Vincent walked with the blades as the sun rose. They were an interesting group with a more interesting cause. They were tracking down a cult that wanted to resurrect Grima. Honorable... Last he'd heard, Grima had been felled a while back, when his father Walhart had been defeated. Grima was the end of the world, something that didn't sound too pleasant for anybody who wished to remain alive. But he was a child back when he had been told all of this. Grima's story could easily be a fairytale told to young children. What was even more interesting, was that a group named the "Shepherds" had defeated the fell dragon. The same group that had Defeated his father... so, the story could also hold a grain of truth to it, too. Whatever the case, Grima and Walhart were linked by the Shepherds, so he might be able to find out a bit more by staying with this group. Little did they know they were travelling with a Lord. When he was captured, he had managed to worm his way out of answering who exactly he was, besides giving his first name. Their troops were actually kind of competent. Usually such a large group didn't give that much trouble. But he had been subdued almost too easily. The people in this band of soldiers weren't your ordinary rabble...

Vincent hadn't been hurt too bad, and somehow still managed to win their trust for now. He wouldn't rely on these strangers, but for now, he'd fight like one of them. Circumstances could easily change if he so wished. He was a lord, and a lord of an unrelated land, at that. He need not bow his head to them. Instead, he tagged along of his own curiosity. Where that would take him was anybody's guess. He assumed they were headed for Ylisstol, the capitol of the halidom of Ylisse. He had been there before. It was said that the family who controlled the fire emblem lived there... A powerful treasure which had been said to make wishes come true. A lot of uproar had been made about it before Grima was said to have revived, and apparently, the princess of the land had sacrificed herself to protect it in a battle between them and the Plegians. She must have been an honorable lady. He wondered if the soldiers here could make such sacrifices...

Vincent stopped reflecting on current and past events, and paid attention. He was falling a little behind the lead. He sighed, and sprinted up the ranks to reach the front, and keep pace with the Tactician. Apparently their group needed one... He had a bit of contempt for someone with such a title... but the tactician here actually fought in the battles, which was respectable. Tacticians he had heard of before were sniveling cowards who hid behind the true leader and their forces, incapable of raising a sword. This one seemed to spit in the face of that notion. For that, he liked to think of this one as more of a general than a true tactician. A true tactician wouldn't trust some stranger they barely knew, that had attacked their camp. Something was strange about these people. They were too trustworthy.

Vincent took off his helm and looked at the leader as he walked. "[b]What's with all the whining over rest and food? It's hardly daybreak. I expected better of your troops.[/b]" He commented, rubbing the salt in. He wasn't even winded. He had his own provisions, and had eaten while he walked. This was the same way he did things for as long as he could remember. A long walk all day wasn't too bad, and he had lived through some severe starvation with the brigands. Despite what others might guess, he was very hard on himself. Comforts were for the weak. He could hardly believe the same troops that had so easily pacified him were having such complaints. Maybe it was all a joke between the troops.