He supposed that there were reasons for him to have been named a part of this group. It was technically a scouting group, and as a scout, Decado had more skill than most. Of course, the skill did not originate from himself, but rather the three foot tall eagle that sat perched on a branch, pretending not to hear him. Some men, those that didn't believe in the magical bonding of man and eagle, or the fact that the barbarians of the North developed this kind of magic before the elders int he cities, thought it had something to do with a sick sixth sense, and while some men made obscene gestures at him when he wasn't looking, and careful signs of prayer and divine protection when he was, they had all been saved by his gift in one way or another, so they gave him less shit over it than they used to.

What he had little doubt was also influential in the selecting of him in this group was the fact that the son of the new leader of the wolves, Arthur, was heading it. It wasn't a foolish move, Decado considered. While not related to the new boss by blood, his heart seemed set on the lad, who showed immense promise as both a leader and a fighter, having taken several prizes in fighting before, as well as proven to be an expert at reading the land around him. He wasn't a fool, but then again, there were better men to lead this kind of mission.

[i]Like you?[/i]

Decado ignored the comment and looked over the rest of the troop. Because of the terrain of the forest, as well as the fact that they wouldn't be taking the road up to the fortress, he was forced to leave his horse behind. Despite the fact that Decado was a tall man, he preferred riding to walking a general rule, and being stuck with this premature bunch seemed to be only pouring salt into the wound.

The girl with the rapier seemed competent enough. She was confident, which was half the battle, and overconfident, which lost her the rest. At least she had the presence of mind to fight with some armor on. Of course, she was bringing a rapier, and nothing else, to fight orcs, creatures who tended to walk around in heavy armor. Not the smartest of moves, he thought.

[i]Like bringing throwing knives to fight the selfsame orcs?[/i]

[i]Shut up.[/i]

There was Rafael, a pickpocket and a thief who prized speed and agility above armor and protection. Of course a fighter like him would carry an off-balance halberd as his weapon of choice, as well as covering up his ears and most of his eyes when he claimed to be able to see and hear better than any human alive. Right. Next came Astiroth, the man that preferred to keep him hood over his face to make sure that none in his troop could see the features underneath. It didn't inspire a lot of confidence in Decado, and the fact that the man fought with a long bow, which required what his hood took away from him, depth of vision, it had him rolling his eyes vigorously. Good thing his skill was with his tongue, because it certainly wasn't with his picking of weapons or attire. And there was that Kirena girl. She had heart, he granted her that, but she didn't have the look of the kind of person that lived past three months among the Wolves. He hadn't seen her fight yet, though, so he would withhold judgement until then.

[i]And we all know how good a judge of character you are...[/i]

[i]Shut up and find me some orcs, would you? We'll be here for another decade if we rely on these village bumpkins.[/i]

[i]Work, work, work. Keep bossing me around and I'll be raising my fee.[/i]

Decado didn't respond, reaching inside his pack and pulling out a strip of dried beef, flicking it into the air. In a lightning swoop, the eagle caught the food out of the air and flew high above the trees silently. Decado rolled his eyes and kept the rearguard, his keen eyes moving through the forest. He missed the snow. feeling that satisfying crunch underfoot as you walk makes walking a bit more enjoyable. Instead, there were leaves and twigs. He scowled, brushing a dead leaf from his long hair and moving towards the front of the group, indicating for Astiroth to keep his eyes on the rear.

"Boss," He growled," The party is about five miles west of here," His voice was deep, gravelly, a northern accent heavily warping his take on the Common Tongue. It was why he called Arthur Boss, and not by his name. Saying Arthur with his accent in a way that resembled how it was supposed to be said bordered on the impossible," They have a wolf with them, carrying their catch. Big thing too. Might want to stay upwind of them if surprise is the intention."