Veryon, during the ride, fared much like the Dwarf, although to a lesser extent; not entirely used to horseback, he'd stay mostly quiet during the rides and try to imagine he was back on a ship. While he was sure his fellow Knight wouldn't want to be back on another one anytime soon, Veryon was a Ranirocan and a Captain besides, and nothing so minor as a shipwreck would deter him. He speaks fairly openly, to the others, telling them of his and Vycker's exploits, along with a party of other Knights in a distant land. He also drinks, heavily, at all hours of the day, though it only seems to catch up with him at night, when he bellows sea shanties and laughs heartily at everything. Occasionally, though, the old sea dog falls quiet, staring into their nightly fires and stroking his hand down the length of his axe's haft, whispering apologies to someone named Nadia.

When they arrive at the bandit camp, Veryon slides from his saddle, staggering only slightly as he rolls his shoulders. He looks down at the encampment, snorting with brief laughter, and then back at the others. He shoulders his axe, approaching everyone else as they make their plans, and speaks loudly, talking over Thirodaen with a boisterous tone.

"Aye, there's a few bandits down there, lads. Just make sure you leave one to question, and leave room for me to swing my axe. We'll fuck them all up good an' proper, and when we're done, we'll find their boss and fuck them up better! Ain't nothing fancy to be done, me and Vycker've killed a Pit Fiend! ... With some help, but, all the same. We know what we're doing!"

He laughs, thumping the haft of his axe against the ground repeatedly. The motion causes his mixed and matched black plates of armor to jingle and clang against his ill-fitting chainmail beneath, and he grins.