[i]"Come on, then, Rook!" Karthas bellowed, that damn rictus grin of his splitting his head from ear to ear. Rook was panting, bleeding and bent over, one finely-honed edge of a ketra blade dragging along the ground. This was a stupid idea and it was going to get him killed. Did you really think you could take on Karthas one-on-one? 

No time to answer that question as the psychopathic mercenary swung for him again. Feeling like every movement took tremendous effort, Rook swung his blades up, parried the strike and danced away. Ignore the pain, ignore it, stuff it away, you're good, you're great, you're the wind, he's a rock, and the wind always wins. Rook repeated that mantra in his head as he dodged a few more swings from Karthas's halberd. What a damn difficult weapon to disarm. 

When Karthas spoke again, he suddenly looked scared, and he spoke with a woman's voice. "I-I don't think I'm ready for this," he said. Rook, taking pity, dropped his swords and approached Karthas, who looked scared and overwhelmed. "It's okay... we don't have to do this," Rook said.[/i]

With a start, Rook suddenly awoke as one of the mercenaries, obviously massively hungover from the night before, half-fell, half-climbed out of his bunkbed. What had he been dreaming about? The duel, of course. He dreamed about that all the time. Trying to remember the dream was like trying to carry water in his hands -- the harder he tried, the more it slipped through his fingers. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he stopped trying and sat up straight. 

Then he remembered what happened the night before. [i]Oh man...[/i] Rook thought to himself. They were bound to travel together for the next few weeks and that just became a lot more awkward. Deciding that was a problem he'd deal with when the time came, he clambered out of bed and freshened himself up. He realized he was already late, but by the great gods of nowhere, Rook wasn't going on a journey like this without feeling as clean as possible first. 

The city was very much alive when he made his way through the streets. Rook contemplated going to the market but he decided against it. He also thought about visiting the Scarlet Ravens one last time. He knew where they'd be -- guard duty on the city walls. Dull, hot, boring, warm, and uneventful is how they usually described that shift. Rook decided against this also. Gauging the time by the position of the sun, he headed for the Westgate clearing, whistling an old whaler's shanty to himself. 

[i]"Cover your ears, boys and men,
When you see the great whale breach!
For you know it is then,
She will bellow the screech!
Nothing will save you all,
From the depths below!
Once you hear that call,
You awaken in heaven's meadow."[/i]

The more he thought about these songs, the more Rook realized they were very, very poor compositions. He had long ago determined that whalers made for terrible poets. 

As usual, the site of a gathering caravan looked like absolute chaos. Rook wasn't even phased by that anymore. Both hands on the pommels of his ketra blades, he weaved through the bustling servants and other mercenaries doing some last-minute prepwork. Rook stuffed the slim backpack he'd taken with him into the White Guard's cart and looked around for any members of the detail he recognized from last night. Especially the girl. While he felt bad for her, she had some explaining to do. 

He eventually spotted [color=FF66CC]her[/color], [color=8585AD]Marcel[/color] and [color=CCCC00]Silhainlé[/color], the Lessir creature. Rook had only seen one before his in life, a hilarious rascal who ran a portside store somewhere east of Montgarde. What was that place called? He couldn't remember. Even from a distance, and from what Rook had seen of Silhainlé last night, this specimen was more in line with the race's usual attitude; timid and alert. 

Rook approached slowly, leisurely greeting them all at once. "Morning, chaps," he said, and curtsied at Adele. "Madame," he added, smiling gently. He didn't want to give her the idea he was all that upset with her.