[center][h1][sub][color=darkred][b][u]G O R O U[/u][/b][/color][/sub][/h1]
[h3][i][b]Greymont Castle - Banquet Hall > Main Gates[/b][/i][/h3][hr][/center]
Gorou expected that, once Rhea opened the floor, there would be a great many questions at once. After all, they had so many people here, and the swordsman was beginning to doubt any of them really knew why they were here or what they would be doing. But as the conversation continued, his doubts began growing more and more into full blown anxiety. When the man with a mercenary air about him stood up, his armor scraping, and immediately asked if they were good to go because he was restless, Gorou became truly thankful for the fact that his mask would hide any annoyed glares he gave these folks. Were there any more preparations? This [i]was[/i] preparation! Had he not paid attention to the fact that Gorou himself had just asked an important question pertaining to their tactics? It were as if the man held a one-sided conversation, speaking without listening, or reading without comprehending what was actually happening.

Another man slammed his armored fist into the table, and the sharp, resounding impact made Gorou reflexively push his chair a few inches backward. It was not out of fear--anyone who paid attention would see the placement of his feet and know that he had positioned himself to rise and lunge in one motion. But it turned out that the noise was not a sign of violence to come, merely this dark haired youth's juvenile way of getting attention. He announced that Maize would soon arrive--Maize, the Dauntless? Gorou became intensely interested in that information, but couldn't it have waited for a more polite timing, or at least stated in a way that didn't so rudely interrupt everyone else's thoughts and meals? Gorou hoped the young man wasn't like this all the time--he had the look of one with some kind of chip on his shoulder.

One of the women, the one whose robes were as distinctly cultural as Gorou's own--though if his guess was correct, she was from the horse archers of south Ibion, rather than any of the old lines of Estala--asked another question, but this one wasn't so rudely worded and didn't overshadow Gorou's own--rather, it added a helpful qualitive. How long was this journey expected to last? Indeed, they were expected to suppress the pirate forces...but were they meant to hold out until King Erigan could send reinforcements? Was this inexperienced Prince and only a rag-tag party meant to wage an entire war by themselves? The Estali were known as thinkers, tacticians and leaders--fitting for those who practiced the study of magic--but surely they had planned all of this out beforehand and had some idea of how long it would take, what strategies they would employ, how much supply they needed...

The little priestess also waited politely, and simply introduced herself. She seemed very timid, but then again, her place was to heal and not to fight. Gorou made a note to try and keep her within sight, once they actually had a battle to fight--failing to protect healers in war was like showing one's belly to the enemy. There was a saying that "A crippled soldier is worth three dead," that Gorou himself had put to use whenever he found himself facing too many opponents. If you killed an enemy, that was one down. If you cut his sword hand off or broke his leg,  however, that meant it took one more man to haul him off the field, and a third to see to his wounds. Miss Arin of Avondale would hopefully keep that from happening to any of them.

But now the Prince finally got around to answering them. As Gorou had thought before, what the royal said would give him a far better stock of just what kind of situation he found himself in. And the masked swordsman was...disappointed. He went pale as he looked at Gorou first, and simply answered that they would be "sailing." Sailing, yes, that had been expected considering they were going to fight pirates. But sailing [i]where[/i]? To the North? Up the coasts? Were they attacking the pirate base directly, or would they cut off their supply routes? "Sailing" said about as much about battle tactics as "fighting" did! And on top of that, the Prince didn't even know how long the engagement was supposed to last? Gorou's disappointment redoubled, and the anxiety he had begun to feel earlier joined it in what could not under any circumstances be a pleasant combination. But now the Prince sat down and fiddled with something around his neck. Gorou saw him smile, the kind of small personal smile a person makes when they think to themselves "I did it!"

Thank the Goddess that no one could see his eyes behind the mask.

Then, he entered. The Dauntless, the man of the frozen north who had fought first against the Estalan, and who now swore his loyalty to them as a knight of the realm. The tales of his prowess from the arena, and as a knight from two lands, marked him with his moniker. Gorou could barely keep his hand away from the grip of his sword--he didn't want the movement to be misinterpreted. Would the Dauntless accept a respectful request to spar? How would the old ways fare against someone who had seen battle from both sides of the field, learned two schools of swordplay and ironed them out with experience?

But before he could ask anything, Maize urged them to wrap things up and prepare to leave. They would be heading to Port Sesta, but other than that once again the information was sparse. Did they expect this group to just...follow along, without knowing anything? A chilling fear dawned on Gorou that his mental image of the Dauntless might be shattered, much like his expectations of a competent Prince had been.

There was a slight hustle and bustle as everyone made ready. They were ushered out to the gates, where their horses and supplies had already been prepared. Gorou took a look around for any wagons or pack mules, hoping that he could gauge the answer to "how long will this be?" from the amount of supplies they were going to carry with them. As his gaze traveled, he also took note that Rhea was saddling up a Wyvern. His initial assumption about the scent on her had been correct, then.

Though she had let the Prince do most of the talking, it was Rhea who had opened the field to questions. She and Maize seemed cut from the same cloth, no-nonsense, but where Maize had rushed them out of the hall she seemed merely impatient, putting her own affairs in order and then waiting with an irked expression for the rest of them. Perhaps he could get actual answers from her.

[@Ambra]"Excuse me, Dame." Gorou approached Rhea, taking note of the wyvern and relaxing his body language in case the creature wasn't fond of strangers. "The Prince seemed somewhat flustered--understandable, of course--so forgive me that I ask for clarification from you instead. I asked whether we were heading directly north, or would be engaging the pirates in their outposts on the coastlines. And the lady of Ibion--Siran, I believe?--asked how long this engagement was expected to last. Neither were clearly answered. Can you please give us more specifics?"