**_Caravan Escort_**

The guardsmen had a mixture of fear and anger. Fear that they'd have to fight such formidable opponents, and anger because they were getting pushed around and quite frankly, they were growing rather tired of people abusing them. The guard captain gave Ssarak and Meirin a dirty look, disbelieving their words. "You think that justifies her actions!? We have served loyally here for a week, weathering storms and diseases, and you expect us to just forgive when your bitch decides to act on her paranoia?" If the guard captain was a Pyromancer he would be smoking from his fury, but the robed man stepped forward, raising a hand so the guard captain could calm down. A little. "I too would like use to forget about this incident and move on without any bloodshed. But I do believe some... Recompense is in order. You there! What is your cargo?" The robed man spoke towards the caravan master who sat up in shock. He began to sweat and looked nervously between the robed man and Ssarak. "I-I delivering textiles and... Other luxuries... To Hysteria, sir. Silk curtains and engraved bowls." The caravan master gulped.

The robed man stroke his chin and contemplated this new information as he continued to using a Wide-Concentration telepathy on everyone but Ssarak. The man could feel Ssarak's wards deflect his own magic, though he already guessed he was a Psychomancer by the Eysire's scales. "I suppose it would have to do than. A 100 gold in reparation for the harm your friend has done to one of my guardsmen... And 50 for each guardsman here for needlessly endangering them." That was 350 gold at a minimum, which was almost three years worth of pay for most of those guardsmen. But the robed man didn't care for the money. He wanted to see the merchant's contraband, as he had a feeling that the caravanners couldn't get the money to pay for reparations. "Or, these gentlemen can simply pick what they'd like to take from this wagon."

**_Tyrael Marchosias_**

Tyrael entered the messhall looking for Pitch. With all these new recruits coming in, Tyrael aimed to make use of them. The messhall was rather empty and he saw Pitch and Cynn sitting together. The Fallen Orc strode towards the two and called out to them. **"Pitch. Cynn. I have a job for the both of you, if you are available today. Come with me."** As if he was giving them a choice, Tyrael than walked back towards the exit of the mess hall, stopping at the doors to see if they were going to follow him. From his stern glare, he was expecting them to follow him.