Sighing, Barst mounted his pegasus, looking around and shrugging. Ereshk was running late with the groceries. Again. Why they sent the dark mage to get their supplies, he would never know. Barst himself had offered nearly a dozen times to take over the duty, on account of the fact that he could easily make it to town, get the supplies, load them up, and get back in less than half the time it would take their current marketboy. 

Maybe Carthul wanted the boy to keep himself fit. Barst disagreed. There were better ways than to make the young man kill himself by lugging groceries around. He had a solid three inches on Barst but weighed a solid fifteen pounds fewer. He wasn't the most fit mage that ever lived, and Barst thought it a bit cruel to make him carry more than his own weight-almost literally, sometimes. 

Lightly slapping his pegasus on the nose, the two took off for Charten, landing just outside of the town not long after. He'd spotted the dark mage from the air, quickly approaching on his pegasus. "Oy, Ereshk, right?!" Calling out to the figure struggling to carry the bags, Barst chuckled. "Want a little help, there? We wouldn't mind takin' a few of those bags off yer hands for a bit." Giving a friendly smile, Barst hopped off of his pegasus and looked at his fellow mercenary. Obviously not the fittest fellow, but for a mage, strength of mind was more important than strength of body. At least, on the battlefield it usually was.