience with singing, as few who didn't could keep up such a tirade without their voice giving out or running out of air mid sentence. The girl barely paused for breath before launching into her next point. "Oh, and another thing on the topic of manners. When you have guests-or, in this case, have randomly attacked a group of people who were in no way, shape or form hostile-you normally provide them with food, at least. Unless you are in command of the most run-down, on-the-brink-of-destruction Legion in all of history, you should have no reason to take clothing and food from those you decide to kidnap. The difference between a Legion and a horde of men with weapons who enjoy attacking anyone weaker than them is great, but I have yet to see anything apart from a pretty tent that shows you to be anything other than the latter, Corporal." How Esille manages to, despite being noticeably shorter than the man she is speaking to and nude, seem to hold herself and speak like a teacher disciplining a spoiled student must lie in either her training or natural ability.

"As to your question, unless the rest of my group disagrees, I would think that we would wait for you to provide clothing, food as well as proof that you aren't simply the half-crazed servants of an insane monster instead of a Legion before providing you an answer. After all, we wouldn't want to give a barbaric horde methods to increase the rate that they attack innocent people and destroy what remains of the Empire, now would we?" As she speaks, Esille turns to her comrades, directing half of the last sentence at them, before sitting back down.

[CaptainPlatypus]

As Esille speaks, the squat lieutenant moves almost immediately, raising his hand to strike a no doubt bonecrushing blow across her face, but at a murmur from the colonel, he takes a step back and lowers his arm, content with a hateful glare. At the mention of the legion being run-down, however, he steps forward again, raising his sword hand to silence her forever - which, impressively enough, does not merit even the slightest catch in Esille's breath.

Before the stroke can properly begin, however, the colonel's foot lashes out against the lieutenant's knee, which produces a sickening popping sound. The leg abruptly folds up under him, and the colonel deftly snatches the sword from his hand as he falls. He sets it down next to Esille, hilt facing her, and perhaps even within her reach if she strained, before stepping back again. The lieutenant's writhing form he ignores until a pause appears in her rant.

"No, actually - I attacked and kidnapped you to make sure none of you were insane monsters. I've seen enough of my colleagues go that way." The man sighs, the first sign of emotion he's given besides a brief glimmer in his eyes during Esille's speech. "Including my wife. Colonel is more or less an honorary title - I'm a loremaster, and spent the last ten years with the Second serving against the hillmen. I was fortunate enough not to attempt any use of magic until the risks were clear - because I had my wife's twisted corpse as an example."

"Others were less lucky, and less dramatic. The lieutenant there saved my life from the man who used to be my best friend, convinced by whatever madness he'd contracted that I had to die - and I didn't spot it until it was too late. I lost six men, nearly half my command, last week, attacked in the night by the harmless travelers we'd passed three days before. That was when I decided a preemptive strike was the better part of valor. My apologies for the inconvenience, but I consider it a small price to pay for only losing one good man to the four of you. Without being able to use magic, I'm useless as a healer, and Owen's as good as dead. If my wife were here..." he shudders. "Never mind that."

"The point is, these are evil times. I left with fifteen men to scout ahead of the Second legion's path, and without Owen I have only eight remaining now. The Baroness must be in even direr straits if she sends four inexperienced young men and women such as yourselves into the same dangers - regardless of how competent you are." A small nod, an ironic twist of the mouth. "I'll outfit you however you please from our spares - we have more gear than men, now. Call it an apology for your treatment, if you like. Horses as well, if you'd like them." Suddenly, he notices the guards who have rushed in from outside the tent, now standing at attention trying not to notice their fallen comrade - or the naked forms of the prisoners. "Get Owen out of here, and do what you can for him. Send someone with four blankets for these."

Now, however, his eyes harden a bit. "This offer, of course, may well extend to only three of you. I have no desire to see more innocents die, and the odds that there was another man with my fortune and self-control are suspiciously low compared to those that you've simply contracted a more subtle form of madness...especially because the Baroness would hardly let such a resource go forth to near-certain death. As such, I'll still need that answer."

[Quietus]

Through Esille's tirade, Ralden remains silent, knowing that nothing he has to offer could possibly help. There's a time for rational thought, and there's a time for anger - and she was clearly much better at the latter than he could ever hope to be. In fact, the only thing that gets any response from him is the lieutentant's threats; If there's any hope of him reaching the man, the first time he goes to strike Esille gets Ralden's muscles tensed, and the second has the wiry young man ready to throw himself headfirst into the lieutenant's stomach. Thankfully, the colonel takes care of that for him - Ralden is fully aware that though he might have a chance at stopping a single sword blow, he stands no chance of in a fight with the remains of the camp while shackled.

