Crom looked at the unfinished image of a werewolf on the patch as Johnathon explained his art form. The embroidery was quite well done, and seemed to be an interesting hobby. In Esterl, at least, people with artistic talents were generally valued quite highly. The artisans and painters of the island nation made a considerable amount of money by catering to the elite. Many times during his time as a knight Crom had marveled at the works of art constructed for his lord. A felt a faint pang of sadness. He would likely never look upon those works of art again. Crom nodded as Johnathon finished his explanation. "Ah, so you're an artist then. It's quite good. I'd much rather see him on a patch than coming for my throat." Crom laughed, motioning towards the image of the werewolf. He looked around him as they entered Loenn. It was a quaint town, but seemed nice. As the cart pulled up to the inn, a man with a bag of medical instruments offered to treat his wounds. Crom nodded, hoping the doctor knew what he was doing. He looked like he had caused more injuries than he had treated, but it wasn't the soldier's place to judge. "Aye mate, where to?" He said, rising to dismount the wagon. He waved to Griff and John. "I guess I'll see the two of you after this fellow patches me up."

 Alec stood at the bow of the ship, his eyes scanning the capitol city that stood before him. The ship had set sail from the Reins a few days earlier, and though it had been a relatively calm voyage, Alec had grown tired of being at sea. The rain fell softly against his face and was forming droplets in the fur of his cloak's collar. He had been told very little of what exactly awaited him in Lieda. It had only been a few weeks since he had received word that Arcartus was looking into his 'services'. He wondered exactly what the Arcartis had in mind; not that it mattered. Numerous clients had sought him out throughout the years, and not one had ever been disappointed. That was, as long as the other party had kept up their end of the bargain. The city looked quite wealthy, and the black-clad noble had no doubt they would reward him quite handsomely for his assistance.

 The ship came to a stop, and the sailors quickly set to work in lowering the gangplank. Alec turned towards the lowering bridge as it flopped down against the stone of the pier. Alec strode across the deck of the ship silently and walked down the gangplank, his boots clacking against the creaking wood. As he made his exit, he noticed a trio waiting for him on the pier. They appeared to be some sort of welcoming party, an escort to take him into the city no doubt. As his boots clacked down against the wet stone of the dock, he looked up towards the welcoming party. They all wore military uniforms. Alec stopped a few steps in front of the group and looked towards who he supposed was it's leader: a rather small young man, who unlike his company wore no cloak despite the rain. The Lord of the Reins stood silently for a moment, his long cloak swaying in the quickly-strengthening breeze. He looked to the young man who stood before him and spoke deliberately. "So, you'll be my escort I take it?" The man's voice was strong, but not loud. It had a certain smoothness to it. The lord's light pink eyes looked briefly towards the city before coming back to Milo as he awaited a response.