“We will provide as much food and water as the group can carry, but after a certain point we’ll have to rely on scavenging and hunting. Horses will also be provided if you do not have your own, but the ones in the stable aren’t exactly the best bred. As for money in advance, that very much depends on our sponsor who, as of yet, has not arrived. All I can promise in terms of money is that King Barius will [i]heavily[/i] reward you if we are successful.” Replied Sir Chester, who was trying his best to keep his professional and stoic demeanour in front of the dark haired vixen. At the mention of the sponsor, Buxton found herself scan the room for any sign of Orwen but instead was only able to spot a couple more people enter through the front door. 

Chester was too busy talking with Karen (and by extension, too focused on not drooling) to notice the man with the giant sword approach the table. Buxton on the other hand had trained her dark walnut eyes on the newcomer since the moment he appeared in the doorway. Like with the previous guest, she did not bother to sit up and instead kept her leather boots crossed comfortably on the rough wood table. She raised a curious eyebrow as the man got closer, noticing the strange dots on his head and the cattle-like ring on his nose. As the foolish man drew his sword Buxton felt her heart skip a beat and her fingers involuntarily spun the dagger for a better grip. She was no assassin, but she doubted she would miss a throw from that close. By this point even Chester noticed and he quickly half-drew his sword, ready to jump up and fight in the blink of a second. However when the man dropped to a kneel the tension faded enough for Buxton to let out a big exhale and a silent smirk. 

“I, Gawain Rochilde, Wonderman of Vahili, hereby pledge my life and soul to the Consano to avenge my fallen father, fallen mother and.. presumably plague-gripped sister, may the old gods and God of Light, whichever is true, save their souls. My sword is yours, lady Buxton, sir Chester.” 

It was a rather dramatic oath, one which was certainly not needed. Chester’s face seemed to show a mixture of anger and sheer bewilderment. He went to scold the man for being suicidal enough to draw his blade on them, but then ‘Gawain’ stood and carried on his rambling. “I’ll let you deal with this guy…” whispered Buxton under her breathe as she stood and begun to stretch. She probably whispered loud enough for all four people around the table to hear, but it didn’t stop Gawain from finishing his story.

  “A dull sword is fine… A dull sword can become as sharp as razor if taken care of properly.” She stated. “His physique isn’t bad, with some proper training he should be able to hold his ground.” Karen added with a confident nod. “Hmm it seems all of us applicants arrived at the same time.”

“It would appear so.” Responded Chester, who was now hoping the others wouldn’t try the same sort of theatrics. He looked over to the other men near the bar and scowled, a small heat rising in his neck due to his annoyance at their obliviousness – someone just drew a sword at their superior officers and they were just sat there drinking merrily away. Turning his attention back to Gewain, Chester sheathed his sword and waved for Gewain to put his own down. “Firstly recruit: if you draw your sword on me again you will find it lodged in a very tight itchy sheathe.” He said in very flat matter-of-fact way, “As long as you can swing that thing at whatever monstrosities we come across, and as long as you show us trust and loyalty, you’re accepted. Besides, I’m sure the men will appreciate a priest when things get rough.”

Whilst Chester was dealing with Gewain, Buxton found herself following Karen over to the door, interested to see what she had found. She kept a few steps back, acutely aware that her own footsteps lacked the grace and lightness needed to keep silent on the old wooden boards. As she passed the young pale women she too gave a smile and lifted a single finger, a gesture that she hoped would indicate that the lass should wait a minute. [i]‘Probably not here to join’[/i] thought Buxton, noting how skinny she was and how finely dressed the girl was in her thick wool and leather. Of course fine clothing was no true indicator of profession, as her own attire proved, but this girl didn’t strike her as a fighter. Brushing her thoughts of the girl aside, she refocused on the door where Karen was then exposing a short man.

“So… what do we have here? A rather big rat or did you per chance drop coin and now are searching for it?” Karen asked. 

“I don’t think rats smell that bad,” Buxton interjected as she lent against the doorway.