"I am no spellcaster." Ralden answers, once Esille and the colonel have said their pieces. "Nor am I a monster. I cannot speak for my sanity, as if I were lacking, I would hardly be in the position to judge such things. However, the Baroness has enough faith in me to send me out in her employ, and is aware of my abilities. I suspect she would not have done so if I were not a risk. My skills are mostly the result of hard training in the Shadow Hand school of martial combat, not from any arcane talent. Now, if you would be so kind, I think my companions, at least, would appreciate being unshackled. I suspect Esille would like to be able to cover herself up, rather than being ogled by all of your men capable of walking." The entire time that he speaks, Ralden's tone hovers around the same level of interest as though he were telling the colonel that his shoes were untied - probably not the greatest way to convince a man he isn't subtly mad, but the slender swordsage appears unconcerned with that.

[Ajadea]

Caelin raises his eyebrows at Esille's tirade. The girl certainly had a healthy set of lungs on her. Her points were valid as well, though perhaps the volume was a little much. He doesn't seem to be all that alarmed when the lieutenant raises his hand or his sword as if to strike Esille. But Caelin instinctively tenses, readying himself to strike, readying himself for battle despite being rather firmly shackled to the wrong side of the tent. When the lieutenant falls, he tilts his head to the side in thought-that sounded like a dislocated bone. Not incredibly hard to deal with, but fixing it hurt about as much as getting the bone dislocated in the first place.

He nods along in agreement when Ralden speaks. "I've never seen Ralden do any magics of any sort," he says curtly. "If he posed a threat, I'd break his skull in myself. If he was insane, I do not believe he would be quite so coherent. But he isn't any more dangerous than I am, and you are willing to let me go."

[Sucrose]

Raffael watched in awe of Esille's tirade, well aware that he could never match such fury. However, at the sight of the lieutenant raising his sword, Raffael's expression deadened, and by the time that the colonel felled the brute, he was halfway to tearing down his section of the tent.

Precisely what he was planning upon arriving against an armed soldier, whilst himself still attached to a tent frame, is a mystery. However, seeing that this was not the case, he slowly calmed back down enough to listen to the colonel's response. After his comrades had said their piece, he tried to add to Ralden's explanation.

"S-sir, if I may, are you familiar with the nature of the aether disciplines? There are two general ways one can manipulate the aether.

The first requires active concentration on arcane force. Whatever has happened seems to have twisted the aether enough to cause madness in those that use this approach.

The second is more instinctual, a reflexive talent to twist the aether around yourself to permit things beyond what you could accomplish normally. Skills of the sword saints, and, to some degree, all living things. This second category is basic enough that the warping of the aether doesn't seem to have affected it. While his power in this area may be more overt than others', it's still this second category that Mr. Ralden's power falls into."

[CaptainPlatypus]

Another soldier returns with blankets, and the colonel makes a curt gesture. As the legionary salutes and departs, the colonel sets a blanket within reach of each of you. Listening to your words, he sighs and mutters something under his breath before retrieving a key from his belt pouch and unlocking each set of chains in turn.

"I suppose that's that, then. I'll provide you with whatever equipment you desire from our spares, and you can be upon your way - unless, of course, you'd be willing to travel with me after this. The baroness is one the General makes no secret of his desire to support, and we're heading the same direction to pursue the same task. Frankly, I'm surprised you had no encounters with the twisted ones before this." He looks a little surprised at his own words, then shakes his head. "To answer your question, my good man, I'm about as familiar with the aether disciplines as you are with how to tell iron from copper a mile underground. I was never much of one for the theory - I'm a practical man, and my practical talents are more or less useless now. If that wasn't the case, I imagine the General wouldn't have his sole surviving loremaster out in harm's way like this."

He runs a hand through his hair, further mussing a cut that didn't have the best of military discipline to begin with. Then a light seems to rise in his eyes. "Come to think of it, you seem to have a better grasp of the nature of the aether than anyone I've heard of since my wife died. Does any of you have a theory about how all this happened?"

[Quietus]

"Tension.", Ralden answers, wrapping the blanket about himself. As he does so, the shadows that subtly cling to him seem to stretch their bounds, extending to the blanket and darkening its folds. He'd actually put a fair amount of thought into this, though his knowledge of magical theory was limited by his lack of practical experience.

"Everything physical is subject to it. A given object, like this blanket, can only be stretched so far. If you keep trying to stretch it, it breaks. I suspect the aether is the same, and that it's simply been stretched too far. It's snapping back, giving reversed or unexpected results. The aether disciplines aren't nearly so hard on it, so it accepts them." Of course, Ralden doesn't know if his theory is reasonable or not; He knows only the very basics. His quiet, constant tones, however, lend his words an air of confidence, even if that air could be seen through by someone more well versed than him.

