[i]Jerod[/i]

Jerod had heard, and seen, the horse and armor wearing rider long before said rider, Marius, had stated anything as he reached speaking distance, a warhorse and armored man made a far different sound then the horses of burden and the sound of carts moving across a bumpy road. Drinking didn't harm his skills nearly as much as other folk, he could boast a natural tolerance above most folks, it came with the territory of, stereotypes aside, utilizing taverns and their generally crossroad esq nature to be able to track and find information. But that was neither here nor there, the man had asked and questioned his motives for hanging off the back of the cart, and an easy smirk found its way on Jerod's face. 

[b]"Ach, g' mornin' t' ye too, 'orseman. Ain' no foreign influence 'ere, jus' keepin' an eye out 'round us. Ye cannae' trust t'em damned Feroxians 'arther t'en ye can throw em, savvy? An' t'ere th' closest problem ah can see 'aving reason to come at us."[/b] Jerod's smirk faded at the reminder of their destination and whom they would be entering discussions with, and spoke quieter, and in a far more serious tone to Marius, since that man would have better luck talking to the lad himself in an advisory role, no doubt.

[b]"Th' Feroxians method o' leadershi' is ass backwards, an' a' political a' it is strength o' arms. I 'oping th' lad Champion 'imself knows wha' 'e's gettin' us into 'ere. It migh' serve ye well t' check on th' lad, see tha' 'e knows wha' he's dealin' with 'ere. I ca' explain some if 'e wants, but ye migh' be able t' talk to 'im sooner, being on an 'orse and such, aye?"[/b] The last bit got a chuckle out of Jerod, and he resumed his scanning of their surroundings, determined to not put anymore thoughts on Ragna Ferox, or those damned Feroxian politics, until he absolutely had to.