Marcel felt relieved when they finally began their journey. He always had an increasing anxiety in the moments leading up to a mission that usually seemed to fade once action was being taken. About a mile in, Marcel was calm and collected with a determination that had been drilled into him over the years. However, he'd be lying to himself to think that he wasn't eager to arrive at their first destination, the first of the Estates they'd be stopping at. He mulled over Djonn's proposition occasionally but wasn't really on either side of the matter. If, somehow, he was to be rewarded with the extravagant room he would accept, a respectable commendation of Djonn's decision. On the other hand Marcel actually looked forward to stables- maybe not the structures themselves, but the horses. Oh, the [i]horses[/i]! How Marcel dreamed of learning to ride and own one of the beautiful beasts. He used to be driven mad during deliveries of horseshoes- to forge such a piece for a fine animal only to not experience its use! 

Reality set in- surely the stables would be cleared of the mammals to make room for sleeping accommodations. In spite of that, Marcel let his mind wander; they'd be nearby, wouldn't they? Marcel's thoughts turned to what they usually did and he soon found himself pondering the relationship between a man and his horse. Caring for the creature dearly was expected of a man, at least more so than not caring enough for it, right? Marcel was reminded of an old horse breeder who was a frequent customer to Marcel's forge. He was a frail thing- used to wear women's makeup and clothing, but he was responsible for some of the most beautiful and well-kept steeds around Belencrest, yet he tended to be a bit of a target of the fork tongued and tricksters, often laughing that only a horse would marry him. He shook the thought away and tried to keep his mind focused on the task at hand. 

Their surroundings eventually gave way to the woods, however, and Marcel began to fantasize once again; couldn't really help it as a man alone with his thoughts, since he hadn't been partaking in much conversation. To live among the trees like the peoples of old always appealed to the bear-like man, the relation a convenient coincidence. He enjoyed smithy-work, had done it for over half of his life, but the smell of the wilds, the smell of the freshest air possible had always lit a spark in Marcel. It wasn't that he necessarily disliked civilization, either- Marcel knew no life outside of it- but the idea of living truly free in the wilds kindled a fire in his belly. To live life like a savage; a [i]noble[/i] savage, that's what Marcel strove to be. To be entirely self-sufficient; To ride a great beast through the wilderness; to-

The caravan came to a halt as trouble seemed to be brewing. It seemed some logs were blocking their path, many of the Guardsmen had their weapons unsheathed should the worse happen. Marcel cursed himself for being caught off guard while on duty as he was called to help remove the blockage, being one of the bigger and stronger Guardsmen. He joined [color=FF3333]Rook[/color] in removing the trap, but there was no conversation between the two. Marcel didn't take it personally- everyone was tired of walking. 

Eventually the caravan stopped and Marcel thanked what gods there be for a stream. He joined [color=FF66CC]Adele[/color] in soaking bare feet but eventually waded out a little farther to allow him to stoop and dip his whole head in. Upon emerging he slicked his drenched hair back and wiped his face and beard with his good hand. He stared at his burnt hand for a moment- even after being submerged in water the lump of heat didn't seem to die down much. Marcel wondered if, given enough time in a smaller body of water, he could warm entire tubs or pales simply by dipping his hand in long enough. 

He waded back to shore in time to witness [color=FF66CC]Adele's[/color] rant. There had been [i]two[/i] attempts at Gaivus' life? Marcel's immediate thought was that he was somehow responsible and cursed himself silently for being absent-minded. But he began to doubt that such was so- they had been, after all, stationed at the back. 

[i]'And [b]you're[/b] the one to decide that?'[/i]  thought Marcel after [color=66FF33]Zacharias'[/color] counter. He gave the man a glare but held his tongue. Marcel sometimes forgot that he- or the White Guard, for that matter- was in this as a profession, and this was all for a business, so he should expect that there were many profit-centric sellswords, but Marcel could never shake his hatred of simply walking away from a contract based on small conditional changes. He tried not to think about what those they abandoned would think of them. Marcel halted his own thoughts, lest he become as angry as [color=FF66CC]Adele[/color].

[i]All this talk and negotiation isn't protecting Hemming, either.[/i]

"How immediate do you think this threat is, Miss Gisele? Is there anything we could do [i]right now[/i] to help stifle it?"