[Ajadea]

Caelin grabs the blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, standing up hunched so he didn't hit his head on the top of the tent. He didn't like his hands being taken up like that, but he didn't technically need hands to fight. "I'm just a bounty hunter. Practical man, like you. Don't ask me about aethers and magics." He pauses for a moment, perhaps to contemplate his options. "I'd be willing to work with you though. Stupid to deny help 'cause you made an honest mistake. And with twisted crazies about, I'd bet you'd need all the help you can get. You got my clothes around somewhere?"

[PersonMan]

Esille gladly wraps herself up, rubbing her wrists once free of the manacles. At the corporal's question, she shrugs, although once Ralden answers the man she considers it for a moment, before nodding.

"I can still tap into the aether safely, as well, although only in limited ways and through music." Esille explains, considering the theory. "If I really consider it, I don't actually create or greatly change anything with my music-I simply awake the courage within those who listen to the song." She continues, frowning after a moment. "Although, if the aether is permanently damaged, it could be that Ralden's blade magic and my music may be some of the only types of aether manipulation still possible. If we were to continue with the snapping analogy, it could be that the remaining shreds of the aether simply aren't enough to support what they did as a whole, before." The bard muses, resting her head on her hands, with her elbows on her knees.

"As to your other question, I do think that traveling together would be a good idea. And, well..." Esille's voice trails off for a moment, and she seems embarrassed now-something that her anger had prevented from happening much earlier. "I do think I owe you an apology for what I said earlier. Now that I understand the situation better, well...I can see why you would do something like this to protect yourselves." She said softly. "You mentioned healing earlier-although I can't use spells, Caelin and I are rather good at such things-if we can use the kit we had with us it should be easy to treat any wounds your soldiers have." Esille adds, glancing over to Caelin as she speaks.

[Sucrose]

Raffael shrugs, his body less covered than the others' by the new blankets.

"I'm afraid that Mr. Ralden's explanation is as good as any I've been able to draw up. I'm not some great sage, sir; if I were, I imagine I'd be of more use to the Baroness at home. I'm just fairly versed in the fundamentals of our old theories, and our old theories never predicted this cataclysm. If they had, I think we would've been better prepared.

Um, despite the, ah, brutal way that our relationship began, it seems like it does make sense for us to continue it. Strength in numbers, and all that."

[CaptainPlatypus]

The colonel seems to breathe something of a sigh of relief at your unanimous decision. "That would be much appreciated, miss. We have the necessary supplies, but no one capable of using them. I can lead you to him now, if you wish - or to your clothing first, if you prefer."

He turns to Ralden. "It seems it would make sense in theory, but as you and these others mentioned, you do not consciously manipulate the aether yourself. I would assume that in the days or years leading up to the disaster those of us who do so would have noticed some sort of gradual resistance, in that case - by everything I can tell without actually attempting to work with the aether, it is suddenly quite different than it was before."

[Ajadea]

"I think, perhaps, that it would be considered rather discourteous if we were to meet the General clad only in blankets," Caelin remarks dryly. "So you should probably take us to wherever our clothes are first."

[Quietus]

"Perhaps. But as you yourself have noted, the reason for this abrupt change is unknown, even to those who have had the practical experience I lack. And those with practical experience after the disaster, for better or worse, are incapable of enlightening us. I am interesting in determining the cause myself, if you have any thoughts on the matter."

When Caelin points out the social faux pas involved in their state of undress, Ralden stops and considers for a moment, then nods his agreement. While he seems comfortable enough with the blanket - hell, he didn't seem particularly uncomfortable without it - he sees the wisdom in Caelin's words. Being armed would also be a welcome change, particularly for his companions that are untrained in unarmed combat.

[PersonMan]

Esille nods. "I'd certainly want to get my clothes back before running around treating wounds." She says, shifting the blanket slightly. This could turn out to be good-if there were hordes of insane monsters ruling the south, it would be preferable to travel with a group of soldiers rather than alone. There was safety in numbers, after all, and it would mean that she could get more sleep if there were more people to take watch.

[Sucrose]

Raffael simply nods at the other members' decision. He has no particular desire to work in the nude, and having his sword back, calming as the thought was, could wait until the more basic level of protection was accounted for.

[CaptainPlatypus]

The colonel shakes his head. "The General? I thought I made myself clear. We're scouting significantly ahead of General Lamorr and the main force. I'll fill you in on the plan as I understand it tonight - for now, let's get you your clothing and get my man any attention you can provide." He steps outside and holds the tent flap open, beckoning you to follow. "Unfortunately, I simply don't have the manpower to bring you all your clothing. However, the supply tent's close by."

Those who step out of the tent are greeted by harsh midafternoon light - apparently they've held their position for some time waiting for you to recover from whatever they used to keep you unconscious. Looking around, you can see that the five tents of the camp are set up the regulation fifteen feet apart, in two rows, with yours in the far right of the row of three. He leads you past the middle tent to the one on the far left of that row, and gestures you inside. "Your clothing is here. When you're ready, any with healing skills, please join me in the tent immediately to the right. Any of the rest of you, please see Private Dergin here - he nods to the sandy-haired legionnaire standing guard in front of the tent, who you somehow neglected to notice until he was pointed out - about getting a tent set up for your accommodations during the trip."

He steps towards the tent he indicated as containing the lieutenant, then turns around. "After this situation is resolved, I'll be glad to resume our discussion on the disaster, but if there's a chance to save this man, that takes priority."

[PersonMan]

Esille quickly slips into the tent, dressing as quickly as possible before grabbing a healing kit and rushing over to the tent the colonel had referred to before. As she doesn't expect combat, Esille leaves her leather armor in the tent and emerges clad in a light turquoise long-sleeved shirt with a curling silver embroidery along with simple down pants with light leather patches on the knees, obviously fairly worn, the bottoms of which are tucked into a pair of sturdy boots with several smooth stones of various colors sown into them The laces alternate between gold and blue, weaving over a curving design that faintly resembles the symbol of the empire.

[Ajadea]

Caelin waits for Esille to finish before heading into the tent and quickly dressing. Dark brown pants with several patches on the knees and thighs, faded green shirt, plain leather boots. Caelin had never been much for fancy things. They weren't likely to enter combat any time soon, so he left his armor and bow lying on the floor. Esille had already grabbed a kit, so he left his on the floor with the rest of his things, few that they were, and headed to the tent.

[Sucrose]

Raffael opts to enter next, and eventually emerges wearing a rather more martial outfit than his compatriots. Over his simple, somewhat thick linen shirt, he wears a sturdy jerkin of studded leather. Over his leather breeches, and on his lower arms, thick leather guards are likewise strapped. At his hip swings a longsword, his left hand resting comfortably on its pommel.

Over his armor, he wears a dust-colored cloak, well made for covering one's self when the air is chill, but staying out of the way the rest of the time. Below it, some of the finest mundane boots ever made protect his feet from the hazards of the road.

Finally, he carries a heavy shield, strapped to his back. In this ensemble, he almost looks like a leader of men. Even his stoop is less pronounced. Of course, wearing more than a blanket likely helps as well.

He takes a few steps out of the tent, then turns to the guard.

"Mr... Private Dergin, was it? I would like to handle accommodations for my comrades and myself. What do I need to do to get access to a full tent and at least four full sets of blankets?"

[Quietus]

Ralden is the last to grab his things, and possibly the lightest load among them. It takes him very little time to get himself dressed in a fairly bland but functional light brown outfit, tight enough to not get in his way when moving, but loose enough to not restrict that movement. A vest and leggings of darkened brown leather fit snugly over these, light enough again that despite his lack of training with armor, they won't interfere in any way. A belt wraps around his waist, with numerous alchemical items clipped to it; A sunrod and smokestick for emergencies, and vials of alchemist's fire and acid 'just in case'. Less noticeable is the gold ring once more settled on his finger, bearing his parent's crest - certainly not likely to win him any friends among those who recognize it, given his parent's skills.

Once he's properly equipped, he joins Raffael where he's addressing Private Dergin, though he remains silent, himself. As he sees it, he's caused enough trouble for everyone as it is. For now, the best he can do is remain silent, and ready to act should something unexpected happen.

[CaptainPlatypus]

Dergin grins, a couple of missing teeth drawing your attention in an otherwise completely unassuming face - brown hair, tan skin, in all ways average. "Well, word is you took the starch out of the lieutenant's shirt, and he's the one who's always all over my arse about keeping a proper log of the equipment. I'm not sure if you noticed, but you just changed in our supply tent. Once you're all done in there, I'll go in and grab those and anything else you need for you - I'd let you do it yourself, but I'm the one who knows where everything is."

[Sucrose]

Raffael smiles back, and nods toward Ralden.

"Mr. Ralden was the last of us, Mr. Dergin. I'd appreciate some trail rations, and perhaps some rope, in addition to sleeping quarters. Would that be all right? Is there anything you're expecting on the road ahead that we might need other supplies for?"